#Of himself no good does a listener hear...

[abyssyby]

sylus can sense you as soon as he steps into the base. he knows you’re not far, knows you’re just a few steps away. but he doesn’t know why.

today is a wednesday. no breaks or holidays upcoming on your schedule (which he familiarized himself with). so… maybe an off-day? a sick leave? his stomach curls at the thought of you being ill. but simultaneously melts at the thought of you coming to him to recover.

he finds you curled up on his softest couch in the living area. caressed by an eerie warm light. wrapped in a blanket, eyes far away despite the book in your hand. he starts to worry when you barely notice him come closer. he waves a palm before you to draw your attention to him.

you blink, tired eyes finding the concerned gaze of your beloved. each line on his face asking, begging you to tell him what’s wrong.

“hi.” you murmur as he tilts you forward. he slides his leg between you and the backrest, his other plants itself on the ground, his arms drape over your shoulders, he leans against the armrest and he pulls you with him back into his chest. urging you to sink into him, let him carry the weight that makes your shoulders slump and your eyes lose their light.

his lips trail over the crown of your head, the shell of your ear, the plump of your cheek and finally the gasp from your lips. his timbre low and thoughtful, “how was your day?”

there is a clog in your throat that makes you swallow. a burning between and behind your eyes. a set in your jaw at his question that tells him more than words can convey.

“bad.” he concludes in a murmur, pulling back to cradle the softness of your face and turn it towards his. crystalline eyes confirm his suspicions.

“tell me?” he tries, thumb gliding back and forth over your warm skin. heated cheeks beneath his ministrations are doused with droplets of saltwater.

and so you cry, you hiccup and sob, you try your best to speak, to tell him— but how do you put it in words? how fed up you are? how much you feel you’re stuck in a loop? how far behind you feel? how no matter how hard you run, which route you take, you feel like you will end up nowhere?

how do you tell him you want to win when you have no idea how to play? that you want to breathe but your lungs are filled with smoke? that you are tired. so, so incredibly tired that nothing means anything anymore?

it’s a mess out your lips. stuttered syllables and tumbling words. and yet he nods like you are speaking clearly. he squeezes your hands like he understands.

he presses his forehead to your cheek as if he bears the pain with you too— and he does, not entirely, but the ache in your chest resonates into his own like an awful symphony.

and he will take it time and time again if it made even the slightest difference to you. if it made you feel less alone.

and you will never be alone. not while he breathes.

he does not speak when you ramble. his eyes may wander to check on your body for any injury or pain, but his attention is solely on you. he is taking notes in his mind on what made you snap, who made you upset, at which point was it all too much— while nuzzling his face into your neck.

and when you falter, your voice ceases to a whisper and then nothing at the thought that he might not be listening. that he might not want to listen to you drone on and on about your miserable week; be a weeping victim of your own circumstances, he hums something patient into your shoulder. “keep going.”

“i’m saying too much.” you sigh. your nails run over his scalp, your attention abruptly shifting to his needs and not your own. “how was your day?”

“good.” he simply says, reveling at the trickling needles down his spine at your touch. “keep going.”

you do, you trail your nails over his head, down the nape of his neck, and under his chin. and when you don’t say anything, he kisses your palm, whispering. “keep talking, beloved.”

taken aback at his request, you frown. “it’s really just… you don’t want to hear it.”

gentle. so achingly gentle, he breathes. “but i do.”

“it’s not important.”

“no.” he rasps, coming up again to peer down at you. to make sure you know, you understand— that everything you say is important to him. everything you are is important. your everything— your thoughts, your stories, your opinions, your experiences— is everything to him.

“no,” he says again, slow and raw and genuine. he brushes strands of hair away from your scarlet rimmed eyes and brushes his lips over each one. “it’s you.”

and you will always be important.

his arms are a solace to the world that feels endless. his presence is salvation to your rupturing soul. and he feels like an end worth running towards.

your awful day ends. tomorrow, the world will ask you to try again. and you will. but for now you are here, and so is he, and you rest knowing he always will be.

[candyikeus]

TEACH ME HOW TO SCREAM ♟️ pornstar!lhs

RÉALIS𝐭E──── and they ride my dick like a rodeo.

────🪷 ⊱ ۫ ׅ you would’ve never expected to find your hot best friend on a porn website, let alone film a porno with him? ⟢ bestfriend!heeseung & f!reader smut ♱ suggestive ۶ৎ WORDCOUNT : one trillion. but idk im too lazy 😌

✉️ CLICKHERE4AKISS !

“heeseung. what the fuck is this?” you say, shoving your phone in your friends face.

“that’s.. not me.” heeseung says, his face turning a fiery red. you couldn’t believe your eyes, settling the bag of chips in your lap to the side as you dust your hands off.

a simple fun ‘let’s see what absolutely deranged shit we can find on pornhub’ turned into you finding your best friend fucking himself with a sex doll?

“i swear it’s not what you think. i-i.. that’s not me!” he explains it like he’s been caught cheating—which.. would’ve been better in this case. but he was a pornstar?

“so what is it then? not my best friend fucking himself with a sex doll that i didn’t even KNOW he had?” you exclaim, waving your hands in the air like a madman.

“look, i just do it for a quick buck, i swear. it pays good money!” he argued, the bag of chips in his lap falling and spilling all over your rug.

“well with that good money you can pay for me to get my fucking rug cleaned!” you yell back, clearly confused on why’d he hide this from you—i mean.. you’d been best friends since forever, you told him your deepest secrets.

after a beat of uncomfortable silence, heeseung speaks. “i’m sorry.. for not telling you. it was just really embarrassing!” he says, his face red as tomato’s.

“i get it, hee. but seriously, porn?”

“good money is good money, y/n” he runs a hand through his hair before continuing. “fuck, y/n it’s really good money i swear. i could really.. help you into the industry.”

you dropped your phone in your hand, the porn video still playing full blast, his sinful moans blocked out by the pure shock you felt.

“so you’re suggesting i do porn? are you fucking insane, hee?!”

“i-i-im just saying! you have the body proportions for it!” he stutters, realizing how perverted he must’ve sounded saying that.

“shit. y/n please just.. hear me out?” heeseung pleaded—and you just.. had to listen to him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and never have you ever expected to be propped under your best-friend. his perfect, pornstar dick stretching you out to the fullest extent.

“h-heeseung.” you manage to whine out, all while he fills you to the brim with his cock.

the camera crew and producers snicker—not at the scene, at how pathetic and whiny you sounded to them. you were perfect. the dollar signs flashed in the producers eyes.

“yeah princess?” heeseung says, his cock almost splitting you into two as he pushes in and out of you, his hands pinching at your nipples as he does so. the overstimulation hit so perfect. you couldn’t seem to get enough.

“hee.. hee.. fuck.” you moan out “hee.. ‘m gonna cum. please” you moan—the most perfect, pornstar moan.

heeseung picks up his pace, his dick pulsating inside you as you clench around him.

“hee.. fuck!” you yell out, your eyes rolling back into your head as you cum.

to you—and him, this was more than just porn, this was real. he’d fucked you like his life depended on it.

and it would sure reflect in the views.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“hee, can you fucking believe it?!” you exclaim, the bills falling out of your hand and onto the bed.

“1 billion views” he says—a slight chuckle in his tone. “who knew there would be so many of these porn-addicts on here?” he follows.

“it’s a porn website, dumbass” you say, chucking a stack of money at his head.

he laughs, throwing it right back into your hands.

“oh.. y/n.. i need to tell you something.” heeseung says, suddenly getting serious.

“yes hee?” you ask, not even bothering to look up from the money in your hands.

“when we.. had sex. it felt.. more real—than i wanna admit.” heeseung utters.

your eyes meet his, your gaze like a deer in headlights. “hee..” you start, but he interrupts

“i know, i know it’s weird. i mean we’ve known eachother since forever but ive never .. came as much as i did when i was with you.. and it’s so fucking embarrassing but god y/n-“

“heeseung. shut the fuck up.” you say, pulling him into kiss him. and god—did it feel like a fucking dream.

“is this when you profess your undying love to me?” you ask after he pulls away.

“yes. god, y/n ive loved you since forever.” heeseung says, following up with “is this when you tell me you love me too and i get my happy ending?”

“yes, dumbass. i love you.”

heeseung would get his happy ending after all, with all your love.

and you’d get more gooood pornstar cock his love too.

[isasweetie]

you’re suddenly on a first name basis with your boss’s husband… why does it make you feel so funny? ૮꒰˶> ༝ <˶ ꒱ა (sirens!au)

“…you’re fuckin’ on thornton?” you freeze when you hear mr cameron’s voice from behind you in the garden, where you’ve been taking your break.

your eyes widen and your body turns to face him, lashes fluttering as you play innocent, and figure out why he’s asking. “pardon me?”

“topper thornton. my buddy. you fucking him?” the bluntness of the billionaires words make your lips part a bit, unsure what to say.

something about rafe seems to make you want to tell the truth. he’s awfully convincing, his smooth words could probably pull anybody in — that must be why he’s so successful.

your glossy lips move to admit it. “only once, mr. cameron,” you admit, a bit of pleading in your tone before you even ask the next question. “please don’t tell sofia, i’m not sure how she’ll react and i would rather keep this private—“

“rafe.” he cuts you off.

you blink after he ignores your pleas and admission. “..hm?”

“mr. cameron is too formal for me. me ‘n you live together, and i’d prefer whatever women i live with not to refer to me so professionally. rafe works just fine.”

you try to process his words, nodding gently. “…okay then, rafe,” you test his name out on your tongue, making him crack a bit of a smirk.

“you’re cute, y’know that?” he chuckles to himself. you assume he’s just being casual, and this is normal, so you give him a shy thanks. “a’ight, say it again,” he tells you.

“say what?”

“your answer to my first question. say it again, but refer to me properly.”

“oh— um…” you try and recall what you were saying to him beforehand, brain suddenly a bit fuzzy. you’re not sure why. “was just saying that i’ve only hooked up with topper once, rafe.. ‘n for you to please not tell your wife? it’s kind of new, so…” you feel a bit shy as you restate your previous admission.

he nods, satisfied with your obedience. “i see now why sofia likes you. sweet thing, good listener… yeah, you’re good.” he says, as if he’s assessing you. his gaze travels down your figure, you assume just checking your outfit, before landing on your face again. “well have a nice day, sweetie, i’m sure i’ll see you for dinner.”

you nod instantly, trying to get your confused and hazy brain working again. “yes sir— rafe,” you correct. “see you tonight,”

with that, he smiles and hums, nodding once then walking to the house again. he leaves as if nothing just happened, leaving you to wonder .. what the fuck was that, and why do you feel so fuzzy? it’s going to be hard to return inside after your break, that’s for sure. rafe … first name basis with the billion-dollar man himself.

[sybariticpetals]

thinking about matt murdock who comes home from a night of vigilantism, head buried between your legs - which are draped over his broad shoulders, soft gasps and whimpers spilling from your lips, parted and rosied from how hungrily he had kissed you just moments before.

how his hands are clinging into the soft flesh of your thighs, fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents. you're not going anywhere, but he wants to make sure of it. each time you buck your hips to get closer to him, get more relief, his forearms force your hips back down to the couch with a disciplinary groan. he hasn't even changed out of his clothes - clad in black fabric that clung to every muscle that threatened to tear through the fabric entirely - his eyes hooded with his bandana.

"stay down." he orders, and you listen, despite the selfish urge to lift your hips again.

he's hungry for you - tongue lapping at your cunt, nose pressed deliciously against your clit. he's burying himself into you as deeply as he can. he doesn't even take a break to breathe, and when he finally does, he's gasping - only for a millisecond - trying to take in as much air as possible before latching back onto you, the sound of the slick of your wetness and his tongue making your head dizzy.

"matt-" you manage, his name elongated and ascending from a strained moan. all he does is moan in response, his cock, unbeknownst to you, throbbing and straining against the fabric of his pants with every noise you make. he can hear your heartbeat, thumping rapidly, almost nervous he's going to cause you to have a heart attack.

he likes it this way.

he doesn't even need to ask if you're close. you tell him anway, and he's already ahead of you - two fingers stuffed into your pussy, rapidly pumping them at an almost inhuman speed. your throat is raw from how fast you're breathing, intense ragged breathing from how someone could fuck you this good without missing a beat. you feel your orgasm rip through you, and matt doesn't stop. you try to pull your hips away this time, trying to fight the overstimulation of his mouth sucking your clit, and he forces you down once more. this time, he pulls you to him, not letting you fight the pleasure. he wants you to feel every bit of it. the way his tongue works in tandem with his lips, tiny licks as his mouth works mercilessly, fingers fucking in and out of your slick. you feel tears brimming in your eyes, white-knuckled as your hands find purchase on the couch cushions. it's really all you have, considering you can't tug his hair.

matt is gone. a man starved. he drinks you up, lapping at your pussy as he pulls his fingers from you. when he's sure you've finished, listening to the steadiness of your heartbeat slowly decline back to its normal speed, he immediately dives his fingers into his mouth, sucking your slick off of them. moaning around them, he crawls up to you, still nestled between your legs.

"taste." he orders, and you oblige, cheeks flushed and tear-stained as your tongue runs along the underside of his fingers, only for a moment before he gently pushes them knuckle deep into your mouth.

"god-" he breathes, breaking his own morals, his cock twitching as your mouth delicately pulls his fingers in. "you know whose you are, yeah?" he coos, nodding as he waits for your response. "yours." you reply immediately, the word trapped around his fingers. "that's right." he hums, removing his fingers before replacing them with his mouth.

"again." he demands.

"i'm yours, matt."

you don't know what he saw tonight that made him so posessive, or what danger could have possibly caused him to act so intensely - like he was afraid you'd somehow be gone when he reaturned.

"i know you are. and i love you."

[cheshireliam]

"The Faux Vow To The Pure White Bride" Story Event: Epilogue

Ring Schwartz

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

CW: Maybe slightly suggestive, but no smut.

“— Do you vow to love and cherish each other, in sickness and in health?”

The ringing of the church bells sounded like a blessing to Ring and I. 

We went through so much together ever since the day we became lovers, and today, on this clear and lovely day, we finally had our wedding ceremony. 

It was a joyous occasion surrounded by smiles from our friends in Vogel and Crown. 

After the ceremony ended,—. 

…

Ring: Kate, there’s something I need to tell you. 

The moment we were alone, Ring looked at me with such a serious facial expression it nearly scared me.

I could tell he wasn't going to say something he usually did, and so I straightened up to listen attentively. 

Kate: S-sure!

Ring: …

Kate: …

We held our breaths as we stared at each other in silence. For some reason, Ring’s face started turning red. 

Ring: … 

Kate: ?

Ring: Umm… you know, uhh… 

It didn't happen as often as before, but… Ring sometimes still got all blushy with his words stuck in his throat. 

(This kind of reminds me of when we first met.) 

Kate: It's okay, Ring. Take your time.

Kate: You’re trying to say something important, aren't you? So I’ll wait till you’re ready. 

Ring: Your kindness reminds me of our first meeting.

Kate: Seeing you blush like this reminds me of our first meeting too. 

Ring: Looks like I’ve been getting flustered around you since the start. 

Ring: I can’t help it, you’re just too cute. 

Kate: T-the way you can say such things so casually now really shows how much you’ve changed. 

Ring: What’s wrong with calling you cute when you are? 

There wasn't a hint of embarrassment in his gaze, only pure sincerity and honest emotions. 

The heat in my cheeks spread all the way to the corners of my ears. 

(I guess seeing this behaviour coming from Ring does prove he’s changed from when we first met.) 

Ring: … Sorry, I went off track. 

Kate: I-it’s fine. You said there was something you wanted to tell me, right? What is it? 

This time, Ring looked like he really steeled himself before speaking. 

Ring: … You’re the first person I’ve ever fallen in love with. I learned all sorts of new emotions through you. 

Ring: All my firsts have been with you. Even experiencing loving someone for the first time… was with you… so… 

Ring: Honestly, I don’t know how to hold back. 

Kate: … Hold back? 

Ring: I don’t know what to do with his fierce heat I’m feeling right now. 

Kate: Uhh… Ring, what exactly are you talking about?

Ring: Our bridal night. 

Kate: …!! 

(Right. This is our first night together as husband and wife…) 

It was something so obvious, and yet hearing Ring say it in such a serious tone made me all the more hyper-aware of it. 

Ring: Did you forget?

Kate: O-of course I know that! 

Ring: That’s good, then. Because that’s all I've been able to think about ever since the wedding ceremony ended. 

Ring: Even though we’ve done it countless times before this, tonight feels so special I think I might lose control. 

Ring: It’s the first night I have you as my wife, a one in a lifetime night to remember… right? 

The same seriousness in his eyes now contained a heat he couldn't conceal any longer. 

Ring: Kate… I might not be able to curb my hunger for you tonight at all. Are you okay with that? 

(Simply hearing him express that with his own words is enough to melt me…) 

Kate: … Go ahead and love me however your heart desires, Ring. 

I closed my eyes, fully prepared to accept all of him, and a soft kiss touched my lips.

Ring: You look so beautiful in this pure white dress, it feels almost criminal to take it off. 

He whispered into my ear as he gently removed my earrings and unfastened the clasp of my necklace. His fingers then slid down to the ribbon laced along my back.

Ring: But I want to hold you as you are, so… I can’t hold back anymore. 

The ribbon came undone, the sleeves of my dress slid off my shoulders… 

I felt the tender pressure of his lips against the nape of my neck. 

Kate: … Aah! 

Ring: I’m even refraining from biting you, but you had to make such a tempting sound… now I really won’t hold back.

Kate: Ggh… aahh, Ring… 

The lips that left sweet bite marks on my neck now trailed lower, planting tiny red marks across my collarbone and chest. 

He was once hesitant and unsure of himself during the early phases of our relationship. But now, there was no trace of that hesitation in the way he held me. 

My loosened dress slipped away entirely by his hands, and I was now as he desired — bare, all natural. 

Ring: … You were wearing this underneath your dress? 

Kate: A corset isn’t exactly— it's not that kind of outfit… aaah, Ring…! 

Ring: Don't be shy. I love it when you’re being naughty. 

While still in the corset, I was pushed down onto the bed and Ring loomed over me, gazing into my eyes. 

Ring: I want you. Now. 

Ring: Tonight, I’ll give you all of me, so let me take all of you in return. 

The ferocious heat in his eyes and earnest love told me one thing— that was definitely the Ring I fell in love with. 

(His strength he’s built through relentless training with his blood, sweat and tears, and the part of him so delicate it could shatter… I loved both sides of him.) 

Kate: For the first time as your wife, show me what your warmth feels like… 

That night, I was loved more deeply than ever before. 

His hands knew every one of my weak spots like it was muscle memory, the passion boiling within him never ceased, and the joy he gave me was overflowing. 

Over and over again, he gave me his warmth, as though engraving our vow of eternal love into my body. 

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . I COULD NEVER HATE YOU

WARNINGS : ANGST. MANIPULATION. HURT NO COMFORT. and more?

you always come back when something’s wrong—after you upped and left right when you were better, not answering anyone.

it was like you only came back for the thrill of it—knowing you could get anything out of him if you gave him those big sad doe eyes. or if you stuck around long enough to whisper sweet words into his ears, knowing he couldn’t resist.

it doesn’t matter how long it’s been—three weeks, three months—your name always shows up on matt’s phone, like you never left. his heart always jumps before his brain can tell him to stop caring about you. before he can remind himself what happened the last time.

and the time before that.

and the time before that.

it was always “can i come over?”, “can you send me something for gas?”, “i just need a place to think, i promise i won’t stay long.”

it was never to text asking how he was or how he was doing. it was never to ask if he’d finally found himself someone or if he was sleeping okay at night. you never called.

it was never things he hoped you’d say.

and even though he knows he should say no to you every time—he can’t bring himself to. that’s not who he is. so instead he’ll give chance after chance, telling himself that one day you’ll change and maybe he’ll finally hear the words he wants to hear from you.

but you never change—it’s always the same—no matter how many times it’s happened.

and he always lets you.

matt doesn’t ever ask you questions about things. he doesn’t say, “why didn’t you text me?” or “how many times are you going to keep doing this?” he can’t ever bring himself to. maybe it’s because he cares for you—he does—or maybe it’s because he loves you.

so when you show up—he just hands you a hoodie and asks if you’ve eaten anything that day—every time.

he’ll let you crawl into his bed while he takes the floor.

he’ll give you money and never ask you when you’ll pay him back.

he’ll listen to you cry about other people who never showed up for you, like he isn’t sitting right there.

you never stopped for a moment to notice how tired he looked when you talk about people who aren’t him. never stopped to consider how draining it was for him to keep doing all of this—you never notice how much of him you take.

or maybe you do and it’s just easier to pretend you don’t.

the thing is—you’re not a bad person. you never did bad things—you were always so kind to everyone else around you. everyone portrayed you as an angel who just had a fun side.

you’re not a bad person—you’re just hurting.

and surely matt knew that with how opening and welcoming his arms always are for you, right?

you don’t mean to use him…you just—know that he’s safe. you know that he’ll answer. and you know that he’s not going anywhere, even if you do.

a lot of the time you seem to love him in the way people love blankets when they’re cold oddly enough—only when they’re cold and need something warm.

and then when you’re doing better, you vanish completely. no texting, calling, letters—nada.

you’d start going out again. posting again. and laughing at the things he doesn’t get to see. like you were mocking him—telling him he has to sit there and suffer while you go out and give all of your—his—happiness away to other people who aren’t him.

you don’t ever tell him when you’re leaving—you just up and leave and stop answering all together.

and matt? he never texts twice. he never wants to be the one who’s too much for you—because maybe too much of his love might just push you away for good. so he just watches your stories and double taps your selfies—because he’s still allowed to be proud of you, right?

not like he didn’t help pick you up off the floor two weeks ago. like you didn’t cry into his t-shirt at 2am and tell him, “i don’t know what I’d do without you.”

chris brings it up once to matt—he didn’t want to be too harsh to him about it. but he could see what was happening and didn’t like it. “do you ever think she only calls when she needs something?” he asked.

and matt just shrugs. “so?” but chris knew his brother better than that—could see the way matt’s expression wavered just the slightest when the thought of you using him came up.

so chris urged on. “so… maybe you should stop answering?” matt knew chris was right. that he shouldn’t answer your calls and texts when you needed his help. but every time he thought about it while laying in his bed at night—or even now. he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“she needs me.” matt replied back quietly, his gaze now avoiding his brother completely so he wouldn’t have to see the look on chris’ face. it wasn’t disappointment—he was just worried for matt’s health.

but chris doesn’t argue after that.

because everyone who knows matt—would know he would rather break his own heart than let you sit with yours alone with no one to hold you.

you text him again eventually and he just stares at your name, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, and for a second—just a second—he thinks about ignoring it. just to see what it feels like to not have to bear your weight in his shoulders anymore.

but he doesn’t. of course he doesn’t.

so when his fingers type “hey, are you okay?” in reply to your simple “hey.” he knows you’re not. and of course he still cares even after people have told him to not—his own heart even.

you’ll show up at his door, looking tired and cold. and beautiful to him, somehow.

you’ll smile at him like you didn’t disappear for months on end. like you didn’t take whatever was left of his heart and crush it into a million little pieces. like none of it ever happened.

he’ll step aside to let you inside—because no matter how many times you leave, no matter how much of him you take, and no matter how much it hurts—

he could never hate you.

even if he should and even if part of him wants to. and that part—soon enough it’ll grow stronger and bigger. big enough to finally let his finger click the block button on your contact. big enough to finally end it all.

but for now you’ll stay for a little while.

and you’ll get better.

and then you’ll go.

and matt will wait for the next time you fall apart. because that’s what you do. and that’s what he does.

it’s a never ending cycle—because he could never hate you.

a/n : more angst :)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Senator Barnes - 2

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Summary : This is the story of how Bucky Barnes, a man who never imagined life outside the battlefield, met a bold woman from a well-known political family. One unexpected dinner later, he found himself on a path to becoming a senator.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , -

Character : senator!Bucky barnes × female! Readers

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please leave a comment and reblog. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You and Bucky stepped out of the restaurant into a blinding wave of flashing cameras. The air snapped with the sound of shutters and shouted questions. With your practiced political smile—the kind that could cut glass without leaving a mark—you waved gracefully to the press, your posture serene, composed, untouchable.

“Smile, Bucky,” you murmured through your teeth, eyes still fixed on the reporters.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. He gave a stiff, reluctant half-smile, the kind that barely counted, and ducked into the black car waiting by the curb. He didn’t like being watched. Never had. Cameras weren’t just eyes—they were weapons.

Outside, a journalist called out, loud enough for the mic to catch it. “Is it true the Winter Soldier is considering a run for office?”

You paused mid-step, turning your head slightly. The smile didn’t falter.

“At this moment,” you said, voice smooth as velvet, “I want you to stop calling him the Winter Soldier. We just had a brief discussion. This isn’t just politics—Mr. Barnes cares deeply about this country’s safety and future prosperity.”

Inside the car, Bucky’s brow twitched. He let out a low scoff, barely audible. Damn, she’s good, he thought. Effortless. No hesitation. No stammer. You were born for this world of masks and maneuvers—political royalty through and through.

You slid into the seat beside him, calm as ever. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the world out.

“I never said yes to all this,” he muttered, his voice a quiet storm.

You glanced at him—not annoyed, not offended. Just calm. Calculating, maybe. But not cold. “Don’t you ever get tired of risking your life out there?”

He didn’t even blink. “No. I stopped being selfish when I joined the army.”

You inclined your head slightly. “And thank you for your service.”

A stretch of silence filled the space between you. The kind of silence that felt like a breath being held.

Then you leaned in, your tone shifting—low, careful, deliberate. “But what if I told you that working in an office—inside the system—could save more lives than fighting in the field?”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward you, eyes narrowing. Not suspicious, not angry—just... listening.

“Explain,” he said.

You did. With precision.

“This country loves war. It thrives on it. And it hides behind the illusion of diplomacy while funding conflict from the shadows. But if the right people get into office—people who’ve seen what war does, who’ve bled because of it—maybe it doesn’t have to stay that way.”

He looked away, jaw tight. Part of him wanted to stop listening. But the other part—the part that still woke up from nightmares—knew you were right.

And then you dropped the real bait.

“Especially with how human experimentation is trending again.”

His spine stiffened. Muscles coiled. You didn’t need to see his face to know you’d struck something deep.

“Being turned into a weapon,” you said, softer now, your words more personal, “must’ve been hell.”

He answered through clenched teeth. “Nightmare.”

You nodded once. Respectful. Not pitying. “And yet even now, after all the investigations, the hearings, the promises—those tests still exist. Hidden in contracts. Buried in black budgets. Shielded by the same private companies that built them in the first place.”

His metal hand curled into a slow, deliberate fist. The sound of the plates shifting against each other filled the quiet space.

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in.

“If you run... and you win... you’re more than just a name on a ballot. You’re living proof. You become the man who took what they did to him—and rewrote the law to stop it from ever happening again.”

He stared straight ahead. The city passed by in a blur of lights and shadows outside the window.

Justice. That’s what you’d called it. He wasn’t sure he believed in it anymore. But maybe... maybe it was worth a second look.

Bucky shifted in his seat, still chewing on everything you'd just said, when your next words hit him like a curveball.

“You put a lot of faith in me,” he muttered, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Why?”

You didn’t sugar-coat it. “Being honest with you? I want revenge.” You looked straight at him, unflinching. “I want to humiliate my ungrateful ex-fiancé. The man who didn’t value me when I stood beside him, propped him up when no one else would.”

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched, his expression unreadable. A flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—passed through his eyes.

So it’s personal.

Of course it was.

He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, not in defiance but calculation. This woman across from him wasn’t just playing political chess—she was dragging ghosts into the game. And still, she was bold enough to say it out loud. Most people hid ambition behind pretty speeches. Not you.

Still, something about the way you said it tugged at him. Not pity—he didn’t do pity. But he knew what betrayal looked like. Felt like.

He’d trusted people too. And he’d been used as a weapon in return.

You gave a small, sharp smile, not cruel but purposeful. “I want to show him exactly what he gave up. This,” you gestured loosely between yourself and him, “is what he missed.”

Bucky blinked, caught off-guard for a second.

Was this just revenge to you? Or was it something more?

Was he a pawn, or a partner?

Part of him didn’t care. He’d been called worse than a pawn. Used for less.

But another part—the part that still ached when someone saw him as more than the sum of his past—couldn’t help but ask himself:

What am I really doing here?

*****

THE NEXT MORNING

A firm knock jolted Bucky awake, not that he’d truly been asleep. His mind never let him rest, not fully. He sat up instantly, still half-dressed in yesterday’s shirt, and stalked toward the door like a soldier on instinct.

He opened it.

Five people stood in a straight line, all wearing black turtlenecks, tailored pants, and the kind of silent confidence that made Bucky instantly uncomfortable. They looked like an Apple Store crew hired by the CIA.

He blinked. “Apple store isn’t here.”

The man in the center raised a pair of silver shears with a glint in his eye.

“Obviously. We’re here for you.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, instinctively defensive. “You planning to stab me or something?”

“No,” the man grinned. “You’re getting a makeover.”

Bucky squinted. “Was it her?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be here in an hour,” the man said with pride. “And after that, both of you are going to the tailor.”

“The what?”

“No time for questions.” The team marched past him like they owned the place.

Bucky turned slightly, baffled as they moved in. One was already unpacking products from a sleek leather kit. Another had laid out two jackets on the back of his couch. Someone was measuring the lighting near the mirror.

“This is a hostage situation,” Bucky muttered.

One hour later, you stepped into his apartment just as the hairstylist swept the final strands off his shoulder with a black cloth.

“Voila!” the stylist announced, stepping back dramatically.

You tilted your head and smirked. “Nice. He’s getting more handsome.”

Bucky, sitting upright in the chair, raised an eyebrow. “I’m handsome?”

You nodded immediately, like it was a scientific fact. “You are.”

He blinked, visibly flustered. His cheeks colored slightly, the compliment catching him off guard. He looked away, but the smile was creeping in.

“You’ll be hearing it a lot during the campaign,” you added. “Get used to it.”

You checked your watch. “Put on your outfit. We’re going to the tailor next.”

The way you said it—brisk, professional, like it was just another item on your to-do list—left him feeling unexpectedly... disappointed.

******

The boutique tailor shop was tucked into the corner of an upscale block in New York, its windows clear and minimal. No mannequins. Just soft lighting and the faint scent of cedar, wool, and clean leather. The moment you both stepped inside, it was obvious—this wasn’t just tailoring. This was legacy craftsmanship.

Every fabric swatch shimmered subtly under the light. The leather looked like it had been imported straight from the hills of Tuscany.

Bucky stood stiffly in front of a full-length mirror, arms out in a T-pose while an elderly tailor—elegant and precise—measured his shoulders with calm, clinical grace.

“You are... unusually broad, sir,” the tailor murmured, adjusting the tape.

“You should’ve seen him before the haircut,” you replied smoothly.

The tailor smiled politely. “And what sort of fit are we going for? Classic? Military cut? Modern silhouette?”

You stepped forward with your tablet, tapping swiftly. “Three-piece suit. Wool blend, navy base with subtle charcoal pinstripe. Tailored fit. Clean cuffs. Medium spread collar. Hidden buttons—no shine. And don’t forget the overcoat. Cashmere. Black.”

Bucky turned slightly, still holding the T-pose. “You’re good at this.”

“I grew up learning it.” You met his eyes, then turned the tablet toward him. “Campaign starts soon. Optics matter.”

He exhaled slowly. “Don’t expect much. I’m not exactly likable.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

He scoffed lightly. “I admire your optimism.”

You didn’t flinch. “You’re right about one thing—the older generation will resist you. You scare them. You’re unpredictable. Too raw.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“But,” you continued, stepping closer, “the younger generation? They’ll be your loudest voice. They don’t want perfect. They want real.”

You stood beside him now, both of you facing the mirror. The suit-in-progress draped across his frame with surprising elegance.

“You should’ve read the comments online, Bucky,” you said softly. “They like you because you fight. You didn’t just survive the mess—you walked straight into it, every time.”

He looked at his reflection. Still felt like someone else.

“Maybe I should keep using my fists instead of words,” he muttered. “At least I know how to win a fight.”

You smiled, but there was no softness in it—just certainty.

“No one’s afraid of a punch they see coming,” you said, voice low and unwavering. “But a man who’s survived being broken—reprogrammed, hunted, hated—and still stands tall in front of the world? That scares people. Because it forces them to confront what real strength looks like.”

You stepped closer, eyes locked on his.

“They’ll listen to you, Bucky. Not because you speak loud—but because you’ve lived through the kind of pain they can’t even imagine... and you didn’t let it make you cruel.”

“And I’m pretty sure the voters would rather choose a fighter over a cheater,” you said coolly—voice calm, but the edge in your tone made it clear who you meant.

Bucky let out a dry scoff, his arms crossed as he leaned slightly against the wall. “Yeah. Can’t argue with that.”

He didn’t press, but he caught the flicker in your eyes—the hurt behind the sharp words. You were still hurting from your ex. You still hadn’t cried. You hadn’t broken down.

“I’m grateful you have faith in me. But I’m afraid you’ll end up disappointed,” Bucky said, his voice low and cautious. He didn’t quite meet your eyes—his shoulders slightly hunched, like he was already bracing for the fallout.

You smirked, unfazed. “Oh, Bucky… I will prove you wrong.”

Bucky looked at you, studying your face. The confidence in your tone, the fire behind your eyes—it threw him off balance. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t flinch at his past or soften your voice around his guilt. You challenged him, like you already saw the man he could be, not just the one who had survived.

Maybe... just maybe, you would prove him wrong.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

Author note: Please leave a comment, besties. I'd like to know what your thoughts are on this one. 🙏🏻❤️

[b0oklos3r]

JJK Twitter Links

Now this time these are for some of my forgotten boys <3

MNDI🤺

Includes - Shiu Kon || Hirom Higuruma || Choso || Mahito

Please make sure you make an account on twitter for an easier experience <3

Shiu Kong

-❀Now he is calm (at times) but the only time he loses his cool is when he's sunk deep between your thighs, and he fucks himself between your thighs and to you to move his cock right into your pussy, I mean he's practically over stimulated right now how was he suppose to hold back his cum<3 -❀ He knows you had a stressful day so how does he cheer you up? By letting yourself grind on his fingers, and guess what you're feeling better already I mean after 5 minutes you forgot you had a rough day to begin with <3 What a loving boyfriend (husband) he is. -❀ Nice slow but deep so he's sure it reaches all spots in that pussy <3

Hiromi Higuruma

-❀ Fuck, he love it when ride on his cock, such birthing hips... might as well stuff a baby into the womb, carry his child, yeah? -❀ I think he found his favorite position... not that you're complaining, his cock is reaching places you've never knew that could be reached before... -❀ This position comes second for him, didn't know he was into slapping that ass until you suggested it, don't blame him for being rough 🤷🏾‍♀️

Choso

-❀ You can't tell me he just loves when he sucks on your cute little clit, listening to your moans is what is all he wants to hear. so stop trying to distract yourself with play on that console just put it down and let him hear those moans :(

-❀ He was scrolling through twitter and saw this came on his feed and fuck he was hard, and after hours, (not even, after minutes of begging) you finally gave which has you moaning a mess. (image)

- ❀ Sucking your tits as your riding him I mean this is practically a fucking dream come true, fuck he could do this FOR-FUCKING-EVER.

Mahito

-❀ "Look at you all whining at moaning like that, Look at that pretty pussy I think I trained it to the point I can almost fit my whole fist in this tight pussy, what a good girl." -❀ "You think you can go flirting with some other guys, well yeah can they make you feel good as this cock huh? Can they? Look at yourself in the mirror as I pound my cock into you, f-fuck you're so tight, only for me yeah?" -❀- You send him this in which he replies with a video... (this)

[kingchroma]

Hello! can u write Hudson Ahn headcanons please....!

Love your works🌹

hudson ahn headcanons

࿇ pairing. hudson ahn x reader

࿇ disclaimer. i know headcanons aren’t supposed to be entirely accurate, but hopefully i’m not too far off. if that makes sense! i’ve divided these into hudson headcanons, and headcanons of hudson and the reader. ࿇ author's note. didn't expect a request after writing eli's, and a 2nd part of one particular scenario/imagine is at work also. requests are still open! thank you for believing in my work.

IN GENERAL...

࿇ Hudson knows how to handle his money. That might be a vague sentiment since financial and business matters are entirely different, but in my own notion, I do think he’s great at managing it. He’s always been shown as a good businessman with Ansan Public—operating bars and introducing systems that could easily hook potential customers. Apart from that, we’ve also seen how he had helped Hostel with their fruit business, which also boomed instantly.

࿇ He could be frugal with his money, but I’d like to think that apart from being knowledgeable when it comes to investing in his businesses, he would gladly enjoy the fruits of his labor. Hence, the luxury fits that highkey remind me of what Taesoo wears.

࿇ Hudson has his moments where his insecurity gets the best of him, but I do think that despite all that, he’s a very confident man.

࿇ He’s levelheaded in business, and in fights too. A lot of people might think he’s pompous because of how he dresses and how he only uses his right hand, but the trust in his abilities and in himself helps him carry out a certain type of aura.

IN DATING...

࿇ Hudson would introduce you to Taesoo first before letting you meet the members of Ansan Public. Sure, they probably heard of you once or twice, but they’ve never actually seen you. He holds Taesoo in the highest regard and so I feel like he would let his senior know who was making his heart beat like crazy.

࿇ And after he does, I think due to their close relationship, I think Taesoo might applaud his disciple for finding love in such a time considering Hudson is involved in gang activities. He’s a part of Allied, and the (gang) wars that he would be dealing with would be inveitable to escape from. So, for Hudson to still choose you and have you in these moments, Taesoo would be proud of him.

࿇ I don’t think he would fail to remind Hudson about the possible consequences though. He might ask him if he’s sure about it since he doesn’t want either him or you to get hurt in the process.

࿇ Hudson will defend you if by some chance he hears someone talking shit about you in public, especially in Ansan. That’s his turf, and if he hears one bad word come out of a measly underling’s mouth at you, he wouldn’t take it lightly.

࿇ He cares for you—deeply—and for him to hear such disrespect towards you would make him visibly upset.

࿇ If you two go on dates, he would focus on you, of course. But the businessman in him would lowkey check out the menu—the drinks, food—including the ambience of the place; the likes.

࿇ Though I do think he would enjoy it a lot more if you share the same interest—like improving the businesses he owns, or at least listen to him talk about it.

࿇ He would listen to your suggestions. You tried a new mocktail that you think would be a hit in his bars? He’s listing it down no matter how funky the name is. You saw online that there’s a new trending theme in karaoke rooms? Trust he will be renovating them. You have a suggestion for the Ansan Public reward system? Lay it down for him and he’ll see if it’s plausible.

࿇ It’s inevitable that you’ll be worried about him, and so he does in best in reassuring you that he will be fine. But if it comes to a point that he gets severely beaten up, he will listen to you while you let out your frustrations. He’s used to it—you aren’t.

࿇ He’s not the type who will spoil you with expensive gifts, but once he does get you something in that kind of bracket, it’s genuinely something that reminds him of you.

࿇ You’ll probably develop some kind of hand-care routine for him. Hudson might get a little worried about what you’d think about his rough hands, especially his right, but you wouldn’t really care while you rub lotion or whatever moisturizer you have for him.

[yanfluffery]

Platonic Yan!Older brother!Izuku + Shoto (separate) with Kid sibling!Reader

Order placed by : Anon :]

I had a little trouble because this is my first time writing for Shoto, which surprised me, but I think I did a good job! Hope you enjoy!!

IZUKU MIDORIYA / DEKU

☆ He was so excited when he first learned he was going to have a younger sibling. Even more so when you actually came home. Holding you gently in his arms just like he’d had practice. And when he looked into your eyes it was set, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. Ever.

☆ He never likes seeing you hanging out by yourself, he wants to make sure you don't feel like an outcast like he did growing up. But if you start seeing your friends more than him he starts to get a little jealous.

☆ He didn’t like it whenever you hung around Katsuki especially. But was too afraid to say anything about it. Though he would try his hardest to keep you away from him.

☆ Keeps every single thing you make and whatever you give him in a special box. It’s all precious to him, he even brought it with him when he moved into the dorms. When they were doing the dorm competition he was guarding his closet like a hawk. Almost snapped at Hagakure for trying to look inside.

☆ Speaking of the dorms, Izuku was very reluctant about moving out. He didn’t want to just leave you behind! He made you promise to call him everyday and update him on everything. Was literally in tears when you forgot to call him one night because you fell asleep.

☆ No matter how big you get he’ll always find an excuse to carry you around. You’re safest when you’re in his arms. One of his main motivations when training is to be able to lift you with ease.

☆ If you come to him with a problem he’ll always be ready to listen. If it’s a problem with another person, like someone’s picking on you, he’s already planning all the different ways he could take care of them while you rant to him. He has a notebook where he writes down all the violent thoughts whenever it comes to that. Just to get it out of his system so he doesn’t do anything too crazy.

“Hey, [name], I was worried you weren’t going to answer! You’ve been eating well right, drinking enough water? Good… don’t scare me like that again, ok? I care about you a lot.”

SHOTO TODOROKI / SHOTO

☆ When he heard that you were joining the family he didn’t know how to react. But he knew one thing, he didn’t want you to go through what he had. Doing everything in his power to keep you away from Enji.

☆ Whenever he could, Shoto would sneak away from Enji to hang out with you. Even if he couldn’t hang out with his other siblings he would make time for you. You were just a baby, an adorable one at that.

☆ Since you both were the youngest members of the family you went to the same school most of your life. Meaning you got to walk home together each day, which Shoto loved. It got to be just you two for a while! Yes, he purposely led you both down a longer path away from the rest of your siblings. He just wants to spend time with you.

☆ He does things so that you would make him your favorite sibling. Buying you gifts for no reason, helping you with your homework, if you ever need anything he’s there. He wants to be the one you look up to the most.

☆ Called you after the sports festival to hear what you thought. Your opinion matters most to him really. He also made sure to reassure you that he was ok after he passed out. He never wants you to worry, especially not about him.

☆ Shoto would never ever lay a hand on you, not even in a playful manner. You could playfully hit him all day long but he’d never fight back.

☆ He promises himself to give you a better life than the one you both grew up with. His plan for the future when he becomes a pro hero is to live with you and spoil you rotten. Keep you safe and away from the danger outside. And he won’t take no for an answer.

“I bought you that figure that you were talking about a few days ago. Hm? Yeah I know that it was expensive, don’t worry about it. I just wanna make you happy.”

[leyavo]

| Reflections of you | 2 |

Part two: Simon’s not one to get involved, but ever since he stepped back onto that council estate he can’t just let it go. The one where your dad meddles in your affairs. 3.6k+ words

Dad!Simon & Daughter!Reader (warning: she hates him. This is a lot different from what I’ve posted on here so far)

Complicated father/daughter relationship, mentions of drugs, blood, lots of violence -> [Part one]

| Simon’s POV | Sunday 6th of May, 23:47, Rocco Pizzeria |

The rain pelts down on the roof of the car, nothing but a tin can that Simon can’t even hear his own thoughts. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s not a classic, it’s a ruse. A vehicle used to blend in with the shitty clunky pieces of junk that lay in most garages untouched until their owners take it for that one Sunday run. The one just to keep the old thing going. Simon’s running it for a whole other reason, you.

Call it fatherly intuition, no matter how absent he might be, nothing felt right and he’s right. That little delivery job isn’t so delicious, no it’s rotten. He’s been following you for a month, learning your routine and observing the people you come across. The motorbike you’re riding around on should be moped, he’s lost you weaving in and out of traffic too many times, but caught you on the cctv which can’t be dodged. Not in this day and age.

“Little shit,” he mutters to himself, lettuce falling out of his burger as he stops mid bite and spots you appearing in the alley. The only way he gets his veg or fruit or whatever it is. Today you’ve stepped out of your usual routine, no box or rucksack behind you. He dumps the half finished burger in the greasy paper bag and tosses it on the passenger seat. He wipes his hands on his denim clad thighs before turning the key and starting the engine.

Like every other evening, well Sunday you step out of the pizza place and shove your helmet over your head. There’s no wandering muscle following you out though, no package to deliver as you ride out of the alleyway and go right, instead of left. You never go right. It’s not your area to peddling the white stuff, a totally different gang claiming that postcode. Simon trails you three cars back, but you’re not zipping away this time. No weaving in and out, no rushing through the amber light as he gets stuck at the red one. You’re in front of him, head turning slightly to glance over your shoulder.

Simon knows he’s been made. “Little shit,” he snarls, green light flashing and your bike zipping away. He doesn’t chase you, not when he’s planted a tracker on your bike. That does all the work for him, he drives to the council estate and parks on the main road. The pin moving on his phone screen leads him to your block of flats and he sees you across the square of concrete.

A few guys spark up their cigarettes, leaning against the garages to the left. Three women stumbling past him on the left, sky high heels clicking on the ground and their giggles muffled in their hands. You’re just ahead, half way across the open space and close to your building. The same charcoal hoody and dark wash jeans, Simon’s wearing the exact same. The only difference being the knife tucked into his waistband.

“Just keep walking,” he murmurs, opening the door before you can. “Up ya go.” He nudges his head to the stairs, the flickering light beckoning him forwards. Your mask rolled up and resting on the slope of your nose, silver ring snug against your septum.

There’s seven floors, each turn you glance over your shoulder as if you’re wondering if you can shove him down the stairs. Simon’s gaze flits to your fingers grasping the helmet in one hand, he’s half expecting you to use that as a weapon. You’re hesitant in your steps, light on your feet that he knows you’re waiting for him to do something, listening for the rustle of clothing or heavy breaths. Your shoulders holding all the tension, muscle flaring at the side of your neck. Wound up so tight he’s anticipating the snap. Maybe you are your father’s daughter after all.

Seven’s sort of an unlucky number for Simon. You were born on the seventh month and day, so he can’t claim it’s completely unlucky, just enough for him to hate the number. The same amount of times his shoulders dislocated and he’s been shot. You bolt through the archway at the top of the stairs, ducking under the rows of clothes zigzagging on the balcony. Snatching a bed sheet off the line and throwing it in his face. Little shit.

“You’re ain’t coming in ‘ere,” you snap, slamming the door, but Simon shoulders his way in and you stumble back at the force. Your helmet falling behind you with a thud. The strategically placed baseball bat in your hands in a blink of an eye.

“What gonna use tha’ on me?” Simon chuckled dryly, he can’t help but smirk, not that you’d be able to see it through his mask. That childish naivety going against you, how you think you’d be able to over power him in such a cramped space. He could bash your head into the drywall and you’d be out. Not that he would do that. You’re acting out of fear and he wants you to defend yourself.

“I can try.” You adjust your grip, gloved fingers curling tightly around the handle and you swing, driving your whole body through the movement.

Simon catches the wooden bat in his palm and yanks it out of your grasp. His other hand grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back. Your face presses against the wall, breath blowing against the peeling wallpaper. He flings the bat down the hallway and your head dips to watch it roll into the living room.

“Ah, ah,” Simon says, pausing as you try to shrug out of his hold. He leans his forearm on your shoulder and applies more pressure. He doesn’t want to twist your arm too much, doesn’t need to hurt you just warn you. “Why don’t we take a breath, there ya’ go. Not here to give you hell.”

You exhale a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut briefly. “Oh, fuck off you wanker.” You sound like your mother, she always spoke to Simon with the same venom. Not that he’d tell you that, least you’re more independent than her.

“I’m gonna let go and you’re gonna go pack all your things. Try anything and you’ll be kissing this wall again. Understand?” Simon counts to three and he steps back raising his hands, your narrowed gaze sweeping from the two.

“How long-,” you start, but he pinches your chin between his thumb and finger, too fast for you to react and you freeze.

Simon tugs your mask off, leaning forwards and staring into your eyes, his brows furrow as they linger over gash on your cheekbone. The area a little swollen, a splitting punch by the looks of it. “A month, took ya long enough,” he mumbles through his mask.

He lets go, grabbing your wrist and forcing your sleeve up, turning your arm around. “Hey, what the…watch it,” you snarl trying to escape his grasp, but he grabs your other arm as soon as you curl your fist and drops the other one repeating the search.

“Checking you’re not using.”

You scoff, “not that dumb.” Simon’s gaze trails after you as you go to your bedroom and he’s quick to enter the same space. The matte black object poking out beneath your pillow catches his attention. He lunges forwards, beating you to the gun and he holds in the air so you can’t reach it. You mutter a string of curse words and drag a duffle bag out, dumping your clothes into it.

Simon doesn’t know where you’d get a piece like this, scratch that, some lowlife runt probably sold it to you in the name of protection. Not the type of weapon you wanna be carrying around the uk though.

“Now this is dumb, you even know how to use this?” Simon lowers it, making sure the safeties on and the bullets removed.

“Give it ‘ere and I’ll show ya.”

He chuckles, pocketing the bullets and dropping the gun into your bag. “Get rid of all this,” he says, tearing the collage of photos off the wall in one swipe. “Text your mates to stay somewhere else, ain’t safe here anymore.” He doesn’t hang around to listen to your snarky reply as he walks through the hallway and into the living room, picking the bat up from the floor.

The photos on the fridge are the next thing he tears down. He takes one more sweep around the flat before he’s satisfied and sits at the breakfast bar waiting for you to finish packing. He’s not gonna miss this place and he hopes this is the last time you’ll see it too.

Too many things that are reflections of his own past. You have someone in your corner though, he didn’t when he was younger. Drug lords all the same, chop off one head and another takes over.

“I appreciate the light stalking, but I don’t need you hanging around,” you say, packing the photos on the side into your duffle bag and zipping it up. “Old enough to look after myself and would you look at that,” you pat your body and look at him. “I survived this long without a dad, don’t need one now.”

Simon taps the baseball bat against the leg of the stool he’s sitting on. “You need me more now than ever. The only way you get out of this is, them dead or you.”

You gulp, hand twisting the handle of your bag. “I’m a low level runner, I don’t even know what the boss looks like,” you say, slumping over the breakfast bar and sucking in a breath.

“Just run me through the people you do know and we’ll figure this out. Once it’s done, I’ll be gone.” He reaches over the counter and rests his hand atop of yours hoping the weight of his touch reassures you.

You nod, “okay.”

| Your POV | Monday 7th of May, 03.57, Louie’s laundrette |

There’s a quiet luxury you’re not familiar with, smooth leather seats and the fresh crisp pine scent relaxing you in the nearly new car. You’re used to the ones that sputter, warning lights flashing on the dash. Seats that were fuzzy and stunk of mould, heaters never working and windows wound down in the heat. The man that drives it is every inch as sleek as this vehicle, minus the scar on his cheek. Dark clothes, matching cap and some sort of military looking vest strapped to his chest. One of Simon’s friends, who he didn’t bother to introduce.

He’s soft spoken, adding mate on the end of everything he says and he’s called you kid instead of your name. You’re convinced Simon’s never even told him who you are. Then again you don’t know his last name, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. The car parks across the street from the laundrette, lower level boss and all round asshole, Louie Marrone the same guy that punched you in the face a couple days ago.

You’ve never met middle management or the big bosses. They’re the type you don’t ever want to meet to be honest. Monday mornings are reserved for cleaning cash, counting it and bagging it for transportation. You’ve been here a handful of times whenever Louie calls you in asking for money.

“Gaz, give us five and then park round the back, keep the car running and lights off.”

You’re out of the car in the next breath, not glancing over your shoulder as instructed. Simon’s not close, not yet, but you can sense him in the shadows.

Something about Simon eases your worries, you know the probability of you seeing an early grave is high, but with him it seems less. He’s made you run through the laundrette multiple times, two guys on the side door. Six in the main room behind the actual laundry floor with the industrial washing machines. There’ll be some cleaners washing dirty money, but you’ll lock that door before they hear the commotion. That’s if they hear it over the sound of them cycle loads, you just hope Petra’s blaring the radio like usual. Another two guys will be in the office guarding Louie. So in total eleven against two, but do you even count?

You stand outside the door and bang your fist against the metal panel. A small window sliding open and shutting again as Tony glares at you on the other side. Tony collects teeth, you remind yourself as you don’t smile at him. You step back as the door swings out into the alleyway, crouching down to tie your lace as planned. Two body’s drop to the ground, limp hand thrown over your off white trainers now splattered in blood. Andreas and Tony, the two notorious Manchester twins named the devils. Two names added to your grave stone, a huge fucking target pinned to your back for bringing Simon here.

Headshots, red marks in the centre of their foreheads. You expect them to rise like the devils they are and come for you, but they do not. You thought the silencer would not make a sound, but it’s a slight snap of pressure whistling in the air and you don’t think you’ll forget it.

No one’s brave enough to try with these two, except Simon who’s dragging Tony into the alley and dumping him between the black rubbish bags, followed by Andrea’s after. Hopefully the rats will find them before anyone else.

Simon unscrews the silencer, slipping it into his tactical vest. That would be easy part according to him, the beast’s den of six men would not be. He gives you a nod, waiting for you to return his gesture. His arm wrapping around your throat and muzzle of his gun pressing against your temple as he walks you through the dingy corridor. The cameras are shattered, you don’t even know when he shot at them. The adrenaline running through your body keeping you upright. This is where you keep your mouth shut and let Simon do the talking, they won’t be able to use your words against you.

He kicks the next door in and flicks his gun in the direction of the nearest guy, bullet tearing through his shoulder and then his chest. Yuri, which means Stasia isn’t far away, fuck. Your gaze darts across the room searching for her, but it’s just the men allowed in this particular area. The doors beyond it all closed, including Louie’s office.

“Shoot me and you don’t get the seventy grand this bitch owes you,” Simon shouts, his voice roaring in your ear. His arm tightens around your neck, gun digging into the side of your head once again. Exaggeration, it’s seventeen grand, but might as well up the stakes. The muscle don’t know that, only Louie.

“And who tha’ fuck are you?”

You tense as the men part and let him through. Alexandria Marrone-Ferente, second cousin to the big boss apparently and nicknamed, the Punisher. He smooths his hand over his dark slicked back hair, golden sovereign rings on his swollen fingers. Chunky medallion peaking out of the unbuttoned shirt and curls of hair. That bastard broke your wrist two years ago when you said didn’t want to increase your delivery schedule. Taught you that there is no, no. You do whatever the fuck I say.

Simon goes off book and shoots him. He gets him in the thigh, a few inches away from his dick and Alexandria falls to the floor clutching the wound. Everything moves so fast, in a blink of an eye Simon’s kicking the nearest table into men charging at him and he shoves you aside. You scramble back, catching your breath. The grunts and groans, fists pounding against flesh echoing in your ears.

A gunshot wakes you up though, the knife hidden beneath your hoody now in your hand. You can do this, you chant in your head trying to remember the moves Stasia taught you. A fist hurls through the air and you duck, stumbling back into a firm chest. Davidov hooking his arms under yours and dragging you back. The heels of your trainers scrape along the tiled floor, slipping and sliding as you try to grip on to anything. You raise your arm and drive the knife back, sinking the blade into his thigh. His hold on you loosens as he goes to pull it out, but you spin round, kicking the knife and forcing it further in. He staggers back and the closest thing you can find is the bible. You grab the book and whack him over the head, not once but three times till he collapses.

A whoosh of air passes your ear and a prickling sensation spreads across the shell of your ear, warmth trailing down to your lobe. A dagger wedged into the wall opposite you. You throw the book still in your hand at the next assailant, could never remember his name or who he was supposed to be.

“You’re going to be a fucking ghost, girl,” he smiles, blood swimming on the front of his teeth.

“Funny, don’t remember your name. Let me guess, La Ratta?” You ask, jumping back as he takes a swipe at you. Nobody wants to be called that, a dirty name for someone that has no loyalty. He spits in your face, a big glob of saliva running down your chin and lips.

You reach for the chair and chuck it at him, pulling all the chairs out behind you as you run away. A discarded gun catches your eye and you dive for it, sliding on the blood coating the tiles as you attempt to stand up. The guy rounds the corner and you flip onto your back, aiming the gun. Three shots ring through the room, your heart hammering in your chest as the man’s shoulder jerks back with the impact. A sickening thud as his head cracks against the side of the table.

Silence. Your breaths don’t feel like they’re attached your body as you stare at the weapon in your hands. The weight heavier now that you’d fired it, if that even made sense. As if you’re only just realising the severity of the situation. The life you’d just taken.

Simon’s muffled voice is distant, his shadow looming over as he slips the gun from your grasp and empties the rest of the bullets, flinging it to the side.

“One last stretch, you with me kid?” Simon asks, his gloved hand hovering over you.

You take his hand and he helps you up, holding your elbow so you don’t slip on the blood. He picks up his knives and you search the area for yours.

“This where we’re supposed to bond?” You ask, toeing the body on the floor. You need to talk, anything to keep you going and distract you from the chaos around you. “You’re still an absolute wanker, you know that right? Did you have to wedge my favourite knife into this guys windpipe?” You yank the blade out of his throat, wiping the blood on his blazer. Lifting it up to the light and inspecting the shine of the metal.

Simon shrugs, “you talk too much. Anyone ever told ya that?” He wades between the dead and unconscious bodies to you, gun still in his grasp.

He nudges his head to the door, raising a finger to what would be his lips beneath the all black mask. The skull retired just for tonight, that was yours in this place. You follow him as he pushes the door open with his boot, gun aimed ahead. Two men left and Louie.

It’s not till you hear a piercing scream, do you realise you forgot to lock the door to the laundry room. Simon increasing his pace, barrelling into the two men stepping out of the office. All three of them crashing into the wall, Simon’s bashing one of their heads into the plasterboard, the other trapped in the curl of his arm and elbow. One sliding down the wall unconscious, whilst he turns his full attention to the other one trying to escape his deadly grasp. Knuckles jabbing his ribs, each hit becoming sluggish until his hand drops like a heavy weight.

Footsteps pound down the corridor, Louie colliding with the wall as he launches himself out of the office. He doesn’t get far, another gunshot firing and a bullet tearing through the back of his calf.

Target acquired. Simon grabs Louie by the scruff of shirt and drags him down the corridor towards the back door. You force the emergency door open and as promised Gaz still has the car running.

You run back to the office, ignoring Simon calling after you and you crash to your knees at the sight of Stasia’s trembling form. She’s tucked away in the cabinet, knees pulled to her chest and her fingers digging into her arms.

“Hey, hey it’s me,” you whisper, reaching out for her. She peeks over her knees and surges forwards, capturing you in her arms. Sobbing into your shoulder, mumbling about gunshots and screaming. Too much like the home she fled as a child. “You’re safe.”

A hand curls around your bicep and tugs you up, Simon’s dark eyes darting between the two of your hands linked together. “Fuck sake, get a move on. This wasn’t part of the plan. She better not cause us anymore trouble,” he mutters, guiding you both down the corridor and into the car.

Simon hasn’t even shut his door properly and Gaz is speeding off.

I couldn’t resist writing some more parts🫡 I am dyslexic and although I check my work multiple times I do miss errors/mistakes so there might be some - Leya

[bleedingichorhearts]

May I have a naughty fic with a yandere dark knight? He lost the jousting tournament and he fucks his frustrations out on the reader, making her give him a titjob.

“Oh? You’re more for the aggressive knights, eh?” - Ichor

Summary - “A dark knight is angered when he loses his part in the tournament, and moves to find you to confront some things with you.”

||Words: 1.5k|| TW// Yandere, Titjob, Demanding Knight.

“Maiden.” The knight growly calls for his lover. His armor of dark metal clicking against him as he moves with fluency. Searching for what is his. His helmet snapping to look in every little corner and dark shadow his little lover could be in. His steps powerful, almost demanding against the stone he stomps upon. Maids and nobles scrambling to get out of his way. Knowing to not piss off the angered knight anymore after what had happened in the tournament today.

See, a well known activity was hosted today. A jousting tournament. A great opportunity to show himself off, gain some experience from the game for warfare. To see you admire him. To gift him your favor by your own hand. A gift of appreciation and support for his deeds. What he had done for you.

However, you weren’t there.

You weren’t there to favor him. To gift him. To see him win, and he blames you when he doesn’t. When he falls off his steed and lands into the dirt with a grunt. His jaw clenching in anger underneath his helmet.

Just where in the gods lands were you? He honestly hasn’t seen you all day, but that still doesn’t excuse your mistake of missing out on his part of the tournament. Well, not that he had won, and he wasn’t really willing to admit that to you… but he still didn’t gain your favor. Sure, he may have gained others, but he didn’t accept them. He wanted yours as they were always full of divine luck within them. He wins every time you have gifted him something, anything, even if it wasn’t a flower or a jewel, but a mere pat to his pauldron or a playful tug to his cloak.

He glares at a knight of silver through the shadow of his visor when he shoulder checks the silver knight. His own body not even jerking when he does, a loud clank going off, making some people jump, and he doesn’t look back when the silver knight gives out a curse at him. He was far too boiled to make a greater scene out of that. He needs a rather good explanation of his maiden of why they weren’t there for him at his part of the tournament.

It takes him a pretty good while to find you. He had to resort to asking around to find your whereabouts much to his growing displeasure. His dark gauntlets tight on the hilt of his sheathed sword as he approaches your seated form within a secluded place within the local library.

How dare you look so content when it was his day to excel.

“Having fun, little maiden?” His jaw is tight when he speaks. Throat strained as he moves swiftly in front of you while his cloak whips, snaps at his sharp your graceful movements. Gathering your attention quickly.

“…You seem… stressed my knight.” His hand impossibly tightens on the hilt of his sword as he listens to your words of calm. His eyes glaring down at you through his visor while he just watches you turn another page of your book. To hear you pointing out that he “seems stressed,” but oh… he can’t help but feel a pleased buzz that goes through him when you say “my knight.” It always pleased him. Not that he would admit it.

“It seems you have forgotten something today.” He hints it out, leaning down. His helmet getting close to the book in your hands. He wants to make you realize what exactly he was pointing out without even saying it outwardly. “Care to remember?”

He sees you pause. Your eyes not even moving to read anymore lines of your- He gives a quick glance down to read the title of the book. “Court of Gentlemen” Ah, that was a romance book.

Wait, romance?

He does a double check, making sure he was reading the title correctly. His mood lighting up slightly when he in fact, knows what you’re reading. Though, that still doesn’t dismiss you from missing out of his tournament.

“Oh, by the gods.” He hears the realization in your tone, and with the way you instantly put the book down and look him over tells him you just barely remember what it was today. Your eyes finding the new chip in his chestplate that put a streak of silver through the usual dark metal. “Did… did you win?”

The audacity of you.

He growls lowly beneath his helmet. His gauntlet not holding the hilt of his sword in a death grip quickly grasping at your neck. Pulling you forward to meet his helmet as he can feel you swallow. His eyes still looking down upon you with a menacing glow. “Where were you?”

“I-I must of lost track of time!” You stammer, your hands coming up to grasp at his gauntlet that holds your neck. Not tight enough to restrict air flow, but definitely enough to make it uncomfortable. A lingering warning.

“How? Reading too much of those petty little fantasies of yours?” He growls, moving you to where he would mouth words into your ear without his helmet on. “How about I make those true for you, hmm? Maybe then you won’t loose time.”

He pulls you by the neck, controlling how you move, making you fit between his legs as he switches places with you: him sitting down instead with you kneeling between his armored thighs. Not caring for the dignity here.

“Please me with those mounds of yours.” He gruffly demands. Spreading his legs a bit more for you to explore. His gauntlets finally leaving your neck when he takes note of your willingness to stay. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure you have read worse, little maiden.”

He watches as you swallow. His gauntlets simply resting on his own cuisse, waiting for you to make your move. Your pretty eyes looking up at him as if you were asking him out of all the knights for permission. He still gives you a slight nod though. A bit enamored with your respect, even with the position he put you in.

Your hand moves as soon as he gives you the go. Your movements a bit shaky, hesitant, but he makes no move to push you. To rush the process. If anything, the sight was making him aroused. To see you untying the straps of his codpiece and see the surprise in your eyes when his length springs free from its confines.

“Come on now.” He starts to push, trying to encourage you. “It doesn’t bite.”

“Shut up.” You grumble at him and roll your eyes at him, and he can’t help but chuckle at you. His form shifting in his seated position to get comfortable before he shivers, trying to repress his own groan that leaves his lips. The feeling of your tongue tracing a part of his length upwards before slotting your breasts around his member. The skin to skin contact a bit of a nice feeling.

“There we go…” He sighs, relaxing back, letting you do what you want to him as long as it’s still you giving him a titjob. His eyes going have lidded as he just watches the event going on between his legs. His member giving a twitch when you kiss his tip before fondling your breast to please his length.

This was certainly a way to relax, especially in a local library. However, with the tournament still on-going, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem to avoid the public eye if needed. Most would be focused on the winning knights there. Besides, you had picked a rather good place in the library to hide yourself in before he found you.

“More, little maiden.” He demands or more like moans at you. Tossing his helmet back before looking back down at you. One of his gauntlets gently rising up to thread through your hair. Lowering your head just a bit to tease your lips on his tip. “You’re doing well.”

It honestly doesn’t take him long for his member to give a twitch and coat your lips and the top of your bust with a milky white. The combined stress of the tournament, and frankly you? Pissed him off. Yet, he could think about that later. Right now? He was going to use you to his advantage.

He’s quick to move and switch places with you again. To have your chest pressed up against the bench he was just sitting upon. Your body bending in an awkward angle. His hands settling on your waist behind you and pulling you against him. His whole, armored body over shadowing yours, eloping you in his darknesses while his member twitches just below your clothed core. His cold helmet nuzzling into the back of your neck. Reminding words leaving his lips. “I did say I was going to be true, wasn’t I?”

Perhaps, that will be your punishment. To be fucked in the local library until you couldn’t walk without him as an escort. It would certainly make you favor him once more.

“@kit-williams” - Tagged cause I know you love knights.

[jessesluvr]

heyyy can you write jesse just completely smitten pinning over reader? i dont have any specific scenario though

jesse scenarios about him falling in love with you

author's note : okay ! soo i know you didn't have a specific scenario so i was like, "oh this is absolutely perfect because i can just write multiple". anyways, i hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting ! jesse my lover boy, i wish you were real. ps. i had to make 10 longer for a reason.

word count : 1.6k

1. patrol partner perks

jesse leans against the stables, trying not to look too eager as your name is read off the next patrol list. when his own name gets paired with yours, he tries to act cool—just a little nod and a quiet "sounds good." but the second you look away, he's grinning like an idiot. he tells himself it’s just coincidence, that he’s “pulling his weight.” but deep down? he knows exactly what he's doing.

he loves the quiet moments most—those stretches of trail where your horse trots beside his and you're both just… there. breathing the same winter air, sharing dumb jokes, talking about nothing. when you laugh at something he says, even if it’s barely funny, he swears he feels it all the way in his chest. like he's twelve again and this is his first real crush.

jesse doesn’t say anything. not yet. it’s enough for now, just riding beside you, memorizing your voice in the snow-covered silence, pretending it’s all just part of the job.

__

2. her laugh

it’s a dumb joke—something about infected tripping over a rake—but you laugh anyway, that breathy, real kind of laugh that makes you squint your eyes and toss your head back. jesse forgets the punchline halfway through just watching you react to it. his heart skips a beat, and he doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

he thinks about that laugh too much. like, way too much. when he’s alone in his room, or when the lodge gets too quiet, he hears it in his head and swears it warms him more than the fireplace ever could. he tells dina about it once, offhandedly, and she just snorts and says, “god, you’ve got it bad.”

maybe he does. but can you blame him? the world’s pretty dark these days, and your laugh—your real, open, no-holding-back laugh—is the one sound he’d risk anything to keep hearing.

__

3. small favors

you mentioned it once, offhandedly, while trying to zip up your jacket: “stupid thing always gets stuck.” you didn’t think anything of it. jesse, on the other hand, made a mental note. the next morning, your jacket is hanging on the hook outside your door with a fixed zipper—and a second jacket folded beside it. a better one.

you step outside, holding the note he left: “figured you deserved a jacket that actually works. don’t freeze out there. -j” your chest tightens just a little. it’s small, simple, but the thought behind it runs deep. you don’t even remember telling him that. he listened.

jesse pretends he didn’t do anything big. just shrugs when you thank him, gives you a crooked smile, and says, “can’t have my patrol partner freezing to death, right?” but the way he watches your hands test the zipper—how he lingers just a second longer than necessary—you know it meant more than that.

__

4. watching her from across the room

jesse sips his drink slowly, leaning back against the bar wall as his eyes find you across the crowded room. you’re laughing with dina and ellie, half-lit by the soft yellow glow of the hanging lights. your head is tilted back, your hands moving as you talk. he couldn’t hear what you’re saying even if he wanted to. doesn’t matter. he’s memorizing you like it’s the last time he’ll get to see you like this.

he catches himself staring and quickly looks away, cheeks burning, like some kid in high school. he tries to focus on his drink, makes small talk with seth from the gate shift, but every couple of minutes, his eyes drift back to you like he doesn’t have a choice. you don’t even notice. or maybe you do, but you don’t say anything.

he wonders if you ever think about him the way he thinks about you. probably not. you’re so full of light, and he feels like he’s just orbiting it—close, but never close enough.

__

5. first aid excuse

you trip during a run—nothing serious, just a scrape on your hand. the kind that stings more than it bleeds. you're brushing it off when jesse sees it, his expression tightening instantly. "hold still," he says, pulling his bag around. "you should let the medic—" you start, but he cuts you off with a firm, “i’ve got it.”

he works with gentle fingers, more careful than he probably needs to be. the bandaid is crooked. the antiseptic stings. but it’s the way he’s looking at your hand—like it’s precious—that makes your throat tighten. he keeps glancing up at you, checking if you're okay, like that tiny wound meant the world.

jesse doesn't say why he insisted. doesn’t explain the slight tremble in his hands or the way his jaw clenches when he sees you flinch. but it’s written all over him: the fear of losing you, even to something small.

__

6. that moment of silence

you brush snow off his shoulder after a long, cold patrol. just a quick, casual gesture—barely even thinking about it. but jesse freezes. his breath catches mid-laugh, and you don’t notice at first because you’re already walking ahead. his heart’s thudding, fast and loud in his ears.

your hand had been warm through his coat. gentle. like it belonged there. it was such a small thing, but to jesse, it felt like the earth shifted. he stands there for a second longer, staring at your retreating form with that look on his face again. like he’s stuck between wonder and heartbreak.

he jogs to catch up, cracking a joke to break the tension. you smile. he grins back. but he can still feel where you touched him—and he doesn’t want to brush it off.

__

7. protective much?

you’re talking to some new guy at the bar, nothing flirty, just conversation. but jesse sees it from across the room and his stomach twists. he’s across the floor before he can stop himself, sliding in beside you with a hand on the back of your chair and a way-too-casual, “hey, didn’t know you were out tonight.”

the guy picks up on it immediately and drifts off after a minute. you raise an eyebrow at jesse. “everything okay?” “yeah,” he says, too quickly. “just… keeping an eye out.”

jesse doesn’t admit it, but he hates the idea of anyone else getting close to you. he knows it’s selfish. he knows he doesn’t have any right. but it doesn’t stop his heart from racing every time someone tries.

__

8. birthday

you didn’t tell anyone it was your birthday. didn’t think it mattered. but when you step outside your cabin that morning, there’s a little wooden wolf carved from pine sitting on your step, with a note: “don’t forget you matter. -j”

your breath catches. it’s small, worn, clearly hand-carved. you trace the lines of it with your thumb and suddenly the world feels a little less cold. jesse didn’t say anything in person. he didn’t make a big deal. but that quiet gift, that little reminder—it’s exactly what you needed.

you find him later and just hug him, no words. jesse tenses for a moment, surprised, then melts into it. he presses his chin lightly to the top of your head and doesn’t let go for a long time.

__

9. snowball war

you hit him square in the back with a snowball mid-patrol, grinning like a maniac. jesse turns around slowly, fake-offended. “oh, it’s on.”

what starts as one snowball turns into a full-on war. you’re both laughing, ducking behind trees, slipping on ice, shouting through the trees like you’re kids again. jesse loses a glove, gets snow down his back, but he doesn’t care. not when you’re smiling like that.

when he finally tackles you into the snow, pinning you playfully, his face hovers just inches from yours. and for a second, everything’s quiet. the laughter fades. just you and him, breathless in the snow. his heart hammers. he almost kisses you. almost.

__

10. confession

you’re both sitting near the fire after a close call—breathing hard, clothes torn, blood drying on your hands. neither of you speaks for a while, the silence stretching long and heavy, the kind that only follows real fear. jesse stares at the flames, jaw tight, eyes distant. you glance over, trying to read him, but he’s somewhere else. somewhere scared.

“you okay?” you ask softly.

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. “if you’d died back there, i don’t know what i would've done.”

you blink, caught off guard. “jesse…”

“no,” he interrupts, finally turning to face you. “just let me say it. i’m tired of pretending like you’re just a friend. tired of acting like i’m not completely in love with you.” his voice shakes, like the words cost him something. “every time we go out there, i think about what it’d do to me if you didn’t come back.”

you don’t respond with words. you just reach forward, take his face in your hands, and kiss him.

he reacts instantly—like he’s been holding back for years. his hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer, and it’s not frantic, not rushed. it’s relief. it’s soft, lingering, full of things neither of you had said until now. his lips are warm, familiar, a little desperate. when you finally pull back for air, your foreheads rest together.

“i’m right here,” you whisper. “i’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

jesse smiles, all breathless and stunned, and leans in to kiss you again—slower this time, like he doesn’t want to forget a single second of it.

[glitteringdust]

Inspired by @artnijna's artwork here!

The dream lingers in Fenris's head long after he wakes.

It follows him all throughout Kirkwall, nestled somewhere deep inside where no amount of focus could uproot it. Flooding to him after every mob of raiders they clear out from the Wounded Coast, buzzing in his ears like angry hornets as the group settles in the Hanged Man after the long day.

Hawke's thigh against his own only fuels it further, the heat sending a sort of unrest through his entire body. It's distracting to say the least, and he's no longer even paying attention to the game of Wicked Grace he's in. His attention was on Hawke's hands, his broad chest, the feel of their bodies packed tightly together…

He downs the rest of his watery ale, Get ahold of yourself.

It persists even when he's back home, tossing and turning in his own bed as his body craves that dream once more. He feels tightly wound, like a spring about to launch itself into the sky. An unbearable itch he just could not scratch.

It seems he will get no rest until he faces the problem head on.

The air is cool against his face as he makes his way the short distance to Hawke's place, slipping inside with the key given to him years ago 'just in case'. It's late, well beyond the hours that Orana and Bodahn kept and as he listens close, he doesn't hear the typical snoring of Hawke either.

He must be awake. Good.

The stairs don't creak under his footfalls, and the door to the bedroom was open. He pushes his way through to see Hawke sitting at his desk, whiskey in hand, pondering the fireplace before looking up at him.

“Fenris? Is everything all right?”

Fenris can't help the way his eyes drift down to Hawke's shirtless chest, visible thanks to the loosely tied robe. He wants to run his hands along it, feel the muscles underneath and discover if Hawke in real life made the same noises as the Hawke in his dream had.

His lack of an answer has the other out of the chair and in front of him in what feels like a heartbeat, “What do you need?”

It's now, or never.

“You.”

It feels a bit like a possession, the way his body moves before Fenris even knows what he wants. He can taste the whiskey on Hawke's tongue as their mouths meet, over and over as he pushes Hawke towards the bed. He follows, letting himself be pushed backwards and all but climbed upon as Fenris places himself right on top, leaning in to continue the assault against his lips when Hawke catches his face in one of his hands, honeyed eyes meeting his green, "Hey. Are you sure about this?"

"I've thought of nothing else all day, Hawke." It comes out almost a growl. He wants this, wants Hawke in his entirety and was going to make the dream that had haunted him all day become real.

Hawke groans as his mouth is occupied again and the sound sends heat straight to Fenris's groin. He can feel the other man's bulge clear against him, and Fenris moves his hips to apply that sweet, sweet friction.

He wants to hear Hawke's every noise and begins by cradling the man's head, fingers twining into dark hair to gain better control over the next area of attack— his neck, shoulders, chest… anything he wanted, he knew Hawke would give. He grinds in rhythm with each kiss, sending shivering pleasure all along his spine as Hawke does the same, moaning his name as the pleasure grew.

The hand entwined in Hawke’s hair pulls gently, and Fenris begins to suck at the skin of his neck, over and along every inch of the man beneath him. Hawke is nothing but warmth and love, face flushed in response to Fenris’s every movement, building and building as they writhe in pleasure against each other as they crash over that blissful edge.

Better than the dream. Better than anything.

He isn't sure when his markings began to glow, but it's Hawke who freezes just enough for Fenris to notice them at all.

“Does it hurt? Are you alright?” Hawke's hair was a tousled mess and he's out of breath, but those soft honey eyes stare up at him in awe at his blue afterglow.

Usually, there was discomfort. A slight burn that ached long after, painful memories that did the same, but at this moment he felt better than he had in a decade. There was nothing holding him back, now.

“I'm more than alright, Hawke.” He moves to curl himself around the man, linking their fingers together, “I am yours.”

There's a sharp intake of breath from the other at the confession, and though it is terrifying, Fenris does not regret it.

Hawke lets out that breath, chuckling softly, “This is not how I imagined this evening would go, but I'm really glad you're here.”

“As am I, Hawke.”

They lay together, content in the comfort of the other's body next to them. Hawke knows without asking that Fenris will be staying and eventually drifts off, but Fenris stays awake. He watches Hawke’s chest rise and fall, the bruising from Fenris's teeth beginning to make themselves known and he comes to terms with what he knows is true— there was no world where he wasn’t at Hawke’s side.

The fire is only embers by the time he finally drifts off to sleep, with nothing left to haunt him.

[midnight--sadness]

So i saw your recent(?) reply to an ask about nsfw junhun hcs and I’ve come to demand more 🔫

You said many things that made me dizzy, but I’d love to hear you elaborate on:

- ‘[Junho] just had a lot of frustrations he has to let go of and he uses Gihun to do just that.’

What are we talking about here? Bending him in half and fucking him hard and fast? Would he say anything mean? Would he thank him after?

- ‘lots of athletic sex’

I NEED A POSITION LIST NOOWWWW.

- ‘phone/cyber sex’

Your brain is so big and sexy

Imagine Junho asking Gihun to fuck himself on a toy while he listens…or to touch himself and moan into the phone…BUT YOU SAID A VIDEO. What kind of video would Junho want to see? How would Gihun show he was nervous? Avoiding eye contact with the camera, tucking his chin into his chest, what are we talking here? I feel like Junho LOVES the way Gihun says his name when they’re fucking so I could totally see him asking for a video of him jerking it and calling out for Junho, maybe some nipple play in there too

FEED THE BEAST MIA. FEED ME

- exactly who tf you think it is

i love when u send me an ask bc the sign off is so fucking ominous every time dkvfdjjfvnjkdj feeling like the junhun grim reaper is coming for my ass 😭😭😭 (all in the best way possible of course!)

okay, im gonna answer this in parts to make it easier

‘[Junho] just had a lot of frustrations he has to let go of and he uses Gihun to do just that.’

in this instance, junho literally uses gihun how he wants to. whichever position he wants, he will manhandle gihun into it. he sets the pace, the depth, the rhythm. he's the one who decides how much preparation gihun gets, how long the foreplay lasts, if gihun can talk or make noise. nothing is up to gihun. junho is the one in control, he's calling the shots.

(i firmly believe that they have a safeword, use the color system liberally, and have a special hand gesture they know to make when they have their mouths covered; i dont think junho would ever do any of this to gihun without first asking him if he's okay with it and estabilishing a way for gihun to communicate when he wants to stop.)

in the end, junho would for sure thank gihun - for allowing junho to do that, for being so good to him, for not judging junho... the aftercare in these instances is always top notch bc junho would almost feel like he has to apologize to gihun. but gihun quickly assures him that he likes it, likes being junho's to manhandle and own and claim. it makes him feel good.

i do have to point out that this isn't something junho plans. some days work sucks and he has too many memories choking him and so he needs to do this to let off steam. it's also why gihun is willing to participate; he knows how much better junho gets afterwards.

‘lots of athletic sex’

i wish i could put genuinely insane sex positions here but the truth is the only one half of this pairing is young and fit nkdfjkdj so i do have to account for the fact that gihun isn't in the best physical shape ever.

im talking lots of standing up sex, against the walls, anything that has them using every muscle in the body. junho bends gihun in ways he thought his body wouldn't bend but thankfully gihun is surprisingly flexible for a man his age. junho makes gihun ride him in every single way you can ride someone and by the end of gihun's legs are burning and he's almost begging junho let him stop but it feels so. fucking. good.

‘phone/cyber sex’

every single thing you said: yes!!!

junho loves all type of phone sex, so he'll take just a phone call bc hearing gihun moan is like a siren's call in his ears. and a picture is just as good, the visual of gihun stretching himself is amazing. but a video... a video has both auditory and visual, so junho doesn't have to pick one - he can see gihun stretch himself and moan all at the same time. and that is so delicious for him.

gihun is, obviously, very embarassed and very shy the first time he does it. i was debating whether junho would help him out at first, just setting everything up and making sure he's comfortable... but then i thought that junho is a little shit who'd enjoy seeing gihun struggle a bit. one of his favorites things is being able to surprise gihun despite gihun being more experienced in life, so seeing him fumble through a challenge, all shy and sweet, is half the point of the cyber sex idea for junho. it gets him so hot to see gihun pushing his own boundaries and doing everything he can for junho's pleasure.

gihun is a nervous mess, equal parts staring at the camera and then avoiding it completely. he is the one to set up the camera and sometimes he has to readjust it a bit so the bed is fully in frame. he has to constantly remind him to be facing the camera when he does anything bc the point of this is for junho to see.

he's fumbling at first, but then his awkwardness fades as the pleasure builds and at one point he forgets he's in front of camera recording himself. his confidence grows too, especially as he imagines that junho is physically behing the camera, watching gihun with half-lidded eyes, that dark gaze of his laser focused on gihun's body. it's something gihun has loved abt junho, how intense he is, and the moan of junho's name slips out without him wanting it to.

after that first word, the rest comes tumbling out. he's whimpering and begging as if junho is actually there, saying that junho is so good to him, becoming a completely incoherent mess. he digs his own fingers into his hip the way junho does, he runs his hands over his thighs and tweaks his own nipples in the exact same way junho does. he even keeps tilting his head to the side to expose his neck bc he knows junho loves to kiss him there before he remembers he's alone.

he for sure says something like "wish it was you filling me" and when junho is watching that tape he cums as soon as he hears gihun say that... does he get jealous fo the toy gihun is using? yes. but he can irrational when he has seong gihun moaning his name like that.

[fwol-jintu]

Im finally... ALLOWED TO SCREEAAAMMM!!!!!!

Ok so hear me out; demon shen yuan and luo binghe but give shen yuan a different flavor cone of insane

So like we all know this is how they look like right

But what if, we dont give shen yuan the bottom beauty/chronic loser look even tho we all love it a lot and instead — listen to me — we make him look as threatening and deranged as possible

Make him taller than lbh, make his demonism more obvious, give him an aura that makes people threatened and uncomfortable, make him have those crazy mad scientist eyes, and best of all- make him unaware hes acting like this via OUR LOVABLE FREAK SYSTEM !!! This time, Chaos edition, where its just set out to derail the plot as much as possible as an experiment

Basically its my excuse to write ooc-not-really-by-choice shen yuan js like the beast bunny au

Bonus points if sy's demon species is a species known for cruelty the most and sy js straight up fits the criteria appearance-wise and then hits lbh w that "oh oops im actually a good person compared to what you think, i just look really insane"

Oh also original luo binghe because its funnier

And also.... its the abyss arc

so so so SOOOOO Luo binghe falls down into the abyss and his heart slowly freezes over and hardens from his collective rage from his shizun's betrayal and from having to survive such a hell hole all alone.

he learns that trusting anyone or anything in the abyss is a mistake that can cost his life. He's had too many close calls, he doesn't know how hes surviving but hes surviving until he can get out of here and torture that damn bastard.

and then; he meets this... demon that set off all of his alarms. that raw look in his eyes as if he views luo binghe as a toy, pathetic and weak, to his mannerisms and how he seems to treat this place as some damn playground, to how he seems to think luo binghe will so easily trust him after all he has been through.

and yet, luo binghe finds himself injured and vulnerable infront of said demon. In his defense, the demon approached him when he was at his weakest, but he wasnt weak enough to not fight back (or as he likes to think.)

He tried, struggled and clawed and even resorted to biting, but it was futile against the relentless demon. The demon with its wide, mocking smile, told him; "sleep well, dirty lamb." His eyes were forced to shut closed.

AND THEN AFTERWARDS luo binghe wakes up to this freak of nature and is so so on guard but THEN shen yuan acts nice to him and ofc that wont do shit until like a few days later when the effects start taking place but still

Shen yuan teaches him about the abyss and how to survive and stuff, and does his usual yappery except errr he keeps calling luo binghe little lamb and lbh asks about it and he says "because you have fluffy hair and is small like one, little lamb!" Hes absolutely flabbergasted by this news. Hey hes above average! Shen yuan's just a freak!!

And then binghe gets a monster kink because its shen yuan and because hes also equally a freak we shant pretend he isnt

That aside, i just want more freak feral monster shen yuan

On shen yuan's side of the table

Sy: ISNT THAT LUO BINGHE?! OMG OMG OMG HES SO- hes so cool omg system take a picture PLS

System: (side eyeing sy) Yes Host.

Sy: eugh hes hot even when hes injured SYSTEM TAKE A PICTURE

System: Yes Host.

Sy: oh shit right i need to help him- uhmmm "Hi!- uhh, dont be afraid, i just want to help.."

System: filtering....

What luo binghe hears: "Hello there lamb. Looks like you're injured... i suppose you'll be this one's easy patient today..! Hahaha!"

Yes