#like bad night to begin with. i have work in less than four and half hours

[jihyocentric]

sequel to alphas unnie line trying to breed jihyo from ages ago

“she might be mine, i don’t know… she looks like me a little bit.” momo shrugs, scratching her nape lazily. “the nose looks like mine.”

the four of them stand in the middle of the kitchen, all of them exhausted from taking care of their baby, who couldn’t fully relax without her mommy there.

it wasn’t the first time jihyo had to spend the night out of the city due to work, but it was the first time she did that and jisoo got sick.

the four of them barely made it through the night, getting less than two hours of sleep each of them, having to give their baby all the attention and aid needed.

“i’m sure she’s mine,” nayeon sighs as she speaks, fully convinced that she had been the one who succeeded and won the race, and so that debate shouldn’t even be happening, as jisoo was the result of her effort as jihyo’s alpha. “she definitely looks like me. she acts like me.”

the baby couldn’t quite understand what her moms were saying, watching them attentively as she sat on her high chair, with a piece of mushy carrot in her tiny fist, still considering eating it.

“let’s be honest here,” sana huffs, making use of her height to try and make nayeon’s ego any less big, but she was far from intimidating nayeon. she couldn’t under such a circumstance, not when nayeon was utterly serious about jisoo being hers. “she only looks like jihyo! we can’t know for sure, but if anything she’s mine. i’m the strongest!”

“you’re not…” momo mumbles quietly, not fully inclined to turning that into a real discussion.

they were all aware that the four of them were jisoo’s moms, no matter who had actually gotten jihyo pregnant, and all four of them had refused to make a blood test from the very beginning, as it wasn’t needed — they were jisoo’s parents.

a conventional family might not be the right way to describe them, as having more than two parents wasn’t the most common scenario for most kids, but the four of them fit all of the criteria they deemed required to be a parent.

they shared their duties as a family, divided housework equally, and, as the most important item of a long list, they loved jisoo more than anything in the world. all of them were willing to give her anything she could possibly need for the rest of her life — and that was all that mattered. all of that was enough proof that jisoo was theirs.

“should i say she’s mine or am i too late?” jeongyeon asks. she had been actively listening to nayeon, momo and sana’s discussion, waiting for her turn to speak, nearly breaking a laugh at times when sana and nayeon’s argument got heated.

“say it, just so i can deny it,” sana claps excitedly. that little debate that had been happening for hours with short breaks to keep them sane, was keeping her awake and full of energy.

if jihyo were to ask anything, they’d all agreed not to tell her about it, but finding reasons why jisoo was particularly their kid was one of the things that kept them going.

nayeon would always use the shape of their baby’s ears as an argument, sana heavily agreed that jisoo’s big eyes resembled hers, momo convinced herself that jisoo’s nose was just like hers.

and jeongyeon… jeongyeon didn’t have a reasoning, which is why she’d always take longer to come up with anything.

jeongyeon clears her throat, prepared to give them an energetic response. “you are all wrong! jisoo is mine!”

“that was kinda bad,” nayeon shakes her head. “try again, but mean it.” she gives jeongyeon her advice and sana and momo nod, agreeing with her.

jeongyeon opens her mouth, ready to formulate a better line to keep their discussion going, but she’s interrupted by a little noise, one that was entirely new for all of them.

“na…” jisoo pouts, half of her food eaten, all she could really ingest with an irritated stomach. she looks at nayeon as she speaks a new syllable, the first one after the couple of sounds she used to signify multiple different things and the ‘mi’, which she used to call jihyo, unable to pronounce the ‘j’, and the ‘m’ was easier. “na!”

“nayeon?! me?” nayeon coos happily, picking up the baby from the high chair. “see, she’s proving my point!”

but nayeon’s happiness doesn’t last long, as the next thing jisoo does is trying to jump to sana’s lap, squealing the ‘na’ again, leaving nayeon speechless.

sana laughs as nayeon’s smile disappears and a pout replaces it. “it’s for sana. i told you-”

and then again, jisoo doesn’t stop at sana’s lap. she has an angry face as she’s passed to momo’s lap, almost stopping there when momo holds her in the perfect position for her upset belly.

but the ‘na’ that she wanted to reach was entirely too close for her to give in and stay in the wrong mama’s lap.

“na!” jisoo says loudly as soon as jeongyeon holds her.

it was true that she loved all of their laps and didn’t hold any favoritism towards her moms, except jihyo, because that was the lap that also provided her with food.

but jeongyeon’s lap looked more appealing for her that time, and perhaps the reason was that it was the farthest away, making it harder for her to reach it and consequentially more interesting.

“jeongyeon-na,” momo rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as jisoo lays her head against jeongyeon’s chest and closes her eyes, seemingly ready to go back to sleep — her moms weren’t the only ones who didn’t get to rest that night. “jihyo calls her that. but that’s cheating, because ‘na’ is the easiest syllable ever for a baby to say.”

momo says and sana and nayeon immediately agree — not that jeongyeon was expecting for them to be by her side. they were all against each other when it came to that topic.

when the night comes and jihyo is finally back, jeongyeon is the only one awake to welcome her from her trip, also getting the prize of being the one to share the bed with jihyo that night.

“so how was the trip?” jeongyeon asks once jihyo comes out of the bathroom in her sleepwear, ready to sleep for undetermined hours — or until jisoo was also awake.

“tiring. don’t want to talk about it now,” jihyo sighs, taking her place on the bed, next to jeongyeon. “was she a good girl? did she give you any trouble? she was sleeping so soundly when i arrived, i almost didn’t believe she was sick.”

jihyo rests her head against jeongyeon’s chest, eyes slowly closing as she muttered her words softly, getting rest after spending the entire day worried about her baby, forced to work despite everything.

“she had a tummy ache, but i think we were able to deal with it. she’s way better now, i bet she’ll sleep more than you.” jeongyeon replies. “hyo, i shouldn’t be asking this, but… i mean, i know this doesn’t change anything…”

“mhm?” jihyo hums once jeongyeon stops.

jeongyeon takes a short time before continuing. “you do know who her biological mom is, don’t you?”

jihyo opens her tired eyes, moving slowly as she props her chin over jeongyeon’s chest, looking at her softly. that was the first time any of them had made her that question, and yet jihyo knew jeongyeon didn’t need her answer. jeongyeon didn’t really want one.

“do you want me to tell you?” jihyo asks calmly, knowing jeongyeon wouldn’t truly want her to say it — not because the answer could be bad when the four of them were the only candidates, but because it wouldn’t be fair for the others.

jeongyeon just had to be sure, not verbally, that what she thought was true. and deep down she already was.

and so, jeongyeon shakes her head. “i want you to rest. that’s all, baby.”

jihyo nuzzles up against her, head tucked in the curve of jeongyeon’s neck, muttering a small ‘i love you’ as she rubs her nose against jeongyeon’s warm skin, drifting to sleep almost immediately.

#drabble #nayeon #jeongyeon #momo #sana #jihyo #nahyo #jeonghyo #mohyo #sahyo #sfw #non rq #i'm not tagging all the ships i'm too sleepy for that #will answer asks tomorrow

[octuscle]

I really like the transformation of this guy in a professional soccer player! Well I know the feeling to wish for another decision in the past. I work actually as a construction worker because my gf got pregnant in college and I had to earn money quickly. Now we're divorced and I don't think I'm a hero for my son. That would be different if I said 'no' in the past going my way into sports and maybe got draftet in a money-spinning sport. Maybe my son would have a poster with me on it on a wall in his room today if I decided otherwise in the past. I'd like the same program as the other guy - changing my life and my past. I take the risk not becoming a hero but please give me a chance, chronivac support

No problem, you can use the preset as often as you like, that's the least effort. You are now not quite as old as the soccer player, so with an initial age of 36 like yours, the result will be 18 years… Depending on the sport that fate decides on, your career can be almost over or just beginning. 4:00 PM, you just got off work, shall we get right to it?

Boy, I mean, you're not exactly in bad shape. But you've allowed yourself to get a little carried away, haven't you? And the tattoos would look better with less flabby skin. Well, that's going to change. Actually, you wanted to order a pizza while you were scratching your sack. But suddenly you don't feel like it anymore. Instead, you write a message to your gym buddy, with whom you have been training for a few weeks, asking if he spontaneously has time and wants to do a training session. You meet in half an hour at the gym.

The guy at the reception greets you with a fist bump. You've been part of the inventory here for a year. Some people with a fine nose may be bothered by the fact that you don't shower after work before you start training. But nobody can say that you are not a role model in terms of motivation and discipline. A year ago some things were still wobbling on you But now there's hardly any fat left and the muscles are coming really nicely. You also have your life better and better under control. No more alcohol, no more cigarettes. Your alimony checks come on time and are always covered. Even if the mother of your son doesn't want to have contact anymore, your son at least follows you on Instagram. In the meantime, you have a good 2K followers who accompany your transformation. You are proud of that, too.

20:00 o'clock, you two are done. A few more poses in front of the mirror. Four years of hard training have turned you into a model athlete. And with your fitness followers you now make more money than with your job as a construction worker. But you want to be a role model for your son, just being an influencer is not a profession. It takes you an hour to shower, shave your body and trim your beard. When you leave the studio, you want to look good. Even if it's just to go home and cook. You are a domestic person. And besides, it saves money. And you make a live stream out of the cooking, which gives you a few more followers. But it's also a hard job. By the time you've eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, it's already 11:00 pm. And the alarm clock rings at 5:00 am. Time to go to bed. Actually, at 29, when you have a body like yours, you should have more fun in life. But you've been a father for seven years, and that obliges you. With the birth of your son, you've completely turned your life around. Even though you are divorced, you still have a good relationship with your ex-wife. And your son already writes you good-night text messages. Hey, you know people who are worse off!

Your routines include drinking a liter of water before bed. It flushes all the toxins out of your body overnight. Can't be much with your diet, but you like routines. However, this often means that you have to pee again at night. Today so about 02:00 clock. You have to be quiet so as not to wake your wife and son. The little angel breathes regularly. It is nice to hear this sound from the neighboring room while you fall asleep again.

06:00 in the morning. Your wife hits you with the pillow. Like every morning, when you don't turn off your alarm clock after a microsecond. She gets her good morning kiss and you head off to the gym. You're always one of the first of the team to get there. The janitor already knows you. They call you the Swiss clockwork. Always on time, always reliable. Discipline is everything. You have the chance to live out your passion for ice hockey here. You've been on the ice since you were eight years old, and you've been a professional for four years. In Canada. An absolute dream!

10:00 a.m. Press conference. You're just 18 and you've managed to get signed by the London Knights as a European. Your stepping stone into the National Hockey League. Everything is still terribly exciting. But you are a sporting prodigy. And you've spent your whole life preparing for this moment. You speak English and French fluently. Despite the double burden, you skipped a year of school and graduated with honors. And your girlfriend is pregnant. It was not planned. But it happened. And you are both very happy.

The nursery is already furnished. Above the crib a poster of you. You have to expect that you will not see your son for one or two weeks. But he should always have a picture of you in front of his eyes.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #age reduction

[gatheringbones]

[“Having been out of the baby-catching game for some decades, I was caught off guard by a phrase Stanger-Ross used when we spoke: “obstetrical trauma.”

“That has become a term,” she said. “Unfortunately, a lot of women feel that their birthing experience was one of trauma, which, of course, is going to have impacts on the parent-child relationship. If the birth was traumatizing, then how does that translate when now you have a newborn in your arms?”

Right on cue, I was given a textbook illustration of this alarming trend via a conversation I had the day I finished this chapter. I was being interviewed over video conference by a New York journalist reporting on the COVID-19 pandemic, which at the time was engulfing her city.

At one point, Courtney, as I’ll call her, proudly showed off her three-month-old cherub. When she learned what I was working on, she poured out the awful story of her recent experience at Mount Sinai Hospital at the hands of one of New York’s most prominent and well-regarded obstetricians. It is as clear a tale of normalized obstetrical trauma as can be imagined.

Thirty-seven years old and healthy, Courtney was expecting an uneventful delivery. At thirty weeks the physician phoned her to announce, as if by decree, that, given her age, labor would be induced at thirty-nine weeks. This, the doctor said, was “the office protocol here” for anyone older than thirty-five. “She had known my age from the beginning, since I walked into her office last May,” Courtney said. “I was so shocked that I hung up the phone—I barely said a word. I had to have half a glass of wine. I was so upset, I didn’t sleep all that night.”

It went downhill from there. Courtney recalled with pain “the sudden disappearance of flexibility and the imposition of a tyrannical dictate. It was not the kind of care I expected. I’m not used to being bullied by doctors or talked down to. The tone became so toxic . . . and then she also kept saying, ‘The baby is huuuge. He’s going to be huuuge.’ I said to her, ‘Wait, I heard that growth scans are notoriously bad at predicting weight.’ She responded, ‘Not at Sinai. He’s going to be nine pounds at least.’” (The baby’s actual birth weight: less than eight pounds.)

Courtney considered looking for a new physician, but this late in pregnancy and still in awe of the specialist’s credentials, she stayed put. “By week thirty-eight, she was saying, every week, ‘This is really not looking good for vaginal, it’s really not. I don’t know what to tell you.’ I just kept saying, ‘I really don’t want a C-section.’ And this was our dynamic week after week. I was in a terrible state of mind for the last three or four weeks of the pregnancy: sobbing, nervous breakdown . . . At the appointed time, we show up at Mount Sinai, and it’s a horrible scene. We’re in this waiting room for three hours, a million different things going on, and I kept saying to my partner, ‘Why the fuck am I here? We are totally within our rights to go back to Brooklyn and go into labor naturally.’”

Feeling disempowered, having her intuition invalidated at this most vulnerable time of her life, being intimidated by a highly extolled medical specialist, and having been raised in a culture where “expert” authority trumps one’s own, Courtney lacked the wherewithal to assert herself. She finally acceded to the induction and, after fifteen hours of fruitless labor, the inevitable surgery. “I was so weak. I’d been throwing up. Everything about this was like the biggest nightmare. I said, ‘Fuck it—let’s just do the C-section. Like, what choice do I have at this point?’ So we roll into the OR, and I’m throwing up on the table, and I’m a basket case, sobbing. Scared out of my mind, shaking. They start the surgery; it takes forever. She then says to me, ‘Oh, I didn’t realize your abdominal muscles were this strong.’ They were, because I’ve done Pilates for twenty years. I’m thinking, ‘Why didn’t you realize it? You’ve been examining me regularly for nine months and anticipating this surgery for weeks.’ And the following morning she said to me—can you even make this up?—‘I’m going to call the Mount Sinai scanning department and complain about how inaccurate your growth scans were!’ All that week in the hospital I would just lie awake at night, sobbing at how violated I was.”

I asked Courtney whether she had thought of working with a midwife. “I’m not that left-wing,” she said. “I’m not that far-out. I completely bought into the system.”]

gabor maté, from the myth of normal: trauma, illness, and healing in a toxic culture, 2022

#gabor maté #brainspace #cw abuse #currently reading

[kingdaddydaichi]

☆ title: redefining (ch. 6) | (ch. 5) ☆ (ch. 7)

☆ pairing: cop!daichi sawamura x single mom!reader

☆ wc: 3.1k

☆ synopsis: four years after leaving your toxic ex, you find yourself a single mom to a 10-year-old boy named musubi, who harbors a lot of misdirected anger. you hear from his fifth grade teacher, mr. suga, more often than your own mother and a resulting friendship is born. meeting suga’s best friend wages a war between your head and your heart - one that challenges everything you think you know about love and police officers. neither are to be trusted. both have left you lost and scared when you needed them the most. so, when a cop comes knocking at love’s door, just how strong is your resolve to keep your heart under lock and key?

☆ warnings/notes: nsfw. mdni. cop!daichi. daichi: 1 / yoga pants: 0. oral (m. receiving)

I know there’s a danger Whenever we touch It’s always the last time But it’s never enough

Angel of the Night - The Steeldrivers

Five days.

Five days since you’d slept with Daichi, but it felt like an eternity. Every time you thought of him, a dull pang of desire made you clench around nothing, and you thought of him too many times to count. Day and night. The rest of that weekend hadn’t been too bad, and you figured as time went on you would begin to think of him less and less. But to your dismay the opposite seemed to be true and by Wednesday evening, the cop had taken up residence in your mind and made himself right at home. The audacity!

You were even beginning to resent your toys for their lackluster performance when compared to Daichi Sawamura. No matter how many times you made yourself cum, there was still too much left to be desired as though there was a void within you that only he could fill. A need that only he could meet. A hunger that only he could feed.

You’d been chewing on your lip, glancing over at your phone on the end table next to you, fighting the urge to text Suga. He’d no doubt be a shit and tease you about it with a smug look on his face.

You stared at your phone, glaring at it as if it were taunting you, daring you. Subi was going to a friend’s house for a sleepover Saturday night, which meant you’d have the house all to yourself until late Sunday morning.

“Fuck it!” you said aloud, exasperated.

You: Can you give me Daichi’s number? And before you even start SHUT UP.

SugaPie: I haven’t even said anything. 😃

You: You didn’t have to. I can hear you smirking from all the way wherever you are.

SugaPie: <smirking louder>

Daichi’s contact card immediately followed.

SugaPie: Have fun! 😘

You: Thanks, bestie! 💋

You saved Daichi’s contact info in your phone, fully intending to delete it after he dicked you down again. Just this once. Well, this would be the second time, but that would be it! No more. Just one more fuck to get him out of your system, then you’d be able to forget all about him.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen as butterflies began to fill your stomach. You scoffed at yourself for getting worked up over a guy, particularly one whom you had no intention of dating. You started typing…then deleted everything and started over. You started over…then deleted everything again. And again. You must’ve deleted half a dozen messages before you decided to keep it simple, stupid.

You: Hi.

Welp, there it was. It was out there now. Had he seen it already? How long would he take to text back?

Officer Big Dick: Uh, hi. Who is this?

Ohmyfuckinggod, I’m such an idiot! I forgot to tell him who it is!

You: It’s y/n. From the other night? We met at Suga’s?

Officer Big Dick: Y/n! Hey!

You: Do you remember me?

Officer Big Dick: Of course I remember you! It’s good to hear from you.

You: I got your number from Suga. I hope that’s okay?

Officer Big Dick: Yeah! That’s totally okay. What are you up to?

You: Not much, just relaxing on the couch. Wbu?

Officer Big Dick: My shift’s almost over so I’m wrapping things up at work, then going home.

You: Are you working Saturday?

Officer Big Dick: Yeah, 2nd shift. Why, what’s up?

You: Wanna come over after work?

The longest pause yet in his responses made you chew on the inside of your cheek.

Officer Big Dick: Yeah, I do. But my shift ends at 8 so I won't make it there until after 9. Is that too late?

Perfect.

You: Not at all!

Officer Big Dick: Okay! Do you wanna go out and do anything or?

You: I was hoping we could just hang out here and relax. Maybe order in and watch a movie? Or just talk?

Officer Big Dick: Sure, we can do any or all of those things. Doesn’t really matter to me as long as I get to see you again.

You: Stop, you’re making me blush!

Officer Big Dick: Awww I bet you look really cute.

You: STAHHHPPPP IT 🫣

Officer Big Dick: Lol sorry! I’ll stop. For now. 😏

You: You better. See you Saturday night then?

Officer Big Dick: Yes ma’am, you will.

You’d dropped Musubi off at his friend’s house Saturday afternoon and had been chomping at the bit ever since, anxious to see Daichi again. Time had slowed to a crawl when you returned home, so you started cleaning. Not only did it make the time go by more quickly, it helped to ease some of the giddy jitters. Yet another bonus was the fact that your house was the cleanest it had been in weeks! To some it might’ve looked like you were going out of your way to impress Officer Big Dick with your housekeeping skills, but that wasn’t it at all. No, you were anxious to see him and needed to do shit to keep yourself busy. Getting two loads of laundry done, floors mopped and vacuumed, bathrooms cleaned, and dishes put away was merely the silver lining of having too much nervous energy and nowhere else to put it.

You chose to ignore the fact that a huge smile appeared on your face when Daichi texted you, letting you know he was just leaving work. He was on his way home to get a quick shower before heading to your place. You replied with an acknowledging text, then finished folding the last of the laundry and put it away, soldiering through the anticipation that began to seep into your panties.

Your doorbell rang, setting off the pounding in your heart. You padded over to the door, opening it to find those big brown eyes and the genuine happiness that sparkled in them upon seeing you again. Returning his smile, you invited him inside. He was once again preceded by his signature scent of wild bergamot and rich sandalwood with a hint of leather, carried on the breeze and compelling you beyond reason to get closer to him. And there was that crooked, boyish grin of his again. Yeah, that one - the one that slayed you.

He entered your home at your behest, carefully taking everything in before toeing his shoes off at the door. Even in a pair of black joggers and a dark grey police academy t-shirt, he looked good enough to eat. 

“You like my bumming-around-the-house-and-being-lazy outfit? I tried to dress for the occasion.” 

“As a matter of fact, I do!” you chuckled. “You look good.” 

“So do you,” he said seriously. “I’m sure you look great in anything.” Daichi smirked again, his eyes trailing along the length of your body. “I happen to know for a fact that you look spectacular in my clothes, and you’re drop dead gorgeous in nothing at all.” 

Playfully rolling your eyes and smiling, you took his coat and hung it on one of the mounted hooks on the adjacent wall. When you turned to face him again, you held out your arms. “Hug?” 

“Absolutely.” He bent down and wrapped his buff arms around you, but instead of merely hugging you, he picked you up. You hooked your ankles behind his back and buried your face in the crook of his neck. He took a few steps further inside and stopped, his biceps flexing around your ribs as he held you tighter. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he rasped as you inhaled his masculine scent. You didn’t even realize how much you had missed it until then - the hardness of his muscular arms as they embraced you, the way the short hairs at the base of his neck tickled your fingers, the feeling of his ear pressed against your cheek. You hadn’t missed him…just those things about him. Just to be clear.

Daichi’s chest puffed up with air before releasing a long sigh of relief as he rubbed your back. Lifting your head to look at him, you cupped his face and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back without hesitation, drawing a contented sigh from you when his tongue sought permission to tangle with yours, enticing it, inviting it out to play. His hands drifted to your ass, taking a cheek in each of his big hands before squeezing. Even through the cotton material of his shirt, he could feel your moist heat against his navel.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispered. 

“D-Daichi?” you panted, kissing and licking the space below his ear before trailing along his jaw. 

“What is it? Tell me what you need, y/n,” he whispered. 

“Need you to fuck me, Dai…” you whined pitifully. 

“Bedroom?” 

You nodded and pointed in the direction he needed to go.

Daichi pushed the door closed with his foot before pushing your back against the wall. One of his hands slid from your bottom to between your legs to find your need had soaked through the thin material of your tight yoga pants. You were about to ask him to put you down so you could take your pants off when you heard the ripping of fabric. You broke your deep kiss and looked at him with your eyes full of surprise. 

“M’sorry,” Daichi grunted as he reached under your thigh and into his joggers, pulling his hard length out. “Just can’t wait anymore.” He licked his reddened lips as his equally red tip pressed against your panties, his pre soaking into them to mix with your wet. “Fuck, you’re so damn sexy, y/n…” 

His swollen cockhead nudged your clit through the white lace. “God, Daichi,” you moaned as he licked the exposed column of your neck. “Need you now.” 

Daichi hooked a couple of fingers inside your panties and pulled them to one side, letting your clit rub along the underside of his thick shaft a few times before lining himself up. After giving himself a couple of pumps with his fist, Daichi pushed his fat tip through your entrance, groaning as your tight heat swallowed him whole, one thick inch at a time. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you winced at the slight sting his stretch provided. 

“You okay?” he huffed.

“Mmhmnn god yes! Fuuuuck I’ve needed this so bad.” 

Warm pride bloomed in Daichi’s chest, knowing he - or at least his cock - had that much of an effect on you. He moaned at the way your pussy held him in a vise-like grip when he tried to retreat. “So damn tight,” he hissed. 

Maybe it was because you were so worked up over him. Maybe it was the anticipation of being with him again, or the fact that you’d been using your toys every day since your first time with him. You couldn’t be sure, but taking Daichi’s monstrous girth was easier than the first time you’d taken him just a few days prior. 

He pulled out a bit before slamming back into you with enough force that it made you take back your previous thought. With your eyes rolling back and your mouth hanging open, he did it again, grunting. 

“Fuck yeah, fuck your cock into me hard, Dai…” 

Daichi could feel the warmth of your slick leaking along the underside of his shaft. Your clear liquid hung from his swinging balls as he drilled up into you. The angle, the depth, the power with which he pistoned into you…it was all so perfect and the coil deep inside you wound tighter and tighter. 

“Oh god, you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you breathed, the force of his thrusts pushing your words out as your arms clung to his neck. 

Daichi’s hands squeezed your ass cheeks in his hands, pulling them apart and using them to slam you down on his cock every time his hips snapped upwards. 

“That’s it, y/n, cum on my dick,” he said with your earlobe between his teeth.

You whined as your walls began to throb and flutter around Daichi’s hot girth as he drove you up the wall. 

“Cum for me, y/n!” he growled into your ear.

The commanding tone in the depth of Daichi’s voice finally pushed you over the edge. You came hard around him, pussy squelching as he forced his cock to stay inside you through your intense contractions. 

“Nnhnnn…you’re gripping me so tight. So fucking close, y/n…”

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait!” you insisted, tapping his shoulder.

Daichi’s brown eyes shot open. “Shit, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head vehemently, still trying to catch the breath that he’d fucked out of you. “Wanna suck you off. Wanna make you cum in my mouth, Daichi.”

He lifted you further up his waist, making you gasp when he let himself pop out of you. He put his back to the wall as you got down on your knees to find your cream dripping from his big, spongey tip. You watched as Daichi pushed down on the top of his shaft to guide himself to your open lips. Your hands were so much smaller than his that it made his cock look that much bigger when he watched your fingers encircle his creamy base. You swirled your tongue around the tip, collecting your salty spend from around its prominent ridge. 

“Mmfuck that’s hot,” Daichi praised with a whisper, tenderly brushing your hair away from your face to hold it back in a loose ponytail as you licked his balls clean as well. 

Groaning, he let his head fall back against the wall, his cock twitching in your hand when you sucked his heavy testicles into your mouth, one after the other. Your tongue traced its way along the two veins that branched beneath Daichi’s cock as you looked up at him from under your pretty eyelashes. He watched you - eyes darkened with lust and need - as his dickhead disappeared between your puffy lips. Easily the hottest blow job he’d ever gotten, and you were only a few seconds in. Your lips stretched as you reached the thickest part of him, not quite halfway down his shaft. 

Such a shame that you couldn’t take him all the way. He was just too big. Maybe with enough time and practice you could work yourself up to it, but that wasn’t to be.

This was the last time. Make it good. 

You bobbed and sucked on as much of him as you could take, gagging occasionally as your eyelashes filled with tears. But the way Daichi couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way he praised you for choking him down as best you could. It was all getting to you and fresh slick began to drip onto the floor beneath you. The salty flavor of his precum coated your tongue and slid down your throat. 

Daichi wasn’t even aware that he’d started using your makeshift ponytail as leverage to guide your face along his dick. He was moaning and cursing under his breath. His cockhead throbbed harder and harder each time it penetrated your throat. With the hand that held onto his thigh you felt him tremble. Guttural sounds were leaving Daichi’s throat almost nonstop as he took one last look down at you. 

“Ghhnn,” he grunted, hips jerking just as his first spurt of seed filled your mouth. 

With his head thrown back and his hips pumping slow and shallow, he held your head in place, missing the widening of your eyes as he just kept cumming more and more until his milky seed began to leak from the corners of your mouth and drip off your chin. You’d always prided yourself on being able to drink a guy down to the last drop, but between Daichi’s chubby cock and his massive orgasm, you were lucky if you could manage to swallow even half of it.

Releasing him from your mouth, you swallowed what was left before licking the traces of your combined flavors from Daichi’s spent cock. Still leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, panting, he shivered and hissed at the overstim. 

“I hope it was good,” you said, still on your knees and wiping your lip with your thumb. 

Daichi huffed and offered his hands to you, easily helping you up only to pull you against his chest. “You kidding me? That was phenomenal! Where’d you learn t-... Actually, never mind, I don’t wanna know.” 

You looked up at him and curled your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Daichi moaned at the traces of your combined flavors as you swirled your tongue around his. 

“Are you the jealous type, Daichi?” Your tone was teasing, but he answered honestly. 

“Not usually, but when it comes to stuff like that, maybe just a little? But only when I really like someone.”

You pulled away from him and turned toward your bathroom, trying to hide the smile that threatened to betray you. “Hang on, I gotta find some bottoms to put on since somebody ripped my pants,” you said pointedly. 

He grimaced at his ferocious behavior as he tucked himself back into his joggers. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’ll buy you some new ones.” 

Changing in the open bathroom, you replied, “Don’t sweat it! You more than made up for it!”

You rejoined him in your bedroom to find him rubbing the back of his neck and laughing sheepishly. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

Oh, now you were really curious. “Like how?” you asked with a smirk. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He bit his lip enticingly, shoving his hands in his pockets and falling in behind you as you walked out of the bedroom. 

Peeking over your shoulder, you gawked at him. “Oh c’mon! You’re not gonna tell me?”

Stopping in your kitchen with you, he shook his head with that cute fucking grin. “No, ma’am. You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Deciding to play along, you quipped back with “What makes you think I’ll even sleep with you again?”

“Just letting you know what your options are, and…” he took the two strides necessary to lean down and brush his lips just below your ear, “I don’t think you’ll sleep with me again. I know you will.”

You scoffed, hoping you didn’t come off as flustered as you were. What balls he had! “Presumptuous much?”

Keeping his mouth shut with his lips in a tight smile, he shrugged as though it was a fact that you simply hadn’t yet accepted. 

You rolled your eyes, mostly irritated by the fact that he was probably right. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

ch. 5 ☆ ch. 7

31 days of daichi mlist | main daichi mlist | haikyuu mlist

☆ taglist: @chaoskrakenuwu @yuujispinkhair @luvkun4 @briokayama @mrs-sawamura @heroesfan101 @millenialfanfictionaddiction @lanaxians-2 @darthferbert @hannas16 @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @cookiesandmilksx @strawberrystepmom @maexc @little-ms-awkward @samkysnks @anejuuuuoy @productivity-blogs @patheticliesblog ++ get added

#31 days of daichi #the 16th day of daichi #redefining #king dom daddy daichi 👑 #daichi #sawamura #daichi sawamura #daichi x f!reader #daichi x reader #cop!daichi #tw police #tw cops #daichi long fic #haikyuu daichi #hq daichi #haikyuu x f!reader #hq x f!reader #sawamura daichi #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #daichi smut #sawamura daichi x you #sawamura daichi x y/n #sawamura daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x y/n #daichi sawamura x you #daichi sawamura x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq

[lilypadlys]

Tour Bus Blues

Summary: Cirrus and Cumulus cuddling on the tour bus.

Ship: Cirrus/Cumulus

Word Count: 867

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: fluff, cuddles, sleepy cuddles, breeze babes, some raindrop if you squint

AO3 Link or below the cut.

The whole bus rattles as it rolls over a patch of uneven pavement, jolting Cirrus from her half asleep haze. It’s gonna be a long night. She sighs, looking skyward. She’s bone tired and ready to just pass out in a crummy hotel bed. Unfortunately for her, the next stop on the tour is a couple days' drive and so rather than stop at a hotel, the buses would be driving through the night.

The band is about halfway through the current tour. As a result, most of the nervous energy has worn off, leaving everyone tired and homesick. Cirrus is getting increasingly done with being constantly crammed in enclosed spaces with seven other feisty ghouls. The tour bus, green rooms, backstage.

She doesn’t even get alone time when they stay at hotels as there's always at least two to a room if not three or four depending on vacancy. She truly loves her pack and most of the time nothing beats cuddling with them in one big ghoul pile. Right now though, all she wants is some breathing room and quiet.

Longing to stretch out and sink into a mattress, Cirrus tries and fails to get comfortable in her cramped seat. She’s been squirming and readjusting for at least the last hour. Swiss abandoned his spot next to her half that time ago, after she accidentally kicked him. That just further adds to her discomfort. She feels bad and also misses his body heat in the too cold chill of the AC.

She leans her forehead against the window, letting the cool glass soothe her aching temples. She begins to focus on her breathing, taking deep deliberate breaths to calm herself. It almost works. She feels her nerves unwinding and she starts to relax. Then the sound of shouting bounces around the echoey cabin, and she tenses up all over again.

“Eww! Gross!” Sunny is squealing and giggling.

Swiss and Dew are both laughing while scrolling through their phones to try and outdo the other in finding disgusting things.

Mountain suddenly holds up his phone to the others with a proud look. Sunny squeals again, even louder than before. Dew laughs and Swiss looks a little green.

Cirrus pinches the bridge of her nose and grits her teeth. Of all the times for her earbuds to break. She’s about two seconds and snapping at her packmates to shut up already when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She can’t stop the hiss that slips out. When she turns to see Cumulus though, she instantly regrets it.

“Sorry Lus.” Cirrus ducks her head in embarrassment. “You caught me at a bad time.”

“It’s okay.” Cumulus waves it off. “What’s wrong, my Cloud?”

“Uhgh.” She lets out a frustrated groan. “I’m sooo tired but I can’t sleep.” She whimpers.

“I’m sorry Cir.” Cumulus frowns in sympathy. “Would cuddles help?”

Cirrus smiles and chuffs. “I won’t say no.”

Cumulus sits down and Cirrus leans into her; pressing her face to Cumulus’ chest. Cumulus rubs her back while Cirrus tangles a hand in Cumulus’ cloud like curls. Cumulus begins to hum softly and Cirrus can feel it rumble through her chest. She recognizes the tune as a lullaby from her kit days back in the pit and the nostalgia is comforting.

After a few minutes, Cirrus has to admit she does feel a little better. She's more able to block out the background noise; grounded by Cumulus’ arms around her. She’s begun to yawn, sleep finally becoming less elusive.

The other ghouls have also finally started to settle down. One by one they peel off and head to their bunks in the back of the bus. Both ghoulettes smile in amusement when Rain starts to yawn and waves goodnight, only for Dew to immediately leap up to follow. Dew practically shoves the water ghoul into his bunk and curls in behind him.

Cumulus nuzzles Cirrus head. “Wanna move to a bunk?”

“Sure. Your place or mine?”

“Up to you Cloud.”

“Your’s.”

“Okay.” Cumulus hums, as Cirrus sits up and stretches. The two of them get up and head to the back of the bus. Past the tangle of limbs and tails that is Rain and Dew, and the snoring lump that is Mountain, they reach Cumulus’s bunk.

Cumulus pulls aside the privacy curtain and Cirrus grins.

“Ahh! Your’s is so pretty!”

Cumulus had decorated her bunk with fairy lights and strings of bracelets she’d been gifted by fans at rituals.

“Thank you! Want me to help you do yours?”

“Yeah! In the morning though. Right now I just wanna pass out.”

Cumulus waves for Cirrus to climb into bed first and slides in after her. They curl up nose to nose, arms around each other. Cumulus pulls a fluffy blanket over the two of them. Cirrus reaches over her to pull the curtain shut, blocking out the light from the bus.

Lit only by twinkly lights, and curled up next to her packmate, Cirrus finds the normally dreary, uncomfortable bunks, surprisingly cozy. She settles right in, finally getting comfortable after hours of tossing and turning.

Cumulus kisses Cirrus’ brow. “Sweet dreams, darling.” She purrs.

Cirrus is already fast asleep.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #namelessghoulettes #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus x cumulus #breeze babes #fluff #cuddles #ghost fanfiction #lys writes

[megamindsupremacy]

So you have a reverse Robin au and a reverse billy au (adult William & kid marvel). What about Danny phantom? how would you reverse it?

Okay, so. The thing with Danny Phantom is that, unlike the DCU, it's a much more contained universe with waaay fewer characters. Which makes things easier and harder. So I have two options (with suboptions) for age reversing

Option 1.1: Danny and Jazz switch ages (Danny Dies)

Danny is Jazz's older brother trying very hard to parent her while their parents work 24/7. He's not doing Great but by god he's trying his absolute best. This is his little sister we're talking about, he'd kill a god for her. Jazz is a mini-genius, Danny is also a genius but his academic performance is shit because he's preoccupied at all hours of the day with a) trying to give Jazz any semblance of a normal childhood and b) trying to make sure she doesn't notice just how uhh different? different her childhood actually is. The important part here is that Danny is trying really really hard but also failing.

Danny works a lot with Jack and Maddie in the lab here, they finally started letting him help out with their research/engineering mid-freshman year and so he's less skeptical than he is in canon. They get the portal built the summer before his senior year.

The portal accident goes similar to how it does in canon except Danny actually knows how it works here. Sam and Tucker were over to hang out but Danny is like "FIVE MORE MINUTES" trying to fix the ghost portal to surprise his parents when they return. Then he dies rest in peace. So now Danny is afflicted with senioritis, eldest daughter syndrome, and Dead, and he is having a Bad Time. He's trying to take care of Jazz, fight off the ghosts invading their town, ward off his parents' suspicions, work through internalized ghost bigotry (because he fully believed everything his parents said about ghosts, he had no reason not to), and try to graduate high school. I have no plot here just Danny's Havin A Bad Time Vibes

(everything else under the readmore because i'm having thoughts)

Option 1.2: Danny and Jazz switch ages (Jazz Dies)

Same living situation as above. Danny gets an A++ for effort and a C- for performance with the Eldest Daughter Syndrome (gender neutral)

Here, Jazz, as the resident friendless child prodigy alienated from her peers because of the autism because she doesn't know how to connect with other students, is the one to go to the lab. Danny, Jack, and Maddie are mutually devastated the portal didn't work, they're all out of the house that night. Jazz is like "I can definitely fix the ghost portal they can't turn on!" She's like fully in the wiring, trying to figure out if red cord goes to green or blue, when she connects the wrong two wires and gets got.

Jazz manages to hide her Death from her family for a while. Instead of her first ghost being the Lunch Lady, it's Spectra, which first shakes up and then really solidifies Jazz's intention to study psychology. Jazz is less chill than in canon because less responsibilities+half dead+brain is four years less developed+same amounts of Very Smart, so in the beginning shes like. A tightly compressed ball of rage psychologically torturing every classmate who was ever an asshole to her. Then Spectra happens and she mellows out a Tiny bit. She is a very "work smarter not harder" kinda ghost fighter- she makes the ghosts fight each other, she bullies the ghosts into backing down, she makes ghost hunters fight the ghosts, she convinces the ghosts to not attack, but she rarely goes out and actually starts punching.

Danny finds out really early on (he's kinda overbearing with taking care of her) and he becomes her guy in the chair type. He makes it so their parent's weapons don't target her, he tries to ward off suspicions, he's doing everything.

Option 1.2.1: Option 1.2: Danny and Jazz switch ages (Jazz Dies)

Same everything as above except Danny doesn't figure out Jazz dies ever and instead of Jack and Maddie being the ones to hunt the new ghost terrorizing the town, it's Danny. Jack and Maddie are too invested in squeezing every last bit of data and information they can from the ghost portal, they don't have time for no ghost hunting. Danny is like, fully the villain of the story for a season and a half and it's horrible because Jazz knows how much Danny loves her and tries to help her in every way in her human form but he absolutely hates her ghost half and tries to kill ("kill") her daily.

#mads posts #DP age reversal #thats not as catchy as reverse robins #hmmm gotta brainstorm that one #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #i should make an ask tag #man i havent thought of the reverse billy au i should go back to it

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

The 5th and final chapter of Mad Dog!! I’ll be posting it to ao3 when October hits.

@daboyau

@imdefnotvanessa

Donnie and Raph start Mikey proofing the lair in anticipation of the chaos that will start once he transforms again.

April has been texting on her phone with Leo watching as they do.

“Okay, I posted about finding Mr. Talbot’s cane on the page for neighborhood. I told him I could only return it at the park and he agreed.”

“That’s great! Plan B is set!”

“Not too great….I totally forgot that there’s this whole costume, Halloween themed carnival going on! It’ll be filled with people and we can only go once it opens, after sundown.”

“We’ll just pretend we’re in turtle men costumes, it’ll be fine!”

“Not if he turns into a werewolf with a crowd of people to bite!”

“Guyuii…..he wouldn’t agree to go out there if he thought he’d go wolf in front of everyone, right?”

“I don’t know what the guy is thinking! He bit Mikey! Maybe he’s just crazy!”

“We’ll just have to think up some kind of plan to keep both Mikey and your neighbor from hurting people. Although, Mikey is more like a puppy when he turns. I think he’s probably less dangerous at night than he is now.” Leo glares at Mikey who sticks his foot out to trip Raph.

“Let’s hope he stays that way.”

After Raph and Donnie are done, the four of them gang up on Mikey to cover his hands, feet and mouth. He fought them every step of the way, but it was pointless in the end. He was left crossing his arms angrily while siting on the couch.

The others decide to wait until he transforms to begin their turns watching over him for the night. Mikey wound up falling asleep before it happened. When it did, he writhed around in discomfort, whining slightly. The marking on his hand glowed as well.

April sends the other turtles to their rooms to take first shift. She could tell they needed the sleep. When Mikey woke up, he immediately waddled over to her on all fours.

“Aww, come here, big sis is watching you tonight.” She picks him up and hugs him close.

She gets a nuzzle against her cheek in response.

Her Mikey sitting lasts for about half the night. Since his means of destruction were covered up, April was mostly tasked with making sure he didn’t slide into or knock things when he ran. She was pretty grateful for Raph and Donnie taking care of the most easily breakable stuff.

Leo watched him the rest of the night. He may or may not have volunteered in order to draw some things on Mikey’s face and rig a classic shaving cream prank. He knows fully well it’s the curse making him act like a jerk, but they’ve still got a day to deal with him and drawing it was therapeutic.

As it became morning, Mikey went back to normal and the others woke up. He glared hard at them as they burst into laughter at his face. His angry shouting was muffled by the covering over his mouth. April finally took pity on him and took everything off.

“What’s so funny!?”

“That would be your face, Mikey.” Donnie answers with a smirk.

Mikey takes out his phone, flipping the camera view to front facing.

“Leo!!”

“I’ll only apologize after we cure you. That’s when I might actually feel bad.” He smirks, poking his forehead.

“Did you forget that my mouth isn’t covered anymore!?” Mikey bites at his finger.

Leo quickly takes it back.

“Both of you, stop messing around! Having another werewolf to deal with today would make it way harder to handle the mission.” Raph chastises.

Mikey growls softly then heads to the bathroom to wash the drawings off his face.

Once he’s back, they have breakfast. It’s not at meat filled as he’d like but they hadn’t had time for grocery shopping.

During breakfast, a plan is made for April to be the bait to lure in Mr. Talbot. Donnie constructs a durable net to be used after they’ve all finished eating.

It took a combined effort from April, Raph and Leo to prevent Mikey from messing anything up during the time Donnie was working.

Once it was finished and the meeting time was coming up, it was decided that Raph and Leo would be the ones to spring the trap. Donnie would have to watch Mikey.

April stood slightly nervously inside the park. Kids were running around in costumes nearby and stalls were setup everywhere. She could even see a maze in the distance.

“Are you ready, Apes?” Leo whispers from the tree above her.

“You know it. Just be ready with those nets, I do not want to be growing hair everywhere next.” She whispers back, glancing up at him.

“I see him comin this way.” Raph also whispers.

April turns her attention back to in front of her. Mr. Talbot was already getting close.

“Ms. O’Niel. Thank you for finding my cane. Although, you could have picked a better location to give it to me.”

“Just thought it was a good place. Pretty nice thing they’ve got going on, huh?”

“I’d just like my cane back please.”

“Sure sure, I’ll give it back right about….NOW!”

Raph and Leo jump down onto Mr. Talbot with the net.

“What is the meaning of this!?”

“We just caught a werewolf, that’s what!” Leo answers.

“You fools! You don’t know what you’re doing! Give me my cane!”

“We know what’s going on! We’re going to help cure you. We just gotta get you to a lab first and away from all these people.”

“It’s the full moon! I’ll be too strong for a net!”

“For real!?”

The clouds in the night sky part, unveiling the moon.

Mr. Talbot begins snarling and writhing around. Thick hair appears all over his body, and his teeth and claws grow sharp. He tears through the net way too easily. Raph, Leo and April scream before taking off.

Mr. Talbot stands up before throwing his head back, howling loudly. The people who see and hear this clap at what they think is acting. He begins chasing after the three of them.

April quickly starts calling Donnie.

“The net didn’t work!! We’re getting chased!”

“So am I! Mikey turned and now he’s chasing me through the maze!!”

“The maze! We can try to lose him in there! We’ll try to get to you, Donnie! Don’t die and don’t get bitten!”

“I am trying!”

She hangs up and they all run into the maze. Mr. Talbot isn’t far behind them.

“April, please tell me you’re good at mazes!” Leo shouts.

“Uh….I’ve only had to call 911 once!….Maybe twice!”

“We’re doomed!!”

“Don’t worry, Raph’s got a secret to these hay mazes!”

“What is it!?” April questions.

They run into a dead end which Raph smashes through.

“Power smash jitsu!”

“Let’s hope it gets us to Donnie!”

“How are we supposed to find him!?” Leo asks.

They hear Donnie scream in a very similar way to when Meatsweats was going was going to eat him.

“That’s him! Keep screaming, Donnie!”

Using the combination of Donnie’s yelling and Raph’s smashing, everyone winds up in the same area, the middle of the maze.

Although Mikey’s usual werewolf pup form is kind and cute, he’s now just as feral as Mr. Talbot as he inches closer and closer to Donnie.

“Mikey! Stop!” Raph calls out.

Mikey turns and growls at them instead.

“You don’t want to hurt us, we’re your family!” April insists.

Mikey only growls louder.

As April is about to try to convince him more, Mr. Talbot bursts through the hay wall, snarling and clawing at the air.

April, Leo and Raph scream in fear, scrambling away and towards Donnie. They’re now being cornered by two werewolves.

“Oh what an amazing rescue attempt he said sarcastically!” Donnie clings to Raph.

“We’ll be okay! We’ve still got the silver!” April holds up the cane.

Mr. Talbot slashes at it, breaking it in half. The useless wooden part remains in April’s hand.

“Yeah, we’re dead.”

Leo looks down at his rabid brother.

“Mikey! If this is it, I want to tell you that I’m so sorry I made this happen! You were just being a good brother and it got you turned into a werewolf! I love you so much, even if we get turned into puppy chow!”

Mikey stops moving and stares at them.

Mr. Talbot doesn’t care about what’s being said in the slightest and lunges forward.

Raph shuts his eyes tight while he pulls everyone close, trying to shield them.

Mikey jumps up and barrels into Mr. Talbot’s side.

Raph cautiously opens his eyes and sees that the two of them are circling each other.

“Mikey!?”

“He’s fighting him! Get him, Mikey!” Leo cheers.

Mr. Talbot bares his teeth and continues snarling. Mikey gives him the same treatment in return.

The stalemate only ends when Mikey tackles his rival werewolf, rolling around in the struggle.

Mr. Talbot shoves his hand in Mikey’s face. Mikey bites down on it as hard as he can. Mr. Talbot howls in pain, falling backwards.

Mikey also falls over, looking dazed. The hair, sharp teeth, and claws slowly start receding.

“Are you guys seeing this!? Did that actually just happen!?” April shouts.

“This is so incredibly unscientific, but it did indeed just happen.” Donnie comments.

Leo wiggles free of Raph’s grasp and rushes over to Mikey, kneeling down and lifting him up.

“Mikey! Are you okay!? Say something!”

“Next time….please just save your basketball picks somewhere else.” Mikey tiredly looks up at him.

Leo smiles widely and hugs him tightly.

“Anything beats having to do this whole thing again!”

Mr. Talbot groggily sits up, looking down at his now non clawed or furry hands.

“I’m….cured? How is this possible?”

“By all means, it doesn’t make sense. The only explanation I could come up with is that your werewolf “curse” was most likely a virus. Mikey isn’t a full werewolf so his antibodies were still trying to fight it off, which may have been transferred through saliva. Because you were cured, he was also cured.” Donnie explains.

“You’re right, that didn’t make sense. But that doesn’t matter as long as it worked! Sorry for drawing on your face, Mikey.” Leo apologizes.

“I kinda deserved it. I’m sorry about being a huge were jerk.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anythin Mikey. There’s was nothing you could have done about it. We’re just glad you’re back to normal.” Raph pats his head.

April carefully helps Mr. Talbot stand up.

“I apologize for lying to you, Ms. O’Neil. Obviously I did know where that barking was coming from…..”

“Yeah, I figured. Although I wasn’t expecting this whole situation to be the reason.”

“I tried everything I could to keep myself from other people. The Wolfsbane to stop me from leaving, the silver cane to slow or stop my transformation….I failed that night with the fog. I thought it would have been okay since nobody would want to go outside that late in that weather.”

Leo cringes slightly at hearing that.

Mikey pats his face to cheer him up.

“I’m indebted to you and your friends. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for freeing me and saving anyone who I could have hurt. I do wish there was some small way I could, though….” Mr. Talbot continues.

April think for a moment.

“You know….I think there is something you can do.”

They all end up spending time at the carnival with Mr. Talbot funding the tickets for various games and rides. His torn clothes made a good segue for the neighbors to talk to him about a cool costume he had. Now that he wouldn’t go wolf any time soon, he could be a little more sociable.

The turtles and April had fun trying to win stuffed animals and getting spooked by non werewolf and much safer things.

Once it got late, Mr. Talbot went home, waving goodbye to all of them.

Mikey was completely tired by the events of the day and the last few days. He slept peacefully in Raph’s arms as he was carried home, nuzzling his face into his shoulder.

His brothers and April felt similarly tired, but knew that once they got home they could finally rest.

As they entered the sewers, the moon shined brightly, its light covered as April slipped the manhole into place.

It wasn’t a threat anymore.

#2018 tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #fanfiction #rise fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2018 #rise leo #rottmnt michelangelo #rise mikey #rise donatello #rise donnie #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt april #rise april #rottmnt raphael #rottmnt raph

[lavaffair]

My Girlfriend Washed My Hair Today - Rated T

Inukag Week Day 3 @inukag-week

3k words for day three's promt: intimacy.

In universe with my story Begin Again.

warnings: a little suggestive but nothing too crazy. if you notice grammar mistakes pls look away I am so burnt out from work that I didn’t bother editing Im sorry 😭

Ao3 Link.

Faint little sounds began to sweep through Kagome’s consciousness as sleep began fading away from her. She tried her best to ignore it in order to continue sleeping longer, but the light, consistent tapping in the kitchen didn’t allow for such pleasures. Begrudgingly, she opened her eyes and allowed for them to adjust to the lighting in her bedroom. The window besides her bed informed her that the sun was almost done setting as the darkness of the night began to spread across the sky.

She pondered, confused at the difference of time; because she swore that it was still daylight when she had fallen asleep. Wiping her eyes to try to remove some of the exhaustion from her body, she let out a small yawn and stretched her tired limbs.

“Yer finally awake,” Inuyasha called out from the doorway with a smirk, “I thought ya died on me.”

Kagome groaned, too tired to think of a comeback and fell back against the mattress. “How long have I been asleep?”

Inuyasha sat down beside her causing the bed to dip a little, watching as her body immediately sliding a little closer to him due to gravity. “Four hours.”

Only her head lifted off of the bed as she looked at him with a perplexed expression, “What! I wasted the entire day sleeping?!”

The half-demon laughed and bent forward to kiss her forehead, causing a happy chirp to escape Kagome’s lips. “You were tired, babe. You deserved that nap.”

Her head flopped back against the bed as she sighed, “All because of my job!” She cried in despair.

As tired as she felt, she was glad that she could wake up to Inuyasha each time she fell asleep, he was a beacon of comfort and warmth for her. They both have come such a long way, especially with their insecurities and doubts that stemmed from their pasts. They were friends before they became lovers, and that’s what made the transition so seamless.

Kagome yawned again as she rolled closer to Inuyasha, her hands automatically moving to play with the tips of his long, silver hair. “Do you want to take a shower?”

Inuyasha’s cheeks flushed a light pink, “Together?” he asked shyly.

He looked like he wanted to agree, but outwardly agreeing to the idea of doing something like that sounded like a bad move.

“You look adorable like that,” Kagome cooed as she sat up on the mattress, “And yes, I want to shower together. We’ve both been working like crazy, and even though you practically live with me now, it feels like I’ve barely spent time with you.”

She was pouting at him and looking at him with those big. brown eyes and Inuyasha knew he couldn’t deny her of anything. On top of that, she was right; even though they were stillneighbors, and he stays over 99% of the time it’s been a while since they’ve spent time together. Kagome’s been receiving heavy workload at her job, and Inuyasha has been getting more customers than normal. It’s only been a few days, but it has felt like weeks since they’ve simply existed together.

“I-if you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.” Honestly, he had no idea why he was acting so flustered. They’ve been dating for months now, and they’ve been physically intimate before, what’s so different about it now?

Kagome squealed happily, “I’ll get everything ready, stay right here!” She kissed him quickly on the lips, too fast for Inuyasha to process the sudden impact, and wishing she could have stayed there and kissed him for longer.

He sat on her bed in awkward silence, fidgeting with his fingers as he listened to her humming from the bathroom. All she wanted was to shower together, nothing more, nothing less; and it’s not like they haven’t talked about doing this before. Kagome’s always wanted to simply take a shower with him, because it’s intimate and vulnerable and she likes being close to him in any way possible.

Inuyasha wants that too, because who wouldn’t want to shower with their beautiful girlfriend? It was just the implications of it all, and how exposing everything is. He’s gotten very comfortable with vulnerability since they’ve started dating, but sometimes a little bit of fear lingers within him, and he can’t stop it from bubbling to the surface.

“Inuyasha!” She happily called out, voice echoing beautifully from the bathroom, “It’s ready!”

He blew out hot air from his lungs and stood up, inwardly hyping himself up for this new moment between them. Trucking into the bathroom, his nose was immediately hit with the scent of vanilla and strawberries; Kagome’s signature scent. The sweet, gentle smell relaxed him somewhat as he watched his girlfriend turn on the shower to start heating up the water.

She noticed the stiffness in his muscles and the worried wrinkles on his forehead, “Inuyasha? Are you okay?”

The half-demon sighed and smiled at her, shy and gentle, and moved to hold her, “Just nervous,” he simply answered.

Kagome hummed before kissing the arm closest to her lips, “You don’t have to do this, you know?”

He bent down to kiss the top of her head before leaning his chin over it, “As nervous as I am… I still wanna do it.” His fingers began to tickle her sides, laughing at the squeaky giggles that escaped her mouth, “Just ‘cause I’m not scared of bein’ open with ya.”

Hitting his biceps as a desperate plea for mercy, all Kagome could do was wiggle in his grasp as she struggled to escape the nonstop tickling. “And I’m-not-scared-“ she gasped out, “Of-hitting-you! Please!”

Inuyasha continued to tickle her, grinning madly at how cute she looked, “Or what?”

“I’ll bite you!” She cried loudly, groaning in frustration when all he did was laugh in reply.

Immediately he stopped tickling her sides and cupped her face in between his hands and stared at her with a toothy smirk, “Yer cute.”

She pouted at him while trying to regulate her breathing, “And you’re annoying.”

“Oh Kagome, you hurt my pride. Whatever shall I do?” He complained in mock hurt.

She poked his belly and grinned when he yelped from the sudden pain, “Big baby.”

“Yeah yeah,” he dismissed as he touched the water, immediately pulling back his arm from the boiling heat that touched his skin. “That’s hot as hell! You shower in that kinda water?!”

Raising an eyebrow, Kagome placed her hand underneath the flow of water and sighed as it warmed her up. “I do, yeah.”

His eyes widened at her in shock, “Ya didn’t even flinch.” He watched her shoulders shrug, smiling at him sheepishly and Inuyasha chuckled. “What a woman.”

Kagome bursted out laughing and decided to lower the heat of the water a bit for his comfort, “Oh just take your clothes off already!”

Inuyasha snorted, immediately removing his shirt and moving to take off his shorts. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He removed all of his clothes and teasingly gestured for Kagome to do the same, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. It made her roll her eyes, pretending to be annoyed by his playfulness, but as she undressed in front of him she couldn’t help but blush at the sudden exposure of her body.

Really, he’s seen her like this before, but for some reason it felt more revealing and unguarded this way. Without the blistering heat of the moment, where they feel nothing but carnal desire and need for each other, it just feels like a higher level of intimacy.

She caught his golden eyes on her, scanning her body slowly, and her breath hitched. His cheeks were flushed red, and it spread down his neck and chest, making him look like a little tomato.

“W-want to go in?” Her voice shook, completely failing her.

He’s looked at her this way many times before, but there was a new intensity building up between them that she couldn’t quite grasp, and every time his auburn eyes gazed at her she felt like she was on fire.

“You first,” Inuyasha rasped out, totally taken back by her beauty. To this day he has no idea how lucky he got, finding someone as beautiful as Kagome both inside and outside. She was like a dream, a woman you picture in your head that wasn’t real, someone so beautiful and ethereal that if she did exist; she would be completely untouchable.

And yet, Inuyasha had the opportunity to love her every single day, and he took every single chance to do that because she deserves it.

Nodding in response, she moved the shower curtain and stepped inside, the steam from the warm water kissing her skin and leaving dew drops on its surface. Inuyasha followed in afterwards, immediately shutting the curtain closed to prevent the heat from escaping more than it already has. The water was hitting Kagome’s back like a relaxing massage, and her face was heating up thanks to the water and the look in Inuyasha’s eyes.

“W-what do we do first?” He stuttered nervously, quietly cursing himself from how lame he just sounded.

Kagome smiled shyly at him and shrugged, “We take turns under the water, silly.” Slowly, she backed up to get under the rest of the shower head and closed her eyes. Allowing herself to relax, and forget for just a second that her boyfriend was watching her underneath the downpour of water. She let the water engulf her, completely soaking up her hair and wetting her skin.

While she stayed underneath the rinse, Inuyasha stared in awe; as if he was watching a goddess bathe underneath a waterfall. She seemed too delicate to touch, and he felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be. This act of showering together was incredibly personal, because you get to watch your partner and interrupt their alone time. However, a shameful and selfish part of him loved this, because he loves every single part of Kagome; whether it is physical, emotional, or mental. Knowing she feels comfortable enough to do this, trust him enough to partake in this moment, and share a new experience with each other touched his soul.

She was this beautiful, sweet creature that deserves to be worshipped and cared for; and he will make sure he does that, because he loves her more than anything else in the world.

Kagome emerged from underneath the water and wiped away at her face to remove the water droplets from her eyes. Her gaze fell on his and she blushed again, totally forgetting for a moment that he was in here with her. She briefly wondered if he had enjoyed watching her shower, but immediately shooed away the lewd thought. That’s a question she would ask him later, right now she just wanted to focus on this shared moment with him.

“Your turn,” she smiled at him.

His hands wrapped around hers as he pulled her in closely, their bare chests touching skin to skin. He shivered at the feeling of the water from her body touching his, and she laughed at his reaction.

“S’not funny,” he growled as he bent down to kiss her, muscular arms suddenly wrapping around her back to keep her stuck to him. He felt her arms snake around his neck as she kissed him back, it was slow and lazy; but held the same passionate that all of their kisses held.

Kagome pulled away from his lips first, smiling at him slyly before turning them around and gently pushing him underneath the shower head. He jumped in surprise from the heat of water and coughed.

“Kagome!” He laughed, “What happened to you wantin’ this to be ‘cute and intimate’?”

She giggled as she leaned back against the wet tiles, “I’m sorry! I didn’t meant to make you swallow any water!”

Inuyasha pushed his bangs back and grinned at her, the little fangs poking out of his mouth making him look malicious. “Come here and I’ll forgive ya!”

She shook her head, biting her lip in response, “Nope!”

“Wrong answer!” He yelled, gently grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into the water. She squealed, giggling like a madman as she held onto him, trying not to choke on water as he kissed her face and neck.

“We’re gonna stay in here forever if this keeps up!” She laughed, holding onto his arms tightly to not slip.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Inuyasha replied huskily.

She gasped as he kissed her above her chest teasingly, he made sure he didn’t move lower; as tempting as it sounded, he wanted to keep this moment the way it was. Whatever happens when they get out of here, they’ll decide on that later, for now; he just wanted to enjoy this.

“Okay, okay!” Kagome reasoned, “If we’re going to be in here forever, we need to start using soap.” She gently tugged in his ear, “Which means no more kisses until after we rinse it off of us.”

Inuyasha’s lips landed on hers, kissing her languidly and fervently. Her back arched and her toes curled at the sensation, making their chests touch once again from the movement.

He pulled away and smirked at her, “I wanna wash ya.”

Her breath hitched as she nodded, “O-okay,” she replied. “I was going to ask you to, anyway.”

She backed away from the flow of water and handed Inuyasha her shampoo and conditioner bottles. The white bottles looked small in his hands, and she couldn’t help but think about how cute he looked. He squeezed out the contents onto his hand and rubbed them together, vanilla scented shampoo immediately kissing their noses. He motioned her to turn around, and once she did, he began to gently rub the shampoo into her hair. His claws were so gentle in her hair, the motions he did with his hands felt like a massage. Honestly, she could fall asleep with the way this felt; relaxing and de-stressing. The moment was gone too soon as he tapped her shoulder and told her it was time to rinse it off.

While she rinsed, he watched in bated breath at the beautiful woman before him. Truthfully, he wanted to pull her back in and kiss her senseless, but he knew better than to interrupt her during a shower. She just looked so incredible like this, naked and bare before him, and all he wanted to do was keep her close to him and hold her.

“Okay,” her voice echoed in the bathroom. “Time for conditioner?”

He nodded and they repeated the process, careful hands rubbing the contents into her hair and tapping her shoulder once again to alert her to rinse. However, she bent down and handed him her strawberry body wash, telling them that he can now wash her body too.

Inuyasha gulped, completely nervous and flustered, and began to spread the soap around her body. He rubbed at her arms and back, briefly taking a break to massage her shoulders since they were now slippery with soap. Afterwards, he spread the soap throughout the rest of her body, blushing madly when his hands touched certain parts of her that he loved to caress. Selfishly, he spent a little more attention on her chest, soaking in the little gasps and sounds she made whenever his fingers grazed over a certain spot.

While he continued to wash her body with her back against his chest, he tilted her chin towards his lips and kissed her. His hands rubbing soap against her chest and stomach, feeling every twitch from the muscles in her stomach and swallowing every gasp from her lips with his mouth.

Once satisfied with his work, he tapped on her tummy to let her know that she can now rinse off the soap and conditioner. Grinning to himself proudly at the look of bliss on his girlfriends face.

Kagome’s legs were shaking as she cleaned off the soap, doing her best to calm herself down after the intense intimacy they had just shared. After all the soap was gone, she stepped out of the water and pecked Inuyasha’s chest. “Okay Mr, it’s my turn now. Go wet your hair again.”

Inuyasha raised his hands in defense, “Yes ma’am,” he laughed.

After his long, silver hair was soaked in water again Kagome went to work. Spreading around the shampoo into his hair and gently massaging her fingers into his scalp, hopefully the movement allows him to relax for a little. He made her feel so relaxed, all she could do was hope that she could make him feel that way too.

While her hands massaged his scalp, Inuyasha closed his eyes and let go of everything around him; completely focusing on this current feeling. It felt so good, it was like he was on cloud nine. Her fingers moved against him so gently, as if he was this fragile thing that could break. There was a feeling bubbling in his chest as she continued her ministrations, and he pushed it back as best as he could.

“Go rinse,” her soft voice cooed, pulling him out of his trance.

Reluctantly he moved forward into the water, rinsing off the shampoo from his hair. He felt little hands tugging behind him as Kagome had gone ahead to help him clean his hair.

“Baby, what are ya doin’?” Inuyasha chuckled, “You’ve done enough.”

Kagome shook her head, forgetting that he couldn’t see her, “I want to do it.”

He let her, because who was he to tell her no? They were aware that he could do it on his own, and yet here she was, gently cleaning out the soap from his hair.

“You hair is so long, it needs conditioner.” She laughed, “Come back here so I can put some on.”

He listened to her and relished in the feeling of her hands in his hair again, practically falling asleep standing up as she did so. The tugging on his hair stopped, but before he could pout from how much he missed her hands in his hair, her small hands were on his back as she scrubbed him.

She was so gentle as she did it, using her body to rub some of the soap onto his, and her hands to reach other areas. Slender hands smoothed out and glided across his chest and stomach, leaving him extremely soapy there. Inuyasha couldn’t help but laugh, knowing good and well that she was enjoying himself just as much as he was.

When he went to rinse, she helped him out as well, wanting to be as close to him as she possibly could. With all of these new feelings, that feeling started bubbling up again in his gut, and he blinked away tears that formed in his eyes.

Kagome noticed the change in his face and stopped, moving to cup his cheeks instead and looking into his eyes. “Inuyasha?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wrapping his arms around her once again. “You’re too good to me.”

Kagome smiled, moving to leave a little kiss on his chest. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Under the flow of water, Inuyasha bent down to meet her lips once again. They kissed until she was pressed up against the cold, wet tile. With her small hands tucked into silver hair while his clawed ones held her waist.

“Thank you,” he told her as he pulled away. “Yer the most incredible thing to ever happen to me.”

Kagome leaned up to kiss his lips in a chaste kiss, “Thank you for sharing this moment with me.”

“Let’s do it again tomorrow,” Inuyasha replied huskily, kissing her neck in feverish speed.

Kagome tilted her head against the wall to expose her neck, breathing out slowly, “Somebody’s excited,” she teased.

Inuyasha chuckled into her neck, “Baby, if we ever manage to get out of this bathroom, I’ll show ya just how excited I am.”

He continued to kiss her as she squealed, the warmth of the water hitting his back as he kissed her for everything that she was worth; and then some more.

#inukag week #inukag #inuyasha #kagome #inukagxkagome #intimacy #fan fiction #inukag fan fiction #inukag fan fic #one shot #fluff #inukago #inuyasha x kagome #inukagweek

[complete-in-ix]

You've Got Diamonds For Teeth, My Love

Rated: M

Warning(s): Suggestive. Very suggestive. No smut, though

Description: Today is supposed to be a quiet day; one of the only days that could vaguely be considered "free time" so close to their comeback. Sumin had planned to spend it quietly in Jinsik's company, the two of them working on their own projects while in each other's orbit, because that's how most of their dates go to begin with, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

Unfortunately, Sumin's feelings—some new and some still unsaid from months ago—prove to be too much of a distraction for him. Then again, if it leads to them both discovering new things about each other, is it really such a bad thing?

(Read on Ao3)

Note if you don't use ao3 and can't see the notes I put there: I made Sumin trans and Jinsik autistic because I'm autistic and trans and I say so. I did the same thing with Jinsik in LYHSU, again because I'm autistic and I see him with my autistic eyes, however it should go without saying that I am not diagnosing him nor am I clocking Sumin, this is just my fun projection onto their stage personas.

It's unusually quiet in the dorms today. Minjae is holed up in his room, no doubt having been up since the previous night working on his own projects. Junmin has been dragged out by the four of the 05s for a day out on the town, though he only agreed to it on the condition that they come straight back home if they're spotted. All the better, really, considering their comeback is in less than a week. Speaking of the comeback, Hyunwoo has elected to stay in the practice rooms to clean up some choreo details that he claimed to be lacking in. Sumin thinks he's doing fine—especially considering his comparatively late start—but decided not to argue as he left. Jinsik is staying home to keep Junghoon company, so that leaves Sumin with the opportunity to be completely—well, almost—alone with his boyfriend for a whole day. It's not like they won't be getting anything done anyway; Sumin's got his notebook in his lap that he's drafting a new song in while Jinsik goes over his vocals.

Jinsik's voice is fucking gorgeous. Even while just going through warmups, he has Sumin mesmerized. It might be a bad thing, considering that he has projects to work on, but it's fine. There's no deadline yet, so he can afford to bask in his love a little longer. At this point, he's sure most Roadies have caught on to their relationship with how much he sings his praise for Jinsik's... Everything, really—not to mention their whole "honey-darling" thing getting exposed early on. It's not like he minds. From what he's seen while stalking his own searches, those who have caught on are at least graciously staying silent for their sake or are thinking that they're imagining things.

"Koong, koong, yeah no turning back~" Jinsik changes up his run at the end this time. He's surprised himself with how nice it sounds compared to his other practice runs, if the way he perks up like a happy puppy has anything to show for it. Sumin hides his smile behind his notebook. He'd hate to distract Jinsik with his feelings—which are very much not conducive to his practicing! Still, he can't resist the urge to compliment him.

"You should do that the next time we perform it live, jagi. Roady will go wild for it," he comments. He watches the blush dust Jinsik's cheeks, accompanied by that flustered half-smile he always has whenever someone praises him unexpectedly. Jinsik knocks his foot against his from the other side of the couch they've been sharing.

"Stop it. They'll go wilder for your killing scream—they have been, actually. Did you see how they reacted to the teaser?" Ah, Jinsik, humble and deflecting the praise as always. Good thing Sumin is persistent enough to keep laying it on until Jinsik accepts it.

"I did. I couldn't have done it without your voice leading me in, though." Sumin closes his notebook to seal his words in. He isn't going to get much work done at this point, anyway. Jinsik makes a sort of whining noise in complaint, staring off somewhere to the side instead of meeting Sumin's eyes. That's fine by Sumin, he knows how Jinsik is with eye contact. He won't force him. "I mean it! You have a really impressive high note before I scream anyway, Roady will love a double kill like that! I love it!" He crawls over to Jinsik's side of the couch, stopping just short of his lap. "I love you~ " he adds, just because he can.

"You're distracting me from my practice," Jinsik mutters, though his smile is audible in his words. He continues before Sumin can respond. "I don't mind, though. I was running words—out of the—running of—" he cuts himself off with an incoherent jumble of half-words, his tongue betraying him yet again. Cute.

"Take your time, jagi." Sumin reaches out to take Jinsik's hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Jinsik squeezes it back, fumbling with his free hand for his phone. He taps something out on his notes, passing it to Sumin after a moment.

"Was running out of words for 2day neway, if I kept going I wouldn't want 2 talk when the others get home :(" it says. Understandable, he's been practicing all their previous releases and every song on their upcoming comeback since they had finished lunch. Sumin expresses this much in the reply he types out on another line.

"That's fair, you've been at it for a while now. The others will understand though, you don't have to worry about that!" He passes Jinsik's phone back to him, watching his face while he waits for the reply. Jinsik's eyebrows furrow, and those pretty lips twist into a pout.

"Yea bt I wanna talk 2 them :( Idk it jst feels kinda unfair if I'm 2 tired 2 talk" Jinsik looks up at Sumin like a kicked puppy when he passes the phone back to him. Sumin's heart lurches in his chest. Jinsik is truly too sweet for this world.

"Jagiya, everyone would rather you be quiet and comfortable than force yourself to talk if you don't want to! If anyone gives you trouble for it, I'll scold them >:(" Jinsik's face breaks into a smile upon reading Sumin's reply. God, that smile. Sumin had already been enamored the moment he saw it. If Jinsik had looked like an untouchable angel before he smiled, then after he did, he looked like the sun's warmth personified; and Sumin was freezing . The way his eyes curve up into crescent moons, those adorable dimples, and his teeth... Those fucking teeth. So straight and white and a subtle sort of sharp that Sumin sort of really wants to feel sinking into his skin. He shakes the thought out of his head just in time for Jinsik to pass his phone back to him.

"You'll blow out everyone's ears lol" Sumin has to take a second to recall what they had just been talking about, having gotten more than a little caught up in his own head. Jinsik giggles as Sumin fumbles to reply. What can he say, at this point? Surely Jinsik has caught on to the state he's in, right?

"Uh. Sorry, head empty," Sumin stammers out loud, handing Jinsik's phone back to him with the cursor blinking on an empty line. Jinsik can't stop giggling as he types up his next message. Sumin bites his lip to hold back the rush of feelings that bubble up in his chest at the sound, all those soft and gushy sweet nothings that the others make fun of him for every time he lets them slip around them. It's not like he's embarrassed to be this in love, it's just... This is a side that only Jinsik can unlock. It's only fair that only Jinsik can see it.

"U were the one trying to distract me and now here u are~ U didn't even want to work on anything, did u? 🤨" Jinsik keeps grinning at him when he passes his phone over, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth like a playful puppy. This is not helping Sumin out of the pit he's falling into!

"I did, I was working on things!" Sumin whines out loud, pulling another round of giggles from Jinsik. Fuck it, might as well bite the bullet.

"But yeah I guess you're right... Since we're both distracted, can I just kiss you instead?" This time, Sumin is the one who can't face Jinsik while passing the phone back. It's sort of stupid how flustered he still gets even after they've been together for almost a year now. Then again, even after this long, Jinsik still finds new ways to thrill him.

Like now, when Jinsik's pocketing his phone instead of typing a new message and pulling Sumin the rest of the way into his lap. He reaches up to cup Sumin's face with his free hand, his thumb gently tracing over his lip in a silent request. Sumin's breath hitches.

"Please," he whispers. There's barely any space between them now, yet it's also far too much. Jinsik huffs out a laugh into that minute chasm between them. 

He knocks his forehead against Sumin's—most likely to tease him for still being too shy to initiate it when he had been the one to ask for a kiss to begin with—and finally closes the distance between them.

Sumin melts into him instantly. Jinsik smiles against his lips, soft and sweet. It shouldn't be this easy to wind him up, but here he is falling apart just from one kiss and the warmth of Jinsik's hand on his face. Then again, it's been quite a while since they've had time to be alone together, and it'll be even longer until they get this chance again. Best savour the chance while they have it.

Sumin sighs against Jinsik's lips, still so soft against his own even though he feels like a dog straining at its leash. Jinsik takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss, tilting his head and slotting their lips together until Sumin's head is spinning.

"Jagi," he all but whimpers. Jinsik hums in response, those deep brown eyes staring into his with so much unbridled love that Sumin's breath gets knocked straight from his chest. Not the best thing to happen considering he had broken the kiss to catch it, but that doesn't matter. His want for oxygen is irrelevant, he needs Jinsik. It must be obvious with the way Jinsik grins at him, his tongue curling around his canines and setting Sumin's heart alight.

"I really want you to bite me," Sumin blurts out, breathless and dazed. Jinsik gives a choked yelp, drawing back in surprise. He doesn't push Sumin away, at least. "I-I mean! I just—um." Sumin flails for the right words to explain himself, looking everywhere but Jinsik's flushed face. "I really like your teeth?"

Nailed it.

Jinsik gives a flustered squeak, his hands instinctively coming up to cover his mouth. Sumin has half a mind to stop him but refrains. Jinsik has never handled being suddenly restrained very well.

"Please don't misunderstand, it's just... I've been thinking about it for a while—”

“I’d say it was Jinsik,” Sumin had said upon being asked who in his team should be MVP for short-forms. “At first he seemed a bit awkward, but as time went by he started to relax and his charm started to come out.” At this point, he had known he was starting to ramble. He knew it could be risky for him to spill his feelings so obviously, but perhaps if he kept his face neutral, made sure his tone was even—something he was much better at than the boy whose heart is in his hands—then perhaps it would be okay. “His teeth are so even, so when he was telling the camera his superpower and showing them off, it was so ravishing that I picked him.” Okay. That was definitely way too much to say. He at least managed to say it neutrally enough that the PDs behind the camera didn’t notice anything off. His rambling made it into the final cut of the episode, interspersed with cuts of Jinsik’s gorgeous smile highlighted by some ridiculous glitter filter. Thank fuck he at least kept it together externally in front of the cameras. Sumin still remembers what it was like to actually watch Jinsik grin like that in person; his eyes helplessly drawn to the way his tongue lolled out of his mouth while he stuttered and reset his mouth before retaking yet another line, grinning all the while. Once he noticed, he couldn’t stop. It was killing him.

“—and I just think I would like it?" 

Sumin's doing an awful job at sounding sure of himself. Jinsik seems to agree, staring up at him like he's sprouted a tail. He drops Sumin's gaze after a moment. Sumin opens his mouth to explain further or drop the subject only to find all his words stolen from him at the sight of Jinsik lowering his hands.

Jinsik's tongue traces his teeth, slow and unsure. He gently bites down once he reaches his canine, its sharp point sinking into his flesh. Sumin's throat goes dry. Jinsik winces in pain, shutting his mouth and staring up at Sumin like he's been handed a gun and told to shoot. He doesn't let the eye contact waver this time, so Sumin knows it's serious.

"You won't hurt me, jagi. Your tongue is more sensitive than—" Sumin clears his throat to brace himself. "—I dunno, my neck." Fuck. Still stumbled. Jinsik drops his gaze, staring down at the coffee table instead. He seems to be fighting with himself over Sumin's suggestion. Sumin gives him another to alleviate his worry and fill the silence between them—not like they'd been especially loud before, he hopes. "I won't force you if you don't want to do it. You do know that applies to everything I ask you, right? If you say no, I won't be mad."

Jinsik nods slowly, his resolve finally returning to his eyes when he locks them with Sumin's again. He takes Sumin's hand, those pretty fingers wrapping around his wrist and bringing it up to his face. Sumin doesn't pull away, half suspecting Jinsik's intentions. As predicted, he presses his kiss-red lips to Sumin's fingers. Then, as not predicted, he parts them to place the first two fingertips between his teeth—not biting down yet, just holding them there. He hasn't taken his eyes off Sumin's for this entire exchange. The contrast between Jinsik's shy doe eyes asking him for permission and the blunt presence of his teeth already on Sumin's skin is so much hotter than he ever would have imagined.

"Yeah," Sumin chokes out, "go ahead." The words are thick in his throat and he's only half aware that they've even gotten out of him. Is this how Jinsik feels when he gets tongue-tied?

He doesn't have any time to contemplate the question before Jinsik's biting down; slowly at first, an almost imperceptible pressure that quickly blooms into twin pinpricks of pleasure-pain once he applies some real force into it. Sumin just barely bites down the whine bubbling up in his throat, but can't hide the shiver that rattles down his entire body. Jinsik releases him almost immediately, his eyes darting about in panic. Sumin rushes to reassure him.

"It's okay, I'm okay! It doesn't hurt," he soothes. "You can do it harder, I like it." His face burns with the admission, but it's not like he was lying. Jinsik raises his eyebrow, taking Sumin up on the challenge.

This time, he takes Sumin's fingers down to the second knuckle, parting them with his tongue until they're both directly between his teeth. He gives less warning and more force this time, emboldened by his first success.

Sumin can't hide his moan this time, slapping his free hand over his mouth to at least muffle the sound. Something darkens in Jinsik's eyes, reminiscent of the devil that Sumin sometimes sees while watching his fancams. He loosens his hold for just a second to let Sumin recover before closing his jaws around him again—the hardest bite yet. This one has Sumin slumping against the couch, weak with the want that's been burning in his stomach.

"What the fuck? " Hyunwoo's voice sounds from behind them. The combined force of Sumin and Jinsik's flinching nearly sends Sumin tumbling to the floor, saved only by Jinsik's arm around his waist.

"Can you not sneak up on me like that—" Sumin hisses, whipping around to glare at Hyunwoo. He hides his hand—his first two fingers slightly slick with spit—as quickly as he can, but the damage has been done.

"Can you not do that? At least not on the couch that we have to share?" Hyunwoo retorts. "You know what, I don't even want to know what you guys were doing, if you're not gonna stop, just take it to a room!" he storms off before Sumin can snap back at him. It doesn't stop Sumin from hissing a: "We weren't planning to do anything, but fine!" after him under his breath. He turns back to face Jinsik after a moment, somewhat shaky now that the adrenaline rush—both from being bitten and from getting caught—is starting to wear off. Jinsik gladly welcomes him back into his arms to hide. There's a slight shifting of Jinsik taking his phone back out of his pocket, and he taps Sumin's shoulder shortly after.

"Doesn't him leaving sort of defeat the point of us getting a room?" Sumin barks out a laugh upon reading Jinsik's message. Jinsik whines in complaint, lightly smacking Sumin's arm with his phone.

"Ah, sorry, I wasn't laughing at you," Sumin placates. He presses a kiss to Jinsik's cheek in apology, Jinsik melting against him in acceptance. "You're right, but we should probably move anyway. Now that Hyunwoo's home, we'll probably have more interruptions if we stay out here." Sumin is loath to leave the warmth of Jinsik's embrace, but he forces himself up and off the couch. "Do you want to keep going? We don't have to, I'll get back to work if you don't." Jinsik accepts the hand that Sumin holds out to help him up, although he just clings to Sumin in favour of going anywhere else. Sumin makes a questioning noise, unsure of whether he should leave Jinsik be or drag him to his room. He'd be lying if he said he didn't prefer the latter over the former, but he'd rather let Jinsik control the pace of their relationship.

"My room is farther from the others, let's go there," Jinsik's next message says, followed by: "I don't want to stop." The heat in Sumin's stomach—that had been significantly dampened by Hyunwoo's return—comes roaring back to life as he reads it.

All the words that he could say in response get caught in his throat at once, so he leans in to kiss Jinsik instead. Jinsik is quick to reciprocate, pulling him in by the waist and swiping his tongue over Sumin's lips.

Oh. He's eager.

Sumin's knees nearly give out on him at the realization, held up only by Jinsik's hold on him. They should probably get to Jinsik's room, fast.

"Mmh—jagi, come on," Sumin manages to stammer in between kisses. "Let's get to your room before someone else walks in." Jinsik growls against him in complaint, but he eventually relents, pulling back for just long enough to drag Sumin to his room and close the door behind them. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jinsik is back on him, all but tackling him onto his bed—thank god he's on the bottom bunk—and crashing their lips together again.

Sumin easily melts under him, pliant and weak for his enthusiasm. Jinsik has always thrown his all into expressing his feelings; crying when he's sad, laughing when he's happy—Sumin has yet to see what would happen if he gets angry, but just the thought of it sends a thrill down his spine like no other. This, though... Jinsik kisses him like he wants to eat him alive, all teeth and tongue that burns his desire into Sumin's very soul.

Jinsik wants him.

The realization has Sumin muffling a moan into Jinsik's mouth, blindly grasping at his cardigan to ground himself. Jinsik huffs a laugh against his lips, sultry and self-satisfied. He must be on a mission to single-handedly kill Sumin today. He guides Sumin a little farther up the bed to settle in next to him, breaking the kiss to slip the cardigan off. Sumin chokes on his own breath.

"Uh," he stammers. Perfectly articulate! Okay, can he really be blamed for losing his grasp on language at the sight of his boyfriend's arms? First of all, Jinsik is his boyfriend , second, he may not be as big of a gym rat as Minjae-hyung or Hunter but his arms are fucking nice . Third of all, Jinsik is kissing him again, so he has no need for words now, anyway. Jinsik keeps it relatively chaste this time, leaving Sumin to catch his breath while he leaves a line of kisses down his jaw leading down to his neck. Ah, right. He'd mentioned that earlier. Jinsik mouths over Sumin's pulse point, most likely able to feel his heart pounding through the sensitive skin there. Sumin digs his hand into the sheets, too shy to reach out and grab for Jinsik's waist despite their proximity. He's burning up, he realizes.

"Jagi—ah—hold on," Sumin groans, his speech slurred by the heat under his collar and Jinsik's ministrations. Jinsik immediately pulls back, his eyes shining with muted concern. It does little to mask how his pupils are blown wide open, something dark burning behind them that has Sumin biting back a whimper. He pulls himself together just enough to strip himself of his hoodie; the material much too thick and heat-trapping for what he's doing. Besides, he wants to feel Jinsik's touch. "Sorry, got too hot," he mutters, tossing it somewhere across the room.

Jinsik stares at him with nothing short of hunger . He still has a t-shirt on—they both do—but Jinsik's gaze is so intense that it feels like he can see straight through it; past his skin right to his jackhammering heart. Suddenly shy under Jinsik's scrutiny, Sumin crosses his arms over his chest, digging his fingers into his arms to hide his self-consciousness.

"What? My body isn't that built, is it?" he asks. He gives Jinsik a hopefully lighthearted smile, his eyes dropping away from Jinsik's eyes; down to his flushed cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips parted to reveal those fucking perfect teeth, the bob of his Adam's apple, the pretty jut of his collarbones. No matter where he looks, he can still feel Jinsik's gaze raking up and down his body like a floodlight.

Is this why Jinsik avoids eye contact all the time?  He'd once told Sumin that it feels too personal, too searching when other people look him in the eye. Sumin is sure that had been true, but perhaps Jinsik had also been protecting everyone else from himself. If he feels like this just from Jinsik looking at his body, surely he would combust if their eyes meet. He manages to hide his eyes until Jinsik reaches out for him again, grasping his hand and gently pulling it away from where he had been digging his nails into his arm. He hadn't even noticed the pain until it was gone. He lets his other arm drop, forcing the tension to bleed out from his shoulders so Jinsik knows he still has a green light.

"Sumin," Jinsik sighs, his voice low and ever so slightly rough from disuse. Sumin's eyes snap back up to meet his; if he's speaking again, it's serious. Jinsik's eyes are fathomlessly deep pools of love and desire, flecks of concern flashing within the depths. Sumin's breath is punched from his chest. "You're beautiful. It doesn't matter how built your body is, I still want it."

Sumin chokes on his own breath. Jinsik does too, if the panicked tongue-tied noises that accompany Sumin's wheezing have anything to show for it.

"I mean—not like that, I didn't—yes like that but—" Jinsik's half-sentence ends in a whine that he muffles into his free hand. Sumin lets out a flustered laugh, squeezing Jinsik's hand in reassurance.

"It's okay, I get what you mean. Do you want to keep going?" Sumin asks, his smile coming naturally now that some of the tension between them has dissolved. "You don't have to say it out loud, just kiss me if you do."

Jinsik wastes no time in diving right back in, twisting his hand so he can entwine his fingers with Sumin's as their lips meet. He's smiling against Sumin's lips, kissing him with a familiar spark behind it that has Sumin's heart swooping. He's grown more daring with this latest break, his free hand seeking out Sumin's and guiding it to his own waist. Sumin flails for half a second until Jinsik's tongue returns and he's gladly digging his fingers into that soft warmth. He's tempted to dip his hand under the fabric between him and Jinsik's skin, feel the way his muscles tense under him, maybe dig his nails in and leave marks somewhere the stylists won't see. He refrains. Better to let Jinsik make the first move on that front.

As if on cue, Jinsik's free hand slips under his shirt—not far, just his fingertips skimming over the jut of his hip. Sumin still feels sparks from his touch. Jinsik starts to pull back—most likely to check if that's okay with him—and Sumin surges up to reconnect them. This is more than okay with him, Jinsik could do pretty much whatever he wanted and Sumin would let him.

"Please," he whispers, in case Jinsik needs more clarity. Jinsik grins at him, somehow adorable and absolutely wicked at the same time. He gestures for Sumin to wait, pushing himself up to the headboard and propping himself up with his pillow. Heat rushes to Sumin's face. He can't possibly mean—! All of Sumin's thoughts fracture into nothing when Jinsik makes a "come hither" movement with his fingers. That has absolutely no right to be as hot as it is! Sumin bites back a fucking mewl as he crawls into Jinsik's lap, heat pooling honey-slow in his stomach. He settles a safe distance from Jinsik—close enough to not risk falling off, but still far enough for some breathing room just in case—hyper aware of how his legs are bracketing Jinsik's hips.

Contrasting Sumin's expectations, Jinsik doesn't immediately start digging into him. He's slow instead, almost reverent in the way he slides his hands up Sumin's thighs and up his shirt. Sumin lets out a shaky sigh as those pretty hands skirt over his hips, one hand settling at his waist and the other continuing up to his chest until he can trace the scars there. He's painfully gentle, glancing up into Sumin's eyes as his fingers follow the lines left by Sumin's surgeon.

Jinsik tilts his head up at him. He already knows about this aspect of Sumin's life, but they've never really gone into extensive detail about it. Sumin can see the questions drifting about in the sea of love that are Jinsik's eyes. Is it okay to touch you here? Did it hurt? What was it like, having to deal with this before? Sumin only nods to answer the first, the rest can come later.

"Come here, jagi," Sumin murmurs. "Don't be shy." He drapes his arms around Jinsik's neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He sort of wants to take it off him, expose the unmarred skin underneath and ravage him until he's fully marked up as his and only his. He refrains, though. He'll wait for Jinsik to let him first, and he has plenty of patience.

Jinsik, ever the sweet boyfriend, pulls Sumin into a hug. He sighs against the crook of Sumin's neck, soft lips brushing over his throat. Sumin shivers under him, yet again reminded of the sharp teeth hidden behind that softness.

"Love you," Jinsik whispers, and then he's pressing a kiss to Sumin's pulse point and sinking those teeth in.

"Ah—!" Sumin's gasp is far too loud for the space they're in; although it's not like he's in any state to care. He tangles his fingers into Jinsik's hair to hold him there, even when it starts to hurt. Jinsik releases him right when it's at the edge of too much, lapping his tongue over the bite like some kind of beast. Sumin keens, tilting his head to give Jinsik better access.

Jinsik practically purrs , kissing and biting his way down Sumin's neck until he's filling the room with his gasps and bitten-off moans. He soothes every bite with his tongue, the hand on Sumin's waist tracing patterns into his skin to ground him as he squirms.

"Love you," Jinsik whispers after a particularly hard bite. "Love you so much."

The hand that had been tracing his scars comes to rest over Sumin's heart, perhaps the only thing keeping it from beating out of his chest. Sumin would let him take it out of its cage any day, hold him while it bleeds and beats just for him. A year earlier, he would have been scared to be so completely at Jinsik's mercy; now it just thrills him all the more. Jinsik is good to him—too good, sometimes—he can handle a little pain.

"I love you too," Sumin sighs. "More than I can ever say." Jinsik makes a soft noise of dissent. He takes his hand out from under Sumin's shirt to press a finger to his lips. Sumin understands it perfectly: "Don't say it, then. Just show me."

He does exactly that, entwining his hand with Jinsik's and kissing him hard. Jinsik hums appreciatively against his lips, opening up to his mercy. Sumin nearly nicks his tongue against Jinsik's teeth, drawing a low moan from his boyfriend.

Oh. So this is how he had been feeling.

Sumin's world tints pink upon this first taste of control; he'd very much like to drown in it now that he knows the hold he has over Jinsik. He hardly lets himself up to breathe, diving in deeper every time he returns. With the way he now leans over Jinsik, he's forced to guide his hands to his hips to avoid hurting Jinsik's wrist; he has to dig his fingers in to ground himself at some points. Sumin hopes they leave bruises.

He shifts a little so he can return the favour, bracing Jinsik's neck with one hand while the other snakes up the side of Jinsik's shirt. He openly moans into Jinsik's mouth when he reaches the dip of his waist, toned and irresistible. He's going to have a hard time keeping his hands off once tonight is over. Jinsik shivers, ticklish under his touch. Sumin itches to dig his nails in. Would Jinsik like it as much as he likes Jinsik's grip on his hips? Would he squirm away from his hand, breaking the kiss to laugh? He lightly scratches down Jinsik's waist, just to test the waters. 

Jinsik jolts at the contact, breaking the kiss with a gasp. Sumin's halfway to pulling back to ask if he's okay until Jinsik's squeezing his hips so hard they definitely bruise. The noise he makes is so desperate that there's no way that Sumin could possibly misinterpret it—especially not when accompanied by the pleading look in those dewy eyes.

"Do you like that, jagi?" he coos, even though he already knows the answer. Jinsik nods so hard that he nearly clocks Sumin in the jaw if not for his quick reflexes. He presses quick, insistent kisses all along Sumin's jaw; his form of begging when he isn't in the mood to speak. Fuck, he's so cute. Sumin obliges before Jinsik can start whining, leaning down to claim his lips and his waist this time. The kiss starts off gentle, a stark contrast to the blunt scrape of his nails in Jinsik's skin.

It's hard not to be a little rough from then onward. Jinsik's reactions are intoxicating; arching into Sumin's touch the harder and higher up his chest that he scratches, moaning into Sumin's mouth until he's sucking on Sumin's tongue to muffle himself. Sumin feels fucking feral. The heat that had been smoldering in his stomach has long blazed into something out of control, throbbing dully deep inside him to the beat of his racing heart. Jinsik is just as hot—both figuratively and literally—but it doesn't stop Sumin from pulling himself ever closer into his lap. He wants to be closer, wants to feel him until just touching isn't enough, until there's nothing between them and—

Oh.

Oh.

Jinsik pulls back with a yelp, his entire body snapping taut like a puppet's. It takes half a second for him to regain control of his hands; another hand second for him to start pushing Sumin away. The sharp knife of alarm is quick to cut through Sumin's haze of arousal, though the whiplash in mood has him a little sluggish.

He scrambles to get off Jinsik's lap, his legs tangling with themselves and tripping him so he falls somewhere farther down the mattress. He shakes himself back to a state of semi-clarity, his chest heaving to catch his breath.

"Jagiya? You okay?" he asks. Sure the sudden rejection may sting a little, but something had clearly spooked Jinsik; his comfort is more important than Sumin's libido—he has his hands and a toy for that.

Jinsik makes a whine of distress, patting at the sheets in search of his phone. His eyes dart every which way, so quickly that Sumin feels dizzy just looking at him. He's still panting heavily—which would be incredibly hot in any other context than this clear panic. Sumin's stomach drops in dread. What had he done? What can he do?

"Jinsik, please breathe," Sumin murmurs shakily. "I'm not upset. You know that I'm not upset, right?" He rushes to reassure him, though there isn't much he can do from here but hope that his words get through to him. Jinsik doesn't do well with being touched during an upcoming meltdown. Jinsik gives a somewhat absent nod, half-choking on his own breath. It at least forces him to slow down slightly, a drop of clarity returning to his eyes. "Looking for your phone?" Jinsik nods again, heaving one last painful breath before swallowing and forcing himself to steady his breathing. His hands tangle white-knuckled in the sheets, unsuccessful in their search. Sumin remembers it had been in his pocket; one glance at Jinsik's lap is enough to tell him it's still there. Something else is also quite prominent that hadn't been there before.

Sumin's face flushes a deep red, and he turns his head away so quickly that his neck cracks.

"It's, uh," he stammers, clearing his throat. "It's still in your pocket." He spots the cardigan that Jinsik had discarded earlier and blindly tosses it in his direction; a little cover so they can both have a little cover from the, uh, situation at hand.

There's a strained sort of hum of thanks from Jinsik, then the room falls silent save for the frantic tapping of Jinsik's fingers on his phone. Sumin uses the time to calm himself down and think of how to respond to whatever Jinsik has to say. Realistically, he should have known something like this would have happened. Sure they've made out before, but never this intensely—not to mention ever getting this close to going a step further. It's a natural progression for a relationship, but they need to talk about these kinds of things first. Even though they had fallen for each other at first sight, they still talked just as friends for months, then talked through every step of their relationship once they—and the rest of the group—were unable to ignore their feelings for each other. They'd had plenty of conversations about how to properly accommodate Jinsik—that also ended up helping the rest of the group as a whole—and perhaps they could have had a few more conversations about Sumin's body and what he could or couldn't do with the others, but this... This is a complete blind zone for them both. No wonder Jinsik had panicked so badly.

Jinsik growls in frustration from his place at the headboard. Sumin glances over at him—the cardigan is securely over his lap and concealing their main source of stress—and is met with the sight of him glaring at his own phone, erasing another message.

"Jagi," he calls out, softly enough to not startle him but firmly enough that Jinsik pauses his typing. "You don't have to be so stressed out. I'm not upset at you. It's only natural that you panicked, we didn't talk about this beforehand. I'm sorry for startling you." He makes his way back to Jinsik's side as he speaks, careful not to touch him. Jinsik sighs, some tension visibly bleeding from his shoulders as he types up one last line.

"M really sorry for freaking out it ws jst 2 much yeobo m sry :(" it says on one line. The next line under it reads: "I know ure not mad bt I still feel bad for it since u obviously rly liked it" . The third and final line reads: "Ye we def still need 2 talk bcus I rly don't think I'm ready to do that yet m sry :("

"Yah, stop apologizing!" Sumin chides out loud as he reads through them. Jinsik flinches, but he at least manages a weak smile. "It doesn't matter how much I liked it, now I'm just worried that I was pushing you. How were you feeling?" he asks. Normally, he would take Jinsik's phone to type that up himself, but his brain is going too fast for his fingers at the moment and he needs to let Jinsik know that none of this is his fault nor would Sumin ever hold this to him as fast as he can. Jinsik takes it well, typing out a new message in response.

"I liked it 2, if ure nervous abt scratching me u rly don't have 2 worry bcus I liked that the most" Jinsik hides his face with his free hand while he shows this one to Sumin, although Sumin can still see the blush creeping down his ears and neck. He breathes a sigh of relief; that had been exactly what he was worried about.

"That's good, because I liked doing it," Sumin admits, his voice fraying a little at the edges near the end. He clears his throat to try again. "I liked it when you bit me. I already thought I would, but having it actually happen was a totally different experience." Jinsik's breath hitches, and he yanks the phone back to type another line.

"How long were u thinking abt that?!" It's Sumin's turn to blush this time. Would it be too much to admit it?

"Since we were making those first short-forms with Young Prince for Let's Go Xikers," he mutters. Jinsik makes a strangled noise in response instead of typing out a message. "That's when I first noticed! Then I just couldn't un-notice, and then I would watch your fancams for fun and you were always grinning so widely and showing off your teeth, so I would start thinking, and then—" Sumin cuts off his own rambling with a muted scream that he muffles into his hands. The bed creaks with Jinsik's laughter next to him, so contagious that he can't help but laugh as well, slightly delirious from the emotional rollercoaster that he's just been through. "Ugh, don't get me started on it, I'll work myself up again..." he groans into his hands.

As much as he's tried to talk himself down—and this conversation has certainly helped—he's still running quite hot. He should probably leave if Jinsik is still overwhelmed; he knows Jinsik prefers company to help him calm down, but if he still wants him during this, it'll do no good. Jinsik taps his shoulder after a moment, a new message displayed on his phone.

"I don't mind that part.. I don't want u 2 leave, I jst don't want 2 do more than kiss" Jinsik takes the phone back before Sumin can respond, typing up an addition at lightning speed. “As long as that's ok with u? If u want to leave I won't stop u bt I want u to stay" Sumin's heart melts at the sight.

"Of course I'll stay," he says with a smile. "I'm tired after all that anyway, I won't go as far if we keep going." Jinsik hums in contentment and pockets his phone to pull him into his arms. Sumin easily goes along with his embrace, guiding them down so they're lying down properly. He rests his head on Jinsik's chest, lulled by his heartbeat. It's still faster than usual, but at least not pounding hard enough to cause concern. Jinsik's hand comes up to play with his hair, gentle fingers undoing the knots that had been woven into it by their earlier action. Sumin all but purrs. He brings his own hand up to trace mindless patterns over Jinsik's chest that eventually morph into a repeating "I love you."

It doesn't take long for Jinsik to notice, and then he's smiling and pulling Sumin up to kiss him again. It's tender this time, still relatively heated but free of the urgency of all their previous kisses. Sumin sighs against him. He already sort of is, but still; he could get used to this.

There's a knock on the door before he can, though. They both freeze, staring at each other in mutual dread. If anyone else walks in on them like this, they'll never hear the end of it!

"Jinsik-hyung? Are you sleeping?" Yujun's voice sounds faintly from behind the door. They let out a sigh of relief in unison; Yujun will at least wait for a response before coming in.

"Yes, you were until he knocked," Sumin whispers, tugging the blankets out from under himself and tossing them over both their bodies. "Just roll with it. If he asks, I'm still sleeping." Jinsik nods, pulling out his phone to type out a message for Yujun. Sumin spots him saving his previous messages to him in another folder before opening up a new one before he's rolling over and shutting his eyes. If he can't help but smile in his pretend sleep, that's only for him to know.

===

Yujun can faintly hear a vaguely awake noise from behind Jinsik's closed door. He knocks again, just to be sure.

"Hyung? Can I come in?" he asks. Jinsik gives an approving hum, and he cracks the door open.

Jinsik's lying propped up on one arm, his phone held out in one hand with a message for Yujun to read. Next to him, Sumin is fast asleep.

"Sry, out of words today. We were just taking a nap, what's happening?" Yujun makes a little "ah" in understanding upon reading Jinsik's message. Everyone's been tired while preparing for this comeback, he doesn't blame him or Sumin for wanting a little more rest.

"It's dinnertime, Junmin-hyung bought takeout." Jinsik nods, pausing to glance over at Sumin before typing out his next message. Yujun's heart squeezes in envy. His hyungs are so cute together, when can he have something like that?

"We'll b right out, let me jst wake up Sleeping Beauty and we'll b right there" Yujun fake gags at how sappy his hyung is. Jinsik huffs out a laugh and halfheartedly swipes at him, but Yujun is quick to dodge.

"Couples," he mutters under his breath. "I'll let the others know you're coming, take your time!" he says as he steps out.

He closes the door behind him, and five minutes later his hyungs are trudging out of Jinsik's room looking at least vaguely put together for a couple of people waking up from an afternoon nap.

"Oh my GOD," Hyunwoo shrieks when the two sit down. "I knew you two were fucking!" Everyone else chokes except Junghoon, unbothered as always.

"Language!" Minjae and Junmin hiss in unison over Yechan's hysterical laughter.

"We were not ," Sumin growls, death glaring Hyunwoo so hard that Hunter half hides behind Seeun. Jinsik is fighting himself to form words properly, frantically tapping at his phone for a response. Yujun blinks in confusion.

"Yeah, they were asleep!" he cuts in. Then he catches sight of Sumin's neck. One side is entirely covered with marks, varying shades of pink blooming across his skin.

Oh god.

The stylists are going to kill them for this!

#you've got diamonds for teeth my love #xikers #sumsik #canon compliant #annual #technically the sequel to let your heart speak up but can be read as a standalone #it's 4am and i've been working on this for like a week good fuckin night

[brunchbitch]

update!

thought i would do an update as it’s been forever since i’ve done one.

so the school year is finished - i successfully completed my first year of full time grad school! going into last year, i had some doubts about whether i would be able to make it the whole year without going into the hospital, but i did it! i’ve also REALLY worked hard on my perfectionism this year... mostly, to be honest, bc of smoking weed. there are obviously many cons to how frequently i’m using marijuana, but for where i am right now, it has been soooo helpful in allowing me to chill the fuck out. my anxiety and perfectionism just really decreased overall. like i would have the option of reviewing and making minor edits to my papers for the 30th time, or i could go smoke a joint with A and settle for what might be less than perfect (but honestly my grades really didn’t suffer compared to when i wasn’t smoking weed). i don’t want to get anons telling me that it’s bad i’m using marijuana regularly so go ahead if you want to, but i’m gonna delete them. i’ve been talking to B a lot about the pros and cons, he is fully aware of how much and how often i am using, and we are working on harm reduction plans to decrease the frequency/amount, but it’s really not my biggest concern right now.

behaviorally, i am doing really well. i haven’t self harmed in a year and a half now, though i had several nights in a row last week where i had intense cutting dreams and i really really miss it, that quick sense of exhilaration and relief. there’s really nothing else like it. but i’ve been able to avoid any lapses. ED wise my behaviors are nonexistent. one of the cons of smoking so much weed is that i get the munchies so badly so intuitive eating has honestly completely gone out the window. i’m eating a lot more than i need to and a lot of “unhealthy” foods, so i have gained weight, although the weight i gained at the beginning of the pandemic when i was smoking a lot has pretty much remained consistent since then. i also haven’t been working out at all since the pandemic started. i really want to get back into exercise and recently met with a personal training gym so i’m going to get into a routine this summer. i’m nervous but excited - the purpose is NOT to lose weight (though i would be lying if i said i don’t hope it’ll happen), but to just not feel winded after climbing a flight of stairs. i truly just want to feel healthier and stronger. 

most likely bc of the no exercise piece, my back has been BAD. that’s another reason i’m motivated to get back into exercise. i have never felt the type of pain i’ve experienced with my back in the last couple years. right now i’m in the middle of a flare-up which has been going on for about three days to the point where it wakes me up at night. i am sooo uncomfortable and walking around like an old woman lol. unfortunately, the back pain reinforces the smoking marijuana piece bc it really helps the pain! at that point, i don’t even care that i might get the munchies, i just want to stop hurting.

my internship from the school year, which i loved, asked me to stay on as a part-time case manager this summer, so i’m gonna work for them for about 8 weeks longer than i would have for just my internship. we are planning an event for world refugee day, which will be my last day, and i’m so excited to see all the clients and foster families gather together. the case manager who has been on maternity leave for most of the year will also be returning in june so i’ll be able to meet with her directly and update her on how our clients have been doing.

i am really excited about my internship for next year, but i am REALLY stressed and worried about my schedule. i’ll be at the internship monday through wednesday probably 8:30am-5pm. i really got fucked by the class registration at my school so i had to submit waitlist requests for all of my classes. as a result, i was put in four classes all on thursdays. so my day will start at 8:30am and end at 9pm. i will have a bit of a break after my first class where i would have time to go home and take a nap, but otherwise the three classes are basically all in a row. i genuinely don’t know how my back is going to handle it. it would definitely be nice to have fridays off (besides therapy and the gym and any other doctor’s appointments i would have), but i would much rather have one or two classes on fridays to lessen the stress of thursdays. there is an option to do a program modification request where i would take two of my elective classes next summer instead of in the fall, so i wouldn’t graduate in may, but i don’t really care about that. so i’ve been looking at the pros and cons of doing that with B.

therapy with B is going well. it’s such a different type of therapy since i was in the GR. i feel like we are much more collaborators than the dynamic of him being “in charge” of me, and it’s been really helpful and empowering. i’m so much more able to look at certain feelings or thoughts or experiences without the heavy veil of shame on top, and it has completely changed the way i think about my situation. in addition, i’ve taken a big step back from my family. it’s been really hard and i still feel some guilt about it, especially not really being a part of my nieces’ and nephews’ lives, but i also feel so much stronger and confident in my own opinions. there have been some financial situations in which i had to stand up to my dad and hold my ground despite his persuasion otherwise, and i’ve been proud of my ability to do that, though it does feel strange and “wrong” in some ways. i honestly think he’s a little baffled bc i’ve never really had strong opinions before in ways that run counter to his, or at least that i’ve never expressed them.

my sister in law, wife of one of Them, has been sick. she was diagnosed with narcolepsy type 1 so she has cataplexy attacks where like half of her face will be paralyzed and droop or she will lose any ability to move her arms or legs or speak. she was getting out of the car and collapsed and my brother had to carry her inside. my niece was in the car and she asked my brother “is mommy gonna die?” it’s really been hard on all of them, she is SO depressed, and there really hasn’t been any treatment that has helped her. my whole family is sort of surrounding her in support by watching the kids, bringing her meals, sitting with her, etc. and we had a zoom call recently (without her) to discuss how we can all contribute. which felt weird. but it’s also nice to not be the “identified patient” of the family anymore lol.

things with A are going very well :) we continue to talk about marriage and possibly having kids. i thiiiiiink there’s a proposal in the cards this summer, though i’m not entirely sure. he has helped me soooo much this year and i think a big part of my behavioral stability has been thanks to him. i feel so seen by and safe with him. 

luna and lia are doing pretty well, though luna has developed asthma so we’re trying to teach her how to use an inhaler, and lia has a bad habit of vomiting her food, even when we use a slow feeder (”licky mat”), but it’s possible she’s been nibbling on one of A’s plants which can cause vomiting in cats. so, small things, but having them be sick at all makes me anxious! i just don’t know what i would do without them.

hmm... i think that’s it! if anyone wants to ask me anything, i’m open! and i’m sorry i haven’t been active on here. not sure what my future usage will look like but i’ll keep you all updated!

#update #personal #a #lia #luna #tw weed #tw marijuana #weed #marijuana #perfectionism #anxiety #recovery #therapy #b #grad school #ed recovery #bpd

[mycinecollection]

The Misfits (1961) - Flawed but emblematic

In 2022, Olivia Wilde's "Don't Worry Darling" has been making more headlines about the immense behind the scene drama than its filmmaking achievements. It may be the most recent case of "backstage issues overshadowing the movie itself" but it certainly ain't the first, more less the most intriguing. In 1961, John Huston's "The Misfits" was released and became way more remembered for being full of production issues and the very last movie of mythic Hollywood stars Marilyn Monroe and Clark Cable than for its tale of four lost souls wandering in Nevada.

So what is this movie all about after all?

"The Misfits" is a drama/western about a recently divorced woman named Roslyn (Monroe) who meets war-veteran widow Guido (Eli Wallach) and aging cowboy Gay (Cable) and, having not a single idea of what to do with her own life, goes on a series of little adventures with them, picking up another lost cowboy (Perce, played by Montgomery Clift) on their way. With such a star-crowded cast and legendary director John Huston behind the camera, I had high expectations for this one but unfortunately I do not think it belongs to the "best works" list of any of those Hollywood icons.

It's not that this is a bad movie. It does have great cinematography and some very interesting scenes, dialogues and reflections. Each character has a sad, frustrating backstory and is somewhat trying to go on without knowing much what to do. In this sense, the movie is relatable and did not age at all. The dilemmas some of these people face are realistic and allow the viewer to connect with them even in current times.

However, it is too flawed to be regarded as a masterpiece. First, Monroe's character seems poorly written. Not only that, she is clearly written by a man. It's just so unauthentic how she makes some very valid points against some of the male characters actions (especially Gay's) just to run back to them a minute later, pretty much accepting whatever they give her. To me she's exactly how the average man of the 60s saw a women: she's caring, sensitive and sensual (but not vulgar), but also depicted as hysteric and resigned. What makes it even worse is that the scriptwriter was Monroe's own husband (!), although their marriage failed during the production. One thing seems to have affected the other, as Monroe was apparently disappointed too on how her character was written, while Miller seems to have incorporated some of his own disappointments about his then-wife in parts of the script.

Another thing I disliked about the movie was its uneven pacing. The first half has many scenes but feel too slow. I just kept asking myself "ok but how long I'll have to wait for something actually interesting to happen?".

I must say that the second half does deliver good performances, hard-to-watch scenes and actual drama between the characters. All that in a stunning landscape with beautiful shots from cinematographer Russell Metty. That second half does make up for the almost boring beginning of the movie. It does show melancholic performances from stars who were all in one way or another feeling as lost and in pain as their own characters.

I did find the ending lacklustre though, again because of how Roslyn actions just did not make sense to me! After that great climax scene with all the characters facing up to their personal values, trying to understand to what they stand for, to just end it like it was a story about a couple going through a marriage crisis seemed simply so...silly.

Ok so the movie has its moments and it's worth-watching for the sake of it, now what about the drama?

The fact that this movie was completed is already a great achievement given all the problems it went through in the production stage.

Starting with director John Huston, who apparently spent a good amount of his time during filming gambling in Nevada casinos, often showing up on set not in his best shape after his nights out.

Then, we had Marilyn Monroe. She was already notorious for forgetting lines, showing up late (or not showing up at all) and being addicted to pills and alcohol when "The Misfits" was shoot but this time seemed to be even worse. Her marriage with scriptwriter Arthur Miller fell apart in the middle of the filming and the pair stayed in separate rooms and wouldn't even talk to each other in the later stages of the production. Shooting was even shut down for two weeks while Marilyn went to the hospital to detox. Given all the problems Monroe was going through during the make of this movie, it should not be surprising that this was her last completed film.

Monroe was not the only star in this movie to be in pain. Montgomery Clift was dealing with severe alcohol and pills addiction too, his mental state never fully recovering from the shocking car accident he suffered in 1956. Marilyn even famously described him as the only person she knew who was in worse shape than herself. Although Clift lived for another 6 years after "The Misfits" , cowboy Perce was his last relevant role.

Lastly, we have Golden Age icon Clark Gable, who complained about Marilyn's dysfunctional behaviour on set and was also annoyed with director John Huston money-losing habits. Gable was approaching his 60s during filming , with a deteriorating health after decades of heavy drinking and smoking. The actor died of a heart attack just days after shooting wrapped, but lived enough to see rough cuts of the movie and be happy with what would be his last performance.

MyCineCollection Score (MCCS) : 7

"The Misfits" (1961)

Dir. John Huston

IMDB: 7.2

Letterboxd: 3.68

Metascore: 77

Rotten Tomatoes (A): 78%

Rotten Tomatoes (C): 97%

MCCS: 7

Average: 7.8/10

#themisfits #marilyn monroe #clark gable #montgomery clift #cinema #1960s

[luuurien]

Westside Gunn - Peace “Fly” God

(East Coast Hip Hop, Boom Bap, Gangsta Rap)

Westside Gunn's latest mixtape is exceedingly decent. Recorded in just two days after returning from Paris Fashion Week, the Buffalo rapper proves his formula still works, even as it begins to feel like his signature boom bap sound loses a bit more of its shine with every new release. Peace "Fly God isn't bad by any means, but it doesn't do anything we haven't already heard enough times before.

☆☆☆

If you've got a formula that works, why get rid of it? For Westside Gunn, that's been both a blessing and a curse: he more or less revitalized the boom bap sound in contemporary hip hop with himself and the Griselda crew shooting their way to the top of 2010s rap, and his best work proves why his domination is well-earned, with opulent and luxurious beats underpinning grimy stories of New York ruthlessness that feels like a reverent painting doused in oil and grease, the kind of rap best experience on late night drives and downtown walks. His work ethic has always been second to none, releasing multiple projects every year and never letting anything get in the way of his creative drive, and that hasn't changed even now with the world in his hands. Peace "Fly" God, his latest mixtapes recorded in just two days with Stove God Cooks and Estee Nack after his return from Paris Fashion Week, once again shows how strong a sound Gunn has cultivated over the years, the mixtape's quick production time still including all the things that make his music so great, thick boom bap beats and whiskey-smooth production that emphasizes Gunn's unique cadence and fits perfectly with anyone he decides to work with. At its best, Peace "Fly" God proves that Gunn's sound is evergreen, always a pleasure to have around and rarely anything less than great to listen to. What Peace "Fly" God does expose to me, though, is that Westside Gunn can only take things so far when keeping within the boundaries of his signature sound. I know that sounds like a given, but it's important to recognize just how similar these songs are to the ones he was putting out back in the mid 2010s - I'm not hyperbolizing in the slightest when I say that songs like Ritz Barlton and Horses on Sunset could have been on FLYGOD or any of the Hitler Wears Hermes mixtapes and not sound out of the ordinary even a bit - and while that doesn't make Peace "Fly" God a bad project by any means, it makes me wonder about how much Gunn can expand on his sound in the future. It could just be the mixtape's speedy, ramshackle production not being able to deliver the same richness of Pray for Paris or Supreme Blientele, but when half the album's tracks are shoddily made drumless tunes that don't have nearly enough instrumental punch to stick the landing, particularly Jesus Crack with its eight minute runtime that leaves so much space between Nack's verses that it has absolutely no right taking up about a fourth of the runtime. This limited scope in production has always been a brick wall looming over Gunn and the larger Griselda group's music for years now, but Peace "Fly" God sees Gunn running straight into it and not looking for any way to get around it. Are these songs all good? Sure, for the most part, none of them are unlistenable or poorly made. But are they doing anything new or exciting within Gunn's discography? Not by a long shot. Gunn himself is also unusually sparse across Peace "Fly" God's ten tracks in both production and rapping. He's always been a curator open to letting collaborators and features take control over where certain songs go, but he doesn't even get a single verse on Bobby Rhude as Nacks gets the entire song to himself and doesn't make much of an impression when he is on the mic, either, leading to a sense of disengagement within the mixtape that's rarely present within Gunn's tight-knit projects. Out of the album's four producers, three of them are longtime Griselda collaborators, with Conductor Williams, Daringer and Madlib all appearing more than a few times on previous Griselda releases, and while again that's not an inherently bad thing, it further contributes to this feeling of stagnation that prevents Peace "Fly" God from standing out within Gunn's discography. People have been saying Westside Gunn's been making the same song over and over again since the start of his career, and while that's not entirely true, I wouldn't call it entirely inaccurate either when Peace "Fly" God makes it so apparent how homogeneous a sound he sticks to on every release. What really matters is how convincingly he's able to sell you the experience of these regal, moody boom bap tunes, and the fast-tracked creation of Peace "Fly" God makes that an impossibility when there's not time for the music to refine itself. On the whole, Peace "Fly" God is still a fine mixtape. It's got some great songs and doesn't overstay its welcome, and Gunn's charisma and personality still comes through as strongly as ever. But what the quickfire pace of the mixtape's release reveals is that Westside Gunn's music has to establish itself intensely in order to get you pulled in, or risk becoming not much more than enjoyable background music. Westside Gunn's sound is one so lavish and fun to listen to that there's no way that his projects can be anything less than good, but it Peace "Fly" God is riding the knife's edge between familiarity and boredom. When it works, it works, but it all comes by too quickly and unceremoniously to feel like it's worth coming back to. He knows what he's good at, and he does a remarkable job at keeping his music consistent and well-dressed, but what Peace "Fly" God lacks is that extra dimension, that little bit of grit and explosivity that brings things to the next level and has made for Westside Gunn's best previous project. For better or worse, it's Westside Gunn at his bare minimum.

#westside gunn #peace fly god #griselda #boom bap #drumless #east coast hip hop #gangsta rap #hip hop #jazz rap #2022 #6/10

[lilgynt]

oh my god

oh my oddddd

#personal #hi welcome to i just learned that my past experiences with over stimulation were not the worst they could get #that was the most violent like #five to ten minutes of my life #you know how like with happy stimming you can feel the residual like #feeling? like both the happiness and the stimming #my god i still feel the just #everything in my arms #wow. at the tail end i was like i think i need to call like. a suicide line i might actually kill my self tonight oh my god #wow. #like bad night to begin with. i have work in less than four and half hours #went to take a shower (it has taken over three hours to do this) #dad moved the soap to the sink with the hand wash soap #and he left a towel in the wrong place so it hit me when i stepped out and fell on the floor and i just lost it #holy shit that was horrible i’m so tired

[tarydarrington]

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

-

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath. 

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #mine #mine:fic #caleb #essek

[angry-geese]

Sukuna requests. S/o makes fun of him all the time, calls him weak, etc. What nobody knows at the beginning is that s/o is significantly stronger than sukuna

The Definition of Human - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: some swearing but its pretty tame. mention of death, and violence. Sukuna kind of needs his own warning. sfw. gn!reader.

a/n: as much as i love the idea of sukuna being soft for his human s/o i also love the thought of them being much stronger than him and him having no clue what do to with that

Word Count: 2.1k

You were just a sorcerer when he first met you, barely an adult, cast out by your village.

Someone so powerful hadn't been born for centuries. A sorcerer like you could turn the world of Jujutsu on its head. And that was the last thing they wanted to happen. The older you grew, the more unpredictable you became. You were far too strong for the village elders to handle. While you could have been a powerful ally, you would have been an even worse foe. The very people that had raised you, who taught you how to use your powers had begun to fear you.

Though you weren't trussed up like a sacrifice, you were sat by one of his altars like one.

It was only by chance you stumbled across such a thing. The surrounding woods were vast, and winding. No matter what path you took, you always seemed to wind back up by them. Perhaps it was a work of sorcery, meant to keep you lost in the woods forever. No trail seemed to lead back home. The village elders never expected you to last long on your own against the elements, let alone the King of Curses. But growing exhausted, and hungry, you had little choice but to stop and rest. The altar had offerings in the form of food, and a place to rest. Far more than Sukuna needed. You figured he wouldn't notice if you took a few things.

At the base of an altar sat a much smaller form. A human, one from the local village. Your shoulders were slumped, your arms curled around a bag. You didn't look sad, so much as you looked furious. You were talking to yourself, listing out all the ways you’d flatten each and every structure, how you’d salt the very earth they stood on, how you’d turn the once rich, fertile soil uninhabitable.

For having Sukuna’s interest in mind, he was certainly ready to burn it to the ground. Your village did little to appease the King of Curses. The humans in it were conniving, and rather quick to betray him. The relationship between the two was strained at best. In exchange for offerings in the form of crops, alcohol, and whoever decided to get on the village elders’ bad side, he wouldn't burn your home to the ground.

In a way, you were their last sacrifice to him, and by far his favorite.

As a child your parents had warned you, telling you never to go into the woods alone. A four armed man wandered out there, and he had a habit of making travelers disappear. Now that very same forest you once feared was your only sliver of comfort.

It took you a moment to realize he was standing there. And when you finally noticed him, you didn't look at him with the fear most humans did. There was a curious glint in your eyes. You sized him up, studied him in a way he wasn't used to.

In your hands you held an apple—an old offering—paring it with a knife. You were carving around the bruises. The texture of bruised apples always bothered you.

“It's dangerous to be out here alone, little one,” he said, eyeing you up like prey, “you should know that by now.”

“You’re the least of my worries, old man,” you said, popping a chunk of apple into your mouth.

You were still human. Strong, but human. You needed sleep, and food. If exposed to the elements too long you would freeze, or succumb to heatstroke or thirst.

“Old man?!” He said, clearly offended.

“What? You don't think I’ve heard the stories?” You asked. “You don’t scare me.”

And you were right. Even as he looked you in the eyes, you didn't back down once. You, unlike every other human from your village, weren't scared of him. He found you curious, and interesting. From the very moment your eyes locked with his, he was infatuated.

“I should frighten you,” he warned.

“You don't,” you said, “in fact, I think I could kick your ass!”

Expecting it to be an easy fight, he took your offer.

What resulted was a fight that would last days. Sukuna had never met anyone who could last so long against him. Let alone a human. Your strength was only rivaled by your unwavering rage. You were determined in a way he’d never seen before. Your village, along with half of the surrounding forest would be razed in the battle.

They had to have seen this coming. The child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel it's warmth.

And it's warmth you felt.

You couldn't imagine yourself being sad. You were too filled with anger and betrayal. There was no room left in your heart for sadness.

He remembers the look of the fires, and how they glinted in your eyes. He thinks that's when you began to turn into a curse.

After the third day, he had grown not only bored, but tired. It was clear neither of you were capable of destroying the other. He figured you were too tough to eat; you wouldn't make good meat. Uraume couldn't do a whole lot with you. And you were too combative to be a concubine. You would not go with him willingly. He's not one to give up, nor is he one to admit defeat, but he knows when he's not going to win. The two of you would mutually destroy the world before you would destroy each other. There was no end in sight. Sukuna simply wanted to leave.

So he simply headed for home.

That enraged you. After days of fighting, there was no climatic end to the battle. You wanted something more.

"Hey asshole!" You said. "You can't just walk away!"

"I know when I've met my match." He said. "Do you?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this world will burn before we destroy each other."

The two of you were quite literally a match made in hell. You would be a powerful ally and an even worse foe. There was no point in fighting you.

He did nothing to stop you when you followed him.

You were more of a nuisance than anything else. He often found himself comparing you to a cockroach. No matter how many times he tried to squash, poison, or starve out you always came back. If he couldn't kill you, then he had to have you on his side. You weren't something to be deceived, betrayed, injured, or killed. You were stronger than that. You were sharp, too, with a tongue to match. Whether harsh words he threw your way, you returned in double. It was rare he found a human with quite a tongue on them. He often remarked about having it nailed to his door. You simply pointed at his servants and dared them to try it.

They never did. Anyone who dared harm you often met a gruesome fate, either at his hands, or yours.

He didn't consider himself capable of falling in love. And he isn't. To some extent. But love is what he felt. You were the closest to an equal the King of Curses had ever met. In many ways you surpassed him, but those who admitted it often met a swift death.

He moved onto the next village. So did you. Word had not yet spread of what happened. People knew of the fires, but not of the deaths, and your connection to them. You settled down, taking up work with the local shamans. Though you were a newcomer, your help was gladly accepted when Sukuna first showed up, demanding offerings.

In the beginning you tried to warn them. That didn't help. They never listened. It always ended the same way; with a razed village and a bunch of needless deaths.

Sukuna would visit. Often in the late hours of the night as you were trying to get some sleep. He did little more than steal your food, and make himself far too comfortable. Of course that's how most of your meetings went.

He's not sure when he fell for you. But it was something that happened all at once. After years of a back and forth between you two, something gave. You took a place right by his side. He found himself no longer taking concubines, no longer indulging in the sacrifices presented to him. He found himself consumed with the thought of you. He had to have you.

“I can't believe you’re all out of sake,” he said, one night while visiting.

“I wonder who’s fault that is,” you said.

He cast you a glare from across the room. You'd have to buy more in the morning anyway. But all the good stuff has been put up as an offering, and the only sake left in the market is watered down, and worth nothing to you. You don't drink the stuff all that much anyway, you just used it for cooking.

“I question why I keep you alive,” he said.

“I think if you could even kill me,” you said, “you would have by now. Someone as weak as you doesn't stand a chance.”

He didn't like this, and hauled you into his arms, carrying you away from your cooking.

“No!” You squealed, too busy giggling to put up much of a fight. “The rice is going to overcook!”

Sukuna couldn't care less about the rice. He tossed you rather carelessly onto your shared bed, caging you in his arms. The kiss he pulled you into was fleeting, and soft, like he was almost afraid to touch you.

When the village elders first discovered these meetings, it didn't take them long to exile you. The very people that had welcomed you had ignored your warnings and betrayed you. You had gone from respected, and even loved, to feared in an instant.

At some point you stopped trying to warn them. If you really wanted to, you could stop him. Delay him at best. Give people time to run. At least someone would survive. But after a while, you began to think some of them deserved it. The sacrifices they provided were never enough when Sukuna grew tired of toying with them. It was just you and him. Two constant presences in each other's life. You grew used to his company. Enjoyed it, even. You’d never tell him that. Mostly because you didn't want to inflate his ego even more. You were as much his as he was yours.

At some point you became more curse than human.

You could breathe, your lungs would fill with air, but the action provided no relief. You no longer felt the need to eat, and often found yourself forgetting to do so. Food turned to ash in your mouth. The enjoyment of eating was long since lost to you. You're alive, but you're not. Your heart beats but the blood that courses through your veins is not quite right. Your memories of yourself when you were younger fade. But the anger. That fear, that anger, cast into the past, is the only humanity left in you.

You found yourself falling asleep next to him, and in turn waking up next to him. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes on the other side of the bed. He found himself opening his arms for you to climb into. You would do so, albeit reluctantly.

You were his partner. You were a nuisance, but you were his partner.

"Am I dead?" You asked, one morning in the fall. You think it was fall. You remember the leaves turning yellow and orange, but it wasn't cold enough to be winter.

"I haven't killed you yet, so no." He said. "Why?"

"Because I woke up and saw your face, and thought I had finally gone to hell." You said.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. An offended sounding huff left him. He rolled over onto you, pinning you to the sheets. His knees planted on either side of your body, his hands found your wrists. It’d take no effort from you to throw him off. But you didn't. You never did.

“You’re not in hell yet,” he said.

“I'd beg to differ,”

“Then beg,”

“Make me!”

He attacked your neck with wet, open mouth kisses, sending you into a giggling fit. Your skin was warm under his lips. You were always so warm. You were flushed from your chest to your forehead, blush dusting the tips of your ears and your nose. Your arms wrapped around your neck, pulling him flush to your chest. Your heartbeat was audible, racing as he pressed his ear to your chest.

“Stay in bed a little longer,” he said. He was pleading more than he was asking. And you weren't able to find it in you to refuse.

It wasn't entirely awful having someone stronger than him.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #this was either going to be called the definition of human or in hell i'll be in good company #possibly uncharacteristically soft sukuna #also i suck at tagging #goose answers

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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