#IT’S NOT AS ROUGH AS I WANTED I’M SORRY

[oceantornadoo]

lowkey public humiliation kink? sugar daddy (dark) simon riley x f!reader. nipple piercings. terrible daddy kink and this is literally just smut without smut

au where you’re simon riley’s sugar baby and utterly embarrassed to be because he’s so public. insists on taking you to popular restaurants seated in a center booth, like he knows your bullies from high school picked today for their weekly lunch date. orders oysters and hand feeds them to you, licking the salty corners of your mouth afterwards before slipping a hundred dollar bill between your tits. no shadowy corners or dark bars - you’re lingerie shopping in broad daylight, eyes skittering when you see an old teacher you once had at a rack near you. it would be fine if he was your boyfriend, had some stake in the game, but he’s the puppet master pulling the strings.

“would pay a grand to see my cum on y’r tits in this, love.”

he holds a dark blue lace bra to your chest, groping you through the cups of it like he’s trying to see it fit. the store worker can only gape next to you, before shaking her head and gathering three more similar styles in your size. he’s such a dog and you can’t say no because you need the money desperately, thoughts of your previous shitty apartment in an even shittier neighborhood floating through your head.

now, you live in a high rise with floor to ceiling windows. he pays you more when you let him fuck you against them, naked tits against glass as the rough feel of his denim grinds into your ass with every thrust. there’s no clear rules with him, not anything like you’ve seen on sugar baby forums and tip sites. he doesn’t give you an amount for each action, simply an overstuffed envelope on the table when he eventually leaves.

“how much to get these pierced?” he pinches your nipple through the bikini top you’re wearing, interrupting your relaxed suntanning on your apartment balcony. “simon.” your frustration bleeds into your lack of forethought. he raises an eyebrow by a hair. “say that again, baby?” you bite your lip and look down, already regretting your mistake. “i’m sorry, daddy. you caught me off guard.” he grunts. simon tugs your tit out of its nylon confines and tugs it this way and that in the sunlight, pinching like he’s imagining a piercing. “didn’t answer my question, pet.” you question where your limits are. if you even have any at this point. he’s bulldozed through every wall you’ve put up, but his money and sheer presence protects you no matter what. sure, you’re topless on your balcony, but he bought you the penthouse so no one above you could see.

what can he give you that you don’t have? any debt has been paid, retirement accounts funded, enough clothes and bags to last a lifetime. you want something immaterial, some proof you’re not like the others.

“i want exclusivity. and i want to know where you’re going when you’re not here.” his hands don’t stop, moving to your other breast to free it as well. it’s somehow more obscene to still be wearing your top, tight fabric pushing your hardened nipples out like you’re presenting yourself to him, asking for attention. “can’t tell ya where i go, pet. got lots of enemies, matter of security.” you frown at the rejection. his hand moves to the soft expanse of your stomach, groping the fat there like playdoh. “ask f’r somethin’ else.” he doesn’t mention the exclusivity. you don’t want to ruin it by asking again.

“i want to see you shirtless.” you murmur. he always fucks you with his shirt on. t-shirt, button-up, wifebeater - it doesn’t matter. he’s stripped you down to his own personal puppet and you want something back. “after y’r tits heal, maybe.” you frown harder as his hand slides down to cup your cunt. there’s a wet spot on the light pink fabric of your bikini bottom and he presses it into you. you keen, arching at the sensation. “since i can’t play with your tits, you’ll wear no clothes when i’m home. understand?” he taps your cunt to get your attention. you want to protest but his dark brown eyes are so forceful, beating you into submission.

when you get them pierced (by a handsy man named johnny who insisted on ‘checking for lumps’ five seperate times while simon grunted in the corner), simon insists on cleaning them for you. he makes you open your mouth and hold a bill there on your tongue while he cleans them. you only get to keep them if you don’t make a sound while he touches the raw area, saline solution dripping between your tits. it’s pocket change and at this point money is immaterial, but you want to please your daddy so badly.

a few weeks later and his non-answer to your exclusivity question rings in your head incessantly. it’s there when he stops mid-fuck to take a call and when he sits you on his lap facing forward while he spreads paperwork on your bare back. he’s been “called in” (whatever that means) and is counting cash when you finally give in.

“daddy?” simon grunts, eyes on his wallet. “you never…” you trail off, suddenly unsure. abandoning his cash counting, he drops a black card on the table before turning to you. you’ve been naked all week but suddenly feel exposed, stripped bare. “spit it out, baby. time is money.” against your will, you roll your eyes at his joke. “now that i got them pierced…you never answered when i asked about exclusivity.” he approaches the chair your huddled on and tilts your chin up with a gloved finger.

“you’re the only girl i pay, pet.” you swallow hard. “and what about the ones you don’t?” his eyes search yours, looking for something. “don’t have any tha’ i don’t. got tha’ in y’r pretty ‘ead?” you nod eagerly, ignoring the slight burn in your tits as they bounce. “yes, daddy.”

“good. buy y’rself some toys when im gone, don’t wantcha too eager when im back.” there’s no bite in his tone, so you grin eagerly.

“bye, pet.” he pulls you in for a messy kiss. you’ve give it as good as you can, saliva connecting your lips as you part. his eyes track it as it falls down your bare chest. you open your legs a bit, giving him a glimpse of the wetness between them. “bye, daddy.”

“fuckin’ minx.”

-

follow for notifications: @tornadoowarning

originally made this about john price but slimy rabid simon is my favorite. i had a dream about sugar daddy john (mainly from this fic) and then this was born (i’m PMS horny)

also pls take care of your piercings

[cameronsbabydoll]

i had this idea today when i was thinking about rafe fucking so hard and being so mean with reader because hes stressed about some work stuff and she couldnt take it so she tell him to stop. rafe being all worried about hurting her and also in love w the fact that she is so delicate and soft and pretty crying for him…

TOO MUCH — RAFE CAMERON

WARNINGS — rafe is rough, crying, rafe stops and comforts reader — mdni 18+

Rafe was stressed. You could feel it in the way he held you, in the way his fingers dug into your hips, forcing you down onto his cock over and over, his grip so tight it almost hurt. His pace was brutal, his thrusts deep and punishing, using you like he needed to fuck the frustration out of his system.

He barely spoke, just the occasional grunt, the sharp sound of his palm smacking against your ass, the growled curses under his breath. But you could hear it in the way he breathed, in the tension in his body—that tight, wound-up anger that had nothing to do with you but was being poured into you nonetheless.

"Rafe—" You gasped as he drove into you even harder, your fingers scrambling against his shoulders, your body struggling to take it, but he barely seemed to notice.

"Too fucking pretty," he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just holding, tilting your face up so he could see the tears pooling in your eyes. And something about it made him snap, his thrusts turning mean, punishing. "This what you wanted? Huh? Wanted me to fuck you stupid so you don’t have to think?"

You shook your head quickly, a sob catching in your throat. You wanted him, but not like this. He was too much, too big, too deep, fucking into you like he was trying to ruin you. It was overwhelming, your body tightening around him, but not in pleasure—in desperation.

"Rafe—" Your voice wavered, your nails digging into his biceps, clinging to him. "Stop—please, I can’t—"

Everything halted in an instant.

His whole body locked up, his grip loosening immediately. And then his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up, his eyes dark and wide with something close to panic.

"Shit, baby—fuck, I’m sorry." His thumb swiped at the tears slipping down your cheeks, his expression crumbling as he took in the way you trembled beneath him. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, but your sniffle gave you away.

His jaw clenched, his hands smoothing over your waist, your thighs, like he needed to check for himself. His touch was so different now—soft, careful, like you were fragile. His pretty girl, too delicate for the way he had just been handling you.

"Didn’t mean to be so rough, angel." He kissed your cheeks, your temple, your hands, the edge of your trembling lips. He cradled you against him, holding you like something precious. His voice was quieter now, full of guilt. "You gotta tell me when it’s too much, okay?"

You nodded, sniffling against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded. He held you like that for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead.

"Lemme make it up to you, yeah?" he whispered after a beat, voice soft now, reverent. "Let me take care of you, baby. Slow this time. Just how you like it."

[waifuoftomonori]

Love a chart I can stick the Kifu gang in

I don’t know why it keeps blurring the handwriting. I did make a few tweaks and I’m not sure I did certain parts the way they were intended, but it was still a lot of fun. (Eventually I’ll probably come back to it and clarify the blurry writing.)

Also, there wasn’t room for Shiki’s chibi because the only pics I have of her are horizontal, so here you go:

Some caveats / clarification things:

SWD stands for “Shall We Date?” but I didn’t want to write it out because I already knew it’d be a squeeze trying to fit the English name of the app and the Japanese name for the game.

The column labeled “How to make them blush” at the bottom is written from the perspective of the person whose color is being used, about the character indicated over on the left-hand side. For example, Tomonori’s method of making Shiki blush is via surprise “punishments”.

The other two columns, however, are from the perspective of the character labeled on the left-hand side, about the character whose color is being used. For example, Shiki’s ideal hangout with Akifusa is participating in some ultimately pointless competition that does not involve sword training, whereas Akifusa loves sparring with her. Sorry if that’s confusing to anyone.

I was sorely tempted to put Dominant as Tomonori’s one-word description (it informs his outlook on life, not just his preferred role in kinky stuff) but opted against it at the last second. Just know that it was in the running. (And part of why I opted for “Princess” for Shiki maaaay have to do with my headcanon of her as a brat, not just her official title.)

”Inh. ritual” is short for “Inheritance Ritual”— the one Shiki had to go through when she was seven that involved killing her mother to keep the Sword sealed. She still remained friends with Tomonori and Akifusa after that, but she didn’t feel like she could tell either of them the full truth of what was going on. Her relationship with Tomonori declined at a slower rate than Akifusa’s because Tomonori had a better view of the situation (crap, I should’ve marked when he turned ten and started supervising the monthly rituals— although to be honest he never really opened up to Shiki about his feelings entirely, so maybe it would’ve continued declining at the same rate).

Shiki and Akifusa’s relationship decreases slightly in my headcanon when Aki and Tomo start hooking up, along with Shiki and Tomonori’s relationship, because she’s not spending as much time with either of them for a while, and there’s jealousy and stuff to sort out. They do eventually sort it out, though.

Why did I circle “giving” but then not do the Love Languages thing? Well, I initially had the idea of doing it, but when I actually thought about it, all of the “different” languages seem like gestures the Kifu gang would appreciate from each other. To be honest I’ve never really understood why some people swear by “love languages” anyway. But moving on—

I don’t ship Shiki and Akifusa when they’re alone. When Tomonori’s in the picture, though, I ship all three of them, and I do believe that’s different from shipping only Tomonori with Shiki and Tomo with Aki separately. I don’t quite know how to put it in words. It’s like a certain atmosphere takes over when they’re all together.

It felt important to me to signify that all three of them are similar in height and age, which is why those dots are so close together. …It was apparently less important to me to signal that Shiki and Tomonori get together, in most of my headcanons, somewhere between six months and a year before Tomonori and Akifusa do, which is also a relatively short length of time.

When Tomonori’s at work, or around people other than his best friends / lovers, he’s significantly farther left on the Serious-Playful scale, although still not as serious as Akifusa. He feels comfortable enough with them to relax and let his sense of humor shine.

Physically, on the Gentle-Rough scale, Akifusa’s the character most likely to get a little rough in bed, and when that happens it’s usually on accident because he underestimates his own strength. Tomonori’s not on the extreme end of Gentle because I can see him, on certain occasions, dipping his toes very lightly into physical sadism with Akifusa. Probably just spanking or scratching, and it would be more for humiliation or roleplay purposes than pain.

However, when it comes to control in the bedroom: yeah, Akifusa’s submissive as hell. And although Tomonori might try to be submissive and probably has complicated feelings initially about some of his more “twisted” kinks, he’s Dominant as fuck. Does love a good brat, though.

I see Shiki as a sassy brat. That’s why she acts a lot more “arrogant” in bed than she does outside of it.

I considered using that scale to also try to mark that Akifusa’s submissive in bed and Tomonori’s Dominant, but I don’t feel like that changes their positions that much. Maybe if Tomo was the kind of Dom who didn’t blush when Shiki acts overly submissive (knowing it’ll get a reaction).

I can envision situations in which Shiki would meow while she and Tomonori are doing kinky stuff, and she has a few catlike personality traits (such as sass), but I think Tomonori’s personality is more catlike. No way are you getting that man to meow, though. At least not without significant repercussions.

I think Tomonori and Akifusa’s relationship is a smidgen more about kink than romance. (And their friendship too of course.) Granted, that may change depending on the fic.

I had no idea what to do with the Infodumps / Listens one, because I think 1. Tomonori and Shiki do both to roughly equal degrees, 2. Akifusa’s heard lectures from them (especially Tomo) so many times he kinda just tunes them out, 3. Akifusa’s the one most likely to just blurt out the first thing most likely to come to mind, but 4. Akifusa’s the least likely to have actual info. Tomonori has actual info, but he tends to keep it to himself. Shiki might be even more reserved than he is at times. So yeah, that was my thought process for ranking them the way I did there.

I kept going back and forth over whether to put Tomonori perfectly in the center on the DnD alignment chart one, but opted for nudging him slightly toward Good because this is after he’s gotten together with Shiki and Akifusa and is starting to tentatively appreciate life and the good parts of people again.

ARE YOU hopelessly fixated on a specific fictional polycule and have way too much time on your hands? boy do i have an unnecessarily elaborate ship chart for you!

(versions with 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 characters and an example under the cut)

feel free to make any edits or add stuff to your liking :]

[littlesoulshine]

diddle that skittle

notes: i am so sorry for the title of this 🤭🤭 and huge thanks to my love @figthoughts for reintroducing me to the daddy kink. so, fair warning—soldier boy will be calling himself daddy more than once! if that’s not your thing, please dni 😩

warnings: 18+, language, smut/fingering

you feel the rough scrape of his beard against your ear as ben leans in, breath hot, voice low and gruff. "spread those legs, sweetheart. daddy’s gonna teach you how to play with that pretty little cunt properly."

his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider over his lap as you rest back against his broad chest. you can feel the solid muscle beneath you, the way his body radiates heat, andthe unmistakable scent of whiskey, sweat, and leather surrounding you.

"fuckin’ hell, girl. what are you, shy? c’mon, touch yourself. let me see those fingers on that clit, baby." his voice drips with impatience, but there’s something else there too—something dark and hungry.

you swallow hard, heart hammering in your chest as your hand trembles between your thighs. you're listening to him, but when he speaks like that it's hard to concentrate. "i'm trying! i—i don’t know how—"

he chuckles, the sound rough and condescending. "that so? guess i gotta teach you, then. no fuckin’ way i’m lettin’ my girl be clueless about makin’ herself feel good."

hesitantly, you bring your hand down between your legs, fingers ghosting over your folds. he watches, unimpressed.

"nah, don’t tease yourself like some nervous virgin. rub that little button like you mean it. faster." his hand moves over yours, pressing down, guiding your movements. "see that? that’s how daddy wants you to do it. feels better already, doesn’t it?"

your breath catches, a soft moan escaping before you can stop it. "y-yeah...but—"

his other hand grips your chin, tilting your head back against his shoulder. "but nothin’, sweetheart. look at you, whimperin’ already. that’s my good fuckin’ girl."

he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse. the sensation sends a shudder down your spine, thighs twitching against his.

"shit—" you gasp, hips rocking involuntarily into your own touch.

but you hesitate again, fingers slowing, uncertainty creeping in. he growls, annoyed. "christ, sweetheart, you can’t do shit right, can you? fine. guess i’ll just have to take over."

"w-wait, i can—"

before you can finish, his hand slides between your legs, two thick fingers sinking deep inside you with no warning. a sharp gasp rips from your throat, your back arching against him. "fuck, yeah, there it is. tight little hole squeezin’ daddy’s fingers already. guess you needed me after all, huh?"

your fingers dig into his forearm, body jolting at the sudden intrusion. "oh, fuck! ben—"

he starts working you open, fingers curling, stroking, finding that spot inside you that makes your whole body shake. his thumb circles your clit, rough and relentless, making you moan helplessly.

"that’s right, baby. let me hear you. let daddy know how good he’s making you feel."

your head tilts to the side, lips brushing against his neck, a shuddering whimper spilling from your mouth. "feels so good, daddy...so—so much—"

he groans, his grip on you tightening. "fuck, that’s cute. you wanna kiss on me while i wreck this pussy? go ahead, sweetheart, make a mess."

your lips part, breath hot as you press shaky kisses to his jaw, down the column of his throat. "be—daddy, i—i wanna—"

his fingers move faster, his palm grinding against your clit, and all you can do is writhe against him, panting, desperate, overwhelmed.

"oh, God—please—" your voice is high, needy, barely coherent as pleasure threatens to consume you whole.

another gasp slips from your lips, high and broken, and his free hand grips your jaw, forcing your head back so he can kiss you—deep, filthy, all tongue and teeth.

"gonna cum for me, baby?" his voice is a growl, lips brushing against yours. "better fuckin’ do it, ‘cause i ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you scream for daddy."

your body tightens, pleasure surging like a live wire through your veins. "daddy, please—benny i’m—i’m gonna—"

"then fuckin’ cum, baby. now. that’s an order."

and with a final, devastating stroke of his fingers, you shatter—loud, gasping, shaking apart in his arms as he holds you through it, smug and satisfied as you cry out for him.

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

[minswriting]

Free use with hotch PLEASE 😭😭😭 I’m tired of fics of him treating me respectfully I NEED him to take his stress out on me (respectfully)

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | p in v, degradation, rough sex, no foreplay, spanking, hair pulling

you and aaron had an agreement that if he came home needing stress relief, you were more than happy to oblige. and if you weren’t feeling up to it, you would tell him. so when he texted you, telling you to be naked on the bed for him and that he’ll be home soon, you knew you were in for a treat.

which was exactly how you were face down in the mattress, ass up in the air while aaron fucked you into oblivion. as soon as aaron had walked into the bedroom, he had unzipped his pants and manhandled you into the position he wanted. and the way that turned you on was much more than you’d ever truly admit.

you were a whining and moaning mess, tears prickling your eyes from pleasure as aaron fucked you hard. his cock drilled in and out of you with a force that you adored. “you’re such a fucking slut,” aaron grunted, smacking as ass as he moved. “with the way you’re soaking my cock.”

the feeling of him smacking your flesh and calling you a whore went straight down to your core as you fluttered around him. it was true. you weren’t always this horny for anyone. but then you met aaron and all logical thinking went out the door. you wanted that man more than you wanted air.

“you’re my dirty whore,” aaron groaned. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room as well as the squelching sounds of your cunt, your moans adding a nice harmony into the mix.

and soon, you were cumming rather hard on aaron’s cock as he kept up his speed, not stopping at all. when you had finished cumming, aaron reached down, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling your head up, not enough to hurt but enough to be hot. “did i say you were allowed to cum?” he asked, still drilling into you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you whimpered in a mantra.

but when aaron eventually came, he buried himself so deep inside of you that your second orgasm washed over you without any warning. and it was heavenly.

and when you were both finished, aaron would pull out and immediately pull you into his arms, holding you close and whispering about how good you did and would ask if he were too rough because he wants to make sure that you’re okay

[mediumgayitalian]

Kayla will never tell her older brother in a million billion years. Plus one extra.

But she knows more about Lee Fletcher than he does.

It is not something she did on purpose. Nor is it information she necessarily wants, she most certainly did not ask for it. Nor is it information she will offer.

She will not tell him that she knows the crumple of Lee’s face when he tells a lie. She will not tell him she knows the stark pain in his shoulders at the end of the day. She will not tell him she knows the grooved scars on the palms of his hands from bitten-sharp nails. She will not tell him she knows the sounds of his quiet, pillow-muffled sobs as well as or better than she knows the sound of her father’s voice.

Instead she will watch him. And she will meet Lee’s tired eyes. And she will nod to him, and he will nod back, and they will both look at Will, exhaling.

———

The first time she sees him she is hallucinating.

Genuinely. Medically diagnosed and everything.

“Kayla,” Will whispers, and there is a strain in his voice, as there always is when one of them is sick. “Kayla, dolly, the cloth needs to stay on your head.”

“Cold,” she sobs, “please, Will, I’m so cold.” Dolly. Dolly. He calls her dolly when she’s crying, when the tips of her fingers are bleeding and her knees are scraped raw and she screams if he gets too close to her. “‘M so —”

Her teeth clack hard together so hard her mouth glues shut. And the ice in her finger and toenails fires up her veins and pricks through all of her capillaries, turning her solid, and it burns, and it aches, and she bawls enough that acid burns up her throat and dribbles down her chin, down her shirt, in her bed. And over the heart pounding in her ears she hears her older brother exhale a soft little broken moan and choke it back just as fast and his always-warm hands brush over her cheeks, and she groans and squirms away from it and cries harder, and he whispers “Hold on, dolly, the fever’s almost broken, I can feel it,” and she opens her eyes and he is there, hair longer, hair neater, lab coat starched and collar covered in old Star Wars stickers, bulky glasses barely clinging to his face, tears soaking his long, angular face.

And Kayla squints, and the freezing ice recedes ever so slightly, sparking just under her skin, and she tilts her head, and she stares at him, at his freckle-free face, and whispers, “…Will?”

And he squeezes his eyes tighter and begs, “One more time, kiddo, I’m so sorry. One more time. I can’t help you if I can’t touch you. Pull back the light, baby, I can’t see, you have to control it just a little more. Just enough so it doesn’t burn. Please.”

And she squints again and Will-not-Will wavers, and the infirmary lights blink off his tears, off the lens of his glasses, and the. she squints again and the lights are dimmer, and the lab coat is gone, and his hair is frizzier.

“What,” she croaks, and Will pats her hair, and his hands are rough like she’s used to, and his round face is wet, and his scrubs are barf-stained, again, and he is smiling, tears dripping into his mouth, bright blue eyes clear, and he laughs and touches his forehead to hers.

“One-oh-one,” he whispers, shoulders shaking. “You’re safe, dolly. Your brain is out of the oven. Gods. Holy shit. Holy shit, Holy God, Holy Hera.” And he starts to pray.

She exhales hard, exhales, and forgets about it.

———

The next time her brain is not cooking hard enough her proteins are denaturing.

The next time she is sleep deprived, which does not help her determine reality.

She is lucid enough to notice the change, though.

She should not be awake. This much she knows. Will had sent her to bed hours ago, a half-hour after Austin and a full hour after the kids — as is her right; she is a full 13 years old — and she went, not without grumbling. And she meant to sleep. She usually does. But the moon was bright, and unusually warm. And the fairy lights twinkled with twice as much laughter than usual. And the audiobook her daddy sent her was just so enticing, just so flowery and beautiful, and as she listened to the gravel-low voice of the woman narrating and stared out the window she could see it playing out, plain as day, over the silver-washed hill of Thalia’s tree and the gentle giggling of the Atlantic waves.

She’s not supposed to be up late enough to watch Will creep in.

But she is, and that’s that. She hears the creak of the rickety screen door, slow like he’s trying to keep it quiet, and holds her breath, careful to make all her muscles react to keep her from being seen. The cabin is big but not that big and she sees him quickly, out of the corner of her half-closed eyes, tiptoe careful across the wooden floorboards, hopping over the noisiest ones, resting at the side of each of their beds and waiting, watching at the ends of them, shoulders dropping, eyes blackened and eyebags heavy. After a moment at each he reaches out his burned hands, resting gently on her siblings’ foreheads, and closes his eyes, exhaling, letting the fiery warmth from his palms spread slowly through their veins, wrapping strands of sunlight neatly around them like spider silk. As it recedes he sighs, in exhaustion or relief, and holds his hand, for a second, breathing in, breathing out, and moving on.

He comes to her last.

She has relaxed her breathing by then. She is thirteen years old and remembers every day of it; knows how to twitch her muscles and murmur in gentle sleepiness, knows how to breathe til her heart goes slow and flicker her eyelids so her face shows its dreaming. Daddy checks on her too, when she’s home, and she likes to stay up for him, likes to wait, likes to savour the feel of his string-callused fingertips and soft cool palms.

“I know you’re not sleeping, you little twerp.“

He flickers again — she sees it this time — and the heat of his hands fade a bit. His face gets a little longer, chin a little pointier, and the wild curls around his head mellow into something wavier, something gentler and more tamed. The glasses balancing on his wide nose are unbelievably thick, thicker than Julia’s whose prescription is a joke, and make his blue eyes look buggy, beetle-shaped. He’s got half as many freckles but that could be the moonlight. His smile is the same.

“I know what REM feels like, you know.”

She says nothing and keeps breathing. He sighs. He strokes a thumb against her forehead and it is familiar, and she knows, immediately then, that it is her brother who strokes her, who guards the foot of her bed.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed. If you’re not asleep by then I’m gonna smother you, ya pain in the ass.”

He pulls away and she watches, follows the thwack of his falling-apart Converse, the rise of his gentle humming. He pulls tiny bathroom’s door shut and the humming swells along with the fireflies, echoing soft and melodic in the kind-of-big cabin, and she means to stay awake, really. She wants to watch him transform again, wants to watch his shoulders grow back and his spine stretch straighter. Wants to see the familiar roundness of his cheeks.

But his voice is so beautiful, and the scrape of his toothbrush is as rhythmic as ever, and the moon is so high in the sky. Her audiobook fades to silence as she slips away, warmed, into the cradle of her bed.

———

The third time she sees him there is no excuse.

It is the dead middle of summer and he is exhausted. The camp swells with the sum of them all, with the drum of running footsteps and crashing swords and crowing laughter. Her brother lives in the infirmary, practically; no matter how many times he is dragged out he keeps sneaking back, keeps slipping out of his friends’ sight and falling right back into his scrubs, hair pulled back.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Kayla says crossly. “Your shifts are done for the week.”

He smiles guiltily and the change is immediate. The slant of his shoulders is identical, the curve of his grin is unchanged, but the glossiness of his eyes fades away, and the strange ghost of her brother takes full shape. He is different, in the clear sunlight. A familiar stranger. He grins at her widely and turns on his heel, strolling to the mortal medicine cabinet.

“And who died and made you head honcho, Sunshine?” She blinks in surprise, glancing down at her hands. That is a new one. Sunshine.“It’s the busy season. I’m only keeping up with demand.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself right out,” she hears herself say. “Right out, and then what?”

“And then the sun will keep shining,” her brother says. “Besides, you’ll be taking over in no time. You’re already better than me, squirt.”

It’s an odd thing to say — she isn’t. By virtue of her parentage she can heal, and she can sing the hymns. But her strength is in her bow and her violin; her strings, not the stretch of bandages or shine of the suture. Will knows it. This brother, though, the one who stands in his place, is not speaking to her.

“I am?”

“‘Course. You know anyone else who can drag an errant soul right back into a body?”

Yes. She’s seen Will do it on more than one occasion, on more than one justification. She’s seen how it makes Chiron’s lips tighten and the atmosphere go dark. There is healing, and then there is blasphemy and challenge. Will walks the line like no one has since Zeus struck the challenger clean off the Earth.

This brother is not talking to her.

“Am I really going to take over, Lee?”

She says it carefully, because she isn’t sure. There are no pictures and Will tells no stories. But she hears whispers, sometimes, from the scattered few who knew them both, who watch Will corral the lot of them to breakfast or take the reigns of the chariot or calm hysterics with a touch, who whisper: “Sometimes I look at him and it’s like seeing a ghost.”

Her brother smiles a wide thing at her. It is as soft as she remembers. “Course, baby. No doubt in my mind.”

———

The fourth time she sees Lee Fletcher, she makes him come.

She waits very carefully. He comes when Will’s tired, she hypothizes. When his own strength won’t stand. So she waits, for the second wave of camp flu, for his lead on the climbing wall, for the rare nights when Gracie gets cranky and homesick and stomps around the cabin, throwing things and yelling. She waits for the look in his eyes, for the glassiness to smooth into something soft and reverent, something timeless.

It does not come when she expects.

The fourth time they are sitting together. Or, Will is sitting, legs tucked under him on the side bench, and Kayla stands, breathing careful, arms pulling elastic taut.

Her third missed shot, he is behind her.

“Relax you jaw,” he suggests. “Your tension is throwing you off. Let yourself hit the edge — it’s a new challenge, kid. No need for a bullseye.”

“I always get a bullseye,” she argues.

Lee smiles. His eyes are different, she realizes. They’re — constant. Blue. Like hydrangeas.

Will’s change with the sky.

“Bullseyes are a process.” He puts a steady hand on her elbow, tilting it slightly. “You gotta aim for the bigger picture before you focus on the details. The bullseye will come. Start with hitting the target.”

She huffs, scowling, but he’s right, and on her fourth shot the arrow lodges, just on the edge of the compacted wood.

Lee cheers. That, she sees clear as day, is identical, from the strain of his arms to the crow of his whooping laughter. He even does the same clumsy, dorky dance that sends him sprawling.

Kayla smiles past the lump in her throat.

———

The fifth, sixth, and seventh times pass without her counting, as does everyone one beyond. They happen in stretches and in the blink of an eye — the shapes of his mouth when he yawns, the drawl of his fed-up sarcasm. The weight of his elbow on the top of her head, grinning as she shoves him off, the shake of his deep, bone-rooted sigh when he thinks she’s asleep and his entire body strains, curled up under his favourite quilt. The weight of his ‘v’ in I love you.

She almost stops looking.

“What did he look like?” she blurts, one evening when he takes them to the beach. The rest of them are up ahead, Austin chasing the younger ones up the muddy sand.

Will freezes, just barely, then walks on with a forced lightness, swinging his loose arms between them.

“Who?” he asks, voice light.

Kayla gnaws the inside of her cheek.

“Your older brother.”

“I had four, at one point.”

He says it quiet like he does at the campfire, when it’s only the older kids left but she’s managed to stick around, holding her breath so they won’t notice and send her away. When Will lies back on a log and matches his breathing to the flames, eyes unseeing, and Annabeth watches him carefully and whispers, “Play us something, Will.” And he picks up the guitar he keeps dusty under his bed and sings something soft like there’s no hardness left inside him. No bowstring.

“When he laughed, you could hear it across camp,” he says quietly.

Kayla had not specified which brother but he knows anyway, had been waiting for her ask, and she strains to hear, now, leans in over the turn of the waves and shifts of the sands and strives for every note, every chord of his voice. “He invented a full name for me so he could holler it when I got in trouble. William Andrew.”

“I didn’t know he made that up.”

A ghost of a smile turns Will’s lips. “Yeah, it stuck real good. Even Chiron forgets I wasn’t born with it, actually. He yells it, too.”

He tilts his heart to the sky and stares at the clouds, exhaling, hands still by his sides.

“I was his favourite,” he says finally. “He wasn’t supposed to have anybody, but he loved me. He watched me real careful. He was —” he swallows — “I loved my brother, you know. To the sun and beyond it.”

He stops, turning to the waves. She lets him and watches his back, watches the shape of his scapulae under his camp shirt.

“I wish I still had him.”

The air shifts beside him, then. She sees Lee next to him, this time, not in place of him, with a broad hand on his shaking shoulder, a tanned forehead pressed to his temple. He turns to her, when Will breathes normally again, and winks, blinking back away as the clouds move from the sun.

“I think he’d be real proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

Kayla hesitates. “I mean — yeah. You’re like him, you know? You stand like he does.”

Will is smiling, softly, eyes red.

“I’ll have to show you a picture of him, sometime.”

“Yeah.” Kayla smiles, exhaling deeply. “Yeah, I’d like to see him.”

[itelya]

tumblr girl. boyfriend! Sukuna x fem! black reader

synopsis: your bf fuck you on the couch.

warning: NSFW (MDNI), dirty names, creampie, quick foreplay, a little rough, fingering, creampie, think it’s all (emphasis on black reader but accessible for everyone!) /!\ old work and not proofread so if there are errors srry not srry.

words: 1696.

You’re lying on the couch, on your stomach, your phone in your hands as you scroll through Tumblr. Fanart of your favorite characters parades before your eyes, some so sexy and captivating that they make you smile. But, let’s be honest, none of them match your boyfriend, Sukuna.

Sure, he was a self-important jerk most of the time, but he had this tender and caring side that only you knew. He took care of you when you weren’t feeling well, with such gentle gestures and a look so protective that he made you forget all his annoying habits. Sukuna could be adorable… but only to you.

As your mind wanders, Sukuna comes out of the bathroom, shuffling his feet to the living room. A simple towel is tied around his hips, revealing his muscular torso, while his still wet hair falls messily over his face.

His gaze falls on you, lying on the couch. He could have said that he found you beautiful, with your freshly done braids framing your face, or the softness of your features shining under the dim light. But instead, he prefers to admire your big black ass barely covered by your little red shorts.

He gets all excited and feels his cock rise against the fabric of the towel. Shit, just seeing you like that is enough to make him hard. He moves closer to you and decides to slap your ass. You moan in surprise and pleasure.

"Sukuna..?", you turn around to put yourself on your back and your elbows but he gets between your legs quickly. He places his hands on your waist and carries you as if you weighed a feather then puts you on him.

"Fucking slut.. does it turn you on to dress like this to turn me on?", he looks into your eyes excitedly and his gaze drops to your big full breasts stuck in your little black tank top. You feel his cock throbbing against you.

"I didn't dress like this to-", he spanks your ass and forces you to look at him. "Are you sure baby? You shouldn't lie to me.", his voice becomes deep and low. You start to get wet, he's so sexy when he's turned on like this.

"I-... sorry." You look at his dick and put your hand on it. "How can I make up for it?" , you go up to his ear and you’re whispering sensually. You hear a slight grunt in his throat. "You’re such a slut."

He takes your hand and takes both of your wrists and places them behind your back." Do you really think I’m going to let you touch my cock so easily, honey?" he smiles viciously. He puts two fingers in front of your mouth. Open up baby." You open up straight away and suck those fingers and drool on them.

After he is satisfied, do not even take the time to remove your short and your panties that he pulls them on the side to reveal your little pussy wet that throbbing just thinking of the way he will fuck you. He smiles viciously and kisses you brutally.

"Are you already excited about me fucking you?", you whisper a weak ‘yes’ and look at him impactingly. He looks at you and pushes one of his thick and long fingers into your tight and wet little hole. His finger gets swallowed by your hungry walls.

He pulls you towards him and kisses you roughly as he slides a second finger in and pushes it deeper into you. You moan, your lips parting beneath his. Your back arches, your legs wrapping around him to pull him closer to you.

"Suku- sukuna mmhf…", you moan as you feel his fingers spread your wet walls and then suddenly he pulls his fingers out and puts them in his mouth. "You taste so good princess. I want to fuck you now." His eyes darken with desire.

"Please baby..", you whisper and look at him so excited. Shit, how could he hold back when you look at him like that, drunk on him when he just fucked you with his fingers. So what would it be like with his cock?

He releases your wrists and places his thumb on your needy clit and like little circles on it, enough to make you arch and moan. Then he pins you down and lies on top of you. You watch his cock hard against the towel that is soon to come undone.

“See how fucking hard you make me?” His voice is deep and low, husky with the desire to possess you. He looks at you and a small smile forms on his face. You’re so sexy and cute. You’ll be his downfall.

His hands remove your tank top and your full breasts come into contact with the slightly cold air of the room. Your black nipples harden immediately, they are so appetizing but now he just wants to fuck you.

Sukuna removes his towel completely and throws it into the room. His big horny cock finds place on your soaking wet pussy and stomach. His dick is so thick and long that during your first time you thought you were going to die.

"You want this dick baby?"

You nod, unable to answer. You want him inside you so bad. He smiles even more in satisfaction and a low laugh escapes. He could go crazy because of you. "Use your words babe.. do that or I won't fuck you. That would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

His gaze is stern and serious but you know he won't be able to pull back from fucking you. But you prefer to play along. "I want your dick so bad.. suku please??" Your tone is almost tearful and preachy. How can he resist you when you're like this?

“Good girl.” He leans down and kisses you roughly. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and dances with yours. You feel his cock rubbing against your wet folds. You can’t help but throb in anticipation. He pulls away from your lips and stands up.

He spits on his hand then goes back and forth on it to lubricate it. The tip of his length rubs and voluntarily tickles your little swollen clitoris which makes you moan then a semi-hard slap smacks your pussy which makes you scream in surprise.

“Suku-!” Small tears run down your cheeks. You feel his thick mouthful entering your velvety walls. Low grunts escape Sukuna’s throat. The feeling of your tight pussy is heaven to him.

"Fuck baby… your pussy is the heaven." His cock slides even deeper into you. You moan his name and incoherent things, the feeling is bliss. The tip of his dick hits your cervix making you whimper.

“You’re too deep..-” your words jumbled together, you already didn’t know where to turn. You got cock drunk so soon? He didn’t even start. “I.. Ican’t- can’t take it!” A small laugh escaped Sukuna’s lips. How ridiculous.

"Every time I fucked you you took my dick like a good girl, you took it, didn't you? Don't disappoint me baby-." He doesn't move while you get used to it and slides his hand over your warm skin to your chest. His fingers start to play with one of your sensitive nipples.

Small moans come out of your mouth. It feels so good. You lift your arms to put them on Sukuna's shoulders and pull him towards you. "You can move ‘kuna." He smiles then kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth and starting to move.

"Feeling good baby?" You don't even have time to answer that he places his hands on your hips and begins to thrust deep into you. Your eyes roll back on themselves and your nails dig into Sukuna's skin.

Your pussy tightens instinctively as his cock hits your cervix. One of his hands slides into your hair and pulls it back to kiss you full on the mouth, making you suffocate.

His other hand moves to your swollen little clit. His thumb teases your sensitive bud and presses on it making you moan and your back arch. Your legs shake under Sukuna's intensity. He's fast, rough and goes so deep inside you.

"You take me so fucking well, doll... you just wanted attention earlier when you said you couldn't take it, huh?" You shake your head, you meant it. He's so big sometimes- He laughs and smiles at you. "What should I do with you?"

"Kuna-" you moan and wrap your legs around his thick waist. He moves even closer to you and kisses from your ear to your collarbone. His hands cup your legs and place them on his broad shoulders.

His movements become more significant and deeper, making you lose your mind. Small tears leak from the stimulation. The couch begins to creak under his harsh blows.

"Sukuna, you’ree going to break the couuuch!" He doesn't answer and continues. He goes back to playing with your sensitive clit and spits on it. Fingers slip into your mouth and fuck your hot, wet mouth with them. All your holes are filled with Sukuna.

…

You're almost on the verge of cumming with Sukuna. Your pussy is getting tighter and tighter, throbbing even more. Sukuna's movements are becoming erratic; he's about to cum too. The couch creaks even more beneath you.

"I should break this couch once and for all." He sneers, saying this more to himself than to you. Your legs tremble on his large shoulders and your toes curl in on themselves.

"M’gonna cum!" You moan and scream his name. You're so close. You feel his veiny cock pulsing and pushing into you. The wet sounds of your squirting and his cream turn him on even more. It's so pretty to see.

"Cum for me babe." You cum and moan his name and Sukuna unloads his creamy load inside you and whispers your name like a prayer.

IM SO LAZY TO FINISH PROPELY SRRRYYY😭🙏

masterlist

requests: OPEN.

© 2025 itelya. All work belongs to @itelya. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[raylynnn]

“Fuck- I forgot to lock the door..”

Featuring mha boys: Katsuki, Eijro, Hanta, Kaminari, and Izuku.

Scenario (head-cannon) : basically mha boys and how they would react to being caught being intimate with the so.

Katsuki Bakugo:

• at first yall are just chilling in his dorm, watching some lame movie (in his opinion) that you put on. He couldn’t take this sappy romance shit movie anymore but knew you wouldn’t turn it off. So what else could he do but distract you.

•it started with little neck kisses which led into sloppy open mouth kissed that trailed from you lips to your collar bone. “Fuck baby. Cmon take this off for me.” He demanded lifting the hem of your shirt as he held you in his lap. You were both now topples. “So fucking pretty..” he mumbled into your breast as he nibbled and sucked. But as he propped the other into his mouth, you both heard the door open.

• “Hey man, me and the others are play COD. You finna join-“ said Kiri as he stopped in his tracks, eyes bugging out of head at the scene. You both froze as katsuki quickly turned your body away from the red head. “Fuck! Get out-“ but before Bakugo could even try to demand Kiri out the room kiri was already turning on his heel, as apology’s spilt from his mouth like a water fountain.

• “fuck I’m sorry- god fuck.” Katsuki mumbled obviously pissed and embarrassed. “I should’ve locked the door-“ before Katsuki could continue his apology’s you shut him up with a kiss. “Ok well let’s do that now..cause I still need you..” you said shyly as you twiddled your thumbs while still in his lap.

•all he did was grin before his mouth was back on yours. Let’s just say Kiri knows to knock like a pro now.

Eijro Kirishima:

•your under him as he plowed into you like a dog. Your legs hooked over his shoulders as he gripped you by the calf’s of your leg for support rutting into you. “F-fuck..” he groaned biting his lip back. “All this for me hon?” He said as he kissed your calf watching your eyes roll back into your head.

• “yes- yes Kiri..” you whimpered as your reached out for his hand. The car rocked slowly as kiri’s moves were slow but rough and powerful. “I love you- love you so much” you said in between broken moans and whimpers.

• “fuck baby..yeah I love you more baby your so- so cute..” as you both were too lost in the pleasure you heard a knock on the window. Y’all both stopped quickly sitting up as Kiri covered you with his wrinkled shirt that the two of you discarded on the floor.

• “dammit.” He muttered as he rolled down the window slightly careful to not reveal you. “What- oh my go-“ Kiri said before quickly rolling up the window. “What! What is it-“ you asked frantic since Kiri seemed all of sudden embarrassed and almost scared. “Quick get your clothes on- now” kiri barked like an order which was really unlike him.

• you did as he said shimming your clothes on as quickly as you could before Kiri rolled down the window again. “You two finished..?” A familiar voice called out. And suddenly you freeze as the realization hit. “Don’t tell me-“ you spoke before eyes peered through. “Azawia- sensei I-I can explain-“ said Kiri as he zipped up his pants. “Uh huh..look I just assumed you- were um just passed curfew..” he said clearly uncomfortable. “Look I won’t bring this up..if you don’t. I don’t want to have this conversation anymore then you do..” he said as he rubbed his temples.

• “yeah- of course…” Kiri mumbled clearly embarrassed. Soon enough Azawia walked off and kiri rolled the window back up. You gave Kiri a knowing look. “Sooo..wanna continue this in your room..” Kiri shook his head laughing slightly as he kissed the shell of your ear, “your crazy y/n” he said as he helped put the rest of your clothes back on as he returned yoh back to your dorm.

Hanta sero:

• “b-baby! T-too much!!” You whined into the pillow as sero taped your arms and wrists behind your back. “Fucking slut..I can feel you clenching when I tie the bind tighter.” He spat like venom as he rutted into you.

•you had hearts in your eyes as you couldn’t help but smile at the amazing feeling of being so full. He had you face first into the mattress as he propped your ass up hitting that perfect gummy spot in your walls. “Yeah? That feel good mamas?” He whispered into your ear. “Yes- feels so g-good!” You don’t even know how it happened. Maybe y’all were just too rough and moved too much. But somhow you ended up on seros phone and touched somthing- some button. And of fucking corse ended up calling kaminari.

• “yo what’s up man?” Called out kaminari “hello? Dude?” He said confused.

“Agh- oh fuck right there..”

“Yes- yes omg YES!”

“B-baby baby!! Oh my god..cmon milk me baby-“

“Harder- fuck me harder!”

Denki just set the phone down on his lap as he just stared off into space before he hung up.

• the next morning you came downstairs in seros shirt as you sat down in the chair as sero came around putting his hand on the small of your back as he leaned around to kiss you. Denki sat at the other end as he remembered last night’s call. “Hey man you ok? You look bothered..?” Called out sero.

•”no..no why would I be bothered” said Denki obviously sarcastic. You both raised your eyebrows in confusion before kaminari put his phone on the table revealing the call at 9:44 remembering that yalls “activity’s” resulted around that hour.

• “oh my- did I.. did we call-?” You asked your face going pale as sero just froze. “Yes. Yes you did.” He said stern.

•all 3 of you had similar reactions and all wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

Denki kaminari:

• he had been on that stupid game forever now. You two were supposed to hang out and stuff but nooo “5 more minutes” he said. 30 minutes ago. You were fed up. As you should be and what other way to make him feel sorry than stripping him of his dignity and pants.

• “f-fuck I need a power up g-guys..” he grunted as you rolled your tongue over his tip your other hand stroking his base. He was out of breath panting and sweat heading at his brow. “Cmon Kami lock in- you good bro?” Questioned Kiri.

• “Y-yeah I’m fine..” denki said biting back his lip as he had a death grip on his controller but you wanted to punish him for not giving you any attention. So as expected you took your other hand using both hands stroking his base as you kept his tip busy with your mouth.

• he was losing it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up. He set the controller down harshly as he put a hand in your hair. “Fucking- brat..” he mumbled forgetting Kiri was on the other line. Soon enough he was thrusting his hips up into your mouth making your jaw sore.

• “you guys are some freaks..” Kiri mumbled into his mic before logging off chuckling slightly at his friends freaky and brave actions. Denki glared at you. “You wanted my attention that badly huh?” He said before picking you before setting you in the chair before he was on his knees before you already taking your panties off with his teeth.

Izuku midoryia:

• “fuck izu-“ you moaned out into the air as he had a death grip on your ass as he pushed you forward and back against his face. You used him as some chair almost. And he was loving every fucking bit. Small groans and grunts could be heard as he fucked you sloppy with his tongue.

• you gripped him by the hair rocking your hips against his lips chasing that high. Izuku was such a yearner he had no shame making noise and being vocal and loving you outloud.

•you two must of been feeling good to not hear the door knob jingle and twist. And it’s not like izuku planned on stopping anytime soon either. “God princess- you taste so good” he moaned into your heat.

• izuku shared an apartment with Katsuki and the two were pretty good friends now. As katsuki puts his keys on the hook he walked towards izukus room opening the door to let him know he had dinner. “Nerd I have dinner, come eat- oh shit” he said as his eyes widened. His eyes resting on the absolute fucked scene infront of him. You turned around being the first to catch on as you saw a pair of deep red eyes locked on the scene between you and the green haired absolute MUNCH below you.

• “IZUKU-“ you called out trying to hop off his tongue before he pulled you back down totally unaware of the situation. “F-fuck damnit-“ katsuki said before he tried to bolt out of there. Izuku finally looked up afraid he hurt you or something. “What is it baby? KACHAN?-“

•katsuki was so scared he and izuku were close but he didn’t want to feel like a creep for seeing izukus girl like that. Even though katsuki could be a hothead he knew to knock but him and izuku were at the point were they would both just walk in. But things were different now that izuku had a girlfriend.

• when the two of you both got decent. Katsuki was grabbing his keys before the two of you stopped him. Katsuki felt his stomach drop when he made eye contact with the two of you. “Katsuki- wait!” You said before you made contact with the clearly red and bothered blonde. You couldn’t help but laugh at how clearly ashamed he was. Soon enough Izuku started laughing slightly before Katsuki glared at the two of you.

• “fuck..I thought y’all were gonna hunt me down” the 3 of you laughed before katsuki messed up your hair playfully. “Fucking nerds..” he said before he went off to plating the food.

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

AN: Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this! I know some of it is unrealistic but it’s just head cannons (sort of?) if y’all want more characters to this or other scenarios feel free to leave requests!! Also TYSM for blowing up my last post I wasn’t expecting that many likes! Tysm for all the support!

Go check out my other stories!!💕

[leahkenobi]

porch light

frank castle x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: inspired by porch light by josh meloy. frank made a promise: come hell or high water, he would always come home to you. he intends to make good on that.

warnings: mentions of blood, partial nudity, slightly self-loathing frank. mostly fluff.

a/n: well well well. fulfilling the fanfic author cliche of “i have literally been through hell since my last update. so sorry i fell off the side of the earth for awhile.” to keep it vague, losing someone really made me lose my desire to write. while the wound will probably never heal, for the first time in so long, i’ve felt like i could do this again. and who better to bring us back then frank motherfucking castle. please excuse the writing it’s been so so long. but, if you would like to be added to a frank taglist, lmk and i will happily add you. no promises of how often i will make updates bc school is actually kicking my ass, but i’m trying!

picture was taken from pinterest! credits to the owner!

with the wind knocked from his lungs and blood still dripping from his face, frank had one mission left to complete before he could collapse: get home.

he made the promise long ago when you had moved into the quaint house in the suburbs with him.

no matter how ugly it was, how badly he was injured or how empty he felt, he would make his way home to you. night after night, he kept his promise, only breaking it when he was away for a multi-night event, like this past one.

but he had sent you the text, so he couldn’t go back on his word now.

i’m coming home baby. leave the porch light on.

his bones felt like lead as he heaved himself into his truck, a two hour drive ahead of him until he would see you. his reason, his heart, his everything.

———

your past few nights were hauntingly quiet. no sounds of clatter from the kitchen as frank cooked for you both, no soft hum of the television as he watched one of his documentaries, no quiet breaths as he slept next to you.

on nights without him, sleep almost always evaded you. it’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s not even that you were particularly worried about frank.

of course, there would always be anxiety with the line of business he was in. but you knew him. not even a bullet to the head could take him out. a symbol of strength and perseverance, he was nearly indestructible in your mind.

it was the lack of his heat that kept you awake until the wee hours of the morning. the absence of his smell, so strong of cedar and masculinity that made it impossible for you to find rest. the missing arm that he draped over your waist as you slept, a constant weight and reminder that even in sleep, he would never let anything get to you first. he would throw himself over your body and take a thousand shots to his back before so much as a shot gun bead could penetrate your skin.

around eleven, as you lie lounging on your couch, caught up in one of frank’s many books, the familiar buzz of your phone startled you out of your story.

a message from an unknown number sent anxiety through your bones. until you opened it.

you saw the words and relief passed through your body.

i’m coming home baby. leave the porch light on.

you knew who it was instantly. a small smile spread across your lips.

you typed out a short message back.

will do.

———

the two hour window between the text and frank’s arrival felt like eternity. your mind filled with questions.

would he be covered in blood?

would ahe be silent like he always was after a particularly rough night?

did he succeed on his little quest?

finally, the firm sound of boots on your creaky old steps fell upon your ears and interrupted your constant internal monologue of questions. you were instantly on your feet, reaching the front door in record time.

you stared at him. even from your poorly lit porch, you could see the sheen of blood on his face.

he lifted his head and saw your familiar silhouette.

god, he’d fucking missed you.

“hey baby,” he graveled out.

“frank, honey…” you started as you went to meet him on the third step.

you reached him in a second, hands instantly coming to his face. you needed to feel the rough stubble of his beard and the contrast of his soft skin.

“hey, hey..” he whispered, gently removing your hands from his face and placing them on his shoulders instead.

you leaned into him, head resting against that stony chest of his, absorbing the heat of his body, enraptured in the scent of gunpowder and blood and him.

he kissed the top of your head, seamlessly melting back into the man he was with you. the patient, gentle man who’s only wish was to keep you safe and tend to your every desire.

“missed you so fuckin much baby. couldn’t get here fast enough,” he softly said, gently pulling you out of his chest and tilting your chin up to him.

your eyes met his, melting that roughness he had carried back with him with your one look.

“missed you too frankie. cmon let’s get inside,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading him off the porch and through the front door.

the smell of home nearly made his heart burst as it reached his busted nose. the flowers he had bought you before he left, his favorite pasta dish you had likely made for dinner, the laundry that you had folded up neatly now lying on the couch and you. he nearly groaned as he felt it all surround him.

he dropped his bag just after you had closed the door behind him, letting the weight of the past few days slip off him.

“let me,” you said, bending to untie his dirty old boots.

“i got-“

“no frank. let me take care of this,” you told him.

a small grin graced his face. of course you wanted to tend to him. always giving, always soothing. how could a man so thoroughly fucked up as himself ever deserve you? ever deserve to come home to all of this?

you tapped his ankles, indicating your completion of the task. he slipped them off and reached down to grab your hand.

“thank you,” he said, “you don’t need to-“

“you stubborn, stubborn man. just let me help you,” you smiled.

god he shouldn’t be this lucky. not after all he’s done.

“kay baby,” he relented, letting you do what you always did for him. make him feel.

———

you led him upstairs and into the bathroom and turned on the hot water for him.

he unfastened his belt and dropped his pants. as you turned back toward him, you gave him a soft smile.

“c’mere,” he let out, pulling you back into him. he couldn’t get enough of this. feeling you against him. warm, safe, home.

you slid your hands underneath his black henley. he allowed it, let you pull it up over his head. allowed you to run your nails over his tight abs as his muscles tensed.

“get cleaned up. i’ll go warm up the leftovers-“

“nah don’t worry about it. not hungry. just want you,” he said meeting your gaze beneath his, keeping his arms around you, his bare skin against your clothed form.

a yawn crept out of you, your darkened under eyes becoming noticeable to frank as he looked at you closer.

“go get in bed sweetheart. be right there,” he said as he released you. you let him be, closing the door gently on the way out. you knew he needed that time alone, needed to let the heat of the shower wash away his newest sins.

———

you stripped from your clothing, clad only in your underwear, and slipped under the sheets.

after a few minutes, frank opened the door attached to your bedroom and came out in his boxers, the steam from the shower wafting out after him.

he saw your form bundled beneath the thick comforter and felt everything fade from him. every ache in his body, every pain in his heart, all the rage he kept buried inside. it just… dissipated. because there was his girl. sleepy eyes locked on his, trying so hard to stay open. body wrapped in god knows how many blankets because you were always “so cold, frankie. you’re my heater.”

this was what he came home for. this angel of a woman, the beat in his fucking chest.

he slid under the blankets, exhaling a sigh of relief.

it took him less than a second to reach for your body and pull you into him. he indulged his desire to have your skin on his.

you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of irish spring soap. you’d lost track of how many times you’d told him he needed more than just one bar of soap for everything.

he kissed the crown of your head and another yawn escaped you.

“i got you now, baby. just sleep,” he said.

“g’night frankie. so glad you’re home,” you said sleepily.

“no where i’d rather be,” he responded quietly, slowly shutting his eyes and allowing sleep to overtake him.

taglist:

@crumbledcastle28

[oceantornadoo]

the ex-wife chronicles pt.3 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

John wakes up regretfully. It’s too easy to bite at a newcomer, especially you with all the history between you too. He’s determined to make it up, but with Ghost and Soap coming, it’ll be a lot harder to get you alone. Plus, despite Soap’s injury, Simon is too perceptive. He’ll know something is going on. John’s debated telling the team about your ex status, but he doesn’t want to ruin whatever perception they have of you. He’s really hoping you can help the team, and he’s not going to let his past eclipse that.

Once John gets dressed, he finds you and Gaz eating breakfast in the kitchen. There’s a third bowl of oatmeal waiting for him on the counter, with a sprinkle of brown sugar. He just knows you made it and now he feels even more dick-ish. Great.

“Soap an’ Ghost will be here in thirty minutes.” John says by way of greeting. Gaz grunts, clearly still sleepy, and you nod, eyes trained on the empty bowl in front of you. “Thanks for the breakfast, Doc.” John murmurs as he walks past your chair to get his bowl. You don’t even correct his insinuation, just tense your shoulders a bit before dropping them and nodding. The air isn’t as tense as he thought it would be, which is the most he can ask for during this reunion. 

“You guys ready to see your teammates?” You ask the space in front of you. It’s said pleasantly, a rarity in a team built for battle and bloodshed. John nods and Gaz launches into a story of how, years ago, Johnny wooed almost all of the nurses that took care of him after a nasty cut to his leg. The story takes up the rest of breakfast, thankfully. He’s stopped by the sound of honking outside the compound. Gaz jumps in his seat and takes off to the front. You stand and move to follow, but John stops you with a hand to your waist.

“I’m sorry for last night.” He whispers, his hand moving to the small of your back as he guides you towards the front doors. Surprisingly, you don’t shrug it off. “It’s fine, John. I was being mean.” He squeezes your waist and drops his hand before he can remind himself that you’re no longer his to squeeze. “Reckon we both were. Thought a decade might change that, but looks like we’re still kids.” You bark out a small laugh and shake your head, looking down at your synced footfalls. “Looks like it.” You reply, light and airy. A welcome change from this morning. 

“If it makes you feel better, I am a bit. Lonely, that is.” He doesn’t know why he said that, why he’d trust you with that information despite having not seen you in years. It’s not like you know each other anymore, have no reason to trust except Laswell- “I think I am, too. Different reasons but…” You trail off, shrugging. When you look up at him, eyes catching for the first time this whole morning, he can’t help but remember how you look under him, wet and willing. Breath catching as you both try something new, his voice soft and low in your ear…

“Cap!” Soap’s voice, clear and healed, rings out in the crisp morning air. His hair is gone, replaced with a rough buzzcut on the side of his head that the bullet grazed. He grips a cane loosely, like it’s there just in case. Other than being in civvies, he looks almost exactly like normal. Whole. Simon is also dressed in civvies, a black sweatshirt and blue jeans, his arm fluttering at his side like he’s waiting for Soap to fall so he can catch him. It only took a bullet for him to get over himself. How predictable.

“It’s good to see you, Soap.” John peels himself from your side and claps both of his men in one-armed hugs. They linger a bit, mostly because John needs to feel Soap’s beating heart before he can let him go. When he’s done greeting Simon, he finds you already introducing yourself to Soap, your hand clasped in his. Simon stiffens imperceptibly and John pats his shoulder in reassurance before stepping back. “Few weeks an’ you’re already a caveman.” John grunts, only for Simon’s ears. He can feel the force of his eye roll and grins under his mustache before joining Gaz where he stands. You greet Simon next, and John holds his surprise in as the man takes your handshake. Maybe he has softened. Maybe so has John.

“Well, I’m glad to see you all together. Johnny starts his PT tomorrow, so today we’ll spend as much time as we can together. I talked to the facility and he’ll be able to join us twice a week on the days he’s not working with them.” You sound a bit like a summer camp instructor, but your brightness is welcomed to cheer up the reunion. If you weren’t here, John has a feeling they would’ve already started day-drinking in a dark pub somewhere. “Y’r makin’ me work, Doc.” Johnny comments goodnaturedly. You smile and it’s blinding. “I’m not treating anyone, but especially you, with kiddie gloves. I know the conditions you’re used to and I definitely know you won’t do any good being idle. Anyone disagree?” They’re all silent, even John. He can’t refute a single point.

They follow you back into the building, Gaz and Soap bickering like old times. Simon didn’t even pretend to bring an overnight bag, simply setting down an extra cane for Soap in his room. John’s chest tightens. He excuses himself to the bathroom, shutting the door forcefully and locking it. It’s hit him now, that it won’t ever be the same. Soap probably won’t be able to come back and Simon will do anything for him. Gaz is here, always following John’s lead, but he’s destined for greater things than Sergeant. John’ll probably get assigned new soldiers within the year, prodigies of their classes who aren’t worth half of any of his men. And for now he’s just in limbo, waiting. Shepherd and Makarov are dead. Other loose strings have been tied. His men will leave, but where does that leave him? Of course, he’s moved teams, locations, bases. But this one stuck, these are his men. With every thought, his heart beats louder and louder in his ears.

There’s a soft knock at the door. “Occupied.” John grunts out. “It’s me.” Your voice is muffled through the wooden door. Reason has long left him, which is the only reason his shaking hand unlocks the lock. You slip in quietly, keeping it tightly closed so no one else could see. “Gaz is taking them on a walk, we’re meeting them at base in twenty. When- John? Can you hear me?” He’s gripping the basin of the sink hard, like he wants to break it. The faucet is leaking, small drips landing every few seconds. 

“Alright, John, can you breathe for me? In and out, let’s do it together.” He scrambles and finds your hand warm and strong, squeezing his. It’s a reminder that you’re here, he’s here and not in some world where the carpet has been swept out from under him. You move his hand to your chest, where he can feel your lungs expand under your t-shirt. It grounds him as he matches your breathing to his, breaths calmer with every inhale and exhale. “You’re doing good, John. There you go.” Your voice rumbles through his hand, immovable as a mountain. He blinks and his vision is clear, staring straight into the mirror. His hand lays on your sternum, covered by your own. It feels a bit like ownership, security. The rest of his face looks…normal. His hair is in place, his beard sharp from where he cleaned it up this morning. There’s no signs of that immense pressure that had been pressing into him.

“Feel better?” You ask. He meets your eyes in the mirror, can sense you’re going into doctor mode. “Yeah, love. Feelin’ alrigh’.” The petname slips out unbidden, and neither of you acknowledge it. All you do is nod, squeezing his hand on your chest before dropping it back to his side. “Seeing them must have been hard. I’m sorry it hit you like this.” He nods. John runs the water and cleans his hands, washing away the sweat that gathered there. You watch from your perch near the door, all-seeing.

“John, do you-”

“Let’s talk later, Doc. Need to get t’ base.” He can’t bring himself to glimpse the pity on your face, so he simply walks out the door. There’s a ghost of a touch against his back as he passes you, so light he could’ve imagined it. Something tells him he didn’t, so he does what a good soldier does and compartmentalizes.

The two of you walk in silence all the way to base. When you both get there, the boys are waiting by what suspiciously looks like an…ATV. He turns to you, and the placid expression you’ve been maintaining suddenly transforms into a grin. “Welcome to our first day of team bonding!” 

-

“Don’t worry, we’re not doing anything to aggravate injuries. I just figured between this and a golf cart, you might want something fun.” Your words meet four blank male faces. Clearly, they are not excited at your tone. “Where are we goin’ on it, Doc?” Gaz eventually asks. “We’re going on a nature walk!”

Jeez, not a happy crowd.

“There’s a small forest a few kilometers from here. We’re going on a nature walk.” You like scaring human war machines with the phrase ‘nature walk’. It’s a way for them to talk about their feelings while hiding their faces in foliage, one of your favorite tricks of the trade.

Unfortunately, the ATV is not big enough. It would be, with two seats in the front and a bench for three in the back, if you were with regular soldiers. Unfortunately, Gaz insists on driving and Soap needs the passenger seat so he doesn’t get vertigo. They’re the two leanest which leaves you with two hulking masses of muscle in the back. You can’t sit in the middle as you tried to do in the beginning, before Simon almost sat on you. Before you can tell them you’ll meet them there, John swings out and snatches you from where you’re standing outside the vehicle. There’s no doors so in an instant, you’re seated on his lap. Right thigh, to be exact. You haven’t touched him like this in a decade and he’s since put on weight, muscle and fat combining into a very comfortable seat. You’ve gained weight too, but it doesn’t occur to you to protest. If he wants to sign up for this, you’re not going to stop him.

You’re not going to slide down further into John’s lap when Gaz guns the gas pedal, seemingly knowing where the forest is without you telling him. You’re not going to put a hand on John’s other thigh as you hit a bump, no seat belts in sight. You’re not going to squeeze it hard, to feel that rigid muscle and sinew under your fingertips. You won’t let his arm tighten around your waist, his hand splayed on your belly like he owns it. You will, in fact, ignore the side eye Ghost is giving you, the searing gaze of Gaz in the rear view mirror. 

You do jump off the moment the vehicle stops.

“Right, well, let’s get going before the sun gets higher.” Absurdly, you expect something to have changed during the ride. For John to pull you into him and whisper something foul in your ear. You expect to have to reject him or ask how he’s doing after his panic attack. None of that happens.

Instead, John stays in the back of the group, walking with Soap as he tests out his cane on the worn trail of the forest. You walk in between Ghost and Gaz, thankful for the latter’s conversation. You let them get settled in, cataloguing escape routes and the rustling of creatures until their shoulders relax. It’s only when Ghost seems settled that you clear your throat to get their attention.

“Right, everyone. We’re going to address the elephant in the room.” It’s been grudging acceptance so far, but the forest turns pin-drop silent. These poor soldiers, taught they have to wage war on themselves even off the battlefield. It’s unfortunate, to have such unique skills you get turned into a weapon, not able to wield yourself anymore.

“We’re going to say something we regret. Could be about the last mission, or not. But I want you to take this seriously. Think of things that have been on your chest.” The only sound is the occasional chirping bird. These men know how to walk silently, so you’re the loudest one there.

“I’ll go first.” You say when no one says anything. You decide to start light. “I regret eating oatmeal before this. My stomach is turning.” That gets a pity laugh from Gaz. You catch his eyes, pleading for him to go next.

“I regret not bringing enough candy back with me.” The men grumble and hum, going around in a circle with lighthearted comments. Forgetting cigarettes, a last trip to the pub, a massage. When it gets back to you again, you steel yourself for an uncomfortable silence. “I regret not staying in London longer.”

Gaz scratches the back of his head. Ghost cracks his neck. You can’t see Soap or John behind you, but you bet they’re fidgeting as well. They can sit for hours behind a sniper scope, but talking about their feelings sets them on edge, years of training down the drain. (You know that’s not true. That they feel comfortable and safe enough with each other to show these little bits of emotion. But you like to think it’s you, that unnerves them).

It’s quiet for a few minutes. Sticks break under feet and light breaks through the winter-worn trees, not yet having bloomed with new leaves. Only when the sun temporarily blinds you does Gaz speak. “I regret not spendin’ more time with my mum ‘fore I left.” He grunts out. You nudge his shoulder in thanks. He’s a bit stiff, but relaxes eventually. 

“Ah regret runnin’ in tae tha’ fuckin’ room.”

“Johnny-”

“Soap-”

“Now, Soap-”

Despite their protests, there was a collective sigh in the group. The acknowledgement, the truth of it barren and raw. Pain is etched into their faces, wrinkled and squinting. But there’s something else there too. Relief. Acknowledgement. 

“I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get some lunch in all of you.”

The dynamic switches on the way back. John leads, Gaz trailing hesitantly behind him. Ghost and Soap after him, their hands occasionally brushing as they walk. You bring up the rear, cataloguing your own admission. I regret not staying in London longer. You’d left for your first mission with the Americans, the meeting with Laswell that would change your life.

You’d also left to escape the divorce papers tucked into the bedtable of your new, shitty flat.

When you get to the ATV, John is already sitting in his spot, legs spread to accommodate you. You resolutely do not look down at his cargos stretched over skin. 

When you sit, John tugs you closer than he had on the way there. Gaz drives smoothly at a reasonable speed, no bumps in sight. You have no explanation for the hairy paw that sits on the pouch of your stomach, securing you like a seatbelt. Or your hand on his chest, the stability unnecessary as the ATV rolls over flat land. 

John squeezes your waist. You squeeze him back.

-

so i neared a super angsty moment with soap and the boys on this but i decided to stick to the romance bc me personally thats what i am here for

also im making this group therapy stuff up as i go pls dont expect medical accuracy

[cheshireliam]

"The Past Records: Liam Evans & Harrison Gray" Party Event: Chapter 1

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

This is a story from a little while before the robin ventured into the darkness and lost its way—. 

…

Victor: That was impressive. The two of you were practically glowing as you cornered the target! 

Victor commended Liam and Harrison for their performance in completing a recent mission. 

It was a rare moment where all members of Crown happened to be having dinner at the same time, thus the lively atmosphere at the dinner table.

Liam: Harry and I sure make a great duo! 

Liam puffed out his chest with pride and put his arm around Harrison’s shoulder. 

Harrison, despite looking annoyed, didn’t resist. 

Ellis: You two always look happy like you’re having fun together. Have you been close ever since you met? 

Liam: Nope, not at all. 

Liam: For example… let me think, hmm… you might be shocked if I told you about the first time we met. 

With a mischievous look in his eyes, Liam began recounting past events.

The story goes back to the time before Harrison, Ellis, and Jude joined Crown—. 

…

<< Liam’s POV >> 

That night, I, Liam Evans, was dashing through the streets in town.

(I got so carried away chasing the target that I lost track of time…)

(Victor is gathering all the members of Crown today, so I need to hurry back to the castle.) 

Perhaps because I was in too much of a rush and didn't pay attention to my surroundings, I accidentally collided with a male passerby. 

Rough-looking Man: Ugh!

Liam: Whoa, I’m so sorry! 

Rough-looking Man: Ya think an apology’s gonna fix this? Ya done broke my bones! 

Liam: Huh!? From that? 

It was only a light brush against his shoulder, there was no way I could've broken any of his bones. 

Rough-looking Man: Ya gonna cough up the cash for my treatment or what?

The man seemed to be familiar with the act of extorting money through intimidation. 

(If I waste any more time here, I’ll keep everyone from Crown waiting for me…)

(... I don’t have a choice. I’ll just give him the money and resolve this peacefully.) 

(As long as it gets me out of this situation, it doesn’t matter if it makes a dent in my wallet.) 

Liam: Alright, I’ll—... 

Young Man with Mint-Coloured Eyes: Hold on. 

Just as I was about to obediently hand over the money, a young man with mint-coloured eyes stopped me. 

Rough-looking Man: The hell’s your problem, butting in where ya shouldn't?

Young Man With Mint-Coloured Eyes: You're lying about your bones being broken.

Young Man With Mint-Coloured Eyes: You should stop using that trick to get money out of people. 

Rough-looking Man: Hah!? What proof ya got…? Quit yer nonsensical yappin’. 

Young Man With Mint-Coloured Eyes: If you think what I'm saying is nonsense, why don't you come with me?

Young Man With Mint-Coloured Eyes: I’m a policeman, you see. Let’s head down to the station and have a little chat. 

Rough-looking Man: P-policeman!?

Rough-looking Man: My bad! I was wrong ‘bout my bones bein’ broken!  

The moment he heard the young man say he was a policeman, the swindler's facial expression changed and he fled the scene. 

(I’m saved…! 

I wanted to thank the policeman with mint-coloured eyes, but he already left. 

…

Victor: Welcome back, Liam. Now everyone’s here! 

Liam: Sorry! I got into a little trouble…

Victor: It’s alright. The others only arrived a few minutes ago too!

Liam: That’s good… anyway, why did you gather all of us here today?  

Victor: I’m glad you asked! I called everyone here to introduce our newest member. 

Victor: Come inside! 

When I saw the young man who entered the room, my eyes immediately widened in surprise. 

Liam: Oh! You’re that guy from just now! 

Young Man With Mint-Coloured Eyes: So you're a member of Crown.

Liam: Aren’t you a policeman?

Harrison: That was a one-off lie I told. — Nice to meet you, I’m Harrison Gray. 

Harrison: I have the curse of the Lying Fox. I look forward to working with all of you. 

Victor: Thanks for the introduction. Let’s give our new member a round of applause! 

After the applause, Victor looked at Harrison and I with his gemstone-like eyes. 

Victor: Did the two of you already know each other before? 

Liam: When I ran into trouble earlier on, it was Harrison who helped me. 

Victor: What a fateful encounter. In that case, Harrison should be paired up with you for his very first mission! 

…

After the meal which doubled as a welcome party, we received the details of our mission… and Harrison left the dining hall.

I hurriedly chased after him. 

Liam: Harry! Wait! 

Harrison: … Are you talking to me? 

Liam: Yeah! Using nicknames makes us feel closer, don’t you think?

Liam: Let me introduce myself once again— I’m Liam Evans. We’re about the same age, so I think we'll get along well. Looking forward to working with you! 

Liam: Oh, also, thanks for helping me out earlier! 

I extended a hand to Harrison with a smile. 

But he merely cast a quick glance at it with no intention to shake my hand. 

Harrison: You’re lying. 

Liam: … Huh?

Harrison: The part where you said you “think we’ll get along well” was a lie. 

Liam: I-I’m not lying… 

Harrison: I have the ability to tell if a person is lying. 

Harrison: And so I just saw right through your lie. 

Liam: … 

Harrison: … You and I are only colleagues. There’s no need to force a friendship between us. 

Harrison: No need for nicknames either. Bye. 

If this were a play, my story with Harrison would develop naturally over time.

But this wasn't a fictional play, and we weren't mere characters. 

Outside the mise-en-scène — in this world where there was no script to follow, I had no idea how to deal with Harrison. 

[thursdaysgrrl]

i bet on losing dogs \ vi x reader

pairing: vi x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: you bet on losing dogs and subsequently fall in love

warning: strangers to lovers arc, no actual nsfw but reader has a thing for boobs (girl same) and nm else. very fluffy and angsty tbh! + happy ending

a/n: just want to note that reader has a semi-established backstory. shouldn't affect reading experience <3

♬⋆.˚ "i bet on losing dogs" by mitski

vi had been a fighter for as long as she could remember. but when caitlyn left, she didn’t have any of that fire left. every night, she’d get into fights. the sound of spectators chanting was intoxicating. the taste of blood in her mouth almost as addicting as the shimmer she’d replaced cait with. but every night, she would be knocked down, walking down the damp streets of the undercity searching for an alley to call home. you were curious.

you always placed your bets on the same person. vi’d begun to be known as the “dog of the ring”, always kicked but forever returning. and you bet on her every single time. yet she never noticed; she’d fight, she’d come out bloody and bruised, she’d find some comfort in the bar’s never-ending supply of alcohol and it’s customer’s endless supply of shimmer, and then she’d disappear. you’d made it a point of yours to go to the same bar, to dance when your favorite songs came on. one time you anonymously paid for her tab. but never, not once, did vi look at you. she was too lost in her own world. you’d heard the rumors, of course. the undercity’s finest brought to her knees by piltover’s most praised enforcer. and then left by her. part of you wanted vi because of that; she really was a losing dog. you had a soft spot for strays.

you’d stumbled into the bar’s grimy bathroom, slightly dizzy from drinking… something. you weren’t actually sure what. you made a mental note to be more careful next time. annoyed and ready to throw up, you banged on the bathroom door. you were about ready to kick it down when you saw who walked out. vi. you were ready to say something, before your stomach decided to take the lead and… oops.

“dude, the fuck?” vi grimaced, trying to wipe your vomit off of the front of her shirt. “oh my god, i’m—i’m so sorry!” you try to wipe the chunky substance from vi’s chest, concerned, before blushing and moving your hand away. vi smirks. “hey, i know you. you come here all the time, don’t you?” wait, vi noticed? “i… yeah, i do. you’re, i mean, you’re vi, right?” real smooth. vi smiled at you more sincerely this time. “ah, so we are aquainted. and you are… ?” you introduce yourself, offering your hand to shake. she takes it. her hands are calloused and rough and disarmingly warm. the tingles in your fingers linger even after you pull away. “how about i make it up to you? drinks on me?” vi considers you for a moment. then agrees. the two of you walk back into the bar, vi zipping up her leather jacket to avoid getting stared at. after ordering your respective drinks, you each take a seat at the bar, knees touching slightly.

“you don’t fight, do you?” vi asks, taking in your appearance. you don’t, admittedly, look like a fighter. “n-no. just appreciate the sport, is all,” you stammer. a more accurate response would be just appreciate watching you play the sport. vi chuckles, seemingly considering the accuracy of your words. “i admit that i’ve seen it as more of a money maker these days.” “oh yeah?” “especially given the fact fight rings are getting more and more tight… they don’t let just anyone compete. i got my ass kicked earlier but a goddamn professional.” you notice the cut under her eye, a bruise blooming on her cheek. you resist the urge to reach out and touch it. “are you not a professional?” vi chuckles bitterly, but not unkindly. takes a swig of her drink. “no way. i’m here to get the bills paid.” “what are you, then?” your question is abstract and catches vi off guard. mostly because she’d been asking herself the same thing for months. “well. people ‘round her call me the ‘dog of the ring’.” “and you agree?” you tilt your head, leaning your elbow on the table. “i’m whatever gets the most people to bet on me.” you hold up your ticket with vi’s name on it. you bet on her. you always did. vi’s lips part slightly in surprise. “well. i’m sorry you lost your money tonight.” your response slips out before you can help yourself. “oh, i didn’t bet on you because i wanted to win.”

and that’s how you got here, sitting in your apartment, you tending to the scrape on her eyebrow with a warm towel. it’d turned out that you two had more in common than you’d previously thought. vi was tough, but there was also something so intimately human about her. you liked it.

vi winced as you pressed the cloth soaked in disinfectant into her wound, and you murmur an apology. “you don’t have to do this, y’know,” vi says through gritted teeth. your voice is calmer, soft in comparison to hers. “i know. i want to.” your pet dog—another stray—lazily nipped at vi’s ankles, curious about a new visitor. “that’s dog” you explain. this makes vi crack a smile. “wow. very creative name.” “i know,” you grin, feigning pride. vi can’t help but think that you have the best smile she’s ever seen. it’s softer than cait’s ever was. “in my defense, i didn’t want to give him something else in case his owners came looking for him.” you add, more quietly: “i don’t think he has anyone else, though.” vi privately thinks, just like me.

you place a bandaid over vi’s brow, rubbing ointment on her cut before looking down at the blood-soaked wraps on her hands. “want me to give you clean ones?” “you’re quite prepared, nurse lady,” vi muses affectionately. that makes you smile, too. “you never know when the dog of the ring is gonna crash your place.” you get up from your bed to get the necessary materials to re-wrap vi’s bandages, before sitting back down across from her. you carefully unwrap the bloodied bandages, lips tightning at vi’s bloody and bruised knuckles before you begin wrapping them up in clean gauze. vi’s taken aback by how tender your touch is; she hasn’t been cared for like this in… god knows how long.

once you finish, you stand back up, putting away everything you used to clean her up. vi watches you, wordlessly taking in your apartment. it’s small, one room with an open layout of a mattress, couch and countertop with kitchen island. but it’s cozy, and much better than the alleys she’s been staying in. your voice breaks the silence. “where do you stay?” vi pauses, before deciding to be truthful. “everywhere. sometimes nowhere, depending where'll take me in.” “this could be your where, if you want.” even your words catch you by surprise. “wait, really?” vi gauges your response, suspecting a cruel joke, but she finds none. only sincerity. “sure. you can take my bed. and before you argue, you’re the one who’s recovering. i have a couch for a reason.” vi stands up, walking towards you. “thank you. that’s really nice of you.” you turn around, leaning against the kitchen island. “yeah, sure. in case you didn’t notice, i have a thing for strays.” you motion to dog. vi chuckles, stopping in front of you “heh, yeah, i got that.” you pause for a moment, enjoying the proximity before pushing off the counter and going into your closet to grab some blankets and pillows. you assemble them on your couch where you’ll be sleeping.

“do you need clothes?” vi looks down at her dirt-stained clothes. and dirt-stained skin and… come to think of it, what’s the last time she washed her hair? “could i use your shower, actually?” she asks. “sure thing.” you lead her over to your bathroom, teaching her how to turn on the shower and regulate temperature. she nods gratefully, thanking you for the set of pajamas you laid out for her. you leave her to sort herself out, humming in the kitchen as you make a midnight snack for the two of you. reveling in how well the evening has turned out.

vi comes out looking like a completely different person. with the black paint gone from her face and black hair dye gone—you realise, laughing inside, that she must have used some really shitty dye, and make a mental note to pick up a better one for her—she looks softer. her natural hair is pink, and you realize just how captivating her eyes are. a steel blue that you know you’ll be seeing in your dreams from now on. but it’s how she looks in your clothing that really takes your breath away—oversized band t-shirt and boxers. apparently she ran hot and didn’t care for the flannel pajama pants you’d so conveniently set out. you observe through her shirt that she must have nipple piercings from the way they poke through. seems fitting for her whole image, ear and lip piercings only adding to her look. “hey,” you smile.

a few minutes later, you’re eating toast at the table, laughing about something or other. it’s strange how easy it is to talk to her, and vi feels the same way. she’s not used to people extending such kindness towards her, especially not pretty girls like you. she inwardly revels in how she smells like your body wash—cinnamon and vanilla. how comforting to live like you. dog whines at your feet, begging for some toast, which you scold vi for providing. there’s no bite in your words, though. you just like having someone to find annoying.

your house has been empty since your ex-girlfriend left. you didn’t think you would survive her absence; there were times it felt like the quiet of your apartment was more suffocating than your arguments ever were. maybe that’s why you took such a focus on vi: you needed somewhere to begin, something to care about. someone.

after changing into your own pajamas and giving vi a toothbrush (you especially enjoy your toothpaste that night, knowing it’s what she’ll taste like until the morning), you snuggle into your blanket pile on your couch, vi doing the same in your bed. despite her protests, you’d insisted she take it—at least until she recovered. or, you inwardly muse, you began sharing it.

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you wake up to the sound of dog scratching at the door. he wants to go for a walk, you realize, feeling guilty. you stretch, gently sliding out of bed as you pad across the wooden floors. you look at vi for an instant, and she’s—oh.

apparently vi had gotten even hotter in the night and decided to just… casually take her shirt off. yeah, that’s fine. you’re not at all turned on by the fact she’s sleeping on her stomach right now, breasts perked up. or the fact she does, in fact, have nipple piercings. look away! you force yourself to avert your gaze, certain she’ll wake up any moment and catch you staring. why’d i let her crash, again?

you quickly change into a sleeveless and cropped black compression tank-top, black cargo pants and combat boots. you know that you look hot in that top, but try to lie to yourself and pretend you just felt like wearing it for… no reason. you quietly open the door after putting dog on his leash, silently communicating to vi that you’ll be back soon. and praying she’ll be there when you return.

to your relief, vi is. you’d put her clothes in the wash last night, and she’s since changed back into them. ah, oh well. you smile at her; she’s standing in your kitchen making eggs. who knew vi could cook? “hey, where were you?” vi asks, flipping an omelette. you hold up the leash. “taking dog for a walk.” vi nods in understanding, grabbing a plate. “so… you found your way around here pretty quickly,” you observe, motioning to how comfortable she already seems to be in your kitchen. vi cracks an egg in the pan. and cracks a smile. “yeah, i, uh… wanted to be useful.” “well, that’s nice of you.” part of you wants to come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, but you repress the urge as she sets your omelette, topped with melted cheese and tomatoes, on the kitchen counter. “dude, this looks great!” and you’re right. if you could cook like this, you’d definitely be about 10 pounds fatter. vi beams at your praise: “why thank you. i’m glad you like it.”

vi watches you eat with a strange satisfaction. you’re smiling because of her. licking your lips because of her. your outfit doesn’t go unnoticed, either—she appreciates how your shirt hugs your body. which may be what gives her the confidence to say, “i hope you didn’t mind me sleeping shirtless, by the way.” you turn red. you hadn’t expected either of you to bring it up. “oh, uh, no problem!” your voice comes out much too squeaky for your own liking. “because, y’know, if it makes you uncomfortable, i could always put one on… “ “no!” you interject. “i mean—no, that’s fine. i don’t mind.” vi grins. “okay, princess.”

vi’s words echo through your head all day. she’d headed off to the ring hours ago, but you were still in your apartment, lost in thought. princess. her fucking grin. it’s these thoughts that fuel a painting—you swear you don’t get up for hours on end—of vi laying in bed, asleep and shirtless, light streaming through from somewhere off the canvas. you’d painted her a bit like an angel, hair hitting the pillow like a halo framing her head. you blush at your work, but are also satisfied. from just memory, it’s pretty impressive. you’ve been painting for as long as you can remember. your mother was an artist. your father was MIA for most of your childhood. but drawing was always your safe space. and, you realize, through the painting, you’d let vi into it.

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vi returns late at night. you’d made dinner that had long grown cold. “hey, princess, sorry, matches took longer than expected… “ she takes you in, sitting at the table in the dark, apron over a little dress. she walks over, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in hers. “i’m really sorry.” “ts’fine,” you murmur, meeting her gaze, your eyes soft. “was just worried about you.” vi thinks for a moment, before standing up. “we can heat this up, right?” she asks, motioning to the food you’d so caringly set out. she takes turns putting each item in the microwave, you watching her silently until she sits across from you at the table, food now warm. “this looks great.” that makes you crack a smile, and you enjoy a wordless dinner, though not uncomfortable. finally, you ask, “did you win your matches?” “yeah. all because a pretty girl patched me up beforehand.” vi grins as pink tinges your cheeks. the same color as her hair. “oh, by the way, i picked up some black hair dye for you. this one should survive wash day, though.” you set a bottle of hair-dye on the table, but vi’s eyes don’t leave you. “wow, maybe i’m the princess here.”

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over the next few weeks, the two of you settle into a steady rhythm. vi makes breakfast. you make dinner, though you’d started serving it a bit later into the night. you wake up earlier than her to appreciate her body, she goes to bed later because she likes watching you sleep. you take turns walking dog. she goes to the ring during the day, you paint or go to the shops to sell your creations. in such a short span of time you’d become comfortable around each other, an odd little family. but you can’t deny the flutter in your stomach when she smiles at you, the blush that creeps into your cheeks when you tend to her wounds, just another excuse to touch her.

tuesday 7:13am

yesterday, i helped vi dye her hair black. god, it was a mess! got dye all over the floor and i swear my bathroom hasn’t smelled the same since… it was fun, though. it felt very… i don’t know. domestic. she got dye on her nose and i rubbed it off. why’s she so cute? you know what, i’m gonna go walk dog now. clear my head. hopefully clear her with it.

friday 9:40am

why am i up so late, you may ask? because last night vi was showering at 1 freaking am. either way, the sound woke me up and i had trouble falling back asleep. even though i bought her her own body wash—one that smells a bit more, i dunno, manly—she’s still using mine. i don’t know what to make of that. it’s a waste of money, that’s for sure.

saturday 8:46am

we kissed! oh my god, it was wonderful. she came home one night all bruised (as per usual. it’s starting to bug me, tbh) and i was just putting some ointment on her cheek and… and she kissed me. just leaned forward and did it. needless to say, i had to redress her wounds afterwards. haha, i’m so funny.

diary, i think i’m in love.

also, unrelated, but we started sleeping in the same bed. or related?

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vi thinks she might be happier than she’s ever been. happier than she was with caitlyn. happier than she was when her life’s mission was reuniting with jinx. much happier than she was fighting with no reason to win. now she fights her hardest every night because she doesn’t want you to worry, doesn’t want you to think she can’t hold her own. god, she’s so pretty. it’s become a reoccurring thought in her mind. from when you wake up in her arms, hair messy and eyes blurry with sleep, to when you’re sitting at your desk with paint on your fingers, too focused to notice vi staring, you're pretty when you wear that tank-top or dress under an apron or even nothing at all. she’s more content than she’s felt in a long, long time

vi’s so in love.

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“you’re late.” your voice comes out harder than you want it to. more edged. but you can’t help it; vi’s been less punctual lately, coming home late into the night with bruises and scratches all over her skin. even your kisses don’t help as much as they used to. “i’m sorry, princess.” vi closes the door behind her, reaching for you as you stand, arms wrapped around yourself, next to the door she’d just entered through. you pull away. “you always say that. but when’re you gonna stop?” you look up, arms uncrossing, a new fire in your voice. “when’re you gonna leave that shithole and get a real job? stop wasting your potential in stupid little fights?” vi falters. for the most part, you were a calm person. but this was a side of you even she was unfamiliar with. colder. “s-stupid fights? those stupid fights make us money!” so she reverts to the only defense she knows—anger. “much more money than your drawings ever made us.” “i thought you—i thought you liked my art.” your face says it all. vi knows she fucked up. “wait, princess, I didn’t mean it like that—“ “whatever. i don’t want to talk to you right now.” you swat away vi’s extended hand, storming into the bathroom and locking the door.

vi waits for you to come out. you don’t.

it’s late, 3 in the morning, you’d guess, when you come out. your eyes are red and puffy from crying, and though you know vi’s likely mirror yours you can’t bring yourself to care. or maybe you are trying to pretend you don’t. vi’s sleeping on the couch, a fact that pains your heart—your traitorous heart which you quickly scold—and the bed feels cold to the touch without her beside you.

come back, princess. that’s the thought that fills vi’s dreams. when she wakes, you’re still asleep. she wants to climb into bed with you, wrap you in her arms and rock you back and forth until everything’s okay again, but she knows she shouldn’t. has no right to. she simply watches the steady rhythm of your breathing, trying to time hers with yours. she does this until she has to go back to the ring.

vi being gone when you wake is in instant reminder of your anger towards her. your first thought is that she’s gone. gone for good. and then you remember that’s not how it works, you remember, despite everything, she’s not your ex and you’re not caitlyn. though you curse your words, you have to admit their sentiment was true, even if they were expressed incorrectly. vi’s job does stress you out. you thought once you gave her a place to stay she’d find her place in the world. but she wouldn’t leave that filthy fight ring despite how much you pleaded with her to please be sensible. it’s not that you don’t trust her, as she’d accused you of when you first brought the topic up. it’s that you don’t trust anyone else.

so you go to the bar. the bar where you and vi first met. the bar where you invited her over. and once she arrived at your house, she never really left. you, once again, regret accepting a mystery drink, and as you stumble into the bathroom, banging on the door, you get a sense of deja vu. the nauseous feeling in your stomach. the bright—too-bright—lights, the person standing in front of you as they open the door.

“princess? princess, please don’t go.” vi grabs your hand as if she expects you to run away from her. instead, do the next best thing: you vomit.

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“well, that’s a… full circle moment right there,” vi jokes, taking her shirt off and handing it to you as you begin scrubbing the sick off of it in your kitchen sink. she sits at the table. her voice becoming quiet when you’re unresponsive. “hey, princess, could we please make up?” you take pity on her. your gaze feels like the first sign of spring at the end of winter as you turn to face her. “vi, i was serious. i don’t like you fighting there. i don’t like you fighting, period. and i get it—i get that it’s a part of your identity. i don’t want to take that from you. i just—i just don’t want you to be taken from me.” vi stands up before she herself registers it, in two strides wrapping you in her arms. “pl-please put a shirt on,” you hiccup into her bare chest. “i will. just let me get this out first, okay?” vi inhales, as if ready to make a big speech. “i love you. and i get that, much like part of loving me is loving how i fight, part of loving you is loving how much you care. so we can compromise, yeah? i’ve been thinking, i mean, i’ve actually been thinking of this for a while now, that i could start my own academy. teach people to fight. a teacher, not a fighter.” you look up into her eyes. “really? you’d do that? you’d sacrifice that for me?” vi tousles your hair. “it’s not sacrifice. it’s love.”

“oh, i’m so kissing you after i brush my teeth.”

epilogue──

“hey, v?” you readjust your head on her chest so you can look up at her, your bodies tangled in sheets and bathed in morning light from the window. vi tangles her fingers with yours, absentmindedly rubbing your smooth knuckles with her calloused thumb. “what’s up, princess?” “you ever think about getting hitched?” vi sits up instantly, you grumbling as you fight to stay on her body. “what, like, married?” “yeah,” you say, your voice more nervous now. “you asking me to marry you, princess?” vi wraps her arms around you, planting kisses all over your face, messy and wet and so full of love. “haha, stop!” you protest, your face scrunching in a smile as you pull away, breathless and giggling, nestling your head into the crook of her neck. “your stupid hair’s tickling me.” you sigh, content. “hey, don’t speak that way to your wife.”

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© 2025 thursdaysgrrl don't steal my work please !! (not that anyone would care enough to but js saying

[bonesofapoet]

night blades.

[ jason todd x you ] author's note: next up from the poll, we have our beloved jaybird <3 a bit of nightmare comfort for this one word count: 1014

Sometime in the night, the clash of steel pulled you slow and steady from the embrace of a dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare this time, but instead something that felt sweet and safe, like time spent with a lover in the night. Which is, you suppose, why the sound of singing blades was enough to pull you so gracefully from the depths of sleep’s humble cradle before the sun had a chance to do the same.

That sound didn’t belong here. Not in your apartment, even if it was a fitting song for the chorus of the night.

What did belong, however, was the low hum of a movie spilling through the bedroom door, the accompanying glow flickering softly from the gap under the wood pulled up tight. Metal gliding along metal sounded again, a steady pattern revealing itself to you, nestled in cozy midnight shadows and soft blankets curled around your shoulders.

You blink away the old, lovely dream, eyes squinting in the dark to find the space next to you empty and cold.

Hisssssss. Silence. A clatter. A rustle. Hisssssss. Silence.

Ah.

Covers find themselves slowly pushed aside. A sweater wraps around your shoulders, chilled as it is from being tossed over a desk chair. A smile ghosts your lips, something small and drowsy replacing the post-sleep daze hopelessly wrapped around your mind and weighting down your limbs.

Except the sweater is Jason’s, and the softness of his favorite cologne tickles your nose as it gently drags you further from the dregs of dreams into a world a little more solid, a little more coherent.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask the silhouette at the table in your kitchen. His collection of knives, daggers, blades, are spread before him like a Sunday feast, or an offering to some long forgotten, ancient god of war. They glimmer in the low light from a small bulb left on above the stove.

He sets down a boot knife, whetstone hanging loose in hand as he turns to you, still submerged in shadow. “Did I wake you?”

“I believe I asked you first, Jay.” his sweater is pulled tighter against the chill, but a soft smile graces your lips anyway. You’ve done this dance enough times to know the steps before you take them in the dark, before you’ve even heard the first notes begin to trickle in through the silence.

A sigh tumbles through the shadows, rough and ragged around the edges. Your eyes trace shoulders tensing, hunching – just enough for you to notice, against the warm glow of the light.

“No,” he says, quiet. Takes a breath. Exhales. “Nightmares.”

You stay silent, in case he continues.

He doesn’t.

“Want some company?”

“Didn’t I ask you a question?”

You snort, best as you can while still half asleep. “Yeah. The knives,” a hand flaps out of the too-long sleeve to gesture at the table. “Just a different sound at night, is all.”

“Shit,” he says. Places the whetstone next to his small arsenal. “Sorry. I’ll finish later.” his voice goes a little tight, strained at the edges with tempered emotion.

“Was it helping?”

A pause. A hand dragging through hair, down a hidden face. The flash of a white streak and green, green, green eyes.

“No. Not really.”

Silence wove through the shadows in the room, creeping into the soft warmth of range hood glow. It settled around your shoulders and caressed Jason down his spine, the empty space between you singing the familiar song of comfort. Of closeness.

This moment was a dance beginning to crescendo, yet the steps were familiar and the meter had fused into your bones, making a home in your heart. You moved without thinking, limbs reaching with all the elegance to a melody known by heart, the routine whispering the next steps after you’ve already completed them.

Routine, with Jason, is something to be held sacred. It’s something to be cherished and adored, because you learned quickly, that you don’t actually know how many moments you’ll have with him.

I’m on borrowed time, beautiful, he says into your skin. His voice is all tender and hazy with remnants of the night clinging to him like armor; the promise of sleep and your touch gently pry it off his body and hold onto him tighter.

You’re being dramatic, you say, words disappearing into streaks of white, sheets tickling your skin as he shifts, shoulders shaking with soundless laughter when you tease.

Maybe, he hums. You know he believes what he says, so words catch in your teeth and you do not part your lips to free them.

Those are the moments you think of now, in the dream-touched embrace of your darkened kitchen. You’re reaching for him, still slow and lazy from the sleep that hasn’t quite let you go.

“C’mon, Jay.”

His name falls through your lips on a sigh, and Jason thinks it’s enough to sing him to sleep right then and there, hearing his name on your voice. It was always spoken with such reverence, that sometimes he forgot he needed to breathe. He could live sustained on your voice alone, he knows, but he’s always been too scared to try.

He didn’t decide to reach for you, to meet you halfway across the room – but that’s what he did, always, even in his sleep.

“Moon rise or movie?” you ask, once his hand is twined with yours. It tugs him closer, without you even noticing.

Jason does, though. Notice. And, with it, the tension within him begins to slink off into the darkest corner shadows where it belongs.

“Movie,” exhaustion laces through the answer, and, he realizes he must have been awake longer than he thought. “Definitely, movie.”

A soft laugh answers. Wordlessly, you lead him to the couch, a shared favorite already flickering across the screen, volume on low. Arms curled around his waist and pulled him close. A blanket is draped loose around your shoulders. You both burrow close, and burrow snug. Within moments, you both drift into a dreamless sleep until the sun rises anew.

[thehypnone]

Hyp, I need a continuation of just what Mountain can do to Swiss if he comes to him with more time

That stressed out Multi needs some proper stress relief

“…next time do tell me earlier if you’re stressed. I can do way better with more time.”                    

Mountain’s words have been bouncing around Swiss’ head ever since that memorable day a few weeks ago. What he can only assume was an offer is incredibly tempting, but he's simply...scared.

Of what?

He doesn’t know, but he is, and that’s why it takes substantial amounts of desperation for Swiss to go to Mountain and simply ask for the help.

“I can’t play a show like that…” the multi ghoul whines as he stands in the threshold of the other’s dressing room with a raging boner.

“Yeah, not really,” Mountain chuckles, looking him up and down with a smug expression.

“It’s not funny!” Swiss whines. “I need some help…and we have an hour.”

“Oh, we have an hour now, huh?” the earth ghoul teases.

If Swiss’ face was only hot before, now it’s ablaze. “I–I’m sorry for…assuming. I’ll go handle myself…”

“Wait, I’m just teasing you. Get in here and lock the door.”

Now Swiss feels as if a bucket of cold water got dumped over him. Still, he obeys, and when he turns back around to face Mountain again, the earth ghoul is shrugging off his shirt.

“Sure you want my help?” he asks.

“Yes,” Swiss replies shakily.

“And you’re okay with me doing…way more than last time?” Swiss nods, Mountain zipper goes down.

He points to the vanity by the wall. “Bend over, then.”

The multi ghoul’s legs are jelly as he walks over to it and follows Mountain’s order, dropping his pants to his knees. Cold air hits him and suddenly he’s as shy as a virgin.

Mountain hums in approval. Swiss can hear him approach and then rough hands land on his cheeks and spread them.

“Pretty,” he breathes. Swiss drops his head against the mirror and braces for whatever’s about to happen. When something does happen, it’s gentler than what he was expecting.

Mountain squirted some lube onto his hand and warmed it up between his fingers before bringing it to the multi ghoul’s ass, but it still startles him some.

Swiss is breathing heavily before Mountain even puts one finger in and all but hyperventilating and moaning like a whore by the time three of his digits are petting inside him. He really is desperate. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

“So I’ve heard,” the other chuckles, “but I’m ever better at something else.”

With that, Mountain pulls his fingers out and only gives himself a short moment to look at and admire Swiss’ stretched out ass before putting the wet tip of his cock against it.

“Ready?” he asks one last time. Swiss is already blissed out; he nods so fast and hard that he knocks the mirror with his horns a few times. Mountain laughs at it. “Alright.”

He starts pushing in and at first it’s slow, excruciatingly slow, but it doesn’t stop. The earth ghoul keeps pushing in and Swiss’ hungry hole swallows keeps swallowing it up until it’s so, so deep inside him.

“Oh, my dear–Lord–Lucifer, AH–fuck!” he moans, holding onto the edge of the counter for dear life. “You’re so–fuck–so big.”

“I’m aware,” Mountain states and his hips finally press against Swiss’ ass. He gives the poor ghoul under him a moment to adjust and, most importantly, breathe. “You alright?”

“Ngh–move,” the multi ghoul begs, making the other shake his head with a smirk. “Please.”

Oh, and move Mountain does.

He grabs onto Swiss’ hips with an iron grip and starts to truly pound into him, making the whole vanity shake with the intensity of it, and the multi ghoul…well. He’s all but sobbing with pleasure, finally getting fucked six ways into Sunday; by Mountain, most importantly.

He might just be ascending.

The earth ghouls keep thrusting into him with purpose, getting spurred on and on by Swiss’ shameless moans and groans and whines. Particularly pretty sounds, if you ask him, and the pitch of them tells Mountain exactly when it’s time to double down.

“Now cum, so I’ve got some time left to take care of you,” Mountain growls straight into his ear and if Swiss still wasn’t on the very edge, he certainly is now. Three more powerful jams of the earth ghouls hips driving his cock against the other’s prostate and he’s spilling onto the floor with a scream.

He thinks he can feel Mountain cumming inside him, but he’s floating further and further away by the second and then–

“Welcome back,” the earth ghoul chuckles. They’re on the couch and Swiss is wrapped up in a blanket, his uniform under it.

“That–that was…” he tries to choke out, “definitely stress relief.”

Mountain laughs and Swiss melts a little.

[buckysouvenir]

in the hex, episode 9: a new beginning

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n summary: Y/N, a witch with no memory of her true nature, lives a seemingly perfect life with her husband, Bucky Barnes, in a quiet, idyllic 1950s town. Everything seems picture-perfect—Y/N and Bucky are a deeply loving couple, content in their everyday routine. They share playful moments, enjoy simple pleasures, and have a deep connection that feels unshakable. Their life is peaceful, with no hint of anything out of the ordinary. However, things aren’t what they seem. authors note: last episode!!!! i'm so happy and thankful for all the messages, likes and comments! ♡ as promised, if you guys are still interested, i could make some spin offs.

last episode | in the hex masterlist

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The first thing Y/N feels is warmth.

Not the sterile chill of the hospital room, not the distant hum of machines—warmth. A steady, grounding presence beside her.

Her fingers twitch.

There’s a sharp inhale. The warmth shifts, a gentle pressure enveloping her hand.

She blinks. The light is soft, filtered through white hospital curtains. The air smells faintly of antiseptic. Her entire body feels heavy, sore, like she’s been asleep for too long.

And then she sees him.

Bucky.

Sitting beside her, still gripping her hand. His eyes are wide, stunned, like he hadn’t fully believed she’d wake up.

Y/N swallows, her throat dry. "Hey."

It’s barely a whisper, but it breaks something in him.

Bucky exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. "Hey."

She tries to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through her ribs. Bucky is up in an instant, hands gentle as he helps her ease back against the pillows.

"Easy," he murmurs. "You took a pretty bad hit."

Y/N exhales, wincing. "Yeah… I remember."

And she does.

The Hex. Wanda. The illusion. The battle that shattered everything.

She remembers the way Bucky had held her, the way he had whispered for her to stay. The way he had looked at her—like losing her would destroy him.

And she remembers the way she had felt.

How much she had wanted to stay with him.

She looks at him now, drinking in the sight of him. The dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders sag like he’s been holding the weight of the world.

"How long?" she asks.

"Three days." His voice is rough. "You scared the hell out of me, Y/N."

Something flickers in her chest, something warm and aching. She squeezes his hand. "I’m sorry."

Bucky shakes his head. "Just—don’t do that again."

The corner of her lips quirks. "I’ll try not to get caught in a reality-warping illusion again, got it."

A breath of laughter escapes him, but there’s no real humor in it. His thumb brushes over her knuckles, absent-minded, like he’s memorizing the feel of her skin.

Silence settles between them.

Not awkward. Not tense. Just heavy—weighted with things unsaid.

She swallows. "It was real, wasn’t it?"

Bucky stills.

He doesn’t pretend not to understand.

"Yeah." His voice is soft, almost hesitant. "It was."

The feelings they developed inside the Hex—manufactured or not—were real.

And that realization is terrifying.

"It’s funny," she murmurs, staring down at their joined hands. "In the Hex, I thought we had all this history. I thought we were something we weren’t. But the whole time, we were just... teammates."

Bucky is quiet.

Then, slowly, he says, "Were we?"

Y/N looks up at him.

His expression is unreadable, but his grip on her hand tightens. "I didn’t just fall for you because of the Hex, Y/N." His voice is quiet, rough around the edges. "I think… maybe I was already halfway there."

Her breath catches.

Bucky shifts, his fingers brushing against hers. "Maybe I didn’t see it before. Maybe I didn’t let myself. But being there—with you—it didn’t feel fake."

Y/N exhales shakily. "No. It didn’t."

Bucky watches her closely, like he’s waiting for her to say something, to make the call.

"So what happens now?" she whispers.

He takes a breath. "That’s up to you."

It’s an unspoken confession. A quiet truth between them.

Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe they’re still piecing themselves back together after everything that happened.

But right now, in this moment—

Y/N simply squeezes his hand, a small, tired smile on her lips. "Then let’s figure it out together."

Bucky nods, something soft and unguarded in his gaze.

And for the first time in a long time—

They’re exactly where they’re supposed to be.

#taglist: @whisperingashgarden @baw1066 @mirrorballbb @skittslackoffilter @fan4astic @torntaltos @lovebabybellah @annoylinglyaries @thewiselionessss

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ㅤㅤ ───​ pay the price ⸝⸝

[ 박성화 ] ─── COLLEGE AU!PARK SEONGHWA​ x FEM!READERㅤ·ㅤSYNOPSIS it started as a regular study session, where he studied and you didn’t, except it ended with being kicked out of the libraryㅤ·ㅤWORD COUNT 2.7kㅤ·ㅤWARNINGS nsfw!!, oral (m receiving), dom!hwa, est. relationship, pet names, hwa is mean, voyeurism (and yeah they’re caught. in the library), dirty talk, cursing, cum eating, fingering, hwa is a pusher!!, hwa is kinda using reader, not really proofread, lmk if missed anything & sorry for possible mistakes!! / ARCHiVE

금 hi sweeties, I wanted to try pushing myself with the word count now. imo the way i write now is just screams that i don't have patience. So this time i took the effort to not actually delete the draft once i didnt work on it and i just waited for motivation. i kinda rushed it and its just a bunch of everything but i hope you like it! I also know this is VERY not seonghwa but the original plan was about him anyways so i dediced to keep him! / check out NAViGATiON ・・・・・; ✉︎ message me on: @smnxi ; please reblog and follow if you like my posts! do not spam likes, or you'll be blocked, sorry! ♡

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, fill out this form, dm me or comment on ONLY the rules post! / requests open!

You sat in the library, yet again, hunched over a really thick science book. The lines and words blur together, making it difficult to even keep your eyes open. You rested your head in your palms to prevent it from slumping onto the wooden table with a loud bang. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as your feet bounced up and down, shaking the table vigorously without you realizing it.

As the warm sun dipped below the horizon, the small corner where you had retreated became undeniably uncomfortable. Your head spun from all the information you were eager to absorb in just a few hours, leaving your tired brain overwhelmed.

In any other setting, you would’ve found it endearing and beautiful to just gaze out the window at sunset, having its rays warm up your face and skin, coating you too in the gentle goldish color. Instead, squirming on a worn-out padded chair that was probably as old as you, your back aching and eyes burning while you scanned the pages.

Your index and thumb fingers fidgeted with the corner of the book, wishing deep in your heart you could just rip it straight out, crumple it up, and have it land in the trash bin. With great effort, you managed to turn the page instead, thinking twice if you really wanted to continue for the day or rest with the possibility of the failing your test.

Seonghwa, on the other hand unfortunately for you was nearing the end of his patience.

You both agreed on a small, shared study session, agreeing to help you out at the price of just enjoying your company while going through books. Your boyfriend sent frustrated glares and glances towards you which flew over your head like air.

“You should’ve said no.” His nose is buried in the books, not even sparing a single glance at you. When you don’t answer because the confusion blocks your brain, he continues, “To come with me to the library. Especially if you’re not gonna do anything useful.” Seonghwa placed his chin on his palm, his eyes judging you as one of his eyebrows arched up.

“You’re on the page you were like.. 23 minutes ago.” He said matter of factly and you were indeed.

“Yeah, because you said you’d help.” You quibbled further. “And I’m currently, waiting for that, help, Seonghwa.” He responded with a long, drawn-out "oh," clearly laced with sarcasm.

“Let’s see it then,” he said suddenly, a determined glint in his eye. He quickly adjusted his soft silver hair, tucking it behind his ear before encroaching on your personal space.

His gentle lashes fluttered prettily, seeming almost majestic under the rough white lamps. Deep brown orbs shone as he caught up on your topic, for the sake of tutoring you.

Out of the blue, his gentle voice called out, so caring and soothing but with a certain firmness. “You’re staring, sweetheart.” Two long fingers grazed the side of your face, barely even touching when a sudden sharp feeling of discomfort shot through you.

As his fingers grazed the side of your face in a fleeting touch, a sharp discomfort jolted through you as he playfully pinched your plush cheeks, tugging your head slightly to the side. A groan escaped your lips and your eyes snapped shut.

“What a shame that those beautiful orbs are not staring at the sheets.” A small peck soothed the stinging red spot on your skin, his hand straying over you in a faint caress. “Should we search for another book to keep my baby’s interest up, hm?”

And that did the work for you to follow him. Giving him the faintest attitude was quickly melted away every time tenderness crept into his tone. Practicing the greatest patience in your company was a challenge but with devotion, he learned how to control you just the right way.

Your eyes brushed over the titled edge of the books, but in reality, they did not show care even for the descriptions. Getting to the end of the scientific section at an incredibly fast pace. You rushed forward while the boy just sauntered behind you, pocketing his hands.

He was paying attention to you, knowing you couldn’t care less about finding a better book to study from.

“Nothing much here…” you mused, feigning a disappointed sigh. But in truth, you couldn’t be happier—this meant you might finally escape the confines of your study session, right?

However, the moment you turned your head to leave, you were met with dark eyes locking onto yours, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin, igniting a blush that crept up your cheeks. Startled, you jumped slightly before quickly recomposing yourself, a faint chuckle escaping your lips in an attempt to mask the sudden rush of emotions.

“What?

“Keep this nonchalant attitude up and you’re walking out on that door..” He paused, nodding towards the brown, wooden exit door at the other side all while keeping the stern eye contact. “With your throat fucked raw.”

He wasn’t shy about his words apparently since there wasn’t a soul near you so what could even hold back his filthy tongue?

“I didn’t work for shit. For you to laze your ass around after I lectured you, hm?” Seonghwa asked with a small tilt of his head, just when you were about to pat him on the shoulder for his great pun and let out a good cackle together. “Now knock your sense into your small brain.. or I will.” He warns. “But there won’t be much thanks in it.”

This side of him is rare for to let it seep through his always collected, warm, and charming façade. You just stared into his eyes dumbly for a long enough period for you to feel his words sink in and their seriousness this time.

A nervous laugh made itself out of you, your attention darting around behind him -anything- to avoid his staring. The atmosphere felt intimidating now but mostly embarrassing, he didn’t do anything to force you to look at him, knowing you’d have to do it yourself in the end.

“You think I’m joking, do you?”

“Joking- haha… You’re not?..” the small, forced giggle halted down into an embarrassing silence, you sucked a breath through your teeth to ground yourself with a nod. “I knew that.”

“You did, my sweet, sweet smart girl?..” The outside voices faded away when he put a hand on top of your head, rubbing your hair just a bit to ruffle it before letting it rest on the back of your neck, urging you to close the remaining gap by yourself.

“Just like any sane person.. I charge for my services, too.” Added against your lips, breathing the same air, he pulled you into a rough kiss. His tongue darted out to lick at the seam of your mouth demanding entry which you gladly provided not showing an ounce of resistance.

“So be good and work hard for those grades, just like I work to tutor you.” By placing pressing on your shoulders with his arms, your knees buckled to the floor.

Little to no use with your resistance, there you were, kneeling right in front of his bulging crotch. “Hwa-”

“Shh.. do you see that?” He questioned, cooing while his own eyes took a look at his straining erection. “Yeah, that’s what you’ll take care of.”

“In the library-”

“In the fucking library, y/n.” He made you bite back on the remaining words of your sentence. Right hand fisting in your hair, the other roughly working to get rid of his annoying piece of clothing, pushing his pants just below his waist in the company of his boxers.

“Hurry.” He instructed, not-so-patiently waiting for you to take hold of him, stroking him to life. You looked unsure about your actions, almost as if you’d stop at any moment which you would’ve loved to, except the man’s hold on you didn’t let you budge. With small licks up the underside of his shaft with the flat of your tongue, you felt a twitch, his member finally growing in size.

Your hair held back in a makeshift ponytail, for some reason your muscles just seemed to resist at all cost. Seonghwa’s hold was a lot stronger, digits pulling on your roots and digging into your scalp, while his other hand held a firm grip on his heavy, pulsing cock.

“C’mon now.. we agreed, be a good girl already..” he tutted, intently watching as he smeared the white droplets oozing from his tip across your plump, parted lips.

Your heart hammered in your ears wildly, what if someone heard you or worse -saw you-. Seonghwa didn’t even bother to drag you to the restrooms, choosing a perfect spot behind the bookshelves. Still, passersby people could clearly take out to scene before them if they even catch a glimpse of what happening through the cracks between the books arranged carefully, yet messy enough to reveal everything-.

The man looked down at you like you were some kind of doll, exclusively for his pleasure. His actions and words are not gentle in any kind of way. Still, gazing into his orbs, his warmth embracing your body just made your cunt clench and weep under the confinement of your clothes.

His gentle fingers now holding your locks with anything but mercy, the more you try to pull away the more he’s pushing.

Paranoid, taking a swift look around, accidentally making eye contact with someone.

Crap, if they didn’t know before, they must know now. Hurriedly, you tapped on his waist, abruptly shaking your head and pleading for Seonghwa to let you up. He didn’t.

“Did they notice us?..” He drawled, voice strained with pleasure. You blushed, a mix of arousal and embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “You need that help, hm?” You did indeed, agree with a subtle nod. “Then just shut up..” He tipped his head back with a quiet snicker, the next groan higher with a few pitches. They didn’t just notice, they heard now.

Seonghwa didn’t care less if you couldn’t visit this library because of your dirty acts as it results in you being banned or just not going back anymore and the burning shame of being seen.

The delicate locks framing his face now swayed with every thrust his hips slammed into your used mouth. Throat aching and your lips pulsing. Feeling the salty droplets on your tongue, you knew he was close, he looked back down at your kneeling form. His hand which wasn’t occupied with moving your head, cupped the side of your face, the thumb gently brushing over your heavily squeezed down eyelids, encouraging you to open them.

“Look at me, doll..” Hwa called out as you weren’t able to comprehend the hint. Your ears ringing and your brain is a complete mush. When you locked gazes, a devilish grin stretched on his face at the exquisite sight of you so fucked out, salty tears stung the corner of your eyes, throat contracting around his invading member, eliciting a muffled cough.

Pearly white droplets dripped on your chin, creating a hardly audible thud sound as it came into contact with the black carpeted floor underneath. Gulping down the generous load, swiftly wiping away the excess.

“They caught-”

“Like I give a single fuck..” Tucking himself back in no time, sweeping his clothes with his palms across his body, he was ready to go, not like you. You, who still sat on your knees, your throat sore, body flushed hot.

Letting out a drained sigh, he gave a small tap under your chin with his middle and index finger. “Collect yourself.” You seemed so shameful, embarrassment filling your veins, your hands and legs trembling just the right amount.

The fire you saw a few seconds ago completely dissipated into thin air, two hands hooked under your arms to roughly make you stand back on your own two legs.

“Seonghwa- we- we really should go..” You stammered, head turning left and right, leaning to peek past the shelves if the person was still around. There was no one, yet you couldn’t shake off the feeling of what if they came back and you’d get into trouble?

“No.” He responded curtly. “Not until I say we do. Now turn.”

“What-”

“Just turn the fuck around.” And before you could even do as he said, he handled you himself, your face coming into contact with the wall, keeping yourself on your palm. “Is my baby this dumb? She doesn’t even understand the basics.. poor little girl..” Leaning in right next to your ear, blowing a warm stream of breath on your nape, having goosebumps rise all over you.

He soothed the rough action of his left hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair to push forward, making you squeeze your face against the cold surface, a whined out disagreement leaving you.

“Either you gonna stay quiet or everyone in here will know what we’re up to, your choice.” Stay quiet? What for? What is he gonna-

A strangled gasp escaped you, his right hand shoving itself inside your pants, cupping your sex through your underwear. The heel of his palm and fingers rubbing insistently as the heat between your legs slowly.

“You want to go? Like this? What a whore. You’d enjoy making a mess of your goddamn panties in the streets, huh?” His index finger pulled the soft cotton away to the side, three pads of his digits easily gliding through your folds, your slick helping the slide.

He snickered at your pleasured expression, cheeks dancing in deep red and your brain unable to form a coherent sentence at this point, —so he pushed you further— his soft pads wrote down shapes on your clit gently before delivering a small pinch to the sensitive bud, making you purposefully moan out just a bit louder, mingling with your barely audible pants.

Feeling the pulsing grow between your legs, he sneakily pushed two fingers inside your sopping hole, while his thumb continued the maddening circling.

“So pretty.. do you think others hear you too?” Just the simple thought of what he said was true, had you clench around him and causing him to let out a low groan at the feeling. “Does this make you excited?”

There was no point in denying it to him; you gave Seonghwa a small nod as his left hand moved to encircle your waist the moment he sensed your hips twitch and struggle. His thrusts quickened, the silence between the white walls was so loud, the squelches hearable like screams, yet you didn’t care. You hopelessly chased your orgasm, which Seonghwa eagerly pushed you towards, having your knees trembling.

“You’re doing so good, darling.” Pumping faster and eliciting higher-pitched sounds from you: his biggest concern was now you. Free hand pressing on your mouth in a futile attempt to keep your moans at bay, eyes rolled back and closing to embrace the pleasure. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his fast pumping fingers.

“So close, baby.. let go for me..” He encouraged in faint whispers between nibbles on your neck, curling his fingers just right and hitting the spot, sending you hurtling over the edge, making you shake apart in his arms as he worked you through your high steadily.

When the intense waves of pleasure faded, he was quick to free his hand from your panties, digits prodding at your mouth.

“C’mon, clean it.” Before you could protest, he simply pushed in his fingers, waiting to have your tongue swirl around them but seeing him not letting up, you did what he asked for.

Now, after he made an even bigger mess in your underwear, calming yourself by taking a few, deep breaths to steady out your panting, Seonghwa quickly dragged you back to the table you carelessly left minutes ago, gathering both of your stuff and throwing his bag over his shoulder while carrying yours. Your heads hung low, feeling a few pairs of eyes on you burning holes in your back.

In a few strides, you stepped through the door, shutting it close behind him before exchanging a glance of not coming back to this place, ever.

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