#i feel like the paper texture is maybe a bit strong but oh well i think it looks nice

[codgod]

remembered this old sheep mumbo design i had so here he is once more

#.png #hermitcraft #mumbo jumbo #fanart #i feel like the paper texture is maybe a bit strong but oh well i think it looks nice #fun fact it’s one i made myself ages ago and i use it as the texture for most of the brushes i make lol

[slime-quest]

“Well, that’s.. outside of me now I suppose,” you cough. You rise to your feet and look around. As you begin to notice how dark it is, your body lights up, a stronger light than Humphrey’s, but just as warm and soft. “So, this is.. me.. this is us, huh,” you say to yourself as you take a good look at your new body. You have a couple of new features, the most notable ones being your increased height, and the two large floppy ears sticking out from your head. “How uh.. how do we feel about things?” A voice responds, echoing from that familiar head space where you and Humphrey communicate.

&& I think.. this feels.. nice. But, I’m nervous. This feels familiar, but also so alien. I think I want to rest for a bit, but if you need anything, please let me know and I’ll do my best. && “Do you have a name?” && Oh, I.. oh.. && You feel a rush of emotions course through you. Confusion, panic, despair.

&& I can’t remember if I used to have a name. I suppose it would be the same as yours, yeah? && “Not necessarily. I also can’t remember my own name. But you can still be your own person in here,” you pat your chest, where your new core rests once again, “Humphrey has their own name still. Just because we share a body doesn’t mean you have to stop being yourself.” Tears well up in your eyes. && Oh … well.. in that case, I think.. I would like to be called — &&

&& — Mirrow. Call me Mirrow. && “It’s a wonderful name, Mirrow. You rest now and I’ll get us out of here.” (You tuck the titan’s core in your pocket. You’ll think of something to do with it later, maybe give it a proper burial or something. “It’s heavier than it looks. Just a shell now as far as I can tell.”)

You do a funny little victory dance to celebrate your reunion. You get 20 fun points for dancing alone in a deep dark cave.

As you dance, you reflect on your new capabilities!

((Mirrow has a lot more mass than you and Humphrey together. You stand twice as tall as before, and your tail is thick and magnificent. Thanks to their core’s strength you are now more capable in almost every way.

Your Basic Shapeshifting is now Intermediate Shapeshifting! You can take on larger and more complicated shapes, and holding them is much easier. You will still have the texture of a slime tho. You can maintain a shape as long as you are focused on it, but will return to your original form if you are unconscious or unfocused.

You’re physically stronger now, no longer needing to wield Godrender with both hands. You can resist more physical trauma as well, and are less easy to knock over.

You’re More Massive, which means a couple of interesting things:

You are able to submit suggestions to other cores currently inside the Queen’s body. A majority vote will determine which slime will control the body, with the default state being the Queen.

If needed, you can split into three separate slimes to take care of multiple tasks at a time.

You also taste like a lot…. like, a LOT of mushrooms. That’s not really an upgrade or a downgrade. It’s a fact. You just taste like mushrooms now. In fact you are so dense with mushroom taste, it would be safe to assume that you still have a lot of spores in you. They don’t seem to be rooted. You might be able to communicate with them again if you wanted to. Otherwise, they will probably wash out whenever you return to the hive.

You can remember echoes of memories about what magic is and how it works. Something something, runes and crystals? Papers and books? Hats and staves? You vaguely recall a couple of drawn shapes, but can’t parse their meaning. The one thing you know for sure is that the hat has to be, it HAS to be big.))

You pick up Godrender. “How’s tricks?”

$$ good — wow you got strong — look at you go $$ It’s voice is less intense now.

“Did you get those memories back from the titan?”

$$ yes — we have a lot to think about — good job on purifying the heart by the way — that got pretty intense for a bit there — are you ok $$

“Oh, thanks. I’m…” you pause. You don’t feel ready to unpack your emotions just yet. Maybe later when you’re not in a dark cave. “I’m doing alright. So, we can fully wield you now?”

$$ correct -- you are now a knight of the goddess $$

“Oh, about that, I don’t actually know anything about the goddess. Can you tell me about them?”

$$ we can share a bit — the goddess was love and life, and the love of life — she created the slimes to shape the land and live joyously in it — she created the titans to protect the world and all who lived there — many people traveled to her world to see her beauty and the wonder of her creation — she happily welcomed them with open arms $$

$$ then one day she was killed — a violent trickster selfishly stole her life in an attempt to become as powerful as her — as her body shattered so too did the world begin to crack apart — without her divine light to protect us the earth was soon invaded by the void king and destroyed $$

$$ we titans did our best to fight back — but the void is powerful and overwhelming — we all fought until our bodies broke — a fitting end to die in pieces like our goddess $$

$$ only a being as strong as a god could do something so horrific — and so we took the name godrender for ourselves — we vowed to destroy the god who killed our goddess $$

$$ it has apparently been a very long time since then — nevertheless our resolve has not faltered — we would ask just one more thing of you — carry us to the miserable being who took our goddess from us so that we may be driven deep into their heart $$

#slimequest #chapter one

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #frankie morales x y/n #catfish morales #calling home series #i would die for frankie #frankie morales has a sexy voice #daddy!frankie

[cerinefalls]

‎

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝒹

An Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Summary: On the way back to UA after a weekend of field training, the bus breaks down. Luckily for classes 1A and 1B, Vlad was able to find you rooms! Unluckily for everyone, it was not a big hotel. Time to share, and your roommate was... you guessed it; Izuku Midoriya! Good thing, too, because you're not feeling too good.

Other Parts: Shoto Todoroki

Content: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Suggestive Themes

｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ

You wandered down the halls near aimlessly as you searched for your room. It shouldn't have been so hard to find a room in a hotel, but unfortunately for you, this place had no order. Room 412 should've been right between 410 and 414, but in its place was room 416. Was your room even located on the fourth floor? You were unsure at this point.

"Four twelve... four twelve... four twelve... It should be here, but these aren't in numerical order. Maybe if I retrace my steps, I'll see that I missed something! No, these aren't in order either. Are villains trying to disorient us? Maybe I'm thinking too hard... " You overheard a familiar voice muttering down the hall. It was nearing you, but you couldn't point out exactly who it was.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the voice gradually got louder. Soon, it sounded like it was right in front of you. It was right in front of you! You bumped into the source of the sound and nearly fell backward. That was an oddly soft wall you'd run into.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you, I swear! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I-" Now you knew who it was. Who else went on and on that way? It had to be Deku.

"No- I'm fine, Midoriya." You brushed off whatever initial shock you'd felt and stood up straight again. "You said 412?" The room. That was your room, and if he'd seen it, you needed to know where.

"What? Oh, the woman at the desk told me to look for room 412, but I can't find it anywhere." Izuku replied to you without hesitation. His brain was running at full capacity at all times, after all.

"She did? That's my room too. Can we look together?" You'd been grouped with Midoriya? That was unexpected. You'd expected someone like him to end up with Bakugo or Todoroki, but it looked like he was stuck with you. You didn't know him too well, but he probably didn't mind.

"Yeah! This must be a test." He nodded, accepting your offer. Was he always thinking about hero work? That looked like what the hero course did to them all.

The two of you spent minute after minute hauling luggage around the fourth floor. After a while, Izuku offered to take your bags for you. You declined- but were starting to wish you hadn't. Double-checking, triple-checking- nothing provided results, and it was beginning to tire you.

"Maybe it's on another floor?" You pitched your idea to the now pacing and muttering mess of a boy. He'd hardly heard you through his thick thought bubble.

"Of course! If all of these are out of order, there's no telling how disorienting the next floors are. It must be somewhere else!" Had he seriously not considered that before? You hesitated to tell him because you thought he'd already checked the other floors. Then again, this wouldn't be the first time someone had to suggest something obvious to him.

Izuku led you to the elevator and pressed the button to move down a floor. One floor at a time, that's how you'd do it. The wait was long, and Midoriya appeared lost in thought the entire time. Soon, the quiet elevator ride lowered you to the third floor.

"Alright, let's check around here for the-"

"I found it!" Midoriya interrupted you with his outburst from slightly down the hall. Sure enough, on the 3rd floor, 412 was sat between 310 and 314. It made you wonder what happened to room 312.

Never mind any of your questions or concerns, it was time to sit! Finally, after all that time training, you got to sit on a sturdy piece of furniture. The odd circumstances didn't even cross your mind as you rushed past Izuku and onto the red couch that sat against the wall in the front of your hotel room.

"You're smart," Midoriya smiled wide as he shut the door behind you. After the click of the lock settled your arrangement, he too sat on the couch at the separate end. "So it... looks like we're going to be spending the night here. I'm glad Class B's teacher was able to find us rooms." He nodded to himself.

"Me too." You nodded, stretching out. As you finished your relieving movement and turned to Izuku, you were met with an intense stare. He stopped when he noticed you looking, though. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh- nothing! It's just... your side. It's scratched," He mentioned. Right! that cut you'd gotten during practice. You'd forgotten all about it when the bus broke down. It wasn't bleeding anymore, and the pain had gone away. "Is it bad?" Izuku sounded concerned.

"No! Just a silly surface wound. I'm sure it'll be fine once we get to recovery girl." You responded fine, but Izuku did not seem to agree with you. He looked worried, face sporting a frown.

"You should really make sure it gets cleaned and patched up." He stood up and walked towards the bathroom, opening the door and disappearing inside. For a while. you wondered why. What was he doing in there? All that rustling and banging had to mean something.

"They didn't really have bandages, so I-" Eventually, your questions were answered. Izuku exited the bathroom with a first-aid kit and... other things.

"Bandages? I'm not bleeding." You tilted your head a few times, trying to see what he'd come up with. Deku was surely one to know how to wrap wounds, so it couldn't have been anything outrageous.

"You were! It's important to keep it sealed, even if you aren't bleeding anymore." The reason this green-haired boy was panicking was unannounced to you, but in midst of his worry, he made a good point. Who knew what lurked in this hotel? An infection was the last thing you needed.

"Well... alright, Midoriya. How do you plan on helping this, though?" You asked, agreeing to let him help you. Izuku smiled wryly before pulling from behind him a... roll of toilet paper?

"The toiletries here aren't soft and crumbly. They're sort of like... paper. This can make a good temporary bandage when used correctly." His smile was unsure- almost as if he wanted you to fact-check him. You nodded to say you trusted him, but as for the quality of his information? Well, nobody knows.

"Okay... and how do you expect to get that to stick?" You could ask Sero- but, other than that, all options looked to be off the table.

"The first aid kit doesn't have gauze, but it does have some tape left! Skin-safe, of course!" His smile looked more sure now. It faded as he began to put together his makeshift bandaging. He looked focused as he wiped your skin clean with alcohol pads and waved them dry.

He seemed focussed- not on the process- but on keeping you comfortable. Izuku knew he had the ability to hurt you if he wasn't careful, because even though you'd felt fine before, you flinched each time he pressed around the cuts. They were not completely healed, after all.

"Normally, I'd tell you to go take a shower..." He spoke under his breath, tape holder securely between his teeth as he tore pieces to use. "But, because of how these are... I know it'll hurt if you do." Midoriya gently secured a large, doubled-over section of toilet paper to your side. He was right to say the texture was that of paper because you would surely hate to wipe with what he'd placed on you.

"But, shouldn't I shower anyway? We were training, and..." You tried to finish your sentence, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to when you noticed Izuku lost in thought. He was staring at your waist, your top moved with one of his hands as the other carefully ran across the 'bandaging' he'd just applied.

"Might need another layer..." He mumbled, not paying all too much attention to what you said- until you called him, that is.

"Izuku?" You leaned as close to eye level with him as you could and it startled him.

"Oh- sorry!" Whether it was his name or the sharp eye contact that drew his attention was unknown. What you did know was that he'd quickly backed away from you, unhanding your clothes and swiping your side a bit as he stumbled backward on the couch. You tried not to let him know it'd hurt, but you couldn't help the instinctual jolt away from him that followed. "Did I- oh no, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! I was just scared I was making you uncomfortable and then you looked at me and you said my name and I got scared and..." He... was... mumbling to himself again.

"Midoriya, it's fine. I was just-" You attempted to calm him down, but he was too far gone. It appeared his stunt of focus was interrupted by his feeling of embarrassment. Maybe you should try his first name again? "...Izuku?" It worked! His muttering paused and he looked up at you. His expression was unreadable for a moment.

"You said it again..." He sat up and paused, clearly trying to deduce something. Was that seriously all it took to calm him down?

"Said... what?" You questioned, holding a hand to the throbbing pain on your midsection. He had a harder hit than you thought he would- especially for an accident. He must've really sought to keep a light hand before.

"My... name. I'm sorry if that sounds odd! It's just..." He looked away from you, not without glancing at the hand you held to your side. "Ever since Kacchan and I got to UA... Well, I guess I didn't realize people knew my name." That was true. Bakugo had given Izuku that nickname, and it spread like a rash. Midoriya was strong to have flipped it to be his hero name. Ever since then, no one had called him by anything but Deku or Midoriya.

"I hope I'm not crossing any lines by using it- it just seemed to capture your attention." Your response was direct and apologetic.

"It's not that," Midoriya shook his head. "I have no problem with it! It's just... new." He mustered another smile and met your eyes again. You quickly moved your hand but you knew he'd seen it. Your intention wasn't to make him feel bad! It just hurt, was all.

"Well, Izuku... how about we go to sleep? It's getting late," You tested him. His smile formed more properly this time!

"Yes, but I really should add another layer or two to that. I wouldn't want it to tear in your sleep." He was calm enough to say that without flustering himself. Perhaps the same focus he had earlier had returned? No, that wasn't it.

The look in his eyes as he carefully followed the same process he had before matched the look there was during training today. He wasn't just focused on helping you- he was in a hero's mindset. It would've been endearing had you not known about his crippling hero complex.

Nevermind that.

Once Izuku had finished putting a more cushiony layer over your midriff, he backed away to view what he'd done. He seemed proud of himself. Rightfully so! Because he'd truly done his best in this endeavor.

"This doesn't hurt, does it?" He moved the hand he'd used to hold up your top down to your waist, his second hand doing the same on the opposite side. Midoriya applied a gentle amount of pressure with both hands, and shockingly, it didn't hurt at all!

"Wow... it... doesn't-" You shook your head and looked down at his hands. It was a bit interesting- looking at him. He still resembled an entirely different state of mind as he sat there tending to you. After a couple more squeezes, though, your own mind wandered.

You attempted to fight it by taking a more literal view of things. You looked first at his arms. They were freckled splotchily. It was an interesting pattern in contrast to the multitude of horizontal scars on his hands. His hands... you couldn't quite see them. The fabric of your shirt had completely fallen over top of them as he continued to pressure check. This method of literal examination only worked for as long as you could focus on it, though. Once Izuku began gently dragging his hands up and down your midsection to check for sturdiness, that strategy was less effective.

"It's not slipping... I think you're good for tonight. Let me know... if it... gets..." As Midoriya lifted his head to make proper eye contact while he spoke, he noticed an all-too-familiar expression on your face. Heat had risen to your cheeks, and you were clearly averting your eyes from his own. Had he made you... nervous? He wasn't sure, but it seemed you were timid in comparison to earlier. Izuku slowly removed his hands from under your shirt and placed them on your knees, watching you closely. "Are you alright?" He asked, voice saturated in concern.

"I'm fine! Nothing's wrong." You brushed off his concern, though you were still twiddling around. "You said it seems alright?" You aimed to change the subject. It was time for bed anyway! Midoriya had to be exhausted from today's training, after all.

"Yes... I applied about as much pressure as a mattress would and you didn't flinch. I think you'll be alright to sleep," He nodded. Would you be able to get him back to his usual mindset any time soon? It was beginning to get uncomfortable– usually, Deku was the one getting flustered, but right now he was calm and you were the one stumbling over yourself.

All you could do was nod. Eventually, Midoriya backed away from you to allow you to change. It was just the break you needed. You walked into the bedroom with your bag and pulled out your bedclothes. You were met with a shock when you turned to put them on, though.

"That can't be right..." You said that louder than you'd meant to. Who wouldn't, though? This was a room for two people, wasn't it?

"Is everything okay in here?" Midoriya was approaching, but you didn't hear him entirely. You wished he'd knocked when he entered, though. Izuku walked in on you with your shirt hanging from your neck. You rushed to put it back on, slipping it onto your arms as he stepped forward.

"Only... one?" He questioned. It seemed he hadn't noticed you. It wasn't surprising because the two of you were confused about the same thing. Be it some twist of fate, or some odd plot device– the sight in front of you was absurd. There was only one bed.

"I'm sure this is a mistake. I mean, our room was on the wrong floor," You mentioned.

"You're right... but, I don't think we can do anything about it." Midoriya was shifting from foot to foot behind you. "I should sleep on the couch! You're injured, and I don't want you to get hurt any more than you are." The way he spoke was not that of his usual self. He still sounded like he was thinking tactically as opposed to how he normally would.

"No! I mean- no. Izuku, you can stay in here." You looked at the bed once again. There may have only been one- but it was huge! No reason for him to sleep on the couch at all. "Even so, what if I do get hurt? I'd rather you be here to help me." Were you doubting his toilet paper bandages?

...You were. You were doubting his toilet paper bandages.

"I-" Had you finally choked him up? Gotten at least some Midoriya-like response? You had! For once, you managed to make him think about the situation. You didn't know why, but for some reason, you were pleased by it.

"You..?" You prodded.

"Well! I suppose you may be right..." He was looking away from you now, rocking back and forth. You'd gotten him just as nervous as he'd had you. Midoriya was clearly trying to rationalize what you'd said. You were correct- his creation was his creation. If it tore or fell off, he would have to be the one to replace it. So it was settled. Midoriya would sleep on one end, you on the other.

You attempted to change your clothes once Izuku had left but soon noticed that would be more difficult than planned. When you attempted to lift your arms over your head, you felt a painful sting around you. You could hear his pacing around come to a stop when you audibly expressed distress. You'd just gotten your shirt off fine! Why was the wound hurting now?

Things began to make sense over time, though. You'd encountered a villain with no flashy or visible quirk– but they'd hit you with something unique to them. That kitty had claws, and it was looking like they'd hit you with a concealed weapon.

"Are you okay!?" Izuku rushed in soon after you'd realized what was going on. He sounded remarkably worried. Perhaps your cry of pain was louder than you'd thought...

"I'm fine... I think." You had to sit down. The more time that passed, the more painful things became. "I don't think that villain I fought had a mutant quirk..." You huffed, eyes watery. It was only downhill from here.

"Really? Did I jot it down wrong? What's happening?" He was frantic in his efforts to gather information. Midoriya sat down on the side of you that wasn't injured to avoid hurting you.

"The more... I move..." You were slowly growing out of breath. Were you panicking yourself? It felt as though maybe the venomous scratches raked harder with the rise and fall of your chest. "I don't know... I was fine until I tried to move my arms... maybe I did it too fast?"

"Oh no this is bad... the only time I've seen a quirk like this was..." No need to type out all of his panic-filled sentences. Long story short, he felt a bit responsible for your pain. You hadn't started hurting until he tried to fix it, after all.

"Izuku, I don't care." You began to steady your breathing so that you could talk to him properly, though you still sounded strained. "I just want to go to sleep, and I won't be able to get there on my own." If he really felt he was at fault, he'd likely oblige to helping you. You at least hoped he would, because the pain you felt only got worse when you attempted to care for yourself.

"Are you sure?" He sounded worried again now; not for you, but his skills. It was much like the worry he'd harbored while bandaging you. If he was not careful now, he could really hurt you. His ceaseless trembling made his unease all the more clear, and you all the more impatient.

"Hey- just think of it how you did last time. You know... like you're being a hero?" You mentioned his earlier attitude, and almost like a lightbulb had been lit, he changed his demeanor.

"I was acting like that? I'm sorry- I didn't notice." He stood up and stepped in front of you. "But, if it helped... I guess I could do it again." Izuku was visibly trying to switch attitudes again. It did not take long. Soon, he was mumbling things he noticed about the quirk's effect on you while looking for a place to start. Now, you felt the same hands that'd helped wrap you on your sides once again. This time, though, he was focused on your clothes.

"That's your pajama shirt over there, right?" He asked, voice wary. For a second you were unsure why.

"Yes, that's the one. Could you bring it to me?" You replied simply. If you kept a work-based mindset, it would help him maintain one as well.

"Of course! But, well... I guess what I'm trying to say here is that you shouldn't put it on on your own..." Though he was attempting to remain professional, he couldn't help the tint that covered his cheeks. This was embarrassing. "I'll look away! Only one of us needs to see for me to help you, right?" He was starting to let the fear seep through his voice. You brushed it off to save his pride.

You just nodded, assuming it'd work. It did work! Though you couldn't focus the entire time. Izuku ran his hands down the sides of your top, grabbing the bottom hem gently. He did his best not to bump into you or cause you to move more than you had to, knowing it'd be painful.

It was hard to get your arms up, but you did it for as long as you could while Midoriya slid off your day clothes and neatly fixed your bed shirt atop of you. Once he'd let it down, he helped you bring your arms down and laid you on the bed.

"I promise to stay close so you can call me if you need to. Only if you want to, that is! I don't know how long the effects of that quirk will last, so..." Whatever the effects were. It was a bit hard to tell. As you laid still, the pain from before began to subside. Sure enough, you were just fine to lay on the bed. Neither side of you caused trouble–

That is until you chose to remove the bottoms you'd been wearing. It was a tad warm with another person in bed, and you were under the covers anyhow. It shouldn't have mattered! Sadly for you, though, the last bit of stretch you needed to move them past your hips was too much for your body to handle. Perhaps the bend in your midsection was what caused the quirk to activate? Every time you moved your core, venomous stings prickled throughout your body. Izuku felt the sheets rustling and turned over to check on you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sitting up on his forearm to look over you. You stopped moving, a wise decision, and cleared your throat to respond to him.

"Well, I was trying to get comfortable, and..." Your sentence trailed as you began to think this was nothing worth troubling him with. "It's nothing, Izuku. Just a little pain."

"Well, how can I help?" He sounded once again concerned, and you could feel him sitting up behind you.

"No ways you'd want to! Don't worry about it, really." You insisted, but he insisted harder. It took quite some time, but eventually, he broke you into telling him the issue. Midoriya was clearly rattled, but he also dispensed a strange look of determination. He did tell you he would be there to help you, and he was determined to live up to his word. A hero may be put in uncomfortable situations after all.

After a long list of questions asking for consent to help you with your... specific problem, he raised enough courage to scoot behind you and begin his assistance. What happened next nearly stunned you. Izuku did his best not to move you as he gently slid his left hand beneath your hips. He felt around for a moment, and you could almost hear him panicking when he couldn't find the top seem of your pants. He decided it'd be best to find the top using his other hand, and so shortly after you found his right hand slinking fingers around your waist and traveling down to your thigh.

Your face burned as he continued to feel around for your clothes. Eventually, he found what he thought to be the hook he was looking for. As he pulled and you shifted backward into  him to stop the fabric from moving, he realized he'd picked the wrong thing.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to- oh this is bad. I'm so so sorry, I didn't know that was there and I-" Boy was he good at talking. You shushed him quickly, though, feeling well enough to use your own hand to guid his down to where your bottoms really were. You attempted not to squirm as he carefully pulled them past your thighs and got them off of your feet.

"Thank you." You smiled, sporting a grateful expression. The both of you were thankful it was dark, because each of you had blushed faces due to what'd happened under the covers.

"You're very welcome." Deku sounded distant when he replied. He attempted to act as normal as possible, but the air in the room was thick enough to suffocate you. Today was eventful to say the very least.

"Hey, Izuku?" You called him, hoping you could surface his mind.

"Oh- yes?" He sounded attentive enough.

"Let's.. go to bed, yeah?"

"That... is a great idea."

In the stoic silence of your room you eventually found yourself drifting into sleep. Izuku hadn't moved his hands from around your waist when he brought them up from your legs. You were glad, because had he made any sudden movements in his startled state he would've done more harm than good. It wasn't like the position of his hands was uncomfortable, either. Soon enough, both of you were unconscious. It would be a shame if someone walked in that night... oh well. Not like they could find the room.

｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ

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[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 20

You find yourself in a forest

Odd when did you get here? Had you walked here? Driven? You...you can't seem to remember. How on Earth did you get here?

(The contents of this chapter are sexual in nature please don’t interact if you are below the age of 18)

Oh Gods you hoped you didn't have an episode while driving again. Even under normal circumstances just the thought upsets you but after finding out Toby's life changing accident the thought now left an acidic taste in your mouth. Similar to when you're sick and have the residual vomit in your mouth no matter how many times you brush your teeth. A very unpleasant experience.

A tall figure looms in the distance taking you out of your musings. You've seen him before, haven't you? Long spindly tendrils stretch out from behind the figure, much like the whisps that led you through the shop the other day. Had it not been for their serpent like movements you'd have thought the being was just another tree in this dense dark forest.

This sure didn't look like the Monongahela. You close your eyes for a moment, just resting your eyes. Your head feels so foggy right now.

You're so tired too, have you been sleeping? When was the last time you slept? Why can't you remember?

It's fine calm down, you just need to think. The fog is so thick, it's hard to focus. Why can't you just focus?

Come on YN, you need to focus, focus, focus!

In an instant that figure is right in front of you. They are so much taller, craning your head back doesn't do much to get a good look at them. You can't make any features out on the shockingly pale face. And here you thought Toby was deathly pale, you may as well have been staring death in the face.  Given the black suit and red tie you might actually be.

Being dead would explain the fogginess of your memories and why things aren't exactly connecting. Had Toby killed you? No, he wouldn't. Maybe the two of you got into an accident on the drive home.

But where's Toby then? Had he survived the crash? Is it bad to hope he's dead too? That boy wouldn't be able to handle another traumatic event. Hell he seemed one major inconvenience away from peacing out when you'd met him, he still has those moments.

Where are you going to go? This wasn't anything like you were expecting, but the again Hollywood's never given you any sort of accuracy before why would they be the ones reporting on life's biggest mystery?

A tendril slips its way around your throat tilting your head up to stare into the pale face of the figure before you. Squeezing as it does, gently not so much to actually suffocate you.

'You are not dead child, you could not be further from it.' a masculine voice echos in the empty space of you mind. The voice rang so clearly it rattled the walls of your brain.

A literal 'brain goes brrrr' moment.

If you aren't dead then...this has to be a dream. The only other explanation for why everything feels so fuzzy and you have so much brain fog.

'Correct, you are in a dream...of sorts. I've summoned you here to review your progress thus far. I must say you've far exceeded my expectations, no thanks to my failing puppet.' the tendril tightens around your neck, again not enough to choke you out. Just a very firm squeeze.

Firm enough that it has you pressing your thighs together. Haven't you taken care of this yet? This situation is so embarrassing because even though you can't see the expression of the being before you they have an omnipotent air around them.

They sense your hunger building, maybe that's why the appendage around your throat tightens once again. You're left a bit breathless.

'I'm very pleased with both of your results. A reward is in order,'

The figure's head moves slightly as their attention shifts to something behind you.

'I believe he'll benefit from this as well.'

He?

Without a moment to think anything else, not like you could in your current state, you were turned around. Where you came face to face with....another faceless entity? No the man in front of you clearly had a face – had the tall pale being not? The man's face was there but you couldn't really make out what you were looking at like it was pixelated in some way to protect his identity on the evening news.

You could see that he had a mop of brunette waves, unlike the tall one who was to your knowledge completely bald. More tendrils wrap themselves around you, on your legs and around your mid section. Legs are spread apart as you're lifted off the ground.

Open and inviting to the form before you. Just what kind of reward is this?

Before you can protest you quickly become aware of the fact that you are naked.. Bare chest on display as nipples harden in the chill of the air. You squirm to try and get away but the hold the tendrils have is too strong for you to break out of. Your legs are lifted until they are face level with the person in front of you.

Yup totally a dream, just a monster fucker having a wet dream. Normal everyday thing.

'To be quite honest it's less of a reward and more a test. But it should prove enjoyable for both of you.'

Hearing the sound of a zipper you freeze, out of shock rather than fear. You were joking when you'd called this a sex dream. You've never had one before and it's surprising to say the least. Do all sex dreams start this strangely?

A pair of fingers find their way to your mouth. Without thinking you opened up and took them in. Letting them go as far back as they could. They played with your tongue, dancing up and down it. Pressing hard here giving a rub there, shoving it between the two of them making sure your saliva coated every single spare centimeter of them.

You found it a bit difficult to breathe around them let alone swallow. They had a salty with a hint of something metallic, like he had an open paper cut. The texture was rough and very different from your own fingers, you could feel divots near the nail bed and loose hardened skin scrapping the inside of your mouth. Sometimes when you swallowed around the fingers you'd get a sharp thrust in return, like he was trying to hit the back of your throat with only his fingers. You nearly took in his pinkie like this. A harsh groan would follow and you'd moan along.

All the tendrils on your body gave a light squeeze at the show. You heard a whisper of 'Good pets.', this time it was echoed through the forest surrounding you.

“Fuck off.” the man who currently had his fingers nearly reaching down your throat growled out.

Before he he gently grabbed on of your legs, moving your body closer to him. Flutters of lips trailed their way up from your knee to your inner thigh. A playful nip stings a few inches from your core. Involuntarily your thighs press together, squishing the head in between the,. It wasn't long before you felt warm breath blow onto your core. You could hardly keep back the trill when a pair of lips wrapped around your clit and a tongue started to dance circles around it. It was a simple set of motions but ones that seemed to hit just right. You didn't know whether to be thankful or hate the tendrils for preventing you from bucking right into the pleasure.

Taking deep breaths to collect yourself didn't work if anything it made for a pseudo pant which left you even more feverish than the lapping at you clit. He flattens his tongue against you and you shudder as he slowly drags it along your slit giving a flick to the hood of you clit. He angled his tongue so he could carefully dance that line between your clit and it's hood. Toes curling you aren't able to contain yourself anymore. A panting and flushed mess as you moan around his fingers, a trail of saliva runs out from the corner of your mouth and down the expanse of your neck. You can't stop your hips as they weakly buck towards him, still stifled by the tendrils stilling them.

The man between your legs stiffens.

Even with him looking right up at you, you can't see past whatever fog is playing at your mind, but you do know that he's just as much of a mess as you are in the moment. Just from going down on you, the poor boy, now you really want to shove his face deep between your legs and not let up until he can't breathe.

Maybe you can.

Your hands haven't been bound like your legs, so you should have no problem grabbing his hair and pulling him in.

'Oh, he'd like that very much. Give it a go pet.' the disembodied voice says, once again in your head.

Wasn't there a body to go with that voice earlier? Yeah, there was, where'd he go?

Your legs are still bound by the tendrils but the tall man is no where in sight anymore. What a strange dream.

A wet dream you remember as your focus returns to the man between your legs. Might as well make the most of it.

The man seems distracted as he glares at something behind you, but you know nothing it there – you've just checked. This gives you the perfect opportunity to grab a fist full of his hair and drag him back down to your puffy lips to finish what he started. He was more than willing as he needed no further instructions and went straight to giving light kitten licks to your aching clit. Frustrated pants and whimpers leave you as he just works you up and pulls back. He's teasing at this point and seems very pleased with himself.

“Pl-please.” you keen  when he pulls away for a second time. Instead of answering your plea he massages the meat of your thighs as he stares up at you from between your leg. You can see one hand in between his own legs most likely toying with his cock like he toys with you.

Just the thought of his cock has you bucking into him, but it seems to do the trick. He begins to suck on your bud again. This time you have a bit more mobility and can grind your hips down in time to his sucking. It's getting wetter and sloppier down there by the second, like he's trying to collect all the liquid in his mouth but can't really hold it there.

For a third time the pleasure stops, and you feel like crying. It's so unfair your first wet dream and you're saddled with an edger.

You let out a whimper and raise your hips again in a pathetic attempt to demand his attention back to where it's needed. While his face is still featureless to you there's a sense of smugness around him. Oh joy a sadist. A harsh spit rings through your dream bubble. But you don't feel anything land on you.

A wet squelching sound can be heard. The blood just doesn't know where to go anymore, to your face or to your core? Clearly none of it's going to your brain when you only thought it , 'Oh shit he's jerking off.' on repeat.

You're very thankful that the tendrils are just holding you up instead of keeping you spread now as you're able to squeeze and rub your thighs together. Trying to get any friction to alleviate your ache. All while you cry and choke around thick fingers.

“Pretty mouse.” his voice is a rumbled timber.

Fingers press harshly into your tongue before slowly pulling out and spreading you legs back open for him. His thumb trails your inner thigh, the nail scratching the unmarked skin as it went. Making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he let out a breathy chuckle.

He began toying around with your folds with his two spit soaked fingers, “Yea, li-ike that? Make some more pretty noises for me.” His fingers twirled around the entrance of your pussy. Lighting the nerves on fire with each passing circle they made.

Gods, he hasn't even been in you and you're already about to cum. But he was ignoring your clit now. Snaking a hand down you settle it above his and before you can even touch it he's smacking your hand away.

“Nuh-uh mouse.” he gives a sharp smack to your bud, making you jolt as you let out a little 'eep'.

He laughs at your reaction, “Don't worry I'm going to-to-to make you feel so good.” he smirks, “in time.”

That'd be a no for you. You can take three edgings but four is just asking too much, especially for a dream. You aren't one to be bratty often but you're already pent up in the waking world like hell you'll let yourself be edged in the dream one too.

“Fuck you're cute, even when you pout.” suddenly a hand grasps your jaw and pulls you down, it's a bit uncomfortable with your bindings still in place. Your faces are just inches apart right now and you still have no clue who he's supposed to be but sometimes faces are hard for brains to make up. He could just be someone you saw in town once and don't remember.

He leans in and kisses you. It doesn't take anything for you to open your mouth and let him in, there's a hint of tang on his tongue. No discernible taste just a bit of tang. He makes sure to glide his tongue across every inch of your mouth, making sure you taste yourself. You can feel his smirk in the kiss as you moan. Can feel the pumping of his hand on his cock now that you're so close together.

The thought of his cock makes your core pulse with need. And as if he can read your thoughts he pulls away, leaving you panting and horny. “Now that's a cute look too.” The tip of his middle and ring fingers are in you spreading the ring of your entrance far apart. “But then this on-one's my favorite.”

As you writhe and moan you can't help but think of how much you hate that boyish lilt in his tone right now. He scissors his fingers and twists them this way and that, occasionally plunging them as deep into you as they can go. And while your panting and whimpers are lovely he quickly figures out that you're much more receptive to the teasing of your entrance. The way just the tips of his fingers work in lighting up hundreds of nerve endings.

How he can leave you right on the edge of orgasm only to take that away by pulling out slightly or diving in further. It's a good game, but he eventually grows bored of just your facial expressions and wants to chase his own release. So, he leans in towards your core to watch the way your walls clamp down on his finger tips as they spread you apart. Trying to squeeze around the foreign objects to eject them out but if he surges his hand forward the walls constrict in a way the feels like they are trying to suck him deeper into your depth. All the while you moan and whine, just for him.

So enraptured with your being he isn't really paying attention to you anymore. You want to end his teasing, you just want to cum. It's not surprising at all that he hardly noticed you grabbed a fist full of his hair. But he certainly notices when you pull him to your core and hold him in place. The pressure on his scalp letting him know just how tightly you have him.

There's a moment when he does nothing, just stares up at you from between you legs. Through hooded eyes he continues to make eye contact as he brings his mouth to your clit, even as you buck into him.

“Good boy.” the words just tumbled from your mouth in a moan.

One that gets echoed by the man kneeling before you. It's a needy little moan, one that changes things.

“Good boy,” he goes faster, not just on your clit but he also starts stroking himself faster.

“Ah – aaah, good  boys wai-it oh – wait to cum.” his hand slows and you hear a mumbled 'Good boys wait.' causing your grip to tighten as you pull him up by his hair to look into your face – even if you can't see his.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“N-no!” you can feel the shiver that runs through him.

Big guy isn't so tough now that you found his kink, damn this dream sure is exploring a lot of your owns though.

“That's right, now you've been awfully naughty. Edging me like that. Doesn't seem like you want to be a 'good boy'.”

“I want to – want to be a good boy, very good boy.” his hand is still going, you'd honestly be surprised he hadn't cum if this weren't a dream.

“Hmm, finish what you started. Then...maybe you'll be my good boy.” a series of moans followed as he bucked into his hand. Apparently you'd said a trigger for him and he came just from that alone.

You want to find it in you to play up being upset with him maybe even play up how he wasn't a good boy after all – cumming like that. But you could tell from the way his shoulders sank in that he felt ashamed that he didn't last until you were done with him.

Sometimes a gentle hand is needed. “Oh my poor baby. I didn't know how excited that'd make you.” you cup his face gently. He's trying to make himself smaller. “Now now of that, you can make it up to me.” He perks up.

“You want to make it up to me right?” you slide back away letting you hands fall off his chin, and he follows your movement leaning to feel your touch again.

You give him a smile and stroke his cheek, “Then make me cum.” it was a breathy whisper as you took the opening to initiate a kiss with him. No tongue was involved this time just an urgent need and movement of lips.

You pull away from him and get a small whimper in return. Pay back would sure be sweet right now had he not riled you up this much then got off himself.

He's sliding back down between your legs, barely giving himself a chance to settle in before twirling his fingers just outside your entrance. Face diving to lick several long stripes along your slit.

'Seems everything is in order here. I trust you both will behave in my absence.'

“What?”

Waking up horny and unsatisfied with the fainest memory of your wet dream fading further and further from memory was definitely one way to start your Saturday. But it wasn't the preferable way or a fun one. Especially when it involved a pair of soaking panties and an hour to even satiate your needy pussy.

#a cure for insomnia #ticci toby #ticcitoby #ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta fanfic #masky x reader #Timothy Wright #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright x brian thomas #masky #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader

[leggything]

Package Notification Pt.1

Package Notification

The subject line caught my attention as is flashed in the corner of my monitor. I clicked on the notification and read that a delivery had arrived at my apartment and would be held at the front desk until I was able to retrieve it. I wasn’t expecting anything but quickly put it out of my mind, it was probably a free trial I forgot to cancel or something. I deleted the email and went back to the report I had been drafting, hitting the back button on my phone a couple of times to replay the last few seconds of the podcast I had been listening to.

I left work a bit early. It was Friday and I wanted to beat the crowds on the train home. Unfortunately I wasn’t quite early enough to find a seat so by the time I walked through the door of my building I was only thinking about my bed.

The desk attendant perked up as I stepped in, “Hey Andy,” he said “I was just sorting the mail and a package came for you. Let me quick grab it.”

“Oh thanks so much Sean,” I said, pulling my headphones out of ear, “I would have totally forgotten.”

“No problem dude,” Sean replied as he rummaged behind the desk. He was a sweet kid, just out of college. His family was close the folks that owned our building so he usually came back to help run things over summers.

“And— here you are!” He said, as he popped back into view, blowing away a stray curl that had fallen in front of his eyes, “see you around!”

“Thanks again Sean, happy Friday!” I said, waving as I opened the door to the stairwell.

I turned the package over in my hands as I climbed the three flights to the apartment. It wasn’t a meal delivery kit or a pack of razors as I had suspected, just an unassuming grey plastic package with a normal UPS label. No return address for some reason. After fumbling for my key I unlocked the door, set my bag down and slipped off my shoes. Friday at last. It felt good to kick my shoes off after standing for so long.

Package still in hand I went to the couch and tore open its grey plastic as I sat down. Inside the bag my hands felt smooth woven fabric and something else that was stiffly textured. Out of the bag came an embroidered tunic and, as they unrolled in my hand, a pair of soft grey footed tights. My face flushed as I realised what I had received. A ballet costume.

I felt a mix of confusion and excitement. I certainly would have remembered if I had ordered something like this. I loved ballet, the beautiful precision of movement, the romance of the storylines, but really I was in it for the dancers. I loved watching them move, muscular yet flexible, lithe and powerful. The way their costume tights hugged every curve of their calves and thighs, squeezing each cheek of their powerful asses and the curve of their pronounced bulges, it was heaven. I definitely didn’t place the order for this costume, but it certainly didn’t come to me by mistake.

Reluctantly setting the tights and tunic down on the table, I glanced into the package again, looking to see if there was anything else. No shoes or dance belt, but there was a small piece of paper. I reached back in and pulled out the rough piece of card-stock. A note was printed on in flowing script:

Hope this turns your dream into reality.

x

Now I was nervous. I wasn’t exactly open about my, ahem, love of ballet. My closest friends and previous partners didn’t even know, and yet someone had anonymously sent gear to my home which meant my big secret wasn’t as secret as I thought. I pulled out my phone, there was one person who I had connected with online about ballet stuff, but they definitely didn’t know my address and I hadn’t heard for them in a week or so. Nonetheless I sent out a text:

Hey, I just got some ballet gear in the mail. You didn’t send me anything did you?

I was a little nervous and needed to chill out so I went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Taking the first sip, I glanced back out to where the ballet outfit sat on the table. The anonymous package thing was weird, but it was also definitely hot. And though I loved looking at ballet dancers and often had fantasies about what it would be like to be one, I had never actually gotten up the courage to actually take a class or buy a pair of tights.

Taking another sip of my beer, I walked back out to the couch. I set down my beer and picked up the tunic. It looked and felt well made, different shades of gold and yellow thread in a brocade foliage design against white backing. It was short and tailored in at the waist, probably a bit snug on me, but on a slim dancer it would sit perfectly above the waist - emphasising their toned abdomen and, when facing away from the audience, their powerful glutes. I was getting a little turned on thinking about it. Whether I fit or not, I had to try it on.

I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped off my slacks, tossing them on the couch along with my socks. I hesitated a bit before taking off my underwear, the outfit hadn’t come with a dance belt, but I figured it’s be better to have a vpl than underwear lines. I was half hard already, even if I had a dance belt it probably would have still looked awkward. The soft fabric of the tights brushed against my bare legs as I picked them up off the table and held them up by the suspenders. At least they’d feel sexy to wear, even if I wasn’t quite fit enough to fill them out very well.

Sitting down on the couch I slid my leg into the grey tights, wiggling my toes into the seam at the bottom of the foot. They tingled a bit as I pulled them up over my calves and thighs, the soft tight fabric rubbing against the hair on my legs. As I pulled them up over my crotch they held my balls tight against me and pinned my now full erection against my belly. So much for a dance belt! Pulling the suspenders over my shoulders, I was greeted by the surprising sensation of the back seam of the tights snuggling up in between my ass cheeks. I didn’t have much of a butt to speak of, but somehow the tights still held tight to what little I had.

The tights ended just below my chest, and though I definitely didn’t have the ballet dancer build I still enjoyed seeing and feeling the uniform texture of grey fabric from my abdomen to my feet. I ran my hands along my legs, feeling the weave of the tights thrum with every touch, and my cock straining against the fabric.

I pulled my mind away from the hypnotic sexy feel of the tights, a little upset at myself that I hadn’t tried dressing up like this earlier. But I still had the tunic to put on. I wasn’t sure if I should have put something under it, but the lining was surprisingly soft and breathable against my skin. I stood up, slid my arms into the sleeves, and began hooking the fasteners that went up the front. The waist wasn’t as snug as I had feared and the structure of the garment helped straighten my posture, encouraging me to stand a bit taller than the hunch my desk job had trained me into.

Hooking the last fastener under my chin I looked down and realising I had come to stand with my heels together and my toes turned out, in what I knew to be “1st position.” And as I dropped my arms they fell nicely open and rounded at my sides, allowing my chest to open up and my shoulders to rotate backwards in perfect ballet posture. I chuckled a bit to myself, maybe I picked up more from watching so much ballet than I thought.

I tried to imitate the movements I had seen ballet dancers do, not crazy leaps or turns or anything, just pointing the toe out, to the side, to the back. I knew from somewhere they were called “tendus.” I let my arms move out to the side and above my head in time with my feet. I bent into a deep plie, letting my gaze follow my outstretched hand as it traveled out, to the side, overhead, and then started to repeat the same combination on the other side. I probably looked ridiculous trying to imitate the precise movements I had only watched, but it felt wonderful to move in the outfit.

As I continued to try new things, ronde de jambe, fouetté, attitude; I couldn’t remember where I picked up all these names, the costume felt like it fit me better and better. With each breath in my chest filled out the tunic a little better and my arms and shoulders felt stronger and more sure in their positions. Letting a breath out, my abdomen felt more compact and stronger in the long waist of the tights, my core offering steadier and steadier support and balance to my movement.

I moved from attitudes to a combination centred around arabesques, standing strong on one leg while reaching up and out with my upper body and back with the other leg. I took a couple of steps forward and went into the first arabesque, feeling strength and stability pouring into my standing leg, the grey tights stretched against my thighs, hips, and butt as I raised my other leg further up and behind me. My legs felt stronger and stronger as I continued around the room, my tights more snug and supportive as they nestled into the contours of my legs and sunk further between my ass cheeks. To finished the combination I moved to fifth position and took a small plie to lift up onto the balls of my feet, sous sous. Lifting my arms strong and graceful above my head I felt every muscle, from my calves to my core to my triceps working together to keep me balanced and poised. Satisfied, I descended into a plie and rose back up to finish the combination.

I stood there for a moment, relaxing back in first position and then blinked, blinked again. I looked back over at the table where my beer stood abandoned. Outside the window the sky was almost dark, how long had I been dancing, and how had I known how to do all that stuff? Feeling a little out of control I started to undo the top clasp of my tunic when I caught a look at myself in the hall mirror.

I did a double take, it couldn’t be me. I looked down at myself and then back at my reflection firm pecs, toned abs, powerful thighs clad in grey. It was me and fuck I was built. I turned around to see my now glorious ass, each cheek hugged beautifully by my tights, and noticed the cleft that had appeared on my toned calves - visible even though I stood flat footed.

I couldn’t help but touch, partially to make sure it was all real and partially because I was my own wet dream. I ran my hands along my firm legs and my slender waist and started to undo the tunic to check out my upper body. My laser focus while dancing had killed my boner but as I undid the tunic’s clasps I felt myself start to get hard again. It felt different though, still pleasurable but a different kind of pleasure. Breathing heavy with arousal I looked back to the mirror. I could see myself growing, but it wasn’t just my cock’s outline straining against the spandex, it looked and felt like my balls were growing too, my whole crotch swelling up against its spandex prison. The more they grew, the more intense the pleasure became, but it didn’t exactly feel like an erection.

I it felt almost like a balloon blowing up - a balloon in my crotch filling with anticipation and pleasure. Looking down, I noticed that as my genitals kept growing they began to lose definition, probably due to how stretched out the fabric was getting. As my bulge strained against my tights, my breathing quickened and my crotch continued to get smoother and rounder. My pelvic pleasure balloon steadily expanded until I felt my whole body was surely going to explode with ecstasy and then suddenly— it stopped. Still breathing heavily and still quite aroused I saw, between my newly muscled legs, the perfect smooth round ballet bulge, maybe a little on the big side, but otherwise the most beautiful tights-clad bulge - exactly like I was wearing a dance belt under my tights.

But I wasn’t wearing a dance belt. Was I? Trepidatiously I reached down to stroke the fabric and was greeted by the most pleasurable sensation. It didn’t feel at all like I was touching a padded dance belt, it felt like I was touching my own skin. I continued to run my hand over my bulge, a little moan escaping my lips as I stroked it’s contours. It felt like touching the sensitive head of my cock, my whole crotch felt as sensitive as the most nerve-laden part of my dick.

Equally aroused and terrified I slipped off the tunic and the straps of my tights. As I began to undress I noticed the wiry patch of hair on my chest had disappeared, and as I slid the tights further down to my waist, saw for the first time my beautiful hairless toned core. I ran my hand along my abdomen, wanting to feel every new inch of my body and also afraid to slide my grey tights any further down. But I couldn’t put it off forever. I slid my tights off the toned globes of my ass, over the deep v of my hips and then, my breath hitching as the tights fabric slid away from my sensitive crotch, revealing my perfectly smooth and hairless crotch.

My crotch looked exactly the same as before the tights came off - a round bulge just like you would see on mannequin. I couldn’t help but touch myself again, the intense pleasure felt slightly different without the silky tights over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes as I touched myself, it was a completely different sensation than stroking my cock. Instead of moving in fits and spurts of arousal towards the edge of orgasm, this felt like a continually building sensation, like that balloon expanding again - a pleasure that continued to grow and grow with no sign of impending release.

After thoroughly exploring this new sensation I decided to move to the bathroom to get a better look at myself. I pulled my tights back up to my waist, the feeling of their fabric moving over my crotch almost pulling me into another session of dickless masturbation, and padded to the bathroom.

I flicked the light on and, before I could pull my tights back down for inspection, was distracted by my own face. Maybe it was the glow of arousal but I could swear I looked invigorated, more lively. My eyes looked twinklier and my teeth looked brighter, whiter even. As I looked at my reflection, I noticed the stress induced strands of silver in my hair and the dark circles under my eyes start to fade. Before my very eyes my short cropped hair grew out into a perfectly coiffed hairstyle and my jawline softened slightly - the stubble on my chin fading away. I couldn’t help but smile at myself, a smile that would be perfect for stage lights. Stepping back from the mirror and looking at myself, inexplicably standing in first position again, I realised I had been given the perfect body for ballet, a body I could have only dreamed of.

Finally seeing my whole self, I decided the mystery of how it all came to be mine could wait until tomorrow. Tonight I would just enjoy it. I flicked off the bathroom light and retired to my bedroom. The mostly full beer bottle and the work clothes from my earlier self lay abandoned by the couch as I lay in bed, touching and discovering the pleasures of this new body until I fell asleep.

#male tf #transformation #male transformation #ballet tf #ballet tights #men in lycra #men in spandex #men in tights

[bitchfitch]

A Pleasant Trip to the Circus

(ie, The statue man and the medusa's meet cute)

no warnings needed

Adonis' eyes had shattered months ago, but he had never needed them to see. They, like every other part of his crafted body, had been more of a decoration than an actual part of him, so it had surprised him how much he missed having them. He didn't miss their weight in his carved sockets or the tackiness of the putty that his creator had used to keep them pointing the right way, but without them his empty eyes seemed to frighten and fascinate those who looked at him in equal measures. They seemed to illicit more stares and stolen looks from strangers than when he had had them.

He didn't wish to be looked at.

When he had his eyes those who passed him on the street might cast a look his way but after seeing his human like eyes they would write off the grey stone and gold guiding that made up most of his skin as makeup. But without them it was painfully obvious that he was not flesh and blood, that his strange silence and stillness was natural and not a performance, that he was not human. 

Some recoiled at the realization, others drew closer, staring at his face and taking pictures with their phones as he held still and waited for them to leave. Some would pull at the fabric of his clothes or at the ribbons of his hair, curious fingers would touch and grope and prod as they tried to puzzle out why a statue as magnificently realistic as this one would have been left here. 

Some recognized him from before he was alive. From when he and his creator had toured the entire continent so that all could marvel at his Pygmalion's work. So that all could marvel at Adonis. 

The ones who recognized him always asked where his eyes went, or where his creator had gone. Some jokingly asked if Adonis had finally divorced the other Mr. Wright. 

Adonis did not respond to any of them. He couldn't speak even if he wanted to, so he just waited. 

He learned to travel at night, to keep his hood up and his head down. He had wanted to see the world Henry had kept him hidden from in the years following his awakening, but he had never considered that maybe many of the things Henry had said were true.

That this was not a world built for hollow stone men. That he was delicate, and trusting others to not try and break him was foolish. 

Still, he explored.

The world was so much bigger than the chateau and the corpse that rotted away at its center, and he needed to know it all. He needed to find a place where he couldn't hear his beloved creator's voice calling for him anymore. 

He found something close on a late summer's day. The scorching heat had chased most of the people into the shade and air-conditioned buildings and away from this circus that was still setting up for its opening night. 

Adonis didn't know what drew him here, didn't know what he was looking for, but something pulled him along as the dry dirt crunched beneath his heel with every step. 

A woman approached him as he neared the gates. She was older, balding, and covered in a sheen of sweat from directing the construction efforts all day, 

"Sorry sir, we're not-" her voice cought in her throat as she looked up to meet his empty eyes, she swallowed hard, taking a step back more on instinct than out of fear, "You- Hello? Are you- Are you still alive in there?" she waved her hand in front of Adonis' face, 

Adonis cocked his head. He couldn't really emote, his face frozen in the same pout that it had been carved into by his beloved, but he wondered if the stranger understood that he was confused by the question. No one had ever questioned if he was alive before, he very clearly had never been.

"Are you here to see her? The medusa? Did she do- Oh she's going to be so happy to know one of you lived!" The woman broke out in a grin as she grabbed his wrist to pull him along towards one of the tents.

He could tell that she was strong, that there was a fair amount of muscle hiding under her loose skin and fat, but he knew that not even some one like her could move him on her own. Yet, he found himself following her, too confused to resist her touch or to use his not insignificant weight to stop them both in their tracks.

She lead him to the back of a small shipping container that had been painted with the circus' name and logo in long faded colors.

Rapping on the door she called out, "Ione! You have a visitor!" 

"I do?" a soft voice called back, the entire truck the crate sat on shifted as something moved inside of it, "Who is it?" 

"He Hasnt told me his name yet, but he looks like he might be someone you'd know," the woman grinned at him while the door swung open, letting out a wave of air barely cooler than the surrounding heat as it did so,

Adonis had never taken a breath in all his years of existence, but this must be what it felt like to lose it. 

The woman in shipping container, Ione, was stunning in ways Adonis would never be able to put to words even if he could speak or write them all out one by one. 

She had the torso of a sturdy looking human woman with all the muscle and soft fat that that would imply, but instead of legs she had a long, thick snakes body trailing out into the darkness of the container behind her. Her crane like neck lead to a narrow and finely scaled vipers head that itself had a long thick tail emerging from a writhing mass of black snakes that almost looked like hair or an oil spill. Her dress was boxy and sleevless, and it showed off the defined muscles that were barely softened by the shimmer of her cremy white, or rich brown and pitch black scales. The fabric was finely beaded in intricate swooping patterns and it made such a satisfying clicking noise with her every movement as she leaned out of the back of this cargo container. 

Though she wore a thick black cloth tied around her face, covering her eyes completely as well as much of her snout, Adonis would guess those were equally enrapturing. She was completely unlike anything he had ever seen before. Large and powerfully despite the grace that flowed through her every rolling movement and stunning besides the her fearsome size.

He wondered if this is what all of those speechless mueseum goers had felt looking at him on his pedestal, though he doubted his creator could have ever made anything as divinely beautiful as this woman.

"Hello?" " she asked, her voice even prettier when not muffled by the metall walls, 

"Go on then, introduce yourself," the woman grinned, gesturing to Ione

Adonis waved lamely, though he doubted she could see the motion past her veil. He turned to the woman and tapped his fingers against his carved lips before drawing an ex over his throat in am attempt to convey his muteness.

The woman sucked in a breath as she realized her error but Ione spoke up first, "I can tell there's something here," she gestured to him, "But I don't get this joke Melanie, what is it, and why are you saying its here to see me?" 

Adonis tried not to wince at being referred to as an 'it' he knew she probably meant nothing by it, but it still hearkened back to some memories that were better left alone. 

"I don't think he can talk, but he's a statue. The same grey marble the things you turn to stone become, but he's fully animate, like he walked up to the gates on his own and everything," she gently grabs one of Ione's massive hands and tugs it towards Adonis, "Just feel his hand and that will be all the proof you need," 

Adonis hesitated for a moment as Ione's face drew tight at being man handled by Melanie,  but after quick head jerk from the older woman, Adonis did as she wanted, and took Ione's hand in his. It was mockery of a handshake, as Melanie pulled hers away. 

Ione's scales were softer than Adonis had expected them to be, like velvet or a well worn blanket instead of plastic or glass, as she carefully felt the sun warmed stone of his hand. He wondered if his smooth carving felt rough to her, if the natural texture of the rock he'd been carved from was as nice for her as her softness was for him. 

"You... are," she said softly, sadness and amazement tangling in her voice, "Did I do this to you?" 

He shook his head and gestured for Melanie to speak up for him, 

"He's shaking his head no," Melanie said, "Wait, then what happened to make you like that?" 

"Hush Melanie, he doesn't have to tell us if he doesn't want to, and besides that, I think the fact that he can't talk might make a question like that a little difficult to answer," 

"I'm sure he has a way to communicate," she huffs, "Like a pen or paper? Or Oh! Simone's little sister is deaf, so she probably knows sign, I can go get her!" Melanie had almost already ran off before Adonis caught her by the shoulder, he didn't hold her hard but still she was jolted to a stop, "Shit, you're a strong one aren't you? What's up?" 

"He stopped you from going to go get Simone?" Ione sighed, "Sir, do you even know sign?" 

Adonis shrugs and shakes his head, then he mimes out writing and shakes his head again, 

"He doesn't, and going by that second little bit of charades I don't think he can write either," Melanie scratches her chin, "Say, Stones, do you have anywhere to go?"

Adonis cocks his head and waits for her to continue, 

"Like, you came here for a reason, and given I don't think you you were looking for Ione here, maybe you were after a job? Like if you are, I think I have the perfect place for a piece of work like you," 

He shrugged again as he finally pulled his hand from Ione's, he had no need for a job, but he already felt more comfortable here than he had almost anywhere else. Melanie was a bit intense, but she didn't stare or treat him as inanimate, and the two women had already put more effort into trying communicate with him than almost anyone else ever had. So, he wasn't apposed to sticking around depending on what Melanie had to offer. 

"She probably wants you to be part of the freak show," Ione said flatly,

"The Oddities and The Beauties, Not the freak show," Melanie exclaimed, "Ignore her, Stones, we aren't that out dated around here. I promise you would be treated with the upmost respect," 

"Are we really calling him 'Stones'? He probably has a name already," Ione slithered out of her container, all 30 or so feet of her coiling out onto the grass as she closed the door to her container. He scales shimmered in the sunlight so brightly that Adonis was almost too distracted by the spectacle to continue listening to Melanie.

"Until we find a way for him to tell us his name, he's Stones," Melanie nodded, "But again, Stones, I promise you you will not regret tagging along with us. We travel all over the country  seeing everything there is to see while putting on good family friendly shows that have entertained millions! You have Got to at least stick with us through this stop so you can get an idea of what the experience is like!" she sticks out a hand, "Are you in?" 

"You haven't even told him what he would be doing," Ione said, 

Though Ione is right, Adonis doesn't hesitate to shake Melanie's hand.

"Wonderful! Ione, give him a tour while I go get things set up for tonight, you two are going to be the talk of the town before we leave it!" She runs off with a wild smile on her face before either of them can stop her. 

"I'm... sorry about her, She gets excited." Ione huffs fondly, "But come on then, I'll try and fill you in on everything she missed," 

#ione #adonis #banes and boons #cracked stones and hardened scales #my writing

[echo-of-sounds]

hypersensitivities

How Aizawa, Toshinori, and Hizashi would help and support their s/o with hypersensitivities.

While hypersensitivities can be caused by many things (both mental and physical), mine are from ADHD and anxiety. I believe I kept these as general as possible so others can relate even if their issues aren’t caused by the same things as mine.

Aizawa Shouta

Aizawa’s the least picky person out there. Come home with a different smelling shampoo for him or a new comforter made out of your preferred material and he won’t bat an eye. If it works, he’s fine with it.

Rubbing. Digging. Scruffing. Itching. Constricting. You just can’t get away from it. There’s always something touching you. It makes your entire being uncomfortable and agitated. He’ll ask if there’s anything he can do. He knows you sometimes need space to breathe and calm yourself. Those times when you want someone to help, he’s there. If you need your weighted blanket, he can find it. If you need shea butter lotion, he can apply it. If you just need some skin-to-skin contact, he can provide it. Anything to get you to stop scratching and pulling at yourself, he’ll do because he hates seeing you so visibly distraught.

Having a strong sense of taste and an aversion to textiles can lead to a difficult food life. Onions are fine if they’re in this dish, prepared this way. Tomatoes, mushrooms, and bananas? Gooey and slimy. Seafood? Beans? Never. It’s frustrating to just eat. While Aizawa’s no connoisseur or nutritionist, he can (surprisingly) cook pretty well. And he sticks to plain, easy dishes. It’s great when you’re essentially limited to bread, some kinds of pasta, and some fruits and meats. He can help with any simple soups and basic meat dishes. 

If a truck’s horn or that ridiculously high pitch buzzing finally breaks your ears down to the point you’re crying, find Shouta. He’s always willing to cuddle. Even more so when you need comforting. He’s so safe and secure. Hands will stroke circles while lips kiss your temple. If you have to play rain or ocean sounds in your earbuds or from your phone, he’ll lay in bed with you, keeping you locked to him, and press kisses all over.

Whenever you leave the house, he reminds you to bring any glasses that you need: FL-41 for light sensitivity, blue blockers for computer screens, even category 4 sunglasses if your eyes need that amount of protection. He always remembers. You’ll be at the mall, squinting from the horrible fluorescents, and he’ll pull them out of his pocket for you.

His hair is perfect for hiding in when you’re out in public. It’s thick and smells like him. And while he dislikes PDA, he does make exceptions. Whenever you need a break from the lights, just turn into him, rest against his chest, and his hair will fall over your eyes. He’ll hold you close, patiently waiting for you to be ready to continue.

Please, never feel high-maintenance. If anything, having you in his life makes him more attentive to himself. He’ll eat better from any meal plans. He’ll clean his place more often so it’s enjoyable for you. He is especially aware of what cleaning supplies and detergent he uses. He just becomes considerate of how you’re in his life and what he does because he loves you.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshi developed a love for cooking. With his injury, his nutritional needs changed, so he’s learned to cook well to avoid constantly buying expensive foods. Any aversions you have, whether it be texture, smell, or taste, he’ll avoid. Can the slightest change in the sauce throw the whole dish off? His measurements are as precise as can be. Lettuce is fine, but spinach, cabbage, and parsley? It’s basically paper in your mouth. He’ll find recipes that include just lettuce and your preferred vegetables. You’ll come home to another new dish he made to surprise you.

Textile sensitivities are difficult to deal with. And clothes shopping becomes the worst task of them all. You have to test the fabric, the seams, where the tag is, how the shoulders and neck sit, the sleeve tightness, everything. Toshi will keep a list of the exact materials you like for blankets, pillows, towels, carpets, and clothing. And it doesn’t stop there. Is stoneware and glass dinnerware too irritating on your fingers? His next investment his wooden or metal dinnerware. Is cold press and rough drawing paper uncomfortable? He’ll be on the lookout for specific hot press paper.

The only thing he uses that smells is his cologne. It’s simple and never overwhelming. But if you need a different scent, he’s more than willing to go to the store with you so you can pick out something you like. 

Any scents that calm you, candles, incense, and those air freshener crystal beads, will be that scent. Vanilla or lavender. Maybe there’s some obscure scent you can only dig up online? Oh, he’ll find it. It’s incomprehensible how much he loves you. And your comfort is vital. Because if you can’t feel comfortable in your own home, then something’s seriously wrong.

The lightbulbs in your place are always free for you to change. If incandescent bulbs are what you need in the living room, buy them and change them out. If green LED lights help with migraines and pain, put them in the lamp near your bed while you rest. Install smart lighting so you can dim and change the lights whenever you need to. Toshi doesn’t care about the expenses. If it helps and protects your eyes, then money means nothing to him.

It doesn’t help that his smile is just so darn bright.

Overstimulation takes over so suddenly. You’re sitting in the living room, reading, when all of a sudden, the TV and microwave throws your hearing off, your bra becomes a boa constrictor and it’s only tightening, the flowers, food, and candles engulfs your entire being. It’s throttling, smothering, and you can’t escape. You’re left to drown. 

The minute you’re scratching, rocking, or crying, he’s prepared. Is your dog fluffy and grounding? Toshi brings her over. Do you need a hot or cold shower? It’s already running. Is fresh air the best for you? He’s walking you to the balcony or roof for a break. He can stay with you or leave you alone.

Yamada Hizashi

Hizashi is a little bit of a picky eater too. Certain vegetables and sauces like tartar, guacamole, and harissa bother him, especially if the sauces are chunky. He prefers smoother dressings/sauces. So he completely understands any food aversions you have and never makes you feel guilty for being picky. He spends extra care when choosing what restaurants to go to and what he picks up for takeout.

He loves jewelry, not just wearing it, but on his partner too: necklaces that highlight your collarbones and rings that emphasize your fingers. He wants to buy you jewelry and hates that you don’t like it. He isn’t mad at you or your preferences but at how uncomfortable you get in your own skin. He wants you to feel great. And those mornings where you change outfits nine times until you finally find something that isn’t suffocating, his heart breaks.

You can bet he’ll come home with five bras and ten shirts he found that he knows you’ll like. The shirts are soft and the exact size and shape you want with no annoying frills, buttons, or ties. The bras are cute and never have tight, prodding wires or scratchy lace. He’s like a bloodhound when he’s at the store. One whiff of a good pair of pants and he’s ransacking the isles for more like it. He wants you feeling cozy, comfortable, and sexy!

A lot of gum goes in his mouth. His breath and taste is always something. But mint is powerful. There are too many kinds- spearmint, peppermint, winter-something, sweet-whatever, polar-anything. They’re overwhelming, upset your stomach, soak into your tongue, and cling to your clothes. You’ll smell it long after he gives you a kiss. To help, Hizashi will buy literally every flavor of gum there is and let you pick the ones you like. Bubblegum? Classic. Berry Blast? He loves fruit! Apple Pie or Confetti Cake Pop? Odd choice but he can dig it!

Noise sensitivities will be a little tough to manage when living with him. And it’s not his quirk that’s the problem. He’s just a noisy guy. He’s bumping things, knocking them over. He hums, pops, and sings all the time. Music or instruments are often playing somewhere in the apartment. Sound canceling headphones would be a good investment because it’s near impossible for him to just stop making noise. It's ingrained in him. Though there will be days when he’s almost completely quiet so he can spend time with you… and press kisses all over your face.

If you need sunglasses, Hizashi is your guy. Styles, tints, frames, colors, he’ll make sure your eyes are protected and you look perfect. In your home, he’ll cover up any reflective or bright surfaces that bother you: throwing a blanket over the refrigerator and getting blackout curtains. And if you need the often dreaded eyedrops, he’ll apply them for you. He’ll reward you with chocolate and kisses.

Since he’s so in tune with his partner’s emotions, he can notice when you’re starting to get overstimulated. Your voice may get sharper. You're itching your arm till it’s red. Your squinting and tilting away from certain sounds. He’ll recommend you take a break. Go lay down with the cat. Read a book under your weighted blanket. Burn some candles while in the bath. He’ll massage lotion into your back after for extra comfort.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #yamada hizashi #hizashi x reader #aizawa headcanons #all might headcanons #present mic headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha

[ejzah]

A/N: @mashmaiden and an anonymous friend were kind enough to suggest/request and an anniversary fic for Densi’s second Wedding Anniversary.

***

Two Years of Perfect

Kensi rolled over onto her side, woken by the early morning sunlight. Deeks lay on his stomach, just like he did most mornings, sheet and quilt pulled down to just below his waist. She watched him for a couple minutes, just appreciating the slow, steady rise and fall of his back as he breathed, the soft noises he occasionally made.

When the sunlight was strong enough to cover him in a soft, golden glow, Kensi reached out and brushed her knuckles across his jaw. He shifted, turning into her touch, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with love for him.

“Good morning,” she murmured, sliding closer to kiss his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, but smiled slightly and tucked her into his chest. “Happy Anniversary.”

He grinned at that, finally opening his eyes, and whispered back,

“Happy Second Anniversary, Mrs. Deeks.” Even though Kensi normally didn’t like going by her “married name”, something about the way Deeks said it when they were alone, never failed to make her smile.

“Two of the best years of my life.” She kissed him again and nuzzled his jaw with her nose.

“Having to move and going through IVF are part of the best years of your life?” he asked doubtfully. Kensi shushed him with a finger against his lips.

“Don’t ruin the mood,” she teased. “But yes, even with all the tough things we’ve been through, I wouldn’t ask for anything else because I get to do it with you by my side.

“Oh my god, I think that is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” He paused, his smile turning softer as he caressed her cheek. “And that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“Mm, I love you too.” Slipping out from under Deeks’ arm, she rolled him onto his back, and slid her legs over either side of his hips. His eyes lit up as she hovered over him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. “I have a surprise for you”-she dipped her head and pressed a kiss directly between his pecs-“and this is part one.”

***

“So, what do you want to do after this?” Deeks asked Kensi, leaning across the kitchen island. They’d finally made it out of bed way past breakfast, so while Deeks was showering, Kensi had run out to grab their favorite tacos.

Nell, who was turning out to be an exceedingly generous boss, had given them the entire before Kensi could even fully ask.

“I thought we could go for a walk or maybe surf,” Kensi suggested.

“Perfect idea. But I have to go get something first.” She frowned as he abruptly ran back upstairs. He returned with a flat box, wrapped in blue paper and a periwinkle bow on top, and handed it to her.

“Babe, didn’t we agree on no presents this year?” Kensi reminded him with an exasperated, but fond expression. As much as he claimed to hate organized holidays, he loved giving her gifts.

“First of all, I purchased it in exchange for my legal services. Plus, this is a special occasion,” he explained, gesturing for her to open it. Knowing there was no point in arguing about it, she started sliding her finger under the invisible tape (significantly more than she would have used), revealing a plain brown box. She was extremely curious what he could have bartered for.

“Oh my god, Deeks, this is gorgeous,” Kensi gasped as she lifted the lid to reveal a perfectly rendered oil painting of them from their wedding. It showed Deeks cupping her chin between his palms as she embraced him, adoration clear as they gazed at one another.

“Really?” He sounded unsure and Kensi wrapped her free arm around him, hugging his bicep.

“It’s perfect.”

“I wanted to use one from the actual ceremony, but I forgot how many have Anatoli Kirkin grinning in the background and I didn’t want to explain why one our guests was wearing handcuffs.”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” Kensi reiterated, lightly running her fingers over the texture of the paint. Whoever the artist was, they’d taken extreme care with the task, capturing each element with stunning detail.

She carefully set the painting down on the counter and wrapped both arms around Deeks, pressing her face into his chest. He smelled like the organic shampoo he used, warm and familiar.

“Thank you for creating such a beautiful memory for us.” She leaned up and kissed him, her enthusiasm forcing Deeks against the counter. He cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss and within a few minutes, lunch and the picture, were completely forgotten.

***

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do anything fancier this year,” Kensi sighed, playing with the bits of hair at the nape of his neck, which had grown out in the last couple months. His head was pillowed on her chest, one hand loosely spread across the expanse of her side.

Although she’d had plans to get dinner, or even try cooking something, she didn’t feel like moving for the rest of the day. Deeks didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get up either. It looked like surfing was off the schedule as well.

“Hey, you know that when it comes down to it, I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as I’m with you,” he murmured back. Kensi lifted her head just enough to squint an eye at him.

“Now who’s being cheesy?”

“And you love me for it,” he said confidently, echoing his words about her from that morning.

“That is true,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Not even my tendency to watch “mind numbing documentaries?” She shrugged, shoulder brushing up against Deeks chest.

“Meh, I’m accustomed to it now. Besides, you’ve more than put up with my Titanic obsession.” Kensi wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, drawing a groan from Deeks.

“Just for the record, I am way too tired to pull out the Jack costume,” he warned her and Kensi rolled her eyes.

“Noted.” If she really wanted to, she knew it would take very little persuading to change Deeks’ mind. She was content to lay there for as long as she could. The days were they could just be together, uninterrupted, were few and far between and she planned to savor every moment.

“Happy Anniversary,” Deeks murmured again, sounding on the edge of sleep.

“Happy Anniversary, baby.”

As Deeks fell asleep against her, Kensi thought of the little box she had hidden away in the upstairs bathroom, filled with a half dozen strips of paper, each baring increasingly darker lines. Later, when the moment was right, she’d give it to Deeks. And tomorrow would be the start of an even better year together.

***

Happy Second Densi Anniversary to you all!

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #densi anniversary #fluff #romance #mildly densi private times #ejzah fanfiction

[mitamicah]

For the spring asks, daisy, favorites and fun fact? Hope you're having a good day :)

Thank you for all the questions :D <3 These got a bit long so I am putting in a pagebreak here x'D

Daisy: Do I have any pets? Sadly no :'D I did when I was younger :'D A part of me would like a pet, the other part of me knows I am already struggling taking care of myself half the time so probably not a good idea x'D

Favourites: What's my favourite tv show/movie or book? I have a soft spot for Tales of Arcadia (minus the movie that we do not speak of), Riordanverse especially PJO and Magnus Chase yet if I should mention something that is not completely obvious I'd say one favourite book series I have is the City of Spires/Isandor and I have a few reason with the last being quite odd but hear me out x'D

First up while being a very political driven plot it is engaging and you end up feeling something for pretty much every character on every side making the situation rather grey, secondly there's so, so many queer characters including a non-binary doctor elf, a canon mtm elf couple, a minor character using neopronouns, a transfeminine guard and a highly coded aroace wizard apprentice - having gotten up to speed with the Owl House I get some of the same vibes between Isandor and TOH character wise while this plot is a bit less whimsical (that being said I love TOH as well so no diss on that series :'D), and lastly and this is the odd one: I have never in my life hold a book with as soft pages OVO touching them is such a treat I am lured into reading way more than I probably should everytime I pick it up if only to caress that soft, soft paper - and it is not textured either or like too silky so it is uncomfortable to touch - it is perfectly crafted to my neurodivergent sensory needs, I need help :'D

Fun facts: something others wouldn't guess about me? This is a hard one since everytime I have jokingly referred to something I thought was less obvious about me people have the opposite reaction to it x'D Maybe that I had been auditioning for X-Factor one time and got to meet the Danish judges because of that? I did have a cold however so I hadn't sung for a week up to the audition and looking back I am both happy it didn't go worse and glad I didn't get any further x'D I wasn't even on television x'D the sole reason why I did it was because I hate auditions and I wanted to find a choir to sing in so to get over my stage fright of auditioning for smaller choirs I decided that auditioning for X-factor was a great idea x'D

Oh and probably with my hermit and strong aroace vibes that I've had a boyfriend and kissed people before :'D but again maybe not since I am a bit sad to inform that both these times were out of a feeling of dread about 'this is how you should act if you were normal, right?' - a sentiment I've heard a lot for my fellow aroace friends :'3 :'D

#asks #replies

[astraeass]

[1] start once again;

[cross-posted in ao3 • fem reader]

pairing: levi ackerman/reader (first three chapters doesn’t have Levi at all tho..)

warnings: cursing, talks about adoption, panic attack, dissociative amnesia

words: 2145

Summary:

you just wanted to know the truth, so why not be a reckless dumbass and join the scouts

"I’m joining the survey corps"

Laria froze, she couldn’t believe what her sweet, little girl was saying.

Wait, she’s not her sweet little girl anymore.

"What..?"

"You heard me Laria, I’m pretty sure you know what does that means, right?"

"[Y/N] please you can't do this to me... you can’t do this to David!"

"Or what..?"

You know this is cruel, you totally know, but your current desire to go outside the walls and see what the fuck is happening dominated your thoughts.

Laria fell to her knees, staring at the floor, apparently the old wood texture was more interesting for her than what you wanted to say.

With a deep sigh, you kneeled before her, holding her shoulders softly, when noticing your presence, Laria almost instantly grabbed yours in an opposite manner, with a tight and aggressive hold.

"[Y/N]... please don’t do this, tha-that’s suicide!"

You looked at her pale green orbs with intensity, sending her a sign that no matter what, your choice will not change that easily

"If you want me to stay, I just want to know from where I actually am, tell me Laria"

The older woman flinched, it was such a foreign sensation to hear her name coming from her daughter.

Silence.

"I..."

Laria looked down her palms closing and opening with hesitation.

"I don’t know"

You rolled your eyes standing up, you couldn’t take more of this bullshit.

Laria without your hands supporting her shoulders, fell down. Tears falling down her cheeks and meeting the creaking floor no long after.

"You are telling me you adopted me without knowing where the fuck I am from?"

The only sound you could hear were Laria's sobs, you know she’s trying to control them, but she can’t hold them a second more.

"You know I’m not from inside the walls...?"

More silence.

You don’t really know what’s going on in Laria's mind right know, her face was hiding in the floor, it was impossible to see the expression of shock in her usual calm features

"What...?”

Her voice was cracking again, that sent a pang to your heart. After all, she and her husband David were the ones who raised you.

But, you will move on.

You need to move on.

"I want to know from where I am, that’s why I’m joining the survey corps. I’ll go outside the walls"

Your turned away from her, slowly walking to the door you recently came from, without looking back, because you knew that you wouldn’t be able to continue forward if you see her pained expression again.

24 hours before;

It was another normal day, you were going to the market, David, your father, needed some fresh tomatoes for the plate he was cooking today. Even thought your butlers could go out and buy them for him, you insisted enough, just like always.

"You started being a really stubborn girl since you came to the world, [Y/N]" Said David with a smirk in his face when you managed to convince him. This time was harder, it was like he was scared about me going outside, it was... strange.

You loved going outside.

The chattering from people doing their chores, the sun's bright light and slight breeze softly caressing your skin brought you to a state of comfort that made you unconsciously smile.

After a short walk, you reached your destination, a small stand that sold fresh ingredients, most of them vegetables. You weren’t fond of their taste at all, but the smell was added to your list of comfort ambience.

"Hey [Y/N]! You’re doing the shopping today again?"

You nodded to the old woman, she was already used to your presence and usual shopping. You maybe were outside way too much

"Yes, Miss Anderson! However this time was harder to convince my father, I think it’s because I’m getting older"

After grabbing the necessary quantity David asked for and payed for it, you followed the way to go to home, this time you went faster, an uneasy feeling wandered you for a strange reason, making you want to go home as fast as possible.

However, a familiar voice made you stop in your tracks.

"Claire wait a minute!"

You turned around when you heard your last name and meet big bright blue eyes, a tall form with broad shoulders. He was person of your age and apparently he was panting a little, it seemed that he ran for you to catch you before you decided to go home.

Erwin Smith, the golden boy in your class.

You didn’t know a lot from him, you just knew that his father died when he was younger coincidentally after he spread some rumors about what’s outside the walls, oh and that he was a little bit older than you.

Not that you care anyways.

"Erwin, what do you need?"

After gaining some air after running for you, he handed you a little bag with some money that you recognized as what David gave you for the tomatoes

"This fell from your pocket and I couldn’t help but notice that I was from you"

"...Thank you"

The both of you stood there, an awkward silence invaded your comfort, and that bothered you a lot. You were a quiet person since you were small, so it was always hard for you to start a conversation but ended up getting used to it.

This was so embarrassing.

"I can walk you to your home, if you want to"

"No"

You didn’t even hesitate and continued with your way back home.

"Thank you again, uh.. I’ll get going"

And with that you left, you were close to your house anyways. But a feeling of regret started to eat you up. You hated your boldness.

that’s why you don’t make friends [Y/N]...

However, Erwin didn’t actually move from his spot, he decided to stay there watching your form slowly decrease its size. There was something strange about you.

He was finding it out.

;;

You finally reached home, opening the big doors of you house, don’t caring if your maids scolded you for doing it because it was their job.

"[Y/N] how much times we need to tell you that you don’t need to open the doors?"

Giselle, the head maid told you for the nth time this week with an already annoyed look. It was getting irritating, couldn’t anyone see you were trying to be independent?

You just passed by, Giselle after all wasn’t way too much older than you, her mother worked for your family for a long time, so she just got her title thanks to her, which to you, was an error since she sometimes thought a superiority aura would intimidate you.

At first you thought she was jealous, but why? Your looks? Your sharp but at the same time soft features are beautiful, they contrasted perfectly. Mayhap your intelligence? ...no.

This is ridiculous.

"[Y/N] sweetheart, you’re already home?"

Laria with David at her side interrupted your thoughts, making you jump a little and hoping that they didn’t notice.

David Claire was a tall man, strawberry blond curly and slightly long hair, usually tied up in a low ponytail and his chocolate dark wide shaped eyes complemented his face very well.

Meanwhile Laria Claire has her platinum blond almost white hair trimmed in a bob cut, her light chubby face was cute, but her sharp hazel eyes kind of scared you sometimes, the way her bangs sometimes covered them didn’t help at all.

But you.. you were strange, preciously strange, a girl unique with unique features.

Way too unique.

"Yes, I didn’t need to buy a lot of things"

You approached your kitchen, leaving the bag were you carried the tomatoes besides David, him sending you a sweet thankful smile. When you were bringing your hands to your pockets, you felt a bulge, noticing that it was the little bag that Erwin picked up from were it fell.

"Oh, I almost forgot giving your money back father, where do I leave it?" You asked playing with the bag bouncing it between your hands

David chuckled seeing your cute mannerisms and pointed upstairs. "Just leave it in my office, inside the first drawer if you can, please" He looked at you with pleading eyes.

Huh...?

You nodded, grabbing the money bag before it fell and headed upstairs. Wondering why your father gave you that look, he seemed even desperate for you to place the pouch back. David's office was the last one in the hall, giving you more time to think about what just happened.

Entering the room, you expect something coming out for you. How dumb. Slowly, you went to the desk and opened the first drawer, inside a paper with your name and another last name.

[Y/N] [L/N]

[L/N]...? What.

The money pouch you were holding, fell down because you were holding it tightly, the force increasing the more you read the coins falling everywhere and making a loud noise that probably reached your parents in the kitchen. Shit.

Before picking up and collecting the coins you fell down on your knees, an heavy headache suddenly hitting you.

I’m.. I can’t I’m not an object

Why did they sell me..?

You were lying down the floor of a carriage, the wet and cold wood hugged your soft cheek. The rocky path making your body jump from time to time. Your wrists and ankles were tied tightly, you moved a bit, but it burnt. You also had some type of clothing around your mouth preventing you to scream for help.

The only thing keeping you conscious was the beautiful nature you could see by a hole in the cloth that was hiding your body from the outside world so no one could see that the carriage had a kidnapped girl in the back.

It was beautiful, pink... trees? A large body of water that reflected the mountains and the full bright moon. The mountains had some snow at the top since it was very white. However you couldn’t see a lot more since your vision started to fade.

You suddenly gasped loudly, opening your eyes widely. Your hands were gripping your hair with a strong hold and you barely noticed you were crying after seeing some wet spots in the floor below you. What.. was that?

"[Y/N]"

The voice of your fath- no. The voice of David startled you, making you look up him with a tear stained face. His eyes sending you pity.

You hated that.

You stood up rapidly pushing past him with so much force, that it made him fall on his butt, you were about to help him but as fast as you stood, you face contorted in anger leaving the office to run to your room.

Closing you door behind you and locking it up, you turned your back to your door, supporting yourself on it and carefully sliding till you sat in the floor, bringing your knees to your face and hiding it.

No, you weren’t crying, you were confused, you were angry. Why that memory decided to appear in that exact moment? To much in such a short amount of time.

You expected David or even Laria to come and knock to her door to see if they cared. They didn’t. Was that also part of your illusion? The loved and cared for you... right?

Not that you cared, again.

Next day, after coming for whatever your were doing, probably just spacing out, collecting your thoughts. You confronted Laria, apparently David didn’t tell her about your little panic attack, it was heartbreaking, he wasn’t even there.

The more you walked from your house, the more determined you were to join the scouts. You’ll finally know your origin, it didn’t matter if it was tragic or not, your curiosity apparently won. How sad.

;;

"So yeah... that was pretty much what happened"

You didn’t expect meeting Erwin when joining the training corps, however it didn’t surprise you at all. What really surprised you is his look of amazement in his eyes when telling your story.

The bright look being more noticeable when he was listening to your theory of yourself not being from inside the walls.

"I know Smith, the idea is basically impossible, it could be a dream, y'know those fiction ones" you said after seeing how he kept on silence after some minutes when you told him what happened in your household not long ago.

Nothing.

"Could you say something? This is awkward as fuck"

Erwin pupils widened, he's back to the real world. His expression know shooting you an apologetic smile, making you frown.

"My apologies [L/N], I was in my own mind. I’m sorry all of tha-"

"Don’t pity me, I did it myself"

Next Chapter

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Fourth Coming

Fandom: The Wilds Rating: T Word Count: 2157

Summary: And on the twenty-third day, Nora ate goat and thought about love.

Nora sees the experiment through two lenses, like the red and blue acetate in those cheap 3D glasses. One lens is the scientific, the other is the brutal. When she puts these metaphorical glasses on, she’s just there, in the middle of it, but when she’s feeling particularly tired (understandably often) or just relaxed (inexplicably often—a fact to be concealed from the others), she shifts between the two views. Each is sharper alone than they are combined.

Scientific: counting the days; subtly taking her own inventory of the rations; monitoring Fatin’s dehydration, the commensurate level of distrust the rest of the group have for her.

Brutal: cold fingers in wet, black sand, disinterring Jeanette’s grave; Dot’s tumbling, shivering recount of spearing and battering a snake; ralphing, ralphing, ralphing bad mussels.

It isn’t until the goat that these contrary perspectives finally attain a kind of beautiful balance in Nora’s brain. And it isn’t her thoughts, or rereading one of her journal entries, that has her mental clouds clearing. Actually, it’s what Leah says. About barbecues and normalcy and the Fourth of July. Leah’s remark—possibly offhand, certainly poisonous, even if Nora can’t see how yet—gracelessly and unselfconsciously reveals the barbarism of order. A social gathering on the same day each year, centered around fire (fireworks, sure, but Nora is amazed by how dazzled people are by something not so very far advanced from what had the cavepeople oohing and awwing) and the cooking of meat. Ritual is the summit at which the scientific and the brutal join hands.

The day doesn’t matter. (Every day could have been June 29th and what difference would that have made for them on this island?) The conditions of their environment haven’t changed. (No major shift in the seasons or significant weather patterns, just the single freakish high tide.) The slaughter of the goat and the subsequent cookout should be put down to chance, Nora knows. Toni, Martha, and Shelby decided to look for food. Martha happened to find the goat. She happened to lay her hands on a tool that could do the job. She happened to be successful. And now, miraculous barbecue in honour of… what?

Nora’s sure that most of the girls would say the feast is in honour of themselves, their power, their survival. All of that would really put a spit-shine on Gretchen’s mission statement, but Nora’s not just an agent, a plant, a spy, a wolf in castaway’s clothing. She seeks to understand as much as she always has. She wonders if Shelby thanks god for the goat, or eats it as a form of praise. Nora constantly spots her toying with the cross on her necklace, frequently in a way that holds it far from her throat, almost like she’s thinking about ripping the necklace off and hurling it into the ocean. That would be going a bit far, but then, so is hacking your hair off because a brush got stuck.

Their ritual could be the sacrifice of another creature in the hopes of sparing themselves—a kind of desperate, gasping celebration. Privately, Nora decides they’re celebrating love. Leah’s persistent aura of tragic romance is part of the inspiration for that, but she isn’t part of either of the two developing relationships Nora’s been observing.

Martha’s picking at her goat meat glumly, so Nora rises and goes over to her. Her gait is unsteady on this sand and on these legs, weakened over the past two days of starvation, but it’s enough to carry her until she can slump down next to Martha. Sweet and strong, vulnerable and clearly capable (judging by the sizzle of fat dripping from the roasting goat leg and hitting the fire), Martha smiles when Nora joins her. Nora smiles back and that’s enough between them for a few minutes.

Nora watches the browned meat, nearly allowing herself to be hypnotized by the texture that urges her to sink her teeth in, the crispy spots she knows would taste incredible. But she can’t gorge herself; her stomach needs to be cool about what she’s already eaten or the chewed up goat goes the way of the slurped mussels Rachel found.

Carefully, Nora turns her head to study Martha. She decides that what this girl needs is the same thing Leah needed on Day 12 when she was sitting alone on the beach: some kind of dirty joke. Since she’s fresh out of filthy material of the Christmas variety, Nora tells Martha, “One second,” and heaves herself up again. She comes back dragging Marcus. He’ll be her muse, but it’s also a reunion of lovers.

“You two could get married,” Nora tells Martha. “Shelby said she was an ordained youth minister, remember?”

They laugh and it’s softer than the crackle of the fire. Nora likes that. The steady, rolling sound of their laughs together. How they taper off, unlike the ceaseless noise of breaking waves that drives Nora insane whenever she surfaces from her numbness to the sound. Like becoming conscious of your breathing and working like hell to stop noticing it, because having to purposefully regulate every breath is exhausting and terrifying.

Martha frowns a little in consideration, then half-smiles.

“Nah. I don’t know if I’m ready to commit like that. I think this could just be a fling. All those abs and he didn’t come help me haul that goat.”

“That’s true.” When Martha gazes at the mannequin, Nora assesses Marcus as well. “And it’s not like you’d want to keep him around because he gives great head.”

“He might’ve once,” Martha defends, brushing hair out of her face when a breeze kicks up, “but he gave so much head that there’s none left for me.”

They catch each other staring at the clean line where Marcus’s neck ends and nothing rests above it and trip into laughter again. Though Nora feels like she accomplished her dirty joke, Martha made it even better. People have underestimated her. Nora’s noted it from the start. It’s probably because Martha was injured. Group dynamics were established quickly and have formed and reformed in the days and weeks since, but Day 1 showed them the rawest version of who they are together and, before they knew about Jeanette, Martha was the weak one. Have the others seen her role evolve like Nora has? Are Nora’s observations anything special, really?

“This is totally not a judgement thing or anything,” Nora says, meaning it. “I was just wondering if you were maybe going to wash your clothes. Or change them.”

“Oh.”

Martha looks down at herself and now Nora’s glad she said something; it doesn’t seem like Martha was really aware that she’s been sitting here crusted in drying blood. Nora weighs the acceptability of a period joke and decides against it.

“You don’t have to,” she assures Martha, raising a gentle hand. “It just seemed like maybe the, uh, the slaughtering process? Was kind of a mindfuck?”

“Yeah.” Martha stares straight ahead and lets out a short laugh that Nora doesn’t join her in. “I’m glad Marcus wasn’t there to see. He might not’ve come back the same.”

Nora peers at her a moment, then resolves to just say what she’s thinking.

“Did you?”

Turning her head, Martha looks at Nora and her smile’s the same, but her eyes are different. No, Nora would write in the journal. The answer is plain. Maybe she’ll record it on paper later and maybe she won’t. Looking into Martha’s eyes, Nora knows she won’t need help remembering this.

“I’m just living my best life,” Martha tells her, batting the ends of her hair with her hand.

It sounds like something Fatin would say in this moment, or at least have printed on a t-shirt or something—it’s flip and glib—and for the very reason that it reminds Nora of Fatin, she’s certain that Martha not only means the silly words sincerely but that she feels the kind of truth in the trope, the mindfulness in the meme, that Fatin fights so hard to experience herself. Fatin is deeper than that ocean over there and Martha is a girl scooping out the sand in front of her mannequin boyfriend, digging him a sturdy trench to rest in so she can lean back against his factory-sculpted physique, painted in the blood of her first kill.

For whatever reason, Marcus is the man Martha wants. Nora can’t imagine him becoming anyone else’s property after all this is over.

“Do you want a lychee instead?” she offers. Martha’s flat-out ignoring her leaf-plate of meat now.

“Maybe in a minute.”

She turns her dreamy eyes away from where she’s rubbing a streak of dirt off Marcus’s bicep. Nora follows her gaze to Shelby, who seems to be counting out and partitioning the lychee haul, looking to Dot from time to time. Dot isn’t interfering, just giving encouraging nods when Shelby seeks them out. And of course Toni’s watching too.

“You think they’re telling the truth?” Nora inquires bluntly. “That whole ‘wrong turn in the woods’ story?”

Martha shrugs and says, “Yeah,” but Fatin scootches towards them, evidently drawn by the hum of gossip in the air.

“Are you talking about Toni and Shelby?” she asks, but it’s more of a demand. Her eyes are bright and excited, her mouth grinning, and Nora knows that a lot of that effect is thanks to their first meal in days, but it astounds her how socializing lights Fatin up as much as it used to shut Nora down.

“No,” Martha says quickly, but no faster than Nora’s flat, “Yes.”

“Dope. Yeah, those two are a hundred percent lying.”

“Are you sure?” Nora asks.

She’s not, but the cameras will be. Seeing the footage afterwards isn’t something she negotiated on when Gretchen made her part of the team. Speculation, though less scientific, is much more fun.

Fatin rolls her eyes like Nora’s questioning the laws of gravity. (She blinks and sees the poster of Newton. Sees Newton seeing the apple. Her throat closes up until she softly coughs it clear.)

“Definitely,” Fatin says. “Even if they were just out there all day picking fruit, it’s still the most sapphic thing I’ve ever heard. It’s, like, biblically sapphic.”

Martha laughs.

“Uhhh, sorry, which version of the Bible did you read?”

Nora smiles broadly and looks from Martha’s expression of brimming joy to Fatin’s concentrated delight. Like she’s on to something and whether or not she’s right is beside the point. That kind of approach makes Nora pleasantly dizzy. She remembers being little, standing at a department store perfume counter she couldn’t see over while her mom spritzed scents on her wrists that floated down to Nora’s nose. Fruit and flowers and anything and everything that could make the air beautiful when a woman walked into a room.

“None, but come on, there’s the garden, right? I know some shit. The marketing for this retreat was super Christian-centric anyway. We’re out here representing the fucking Dawn of Eve!” Fatin gestures triumphantly around at their dismal (except for the goat) camp. “If those two bitches weren’t getting their freak on under a fruit tree last night, I’ll eat my gold watch.”

Nora scrutinizes the girls in question.

“Shelby does look especially glowy today.”

“Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s chronic sun damage,” Martha singsongs.

“Maybe it’s what Toni did to those mussels with her tongue,” Fatin acknowledges frankly, “because Shelby sure as hell didn’t borrow my hundred-dollar highlighter. That shit got swept out to sea.”

Fatin trains her eyes on Shelby while Martha watches Toni, and Nora watches both of them watch the others. When they switch subjects in a moment of unvoiced agreement, Toni jerks her head up and spots Fatin staring at her. The tender gazes she’s been throwing Shelby’s way over the low mound of red fruit tighten into suspicion.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Toni barks, and a laugh sputters from Fatin as she raises her hands to show she means no harm.

“Ok,” Martha says to Fatin and Nora, giggling. “I see it now. Something happened between Shelby and Toni yesterday. Some kind of hunter-gatherer romance.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve taken the ‘hunter’ title away from Shelby,” Nora points out.

“Well, whatever. Gatherer-gatherer then.”

“With an island colony of all women, it was only a matter of time,” is Fatin’s pragmatic take. “Another couple weeks without an orgasm and I would’ve fucked Toni myself.”

“It wasn’t just time,” Martha scoffs, tipping her head to the side. “It’s love.”

“It’s both,” Nora says. She could prove it to them, flourish the statistics she’s been tracking in her journal. How those bald numbers lie there next to the drawings that spill to the edge of the page. She’s made bedfellows of data and emotions. She just sits there and grins at them. “It’s the aphrodisiacal influence of the Fourth of July.”

#my writing #The Wilds #Nora Reid #Martha Blackburn #Fatin Jadmani #Toni x Shelby #The Wilds fanfiction #The Wilds spoilers

[corrupt-fvcker]

Masterpiece (Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn!Reader)

Masterpiece ( Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn!Reader )

Warning: nothin’ but fluff and shirtless obi-wan, i wrote this as gender neutral but PLEASE message me if there’s any concerns (aka i fucked up and used pronouns)

Word Count: 1.6K

Author’s Note: just a quick piece about reader getting caught drawing obi-wan. had a lot of fun writing this, hope y’all enjoy. one hundred percent inspired by a daydream i had when procrastinating homework. my requests are open!!

Obi-Wan looked ethereal. It was storming on Coruscant, raindrops incessantly pattering against the glass of the viewport as distant shuttles raced through the ebony night sky. Your apartment was silent other than the soft crackling of the fire Obi-Wan had constructed, your living room tainted a warm orange from the reflection of the dancing flames.

Your shirtless boyfriend hadn't spoken a word for over an hour, quietly sitting cross-legged on the glossy floor facing the fireplace. His freckled back was straight, strong forearms resting on his thighs with his calloused palms open to the ceiling. Your eyes followed the curve of his spine, admiring each and every mole and battle scar that painted his skin. His shoulders were broad from years of fierce training, the pale skin dusted with a flurry of tan freckles. You diverted your gaze to the back of his head, his auburn hair in need of trimming and still slightly damp from his shower.

It was his second night back from a particularly long mission, and it must've been tedious because he was keen to dismiss any conversation regarding the three-week-long battle, no matter how many times you insisted that you'd rather talk about it then have him bottle it up. But even though he was with you now, back home safe, you knew that your Obi-Wan wasn't exactly here. His body was roughly three paces away from the couch you were perched in, but his mind was much further.

Meditation had been a regular practice for Obi-Wan ever since he was a padawan, and you had to entertain yourself when he followed through his routine of meditating at sunrise and sunset. The thought of you being awake at sunrise was comical, which luckily meant that Obi-Wan was back in your shared bed with you by the time you stirred awake. But every night, you were forced to leave your lover alone for an hour or so -- which should've been easy, except you missed the ever-living hell out of him.

Though over time you grew used to the hour of alone time Obi-Wan's routine meditations offered, you learned to busy yourself. But you weren't going to give up so easily, you were going to spend time with him even the general was half-unconscious and unintentionally ignoring your fabulous company. So every night when his cerulean eyes fluttered shut and his chest rose and fell at a suspiciously slow pace, you drew him.

There was something so incredibly peaceful about Obi-Wan meditating, a silent beauty that begged to be captured on paper. Obi-Wan never looked so relaxed, all the worry and tension in his muscles melting from his body like hot wax.

Tonight, Obi-Wan had been silent for much longer than usual, nearly two hours as you focused on the finishing details of your sketch. And you were actually proud of your work, which you always found difficult when it came to any of your art. You had finally managed to capture every flicker of beauty Obi-Wan possessed, and even if it was just a drawing, it was undeniably him.

You smirked, gazing down at your sketch with only a twinge of scrutiny lacing your mind. His hair wasn't quite right, you'd struggled to add texture to it without making the back of his head look like a bird's nest. And his back was actually a bit more muscular than the slightly leaner version carefully etched onto the paper. Nevertheless, you were pleased with tonight's drawing and you blew away the eraser shavings with a small puff of air from your pursed lips.

Now all you had to do was outline the pencil sketch with a black ink pen, which was always a frightening task but you could never claim your drawings to be officially finished without the black outline.

You quietly stood from the plush cushions of the couch, setting your sketchpad down on the sofa before you ventured into the office to fetch a pen.

When you returned to the living room, your heart stuttered.

"Don't look at that!"

Obi-Wan had moved from his spot on the floor, leaning into the couch as he examined your art with precision, his pupils carefully following every faint wispy line of your pencil's graphite. Your stomach was rolling, your face suddenly feeling hot as Obi-Wan reluctantly tore his gaze from the drawing to look at you.

"Did you make this?"

No reason in denying it, the skin of your hands stained from your pencil and your signature was undeniable scribbled in the right bottom corner of the page as well as the front cover.

"Uh, yeah," you answered timidly, unmistakably embarrassed. It was one thing for someone else's eyes to even look at your artwork, but it was entirely something else for Obi-Wan to see not just your drawing but a drawing of him. Obi-Wan -- the man that has spent his entire life living in his body, who knows it better than anyone, looking at an imperfect reflection that you drew.

You swallowed thickly, beginning to panic when Obi-Wan continues to silently examine the sketch. "I know it's not perfect, I'm not the best artist. I don't think I really did you justice." You try to say this with a smile and glimmer of humor in your voice, but you knew that you plainly sounded nervous.

"It's... amazing," he spoke softly, eyes flitting between you and the paper. You hadn't moved from the doorway, feet stuck in place like your body had been frozen in carbonite. Obi-Wan's rosy lips curl into a soft grin. "You're amazing."

Relief floods your system, like a dousing of refreshing water. You were just glad it didn't weird him out that you stared at him for two hours while he was meditating (though you had a hunch that he was guilty of watching you in the morning while you were still asleep).

"Really?" You questioned, eyebrows furrowing. "I think it's off."

Obi-Wan shook his head in disagreement, smiling down at the paper. "No, I think it's perfect. A masterpiece."

You couldn't help but laugh, watching Obi-Wan stare at the drawing with an expression of pure adoration. "You just like it because it's a picture of you."

Obi-Wan huffed out an amused chuckle, the wrinkles that etched the corners of his eyes creasing as he turned to look at you. "Maybe," he teased, "but I know you're far more talented than you give yourself credit for."

You crossed your arms over your chest, silently dismissing his compliment as you ventured over to sit beside him. He opened his arms, allowing you to lean against his side and his strong arms surrounded you as he continued to gaze down at the piece of art. He was warm, invitingly so, and you thanked the Maker that Obi-Wan hadn't tugged on a shirt after his shower.

"Can I keep this?" Obi-Wan asked, the vibrations from his voice thrumming throughout his entire body.

Your head was nestled into the crook of his neck and you pressed a chaste kiss to the warm skin. "Of course."

Obi-Wan smiled, setting the page down carefully on the thick armrest of the couch before firmly securing his arms around your waist. He pivoted on the cushions, swinging a leg behind you before tightening his grip on your waist and dragging you up his bare torso, his skin providing more warmth than the fire ever had to offer. He relaxed into the throw pillows that lined the armrest, leaving both of your bodies at a comfortable angle. His breaths were soft and slow, ghosting over the top of your head.

"I missed you, darling," he promised, his voice low and laced with undeniable exhaustion.

A soft smile flickered over your features, hugging his arms that were loosely wrapped around your body. "I miss you too."

Obi-Wan pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head. "And you're so beautiful."

Now you were grinning. 

What a complete sap.

"You're just saying that because I drew you."

Amusement shadowed over Obi-Wan's face but he shook his head. "No, I'm saying it because I love you."

You rolled your eyes playful. "Whatever you say, Obi-Wan. Just stop snooping in my sketchbook."

A moment of silence drifted between the two of you, and for a second you assumed that Obi-Wan had fallen asleep.

"Is there more?"

Your mind is cautiously blank, raising an eyebrow even though he can't see it from behind you. "More what?" You replied hesitantly.

"More drawings," he answered simply.

More drawings of him, you figure he means.

"Uh... no?"

Apparently not nearly as convincing as you needed to be. 

Long fingers dug into your sides and you unwillingly shriek, jolting off of Obi-Wan and tumbling to the floor with a hollow thump.

"Hey!" You frowned, lifting your head up to face the bastard except he's already running off with your sketchbook tightly grasped in his hands.

Oh shit.

"Give it back," you hollered, racing after him but he'd already locked himself in the refresher. You pray that his ego doesn't enlarge too badly once he sees the nude images you drew from memory.

Yeah, you were screwed.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #ewan mcgregor #star wars #fanfic #fanfiction #corrupt-fvcker #my writing #reader insert #self insert

[efrmellifer]

Advenientia

“You seem distracted, Lord Commander,” Lucia commented.

He blinked once, then again. Drawing his mind back inside, reminding himself he was supposed to be working, not letting his mind wander, wondering and fretting.

“There would be no use in lying to you. I am,” he sighed, eyes drifting to the bit of sunlight on his desk. “I’m worried, more than anything.”

Lucia slouched her way out of her proper posture, no longer at attention, but not exactly at ease, either. She stood on a cocked hip, one eyebrow rising even as she took on a concerned tone. “And what about this time?”

Again, Aymeric sighed. “About Etien, though I doubt that comes as a surprise. The last few months, she’s been like a furnace needing fuel. From what I understand, it takes a lot of energy to be carrying multiples, especially when the odds were against her conceiving anyway.”

Lucia just nodded.

“But now, the poor thing is hardly eating, and this morning when I kissed her goodbye, she was so much colder than she had been.”

There was a heavy silence, Aymeric returning to worrying and Lucia processing what he had told her.

Finally, she spoke. “In that case, I think the thing to do is call the midwife. Better to be proactive over nothing than ignore something serious.”

Another few grounding blinks from Aymeric. When he opened his mouth to reply, his linkpearl went off.

Even through the grainy audio, a mix of pain and panic were evident in Etien’s voice.

“Aymeric? I really don’t feel well at all. Can you… can you make yourself available?”

He looked at the papers strewn over his desk, then up at Lucia.

She just nodded to him in response.

“Of course I can. I will be at your side in but a few moments’ time.”

The line closed.

“Thank you,” he said on the tail of another sigh, handing the metaphorical reins over to Lucia. “It would appear I will be calling the midwife. If anything significant occurs… if, Fury forbid, something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

As Aymeric walked, he muttered to himself, little half-prayers and flustered cursing as he waited for the midwife to answer. All told, he wanted to run through Saint Valeroyant’s Forum, or even better would be to use the aether system, but he needed to have time to call I’rixa.

After what felt like an eternity—he was halfway up the stairs to the Pillars—he heard her answer.

“Good day, what can I—”

“Etien is sick,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “She has eaten little for the last three days, and her temperature is low. Now she has asked me to attend her. How quickly can you get here?”

“Within the next bell,” I’rixa replied, sounded a little ruffled herself. “Keep her warm and as comfortable as you can until I get there. Please. And take a deep breath, m’lord. By the end of the day, you may be a father.”

He swallowed. “Right.”

He kept walking, picking up the pace just a little bit,. He was passing the Athenaeum Astrologicum now. Not long to go.

Aymeric practically tripped up the stairs into the house, throwing off his coat as he made his way to the bedroom.

Etien was stood at the window, dressed in her nightgown.

It was, as they had joked what felt like so long ago, left completely open to give her room. Well, not quite completely. She had one button done, the very top, just under her collarbone.

This was, as well as Aymeric could remember, the first time that that button had been fastened. He laughed softly, and she turned from the window, making her way over to him.

She looked pained already, and hindered by her own body, but she wrapped her arms around him, purring and nuzzling him.

“Thank the Twelve you’re here,” she murmured.

She was still a little cooler than he had gotten used to, but she seemed less pale and peaked.

“Or, really, thank you for being here,” she continued. “For coming so quickly.”

“Of course, dearest,” he responded, his knuckle drifting down her jaw. “Is there anything I can do? I already called I’rixa.”

“Oh, she’s coming?”

“This sounded serious. I thought it best she come and make sure you were well. You, and them.” He laid a hand on Etien’s stomach, pulling it back like he’d been burnt when the texture of her skin shifted below his hand.

“What in the seven hells was that?”

Her teeth were grit, her ears flat, and her forehead pressed to his side. “I think they’re coming, too.”

Aymeric rubbed Etien’s back. “All right. I have every faith you will handle this with your usual aplomb. And I’ll be right here with you, as long as it takes.”

_

By the time I’rixa arrived and had been ushered to the bedroom, Etien was reclining in bed, all the nice linens stripped from the bed and sitting folded on her vanity’s chair. Her hair was braided, and she was completing the final stitches of the second blanket.

Finished just in time.

The midwife bustled in, hand immediately coming to Etien’s forehead, then her cheeks.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Etien’s lips parted,  her tongue lolling out.

“Wider, please.”

Her mouth stretched wider, followed by a melodious ‘aaaaaaa’ that turned to a high-pitched whine.  Etien’s eyes screwed shut, tears slipping from the corners as her hands settled on her belly.

I’rixa’s hand slipped under Etien’s, feeling the contraction of the muscles below the skin.

“This is probably for the best,” she noted, half-turning toward Aymeric. “Any longer, and they might have been too big for her to deliver the usual way. And then we would be hauling her to the infirmary. And we don’t want that, do we?” she asked, returning her gaze to Etien. “Deep breath, and out like you’re trying to make a candle flicker, but not go out.”

Etien breathed in, and let her cheeks puff out before she began to properly control the exhale, a steady stream of air making I’rixa’s shirt flutter.

“Excellent job. Oi, papa, come encourage your girl. She’s got a long night ahead of her, and I think she’ll be wanting you close by sooner rather than later.”

Aymeric started from where he was leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, and came to the side of the bed.

He took Etien’s hand from where it lay on her stomach still, winding his arm around hers.

“Aymeric,” she whispered on the tail end of her breath.

“Yes?”

She squeezed his hand. “Are you excited?”

“I am. But for now, I want to focus on you, and making sure you come through this as easily as possible.” He looked up at I’rixa.

“Do you want me to call Whitecape?” she asked.

Aymeric was silent, his lip bitten as he considered.

She had to stop herself before she accidentally let slip the almost-rude ‘are you scared?’ Of course he was scared. His wife was in pain, and they had both been taking extra precautions to make sure she stayed safe. They were so close to the finish (of this stage of it all, anyroad), but this was the point where it could all go wrong very quickly. His love for Etien was written plainly on his face as he debated the question, looking down at her. This fear was born of love. And as the midwife, I’rixa was the one in charge, the one with all the knowledge. So she changed the wording of the question, and therefore its spirit, but not its message.  Whatever would make them all feel secure.

“Would it make you more comfortable if we had him here?”

He looked up at her again, jaw slightly slackened before he closed his mouth and swallowed. “Are you confident you can do this without his help?”

“I am secure enough in my training and capabilities that I can at the very least decide when we’ll need to call for intervention, if we must. All right?”

Aymeric started to nod, but then he turned to Etien. “Etien? What do you think?”

“I think… we can at least start.” She took a sharp inhale, followed by a shaking huff. “Last thing we need is everyone finding out what’s begun here.” She laughed, fixing her slightly-sweaty grip on Aymeric’s hand. “I’m in no state to entertain.”

I’rixa patted her side, then let her hand rest on Etien, waiting for the next contraction. “Thattagirl. Then we should be about it.”

_

When the controlled puffs of Etien’s breath gave way to a drawn-out sigh, overshadowed by a high, mewling cry, the atmosphere in the room brightened significantly, even though the sun was closer to when it had set than when it was going to rise.

I’rixa was quiet for a moment, giving Aymeric a moment to sweep back the fraying strands of Etien’s braid and kiss her forehead while she settled.

Then, I’rixa delivered the news. “You have a daughter. A miqo’te. Got some strong lungs on her, listen to that.”

“Can I hold her?” Aymeric asked.

“Ordinarily I would tell you yes,” I’rixa replied, “but your lady love here has a ways to go, I think, so we require a third, and maybe a fourth, pair of hands before we can hand Baby over.” She wrapped the newborn up in one of the receiving blankets, and held her there. “So, maybe it’s time we called in Whitecape? And perhaps someone who can keep Etien calm while you’re busy with the baby. I’ll stay here, and she’ll be safe. Both of them will.”

Nodding, Aymeric started getting ready to head out. But first, he gave Etien another kiss. “I will return shortly. I hate to ask this of you again, but you must be strong while I am not with you.”

She blinked slowly, a small smile arcing her lips. “I think I can manage it. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back.”

He ducked out the door, his footsteps echoing down the hall until the door opened and shut.

_

When Aymeric came back, Whitecape trailing after him and his relief at Etien’s side on the way, Etien was hazily half-asleep in bed.

“Has anything changed?” Aymeric asked.

“Nothing yet. I’ve untethered Baby, and she’s doing well.” She nodded to Etien. “She’s still laboring, but also obviously tired.”

“And I was called because…?” Whitecape asked from where he still stood in the doorway. “I have no training in obstetrics.”

“True, but we expect twins. I wanted someone like you on-hand in case there might be excess bleeding. That, and you are familiar with her usual health, I figured?”

“Well,” he said mildly. “My experience with her is usually when she is in a much worse state. The last time I had to treat her—other than prior to consulting with you, that is—she was carried to me still-unconscious from Ghimlyt Dark.”

“I see.”

“But I suppose I understand your rationale. So here I am, at your disposal.”

“If you wanted someone who’s familiar with my health, you could have called Y’shtola,” Etien mumbled. “She knows my aether signature, too. And she’s a miqo’te.” She turned slightly, onto her hip, to better face Aymeric. “Aren’t you supposed to be holding our daughter?”

“I’m waiting until Estinien gets here.”

Now she smiled. “Oh.”

“Well, you won’t be waiting very long,” he said, stepping past Whitecape.

“Hello, Estinien,” Etien cooed.

He stood next to Aymeric, taking her hand from him. “How nice we get to recreate this scene in your home, instead of the infirmary this time.”

Etien giggled, exhaustion clear in her voice.

“And with an addition to the menagerie,” Estinien noted. “I take it you’re the midwife?”

Introductions were made, and then it was just Etien and Estinien, since I’rixa had led Aymeric off to the side to lay his newborn daughter into his arms, and teach him how to properly hold a baby.

“He looks like he was made for this,” Estinien said, almost sighing. He rested one leg on the bed, half-sitting. “And you… how does it go? Chocobos sweat, men perspire, new mothers glow?”

“Estinien,” she scoffed.

“Did slaying primals prepare you for this?”

“I doubt anything could have. It’s hard.”

“Well, you look to be in capable hands, and I know you have loving support through it.”

She nodded slowly, lightly squeezing his hand. “I am and I do.”

“So all that leaves is the work that, like usual, only you can do.”

“I suppose so.”

Her grip on his hand tightened, followed by a hiss.

Estinien was off the bed, out of his relaxed position, in a flash. “Are you all right?”

“I think it’s time for the next one.”

“That would make sense,” I’rixa commented, returning to Etien’s side. “You got a little of your strength back, and now we’re ready. You did it once, let’s see you do it again, hmm?”

_

Another heavy sigh signaled the grand finale, followed by the fanfare of another cry.

“Incredible,” I’rixa breathed. “A son, Lady Borel. An elezen. They must have been from two eggs. That’s remarkable. And he’s a good size, too. Came just in time.”

While Whitecape did the cutting of the baby’s cord, I’rixa tilted her ear to Etien’s stomach. “Just the afterbirth now. We counted aright, and the twins are beautiful and healthy.”

Etien sighed heavily again. “Thank the Fury.”

“All She did was give you strength,” Aymeric enthused. “The rest you did almost completely on your own. I’rixa has been invaluable in her assistance, however.”

Etien nodded. “Thank you. But I couldn’t have done it without you, either,” she said softly, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss, then laying his palm against her cheek to nuzzle.

As it all came to a conclusion, final examinations being made of Etien and the twins, Estinien took his leave.

“I can come back tomorrow, or sometime soon, to receive the proper introductions. For now, I think I had best let everyone rest.” Aware he was being watched, he gave the happy couple a close friend’s goodbye rather than a lover’s.

He kissed Etien’s cheek chastely, a continental sort of gesture, and clasped Aymeric’s hand before wishing everyone a good night and trudging down the hall, clearly exhausted.

Aymeric helped bathe the newest infant, making him ready to be swaddled in the blanket his mother had so lovingly knit just for him, while Etien finished putting her nightgown on again and I’rixa explained another few things, like feeding.

“I’ll be at the inn for a few days now,” I’rixa explained to the two of them when she was done imparting knowledge, and making ready to hand Etien one of her children. “If anything should go amiss, call for me.”

Etien nodded, then reached out for the baby.

“Oh… she fits here so perfectly,” she cooed. “Her hair is so dark. It’s like yours,” she said to Aymeric, giving him a sunny smile.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the bundle of their son. “Indeed? Do you think so?”

“Well, we haven’t seen what it looks like grown out yet.”

I’rixa took her leave with a final wave goodbye.

“Someone down the hall should be able to help you out,” Aymeric noted as she left the room. He was aware his manners were lapsing, but at a moment like this? He had other priorities.

He looked at Etien, looking about the same as she had after fighting primals. Tired, yes, bone tired. But beautiful in her victory. Maybe this wasn’t the same as saving the realm from the Empire or gods, but still he was proud of her.

How glorious her triumph. How perfect their reward.

“Do you want to switch?” he asked her, slightly moving his arms to gesture that she could take their son and he would take their daughter.

“Do you think we can?”

“We shall have to get good at it eventually, no reason not to start learning now.”

It was awkward, but they managed, getting the babies settled in the arms of the other parent with minimal upset.

“Already, she’s your little girl, hmm?” Etien asked, running her finger down the soft angle of her son’s nose.

“Our dear little Betula,” he sighed. “She’s so precious, how could she not be?”

“I completely understand,” Etien murmured, beaming down at the boy. “Did you happen to find a name for him yet? I would be loath to fill out his birth certificate with ‘Baby Boy de Borel’.”

“I think I like Landric.”

“Landric, hmm?”

Aymeric nodded. “A name for nobles. It means ‘strength of the earth.’ A little unconventional for an Ishgardian, but he was born of the Black Shroud’s brightest.” He looked up at Etien again, checking to see if she had understood him, and smiling when it was clear she had. “He comes from good soil.”

“I like it, too.”

“You know, earlier you asked me if I was excited, and now I’d like to ask you the same.”

Etien looked up, brows dipping as she thought. “I am. It isn’t that it’s a hard question. I asked you that?”

He laughed lightly. “It has been a long night for you. For both of us. Aye, you did. I told you I was, but I wanted to make sure you got through the ordeal before I started worrying about my own excitement. So now, I most certainly am.” He paused, watching Landric begin to suckle. “And are you happy, my dearest?”

Now Etien’s eyes misted. She had done so little crying during, only a few tears slipping out in the throes of the worst pain, but now they flowed freely down her cheeks.

“Yes.” She sniffled. “I’ve thought about this for years, and now it’s real.”

“It’s going to be work. Another job for the both of us.”

“I helped you save Ishgard and build up the Firmament. It’s another thing we’ll work at together. And what could I want more than that?” She laughed lightly. “Everyone has been asking if I was ready for this new adventure. Didn’t you want to go on an adventure with me?”

Aymeric chuckled, too. “I did say that.” He laid Betula in her cradle, and took Landric from Etien’s arms, to do the same with him. “Now, we need to rest, so we can begin the next day of this adventure as fresh and ready as possible.”

Etien blinked slowly. “Of course.”

A few days later, the announcement appeared.

Please join Ser Aymeric de Borel and Etien Mellifer de Borel in welcoming their twin children, Betula Adrielle Mignonne de Borel and Landric Aurchefan de Borel.

#Aytien #kinda #fic #cw for discussion of pregnancy and labor #note: they were born earlyish but I'm also fudging the numbers for how long Etien gets to be with the kits before 5.5 #the date snuck up on me #there will be six months between this fic and 5.5 at least

[turbulentt]

Detention

genre: smut | joshua!teacher x fem!reader!student

word count: +2.6k

warnings: explict content, dirty talk, sir kink, public sex

summary: your english teacher has been getting on your nerves since the first time you’ve met. hopefully, things get sorted out after your detention, where you get to be alone with him.

It had been probably the worst school year you've ever had, everything only because of that bloody English class. Your grades were totally fine at all subjects, even math which you had a great problem with, but English had to be the death of you.

And not because of being difficult, which, at least for you, it was not. It dammed you because your teacher never gave you the final grades you deserved, even with straight A's on all tests and quizzes, he would always fuck up everything.

Not just that but he, annoyingly, would also straight up ignore you during the entire time. He asks a question; you raise your hand to answer; he looks at you and you think you're going to be picked; no, you're ignored and he demands the answer from someone else. Annoying, annoying, annoying! God damn you, Joshua!

But he pays the price. His classes are never peaceful, at least not when you're there. Since you're not picked for anything you tend to slightly fuck around. Making jokes about some things Joshua says, throwing paper balls everywhere, saying unnecessary things that make everyone laugh and take Joshua's patience to the limit. 

"And don't forget to read the article I gave you!" the teacher warns while everyone is packing their materials "Class dismissed. Have a good day, everyone."

"Yeah, good day my ass," you whisper to yourself while trying to fit your books into your backpack. When failing to do so you grunt in rage and roll your eyes. While thinking that your day couldn't get worse, you feel Joshua's shadow blocking the light.

"Do you need some help?" he kindly questions and you look up at him. "No, thanks," you answer small as if his presence scares you. "Can I ask you something?" he sits on the table next to yours and crosses his arms. Seeing your little nod he continues "Why are you always playing around and disturbing my class? I've spoken to the other teachers and they said such good things about you."

"I don't know," you lower your head and let out a sigh when finally fitting your books in your backpack "I just feel like it."

"That doesn't seem like a legitimate answer." he approaches your table and rests his hand there "Try again."

You close your eyes tightly in search of spiritual forces to help you say everything that has been on your mind.

"Okay, I'm going, to be honest. Your class fucking annoys me. I'm one of the best students, if not THE best, and you act like I don't exist. Whenever I raise my hand to answer a question I'm never the one who's picked and it really makes me angry. So yeah, that's why I fuck around and do nothing in your classes. Maybe if you gave me more attention I would behave better." you let everything out like your life depends on it.

"You are my best student." he brushes his hair with his fingers with a slight grin on his lips "And I never pick you because I know you're going to answer correctly without any problems. I could never ignore such a top student."

"Then why do you give me shitty grades?"

"Can you please stop using those kinds of words? That's not appropriate, Y/N." he says firmly, almost in a groan, with a serious expression "And I don't give you better grades because of your behavior in class."

"Well, it is your fault." you huff at his response, and the annoyance can be seen in his eyes. "You're making me really mad. Stop saying it's my fault. You're the one acting like a brat." he says, dangerously close to your face. "But it IS your fault, what can I do?" you talk back enjoying the unsatisfied look in his eyes.

"Here's what you can do, you can meet me in detention in fifteen minutes." he slams his hand on your table and leaves to his', ignoring your whines and apologies.

Fifteen minutes never went by so fast like those, and you couldn't be more depressed. You just wanted to get it over with and go home to rage about how frustrated you felt because of your teacher.

When the time came you entered the class and sat at the back of the room with your headphones on and looking at the window. Probably no one would appear at that hour to have detention, it was too early. Which means you would have to be all alone with Joshua. "Great. My biggest dream." you ironically mumbled to yourself.

"What's your biggest dream?" A loud voice echoes through the room making you jump on the chair "It's just me." he giggles at your startled expression. "I wasn't expecting." you pouted like a little kid and got back to your music.

Joshua just sat by his table and took some things out of his case. You didn't even want to glance at him, but for some reason, he looked so attractive with his glasses on and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. You couldn't help yourself, you had to take in his beauty for just a moment.

He could be annoying and do unfair things to you but you couldn't deny how fucking ethereal that man is. You feel blessed by his beauty honestly, although his personality haunted you. 

To your surprise, he raised his head suddenly and stared back at you. He only gave a chaste smile before paying attention to his work again. Embarrassed, you just set your eyes back at the view outside.

Not even ten minutes into the detention and you were already grunting as if it was physically hurting. Being on your phone didn't distract you enough and the tension inside that room was too strong. Due to the hot weather, it got incredibly hot inside and Joshua needed to undo one of the buttons of his shirt. At that moment things got even hotter, and it was definitely not the classroom.

Trying to fade away these thoughts you laid your head on your backpack, which laid on the table, and closed your eyes. At least that way you wouldn't be looking at your teacher and wouldn't seem like a thirsty teenager.

Ten more minutes passed and you felt a gentle hand caressing your head. Not actually realizing who was its owner you leaned into the touch and almost purred out of satisfaction.

"You look just like a kitten." his low voice whispered on your ear and your only reaction was too raise your head slowly and blush aggressively at the sight of your teacher. "You looked really peaceful but I can't let you sleep here," he spoke gently, as always, his gentleman side got you soft and you smiled agreeing.

"Mr. Hong?" you called softly and he smiled at the sight of his name exiting your lips. "Yes?" he raised an eyebrow but kept his smile on. "Can you do that again?" you blushed, shy for making such a stupid request.

"Do what?" he was slightly confused at the beginning but understood when you looked at his hands. "Oh.." he raised one and stroked your hair again "This?"

You nodded smiling and closed your eyes. It actually felt good. His strong and soft hand caused so many different sensations. They made you forget how much you hated him, at least at that moment.

Slowly you felt his hot breath dangerously close to you and, in a split of a second, you felt the texture of his sweet lips. Not regretting a bit you leaned closer to his touch and kissed him back. It was so wrong but felt incredibly good.

Not letting the kiss continue he got away from you and stared at your lips as if he just did something terribly wrong and wanted to do it again. "I'm really sorry." he didn't seem to have the words to express what he was feeling at the moment so he just smiled like he usually does, which made you get a little bit mad. "If you were really sorry you wouldn't have kissed me. And if you regret it you wouldn't be staring at my lips like you wanted to kiss me again. If you really want to do so, then be a man and fucking kiss me."

Something in your words made his personality shift and an intense gaze could be seen in his eyes as if he was a hunter searching for his prey. Desperately he attacked your lips and started a dominant kiss. And wow, he did know how to be dominant. The position you were in was quite uncomfortable so he just sat on the chair next to yours and, without letting go of your lips, he pulls you to his lap.

His sudden change of behavior kind of scared you in some way but you really enjoyed it. Actually, it was a big turn on. So, there you were: sitting on your teacher's lap as you kiss him and almost moaning at the touch of your skins.

Needing some air you ended the kiss, only to start leaving wet kisses all over his pale neck. "What are we doing?" he chuckled throwing his head back feeling aroused just by the touch of your lips on him. "We're having some fun, Mr. Hong." you said innocently looking at his eyes, which were filled with lust "Don't tell me you don't want me because your hands don't say the same."

And, in fact, they didn't. They were grabbing your hips strongly, keeping you really close to him, as if he never wanted to let go of you. "Well, I can't say I haven't dreamt about this once or twice." unprepared for his sentence you blushed intensely and hid your face on his neck.

"Don't be so shy. I saw the way you were looking at me just now." he grins and gets up carrying you with him. "Where are we going?" you ask confused. 

"To my table, so we can have more space." he raises you slightly and grabs you by your ass. You moaned at his grip and ground on his body asking for more attention. He laid you on the table and quickly got on top, kissing you harshly this time as if he remembered something that got him furious.

Your hands were at the back of his neck caressing and mildly pulling his hairs. His hands were each by the side of your head sustaining his body. He pulled away and looked you dead in the eye "I should punish you for being such a brat, Y/N." he lowered his head, and between soft bites on your neck he kept talking "I didn't really enjoy the way you talked back at me today. You need to know your place, kitten."

You moaned at the nickname, it sounded so good coming from him. Slowly he unbuttoned your pants and lowered them gently as if he could break you just by doing so, he was back to his gentleman side. Eagerly he kisses your inner tights making you throw your head back in anticipation, you could already imagine what wonders his mouth is capable of.

Seeing your wet panties he smirks and raises his eyes to yours "So wet already, kitten?"

You look away in embarrassment and he grabs your thigh firmly. "Stop playing, Joshua." you let out almost in a moan.

"Did I give you permission to call me by my name?" he scoffs and presses his thumb on your clit making you gasp loudly "It's sir for you." he takes his hand back "Understood kitten?"

"Yes, sir." you saw his pupils dilate the double just because of what you said. He never seemed like the kinky type, but know that you see it, it really suits him.

With his glasses on the tip of his nose and his shirt almost all undone and wrinkled he stod in front of your lower parts facing your core. "Tell me, kitten." he slowly grabs your panties with his teeth and lowers them to your knees "Do you think you deserve to be well treated?"

You nodded aggressively holding yourself up by your elbows just so you can look at Joshua. He lets out a tsc before getting rid of your underwear completely. "I don't think you do," he smirks and you pout, whining in response.

"Please, sir. I promise I'll behave." there it was, what he wanted. Now you knew your place, and you would do anything for his touch. Now Joshua knows he has you in his hand. 

That said you just feel his warm tongue on your pussy and moan loudly Joshua's name out of pure pleasure. Your hands run through his hair and push him slightly more to you, his skilled tongue playing with your clit was making you see stars and you could feel your body warm up more and more. His eyes never leaving yours making you even more aroused.

"Oh God, yes.. yes... Josh... Joshua..." you moaned loudly as he sucked your clit. "Are you almost there, Kitten?" he backs away for a bit to ask you when he sees your body twitch with pleasure. You nod and he stands up "Then bend over for me, fast."

You get out of the table and do as asked, bent over the table, ass up and legs wide open for Joshua. At the sight in front of him, he slowly walked his hands through your whole body making you shiver since you were still so sensitive. You rub your ass on his pants making him groan at the feeling of your body on his boner. "How bad do you want it, kitten?" he asks huskily in your ear as you hear him unbuckle his belt.

"I.. I want it all inside me, sir," you say panting. He quickly undoes his pants and gets them off, the same with his boxers, and stands behind you. "Then be sure to take it all well, kitten." he kisses your neck while rubbing his hard cock on your heat. You nod eagerly and watch as he gets a condom from his wallet. The sound of Joshua's grunts and low moans only made you want him inside you even more.

So, your wishes were fulfilled. He started entering you slowly, caressing your hips to distract from the pain, and made sure to only move when you told him to. After listening to your first moan he knew he could start and firmly moved inside you. His steady pace became more and more irregular as he increased his rhythm and you thought you were going to hit your limit right there at that moment. "You feel so good, kitten." he grunts as he watches his lenght move in and out of you "You love my cock don't you?"

"Yes.. oh yes... I love it.." you say between moans. Suddenly Joshua discovers your sweet spot and starts ramming into you hard and deep, hitting it multiple times, making you almost scream. "Oh, I'm so close.." he kisses the back of your neck, never losing his pace "cum with me, kitten."

It only takes a few more hits to make you release all your juice and right after Joshua does the same.

Panting, he comes out of you and smiles as he helps you both clean yourselves. After you're fully dressed and back to normal he looks at his watch and smiles "Detention time is over."

You smirk and take your stuff to walk away from the classroom. As you're leaving you hear him call your name once again.

"Don't forget. You have detention tomorrow, kitten."

#kpop #kpop smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #svt #svt smut #seventeen jisoo #seventeen joshua #hong jisoo #joshua hong #jisoo #joshua #svt jisoo #svt joshua #jisoo smut #joshua smut #smut

[language-of-love]

with you...

Summary: David and Patrick travel to New York City for business...and pleasure. Honestly, I just wanted to find a way to let David love NYC again, or maybe for the first time, this time with Patrick by his side. (Rated E, 2500 words, AO3, contains S6 spoilers)

...

There’s a sea of patchy clouds making it nearly impossible to see the skyline, but he thinks that maybe that’s for the best, that perhaps it will help tamp down this nervous anticipation that’s making his stomach begin to toss and turn. It’s been a long time since he’s seen this city. A long time since this city’s seen him. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure it ever really had.

His eyes flutter shut as Patrick’s hand covers his, his thumb, slightly calloused from his guitar strings, rough and perfect as it moves back and forth against David’s palm. David lets go of the inside of his lips from where he’d clamped down with his teeth, his tongue peeking out to wet the dryness as he releases a heavy sigh out his nose.

“You okay?” Patrick’s voice is soft, his tone less questioning and more knowing, making David feel a little less nauseous. There was a time in his life where he thought he’d never find someone who truly understands him. Miraculously, he’s found two. More if he counts his family, which he should, because they do. Now they do.

Opening his eyes, he rolls his head towards his husband, his smile coming easy, a good sign, he thinks to himself.

“You’re making it okay.”

Patrick’s eyes go all soft as he leans in, his lips tasting of the airline’s cheap wine as he presses a lingering kiss to David’s mouth. David shivers, not just from the kiss, but from the fact that Patrick has done it in front of a plane full of passengers. Sure, back home, no one ever bats an eye at the affection they show one another, but this isn’t Schitt’s Creek, and they are still two men kissing on a plane. When Patrick pulls back enough to catch David’s gaze, there’s an unexpected glint of mischief there and David can’t hold back a small giggle.

“Happy with yourself, I see.”

“Happy with you.”

David’s eyes go skyward, but he’s dragging Patrick’s hand further into his lap and smiling at the ceiling of the plane.

“I told you to stop saying things like that to me in public.”

“Sorry, David.”

But he’s not. They both know it. Just like how they both know that David absolutely does not want him to stop saying things like that to him in public. Like, ever.

As the plane descends toward the runway, David finds that the nervousness from a few minutes earlier has begun to be eclipsed by the confidence Patrick always manages to conjure up. New York City doesn’t seem so scary now, not with his husband’s fingers woven between his own and his well-loved heart beating steadily in his chest.

...

The showcase with the hotel owners went better than they could have even imagined. They’d been expecting to have a lot of orders placed, but with Stevie and his dad giving each franchise buying power for their own properties, nothing was guaranteed. But David had been charming and Patrick, he’d been...Patrick, crunching numbers and packaging deals, the two of them dancing well practiced steps until the last meeting was over and the contracts were piled high.

If all of them pan out, they’ll actually be able to take a honeymoon this summer. He’d been bookmarking private resorts in the Maldives for months, just dreaming of watching Patrick’s pale skin pink up as they lie naked together in the sun, feet buried in the warm sand and lips swollen from tipsy kisses.

“Okay, you’re right, this is the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Shifting from wishful thinking to the present, David smiles over at Patrick’s side of their hotel bed. His husband is stripped down to just his boxers, holding a greasy paper plate in one hand and stuffing one last, very big, bite of pizza into his mouth. God, why is that so attractive?

“Told you, so. It’s the water or something.”

“It’s magic,” he mumbles through his mouthful of food.

His husband is adorable, but not when talking with his mouth full, so David looks away, smiling again for maybe the fiftieth time today. Shuffling off the bed, he finds his way to the bathroom, flinching a bit when the row of bulbs above the large mirror flash on overhead. As he washes the pizza grease from his hands, he finds himself spinning his wedding ring around his soapy finger as a warm flush rises up his neck and settles behind his cheeks.

Today was perfect. In one fell swoop, his memories of this city have been forever altered. Beyond the time spent in their investor’s conference room for their meetings, they’d walked hand in hand through Central Park (a small section of it, really just about a quarter mile), window shopped on some random street just a block or two from SoHo, and eventually popped into a pizza place and grabbed a few slices to go. Nothing pretentious. Well, maybe they did stop into Rent the Runway so David could get his hands on some designer clothes, and maybe try a few things on. But is that even really pretentious? Not compared to his old life here it isn’t.

Sure, one good day can’t erase the stark lines left behind from his past, but he always did appreciate how beautiful a splash of white can look atop a wash of black.

“Don’t turn the water off.”

Patrick slides in next to him, lightly hip checking him to make room at the sink. Sucking the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, David turns and leans against the counter, staring at his husband as he dries his hands off with a hand towel. Patrick’s lips are curled up in a smile as he suds up his hands, his attention shifting from the sink up to his own reflection. David wonders what he sees there, if he only sees his flaws, or if maybe, he sees what David sees.

He really hopes so. He should remind him that in David’s eyes, he doesn’t have any, well, not any that are deal breakers.

“I love you.”

David catches Patrick’s gaze shift from his reflection to David in the mirror, so he looks back, his stomach suddenly swirling with affection, attraction, desire, all the things, all at once.

“Love you, too, baby.”

His fingers grip hard at the countertop when he finds himself suddenly unsteady, Patrick’s endearment making him feel like he’s just taken a shot of very strong whiskey, the sharp burn warming him as it slides down his throat. Dropping the towel, he reaches out for Patrick, quickly curling his fingers around the back of his head as he takes his mouth in a needy kiss. He lets out a soft gasp when Patrick’s wet hands slide up his bare chest, but Patrick just takes that opportunity, sliding his tongue between David’s lips in an obvious move to take control.

David gladly relinquishes it. Patrick doesn’t miss a beat.

Happy to be the one maneuvered against the wall, he’s suddenly breathless as Patrick’s fingers tangle with his and press the backs of his hands against the textured wallpaper. Held captive, he willingly succumbs to Patrick’s need to worship, focusing as hard as he can on staying standing as Patrick ventures down, wet lips barely grazing the skin of his throat until David feels the rough slide of his tongue against his nipple.

“Oh god…”

Patrick responds by closing his teeth around the sensitive peak and David’s hips surge forward on reflex, drawing a chuckle from Patrick’s mouth against his skin. His hands are freed from Patrick’s grip and he immediately moves to grab his head, his fingers sliding into his soft, too short hair as Patrick looks up at him as he maneuvers himself to his knees. In any other relationship, David might say something like “you don’t have to” or “you should let me”, but not with Patrick. Patrick loves this. Patrick loves him.

Patrick loves watching his eyes darken as he slowly lowers his boxer briefs down over his ass, like he’s doing now. And David loves the smile Patrick always presses into the crease of his thigh, like he’s doing now.

“Patrick…” he gasps, his voice breathy and thick with emotion as his husband slowly dips his head to take the tip of him into his mouth. His eyes stay on David, which is a lot, but he doesn’t dare look away.

There’s no urgency in the way Patrick’s lavishing him, alternating from soft drags of his tongue to mind-numbingly slow sucks, and David’s sure his goal is to drive him to the edge of insanity. Just when David’s sure Patrick’s about to get serious, he’s pushing back to his feet, prompting David to grumble with frustration. But his protest is swallowed by Patrick's mouth against his as his hand wraps possessively around David’s aching cock trapped between them.

“Let’s get on the bed.”

“Oh...yes...okay...”

David’s eyes roll back in his head as Patrick gives him a hard squeeze before letting go to step backwards out of the bathroom. Somehow, David manages to remember to quickly grab the lube from his toiletry bag before he’s stumbling after his husband to join him on their king size hotel mattress.

They end up rolling around and groping each other for a few minutes before either of them can really focus, but before too long, David finds himself on his back with Patrick’s mouth tonguing his cock as his fingers lovingly work him open, occasionally sinking deep to lightly tease his prostate.

“I’m good, I’m good, get inside me before I come.”

He can hear the desperation in his own voice, but doesn’t care.

Anticipation has the hair at the back of his neck standing on end as he watches Patrick maneuver himself between his legs and their eyes lock tight as he slowly sinks in, a low curse hissing from David’s lips as his body stretches and welcomes Patrick home. He reaches out blindly for his neck, dragging him down until his body feels almost folded in half, but he needs Patrick’s weight on him, needs his lips and his breath and the taste of his tongue. To his relief, he’s coming almost immediately, making their bodies slick and sticky as Patrick continues to fuck him into the mattress. His orgasm has taken over his whole body, making him tremble and contract the muscles around where Patrick is still buried deep, pulling a groan of pleasure from Patrick’s throat.

“Fuck baby, fuck...so good.”

Patrick’s penchant for swearing during sex is something David luxuriates in, loving his loss of control and complete abandon to their shared moment. So, even though he’s already wrung out, he does his best to make him completely fall apart. He tugs at his hair and drags his mouth back to his lips, quickly sinking his tongue inside and stealing his breath. Patrick’s hips stutter once, twice, but then he’s collapsing into the cradle of David’s open legs, filling him with his heat as he rips his mouth free on a hoarse shout. David’s heart clenches when Patrick’s hands curl around his cheeks to then slide further down to cup the back of his head, holding him still so he can sink into a luxurious, toe-curling kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he’s still not quite used to processing, so full of emotion and unspoken words, silently communicating a deeper love than David ever imagined existed. Even in all the romantic comedies he devours, he’s never seen something in fiction that compares to what he feels with Patrick.

David lets out a soft gasp into Patrick’s mouth when he feels him lift his hips enough to pull out, but he’s kissing him still, soft, sweet presses of lips so distracting David only barely notices the soreness left behind. The cramp in his thighs, however, is hard to ignore.

“Need to stretch,” he mumbles against Patrick’s lips.

“I know. Let me get a washcloth.” Patrick kisses his cheek, and his chin, and his chest above his heart as he shuffles backwards towards the end of the bed.

“If you’re trying to make me cry, it won’t work.”

Except there’s already a tear threatening to escape the corner of his eye. And he’s sure his husband can see it.

“Mmmhhmm…”

His eyes fall to Patrick’s perfect ass as he walks towards the bathroom and he hopes Patrick realizes that their evening is far from over. There’s a favor or two he plans to return. Maybe in the shower. Their shower back home isn’t big enough, but this one is. And it has a built-in bench.

Stretching out his legs, he suddenly realizes he’s laying on top of one of the hotel’s bathrobes.

“Did you put this bathrobe down or was it already here?” he calls out.

Patrick’s smile when he reemerges from the bathroom gives David his answer.

“How was your brain functioning enough to think of that? My fingers could barely hold the lube without dropping it.”

The washcloth is warm against David’s belly where Patrick has begun to clean him from the side of the bed, his fingers pressing just enough to trigger a soft laugh from David’s lips.

“It’s just the way my brain works. I know you don’t like mess. And I knew I wanted to come inside you. So…”

“You know how much I love hearing you talk about sex like a business transaction. It’s really sexy.”

He’s not kidding. It really is.

“I have my laptop if we want to work on a spreadsheet…”

Patrick’s moved the washcloth between David’s legs, too intimate a moment for their current banter, and silence falls between them. David lets his eyes fall shut as the now cool towel runs along his skin, jolting slightly in surprise when soft lips brush the corner of his mouth. Lifting his chin, he smiles as Patrick’s lips find his again, and again, until the towel is abandoned and David’s pulling him back down onto the bed.

When he’s maneuvered Patrick beneath him, he leans his weight over to one elbow so he can reach out and run his fingertip across his husband’s kiss-swollen lower lip. He loves this lip. Has since the first moment they met.

“You know, David,” Patrick whispers up at him, “I think I like New York City.”

David smiles, but doesn’t respond right away, just letting himself get lost in the warm honey depths of Patrick’s eyes as his finger pushes down to just open Patrick’s mouth. Leaning down, he lets their noses brush, smiling when Patrick arches his neck in hopes of receiving a kiss.

“I like New York City with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But not as much as I like home.”

As expected, that declaration is met with a kiss, and a groan, and eventually a chance for David put his creative skills to use in that enormous shower.

#david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #schitt's creek #schitts creek #my sc fic #with you #this gotta a little steamier than I set out to write #lol