#THEY BOTH SUCK THEY'RE BOTH SHITTY

[cheecats]

endlessly fascinates me watching crowf mfs take the moral high ground against brambleclaw without any apparent attempt to put the same lens of criticisms on c.rowfeather like.... kingdom brother... cmon now

[machabre]

Okay so yeah, Sergei does take Bryan for granted, kind of.

Bryan is this nearly indestructible, nearly immortal combat cyborg who's so in love with Drag it overrides his own selfishness to the point where he finds himself crawling back to Drag time and time again. After Drag snubs or dumps him or leaves his sensors throbbing from yet another jab that would've damaged organs if he had them. Hell, apparently Bryan would risk himself for Dragunov's mangled corpse, and that's just one of the more ridiculous things he'd do- Sergei's not oblivious to this. Bryan won't die, Bryan won't go away (Fury's secretly afraid of losing the only person left in his world who even half gets him). So yes, Sergei takes Bryan's existence and ccompanionship for granted

[jessiescock]

I've officially reached net zero information on the kimba controversy. Like wow i love the lion king let's see what other people on the internet have to say about it! Oh no looks like they ripped off some Japanese kids show for this huh that sucks. Wait up tho upon further inspection it looks like they just took some heavy inspiration from it but marketing purposefully obfuscated that so while this is most likely not as bad as it seems at first it's still kind of sucks they did that. Wait actually these scenes that everyone cites as too similar to the lion king are actually from a movie that was released 3 three years after the lion king. Ok but apparently this movie has been stuck in development since the 80s bcs disney purposefully sabotaged it so it wouldn't compete with their movie. Wait actually this is apparently a totally unsubstantiated claim with no proof. I guess all that happened here is that there's two franchises that are about cartoon lions being the rulers of something. Now that's not very exciting is it

[grassbreads]

I need conservative friends of friends that I'm forced to be around again. I need somewhere to vent my political anger that isn't tumblr

[arolesbianism]

Ok I'm back on the nugget obsession grind. Juliet Loki and Parker in ruina fighting alongside each other like it's a love language while Saxxly and Roland just sorta awkwardly fight like normal people around them

[helianthus-hellion]

modern-day house m.d. episode where the patient is transmasc and on T, and after house reads his file he goes in and is reading off prescriptions like "estradiol cream, finasteride, prescription face wash, prescription deodorant... god, it's like you don't even want to be a man!" and the patient says "just because i wanna be a man doesn't mean i have to suffer all the shitty side effects" and house goes "it's all shitty side effects! being a man sucks!" before tossing the file down on the little tray table thing and leaving.

chase and cameron exchange A Look in the room and then while they're walking down the hall cameron's like "we should talk to him about it - maybe he'd be... happier? if he transitioned?" and chase rolls his eyes and is like "just because he thinks being a man sucks doesn't mean he's trans, every guy hates being a man at least some of the time" and then cameron gives him Another, Slightly Alarmed Look

we cut to house and wilson and wilson's looking at him like he's insane, going "so you... told the patient that being a man sucks?" and house laughs and says "sure did! i wanna know which will take longer - cameron coming to me concerned about my gender, or chase realizing he should be concerned about his gender. her gender? eh, probably easier to just stick with 'his' for now." wilson accuses him of being a sociopath and house looks fake-wounded and says "you know, if i am a sociopath, you're being ableist by attributing my cruel actions to my sociopathy, and if i'm not a sociopath then it's even worse that you're accusing me of being one just because i'm mean."

cuddy approaches house later and tells him that she heard about what he told the patient, and she is required both to make him take sensitivity training and also to provide him resources on transitioning if he wants to pursue that. house asks if him being a woman would make cuddy bisexual, and she raises and eyebrow and says "that ship sailed long ago" and doesn't elaborate on whether she means she isn't into house anymore so it doesn't matter or that she already is bi. house starts cyberstalking her to try to figure out if she slept with any of the women she's friends with on facebook. the team comes in to tell him about a new symptom and he shows them a photo of cuddy from college with a hot girl at a halloween party and is like "do you think they ever fucked? i think they fucked. even if they didn't, i'm gonna imagine they did." foreman tries to get them back on track but chase leans in to get a better look at the photo and it turns out to be wilson in a costume. there's an awkward beat of silence before cameron goes "SO, back to the patient!" and house makes a sort of dismissive "huh? oh, yeah, go test him for [whatever]" while staring intently at the photo.

he confronts wilson about the photo, wilson admits it's him, house starts by going "oh, yeah, but i'm the one having a gender crisis" but accidentally says "sexuality crisis" instead and wilson is like "house do you... do you think i'm hot in that photo?" and then we cut to chase asking cameron if she thinks he could pull off an outfit like that and they discuss it a little while doing a blood draw or LP or whatever. the patient gives them both A Look and is like "you know, you can get wigs and breast forms pretty cheap these days..." and chase is like "hm? oh, yeah i guess one of those costume supply sites would probably have stuff like that huh," and the patient raises his eyebrows at cameron who just shakes her head a tiny bit.

house accuses cuddy of sleeping with his best friend in the clinic lobby and she drags him into her office to ask what the hell he's talking about and he shows her the photo. she's like "yeah, we were at a halloween party together in college, so what?" and house says that wilson makes a really hot chick and asks if that's what awakened cuddy's "bi side," and cuddy just rolls her eyes and tells him to stop projecting his sexuality crisis onto her just because he thinks his best friend is hot. house asks if wilson was at least a good lay and cuddy says "find out for yourself!" before kicking him out of her office again.

house goes back to his office and cameron is pacing outside the door, and she looks nervous when he walks up to her. she follows him into his office and she has clearly prepared A Speech about how if he doesn't like being a man he doesn't have to be, and he doesn't even have to be a woman either, there's options, and it's never too late to transition no matter what people say, and he cuts her off like "yes yes you're very supportive, you clearly aced sensitivity training" and then he has the episode's Epiphany and it turns out that the patient transitioned too early and there was some (largely made-up and not actually backed by irl medical science) complication from starting his transition as a teenager, and the patient is like "oh so you're saying i did this to myself?" and house says "well legally at least, either your parents or the governor of new jersey did it to you - depends on who approved the hormones."

wilson comes up to him at the end and is like "you know, it's okay if you think i'm hot. and it's also okay if you're a woman. if you... ever need any tips on passing as one, i'm happy to help."

the ending is left ambiguous as to house's actual gender identity and, much like the autism episode, it kinda feels like the writers' room was full of heavy debate about whether house should be trans or not. we also never actually circle back to the fact that chase is definitely trans, it never comes up again, and this move pisses off both trans people and allies who wanted it to become A Story Arc and anti-trans people who are mad it even came up in a single episode, absolutely nobody is happy about how they handled that subplot.

[ourceliumnetwork]

well tumblr. guess who's got a fucken BORTHDAY happening today.

it's me. I'm the birthday boy. thing.

anyway. yup. we're moving this weekend, so like. lots to do, but it's going to be good and fun and happy because it's my birthday and i said so. also we're going out this evening (weather continuing to permit) which will be fun and exciting.

[madamechrissy]

Teacher's Pet

Pairings- Boyfriend Takuma Ino x F! reader x Professor Nanami

Warnings absolutely MDNI - oral (f receiving from Ino and Nanami) fingering, messy kissing, Nanami is 35, reader and Ino are like 21, so age gap. Threesome aspects and general freakiness, light choking, dom daddy type Nanami, masturbation (Nanami) and panty stealing

A/N- had a request for college AU Ino/reader/Nanami where Nanami is your 'professor' and teaches you some ahem... things? I haven't written Ino before so I hope I don't fuck him up here - it's PWP lol

Takuma Ino had never thought he would get this, get to feel your slick heat against his fingers, your sweet little cries in his ears as you arch your hips against his hand, trembling as it touches you over your panties. It had been just a harmless kiss, really, after class - only for you both to fall into each other, mouths hungrier and hungrier, even as they're clumsy.

Ino was still a virgin senior year of college, but he swears it's because he was waiting for you, he can't even see anyone but you, long before you decided to date him. Now his cock is throbbing, he's willing it to go down as he tries to find what you like. What is it, here, where he presses and your hips jerk? Or here, slipping under the elastic of your panties now, and finding you soaked.

"Oh, baby you're so wet, d-do you like this?" He asks softly, chocolate brown eyes almost black as he studies your face in earnest, you nod shakily, eyes fluttering shut as he watches you.

"I love it, f-feels so good," you want to guide him a bit, but he's having so much fun exploring you, devoted as he presses kisses across your cheeks, hands fumbling until one dips into your soppy interest. "Ah!"

"There, that's good?" He pulls back again, asking softly, you nod in response and he sinks it just a little deeper, exhaling as he pulls his finger out then.

"Back in, back in!" You're whining out, you're spread wide on Professor Nanami's desk, the thrill rushing through you, making you drip along his polished cherry wood in the empty class.

"Wanna taste it, though," you're a flustered mess when Ino sucks you right off his finger, moaning, cheeks hollowing as if you're the sweetest thing. "Oh my god, you're so yummy..."

"I am?" He kneels now, and you're panicking just a bit, tugging at his sleek brown strands.

"Wanna kiss you here, is it okay?"

"Y-yes if you- oh!" He's flicking his tongue up your slit, pushing your plump lips apart to eye you, breath hitting as you hold up your pleated skirt for him. "Ino!"

"It's so pretty," he doesn't know where to lick or what to do, pressing a kiss against your hood and stealing more of that flavor on his lips, feeling you tugging at his hair and exhaling, hands pressing firmly into your thighs, when the lock clicks, but he doesn't hear it over your soft whines, and neither do you.

Which leads Professor Nanami, exhausted and ready to take a nap in his damn office, to see his prettiest straight A student spread wide on his desk, and his other straight A student kissing her between her thighs. Nanami shuts the door quickly, locking it and striding up, when your fucked out eyes widen and see him, and you panic, shoving off the desk and gesturing wildly.

Ino, who worships the ground Nanami walks on, is clearly pussy drunk - and Nanami can understand, he got a glimpse of it, and just that has his cock throbbing.

He's jerked off to you more times than he'd ever admit, he shouldn't, you're his student and his law student at that, he can't think that way about you, especially being one of his brightest, and with a good kid like Ino. But fuck if he hasn't pictured being between your thighs instead, teaching you what it's like to really get fucked, now he wasn't too much older at thirty five, but he still felt shitty thinking it all.

"Professor Nanami, I'm so sorry! Oh my god, please, I..." You're panicked while Ino is furiously red, covering his face while Nanami crosses his broad arms.

"It's my fault, Mr. Nanami, not her, don't get her in trouble, I couldn't stop myself," he rubs the back of his neck and Nanami eyes his now discheveled desk, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Looked like you weren't doing it correctly," he says, making the both of you pause now, and you're blushing furiously as Nanami eyes you, hazel gaze drifting down your body like a caress. Every girl fawned over his handsome features, you weren't immune to them, but to have him look at you like that, made your situation worse.

"I have no clue what I'm doing, no." You look at Ino with wide eyes. "Can you... show me?"

"Show you!? Ino have you lost it!?" You're tugging at his black sweater, and he brushes a thumb across your cheek.

"I wanna know how to please you, baby." You melt at how sweet he is, fully expecting Professor Nanami to deny the request, but his huge, veiny hand loosens his silky tie as he comes closer now, leaning over you, the scent of his cologne filling your senses.

"Up on the desk then, love," his soft command is met with him lifting you like you're nothing, sitting your right on the desk now, his desk, tilting your chin up to look at him. "So tell me, when you play with your pretty pussy, do you stick your little fingers in, or rub your clit?"

Your mouth goes dry at the statement, Ino is looking at you with those pretty eyes, ever curious, your cheeks heat up, decorating your skin with color. "My clit, Professor."

"So we'll focus there first." Nanami methodically slips your panties down your thighs, biting back a moan when your scent hits him, panties that may or may not have ended up in his pocket. Nanami may or may not need these later. "Come on then," he gestures and Ino eagerly gets on his knees - your boyfriend and your stupidly hot professor, this was not how you thought your first time getting eaten out would be. "Look here."

"Pretty, so pretty," Ino's words make Nanami chuckle, spreading you wide so he can show Ino where your clit is, lifting your hood, and that's when Nanami and Ino see your twitchy little clit, you whine out, biting your lip.

"She is pretty." You can't even look at them then, covering your face. "You'd focus there since that's how she plays with herself." He looks up then, fingers pressing against your calf to get your attention. "Should I demonstrate?"

"Yes, please." Your whisper ends his resolve, shoving him off the deep end, flicking the tip of his tongue on your little clit now, you gasp as it hits, and he moans as your sweetness pours against his slender lips, coating them in your gloss. "Oh!"

"You can finger her too, but she's tiny," he slips a digit in, feeling you grip him tightly, groaning as he thinks how good it'd be to slip inside your hot, slick little cunt. "So be gentle."

"I wouldn't hurt her," you're torn between embarrassment and utter lust, when Nanami curls his thick finger up, pressing on your spot while his tongue works in methodical little flicks, and your hands yank his perfect hair before you can stop yourself. "Oh, look, she loves it,"

"Mnh!" You're gushing down your law professor's face now, he has to palm the bulge over his slacks with his free hand, looking up at your pretty face, all contorted in pleasure.

"Are you close, baby?" Ino leans up now, caressing your face sweetly, you nod, gripping his sweater with your free hand while Nanami drags your cunt against his face. "Then cum, let me see you, then I'll make you cum again."

"Y-you sure?" You ask, he just nods, gripping your breasts, while Nanami's finger curls just so in your gummy walls, and you shatter, screaming out into Ino's lips while Nanami slurps you up, positively filthy - you have never cum like that, even with toys. He's lapping at you, eliciting more and more drooling arousal as you struggle to blink anything into vision. "Oh my god... mnh... Professor Nanami..."

He presses a kiss on your cunt now, and Ino eagerly sinks to his knees, kissing an overstimulated clit when Nanami is just an inch from your face, you flush as you see you've made a mess of him too, thumb brushing his slick on his chin, he grips your wrist then, while Ino slips his tongue up to your clit, and you bite back a moan.

"She likes it, good job," Nanami murmurs, Ino buries his face then, sucking your clit into his mouth without thinking, your thighs are trembling, cunt throbbing while Nanami places a hand under your chin, wrapping your throat. "A little light choking can make it even better, but you have to be careful. Want me to show you?"

You nod weakly, and Nanami squeezes your throat now, giving into the temptation and kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips and squeezing your delicate neck, delighting in your whines and cries, muffled as he squeezes. He almost cums just kissing you, seeing your innocent face lost in the pleasure, hearing your squelching wet cunt in his classroom. He's grabbing you, tongue sliding into your sweet mouth, while your cunt spasms around Ino's long, slender finger, delicately curling up.

"You're doing so well, darling," he whispers to you, encouraging you while you cling to his silky cheetah tie, oxygen fading while he squeezes, thumb pressing against your racing pulse while your eyes roll back in your skull, Ino is whining out desperately, his cock already leaking precum as he feels your aftershocks grip his finger, your arousal coating his face.

"Mnh!" You almost faint, ears ringing now, floating damn near blinded when Nanami releases his hand, and gently kisses against it, all while you're gripping his broad shoulders, almost falling the fuck over.

"Oh fuck..." Ino murmurs, leaning up and looking at you, you kiss him eagerly, hips twitching when Nanami runs his fingers over you, already so sensitive you almost cum from the contact, before giving you a firm smack, making you gasp out.

"That's for being bad." He says with a little smirk, you exhale, cunt stinging, before he glares at the two of you, fixing his collar and tie that you've led askew, crossing his arms again. "I better not find the two of you doing this again... without my permission."

"No, we won't, we are sorry Professor." Nanami just hums a bit, sitting with his legs spread wide in his seat, while Ino helps you down, fixing your skirt and eyeing you. "Are you okay? Was it good?"

"Good isn't even the word..." You bury your face a bit, embarassed as he pulls you against him, feeling Nanami's hungry eyes on you.

"I wanna do that all the time now." Ino murmurs, you giggle, taking his hands, before looking at the man who licks your cunt off his lips, raising a thin brow.

Never in a million years did you think Professor Nanami would have devoured you like that, the feeling makes your tummy tense, as you snuggle your boyfriend, who you feel his arousal, making you ever so curious, you touch it just a bit, watching his reaction.

"Baby you don't have to do anything." He's so sweet, you sigh, looking over at Nanami again.

"Maybe you can show me a lesson next?" You say softly, and his cock twitches in response, picturing giving you lessons on your knees, as you look up with those eyes that are fucking Nanami up currently.

"Yes, well, I'll see if I fit it in my schedule," he sets his glasses firmly on the bridge of his nose. "Out you two, now."

"Thank you, Professor." You two run off, and Nanami catches your gaze on him before you two shut the door, when he breaks down, thick cock slapping his dress shirt and drooling pre out of his reddened tip. He hisses as he touches it, panties slipped out of his pocket and right on his face.

"Ino that was insane!?" You're whispering, breathless, he smiles just a bit then, pressing you against the wall, where on the other side your professor is cumming to your taste he's lapping off your missing panties.

"You loved it though. But... I wanna do it alone," his whisper rushes across your skin as he whispers in your ear. "What do you think?"

"Yes," the two of you rush off to your dorm, leaving Nanami to contemplate just what lesson he has for you next while he's busting hot ropes into his hand of his classroom, cursing the clock when he realizes he's not getting a nap and it's your fault... surely a punishment is in order.

LMAO this was so dumb and smutty

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[renegadephilosopher]

hello clevbar community

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

Neglected Reader x Yandere Platonic Batfam

-> au where reader is neglected but like they don't really care ? Like, yeah, it sucks that their own adopted family don't really care about them, but like they make their own life and are happy? Basically, the reader is just a chill guy man.

More of this au. 🍁🍁 , 🍁🍁🍁 , 🍁🍁🍁🍁

- reader's life starts off normally. They have a loving mom and dad who cared about them a lot, but one day, their parents got caught in a crossfire between the police and Joker and ended up sadly dying.

- reader is taken into the foster care system . Foster care system was kinda shitty , you know normal Gotham shenigans of misusing funds and staff corruption. Despite how shitty foster care was , reader still manages to make connections with foster siblings and make the most of it .

- after the reader's foster parents get arrested for allegedly selling drugs, the reader is placed into Bruce's care .

- first day of reader being at the Wayne's mansion , Bruce leaves her in Alfred's care before leaving to attending to do work . Alfred's introduces the reader to their room and reader is just amazed they got their own room .

- reader meets Jason first at a week of living at the mansion , and the reader gave them a simple 'hi' but Jason just looked at them like they were weird ? Reader didn't really care and just went about their life because like why should they care what some random thinks ?

- reader indulges themselves into learning law - finding it so fascinating how cases unravel out and plans to pursue it for their future .

- reader meets Dick like two months in and he tried being nice but didn't really engage with them unless necessary which reader didn't mind they were busy with other things.

- reader is a literal programming prodigy and literal has a whole programming side hustle that brings them in millions.

- reader meets Tim after five months of living there, and they both just glare at each other because Tim's like, why are they here? The reader just thinks he looks like a zombie.

- reader continues on their life - thanks to their programming hustle , reader gains a network of persons who can help them in their law career .

- five months living there and reader feels so bored there so they take up after school activities like boxing and debate .

- so far, only Alfred's been the one to talk to the reader, not that they mind they think he's pretty cool .

- reader discovers their vigilante life one night accidentally when they came home late from their boxing class and saw NightWing being patched up by Alfred in the kitchen. Reader pieces together that if Dick is nightwing then the others must be batman and robin.

- reader continues on her passion for law and ends up getting full ride scholarship to Harvard law and they immediately jump at the opportunity. They pack their stuff and tell Alfred goodbye and that they're going away to further their education and leaves the mansion since they can live on campus.

- despite leaving the mansion, the reader still keeps in touch with Alfred because they feel a little bad for leaving him behind .

- years pass and reader graduates and becomes the most sought after lawyer in America . Reader makes a name for themselves and is living up her life with her pet cat in her private penthouse in New York.

- one day Bruce is facing some legality issues and randomly brought it up around Alfred and Alfred is like " you can always ask your daughter/son they are literally America's best lawyer " .

-Bruce sits there shocked because what, for you mean he has a daughter /son, that's America's best lawyer . Damian walks in that moment and questions Bruce about it like, " Why hasn't he met them ?"

- Alfred then buts in with " Oh you haven't met them because when you arrived, they were already left to go to Harvard " . Bruce's jaw literally drops to the floor because he literally has a kid that went to Harvard without him knowing -.

- thus Bruce makes an appointment with you along with Damian and Dick because they were both honestly shocked at the news and low behold. Here, they are sitting in your fancy office waiting for you.

- you walk in looking all fancy and professionally in your tailored suit as you welcome them . You swear they look familiar but can't place it . Bruce and you go back and forth with the legalities - still in shock that you are his kid -.

- after their appointment, Damian can't shut up about how cool you are and asking Dick and Bruce questions about you only for them both awkward since they didn't know about you.

- the three of them tell the others about you and everyone's now very much invested in your life .

- Bruce arranges another appointment with you and you're like hellah suspicious because like y'all can communicate through emails or something you know but you shrug it off thinking he's old and that he doesn't know how to properly do emails yet.

- Regardless you met Bruce at the arranged appointment meeting place, and before you could even do anything, Damian literally picks you up WWE style and throws you into the limo . Bruce literally starts lecturing him on the spot about how ' kidnapping is bad ' as if he doesn't make himself cozy in the front seat .

- and thus they drive off, and you're just sitting there like ' wtf ' .

[ms-demeanor]

hi, hopefully this isnt a stupid question -- this is only my second election i'm voting in, and i'm a little confused about results. is it actually confirmed that trump has won, or is it just almost certain based on the counted votes? bc i know that provisional ballots (like mine) probably arent immediately counted, and there was that thing about votes needing to be verified because of signatures, plus to my knowledge the electoral college doesnt vote til december? i'm probably just grasping at an infinitesimal chance of things not being shit, but also i do actually want to understand and google is not helping :( if you can't explain no worries, you just seem to be knowledgable & willing to answer questions haha

This is absolutely not a stupid question.

So everything is currently pointing at what is most likely, not at what is 100% certain, but it's like 99% certain. There are still votes being counted, but in the states where the election has been called it has been called either because enough of the ballots have been counted that the remaining count wouldn't change the results, or that the area is historically so strongly in favor of one party that it's exceptionally unlikely that they'd flip the other way (for example, they're still counting california's ballots but you're more likely to get struck by lightning five times today than california is to flip red in this election). The places that have not yet been called do not have enough electoral votes for Harris to win the election.

The electoral college is exceedingly unlikely to flip their votes against the state/district vote; "Faithless electors" is the term for members of the electoral college who would vote against the vote they are committed to for their region. It was something discussed in both the 2016 election and the 2020 election and flipping the electoral college without winning the election was the motivation behind J6. As shitty and bullshit as I think the electoral college is, if you're going to have one and you're going to have the rule of law, you can't hope for faithless electors because what you're hoping for at that point is that the people representing you are acting directly against the choice of the voters.

I want you to listen to me. I have been voting in presidential elections since 2004. Presidential elections always suck. Who the president is does matter, and does impact your life, but you genuinely do not have a ton of influence over that so you can't let it throw you into despair and inaction, because we should be active and political and protesting the wrongs of the world even if your favored political party wins. Vote in local elections, work with your local community, and if your local community sucks too, work with online communities to both give and get support.

Whenever something like this happens, people pass around the Mr. Rogers quote about looking to the helpers. I like that quote. I think it's good, I think it's hopeful, I think it helps! But I also think that sometimes it's even more effective if you look for how to help. Who are you the most scared for after this election? Who are you worried about in your community or among your friends? What can you do that might make their life easier? What can you do to protect people like that in your community? What don't you know that might make you better prepared to help them in the future?

One thing that I think is a fantastic way to prepare to help is to either begin or continue learning a language that you don't know. I am working hard on my Spanish because I live in California and there are a ton of Spanish speakers here who I might be able to help. Is it directly aiding anyone right at this second that I'm practicing conjugation? No. But it might help someone who is being harassed by a cop, or who is unhoused and needs help, or who is being abused by an employer at some point in the future, and I can get myself ready to help. Learn how to use naloxone and pick up up an inhaler; you might not need it now, but it'll make you ready to help someone who does need it. Order free covid tests every chance you get, even if you don't need them, because then you can give them out to people who do need them. Plan B has a multi-year shelf life. Pick some up so that you've got some on hand if someone needs it.

Maybe there's nothing you can do right at this exact second (though if you are able to donate to gender affirmation fundraisers, border kindness, abortion funds, bail funds, etc., you can absolutely do that), but you can get ready to help someone who will need you someday.

[sugarwarachan]

driving you crazy

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. during a late-night run-in at the library, will things finally come to a head?

(note: reader writes smut on the side to make some extra money, since phd students barely make shit *sobs*)

content warnings: tsukki being a degrading lil shit *barks*, like so much sexual tension, slight exhibitionism (gettin' nasty in a library), slight angst, dry humping

word count: 2.1k (an anon ask turned into this, whoops!)

art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

You shouldn’t have kissed him.

Not even as a joke in the back of that shitty dive bar you’d taken him to because grading papers was making both of your eyes cross. But he’d looked so fucking handsome underneath the neon lights, sipping coolly at his beer, that you couldn't help dragging him by the collar into that alley and sucking his soul out through his mouth.

Fuck.

Staring down at the battered copy of Macbeth and your scattered pile of notes, you’re no closer to chasing him away from your thoughts than you had been the night before, achy and desperate in your bed.

Ever since you began your PhD program, Tsukishima Kei has been an ever-present pain in your ass. Sarcastic, flippant, and irresistibly intelligent in a way that makes your heart speed up every time you spar with him.

You hate him, perhaps just as much as you want him.

It's cowardly to hope he won't find you here, but you need to get work done, and the library feels like a good spot to avoid him in. He hates being around people, even when they're confined to calm spaces like this.

“You’re not hiding from me, are you?”

Of fucking course.

When you look up, he’s smirking, all self-assured arrogance while he leans against the library stacks. You want to strangle him and straddle him in equal parts.

“Why?" you snort, turning back to your notes. "Because of one kiss? You’re not that good, Tsukishima.”

(He is, though. You’ll be thinking about that kiss until you die.)

Maddeningly, he says nothing, only pulls out a chair and settles in across from you.

You really wish you could read him better, but the best course of action seems to be to shut your mouth and pretend you’re not affected. For a guy as detached as him, you think that’s the right choice.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

The fuck?

Looking up from the notebook you’re scribbling non-notes into, you see what appears to be concern on his face.

“Umm. Yeah.” You’re pretty sure you’re looking at him like lobsters sprouted out of his ears. He's never once asked about your well-being like this.

He nods. “Good. We did stay up late talking about Kantian ethics.”

That's certainly one way to boil down last night.

“And to think it came to blows only once,” you shoot back.

A small smile curves his lips before he takes out a book and some notes, seemingly content to start working on something.

Fine.

If he won’t bring up the kiss, neither will you.

Silence lapses, the only sound the scratching of pens on paper. You’re not sure how much time passes; it’s hard to be around Tsukishima for very long because of how much he seems to slow time for you.

You sneak a look and immediately wish you hadn’t, because you notice the edge of a sheet of folded paper and recognize notes you lost two weeks before.

Your entire body flashes cold.

You write down ideas all the time as they come to you. What can you say, you’ve got an actively flourishing sexual mind, which has helped tremendously in your choice of second income. Smut doesn’t just write itself.

But the last thing you want anyone to see, let alone Tsukishima, is a scene where you couldn’t stop picturing him as one of the participants…

You try not to let your thoughts race away from you. You can only imagine how much he’d tease you for it, how actively humiliating it would be to admit to Tsukishima fucking Kei that your fantasies more than often than not star him.

“You can’t be alright.”

“Excuse me?”

Golden-brown eyes confront you. He’s frowning.

Why the fuck can’t you lust over someone normal?

“You heard me.”

“There’s a book on Shakespeare and gender in the stacks I need to find,” you say, ignoring him and ignoring the fact that you already have that book sitting to your left.

He regards you carefully. Each second that ticks by, you know he’s weighing what to say. The hush of the library does nothing to calm the din in your chest, the awful racket of your heart furiously pounding behind your ribcage.

He smirks and waves a hand at the stacks. “By all means. “

Surrounded by a wall of books, you take a deep breath. It’s just as likely he hadn’t even seen the notes he’d accidentally snagged from you. All you have to do is get them back, right?

“You always deflect when you’re uncomfortable.”

Whirling around, you see Tsukishima leaning against the stacks like a Lothario in a Victorian play, and fuck, you must have it bad, because he actually looks good doing it.

“Might it have something to do with this?” He pulls out that folded-up sheet of paper, and you watch in horror as your notes literally unfold in front of you.

You know exactly what’s written there.

His eyes pin you in place and you feel like a bug wriggling on a cork board, helpless under his gaze.

“This is what’s bothering you.” He shakes the paper a little, like a master shaking a treat in front of a dog. “You didn’t want me to read it.”

Anger sparks in your chest. “Brilliant fucking solve, Sherlock.”

He glosses over the sarcasm and takes a step forward. You retreat one step back.

“Why didn’t you want me to read this?”

You stare at him, incredulous.

“Because it’s private, asshole.”

The look he gives you screams, Try again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s a smut scene, Tsukishima. Do I really have to spell out why that would be awkward for you to read?”

“Why? Because you imagined me while you wrote it?” Condescension drips from his words. Below your navel, your insides pull taut.

“What makes you think that? Because I deigned to kiss you last night?” You’re flirting with fire and you know it. You lean in, and so does he. “Come on, Tsukishima, you’re gonna have to do better than that. Where’s your hard evidence that I think about you like that at all?”

His eyes flash, and a near-feral smile splits his face.

He taps the side of the paper.

“Because you wrote this.”

And there, in small, nearly-smudged writing, are the words: Stop picturing Tsukki.

Blood pools in your cheeks. There’s no way he’s going to let you live this down, not ever.

You finally notice the red ink in the margins, his own annotations littering the page underneath your imaginings.

“Did you make fucking critiques?”

His laugh is so immediate it startles you. “I think you might call them suggestions.”

He’s close now, his hip nudging yours back along the books. Spines dig into your shoulder blades.

“If you’re fucking with me right now—"

One hand settles next to your head.

“One word, y/n,” his breath ghosts over your temple. “One word, and this stops.”

The rational part of your brain considers the consequences of messing around with someone in the same program, let alone someone like Tsukishima.

The rational part of your brain doesn’t answer.

“I don’t want this to stop.”

Exhaling sharply, he takes a step forward, his body now completely aligned with yours. You suppress the small moan climbing up your throat.

You were right, damn it to hell. This already feels better than most things you’ve ever done: your back curved against the books, the musty smell of paper, Tsukishima’s shirt shifting with yours.

One hand possessively cups your jaw.

“In that scene you wrote, were you picturing yourself?”

“Does it matter?”

His eyebrows rise. “Does it matter? How do you ground yourself in the scene if you don’t picture the characters?”

It’s an obvious taunt, but as you stare at the hollow of his throat, all you can think about is the fact that he smells warm and spicy, and you want to lick the column of his neck and wipe that fucking smirk off his dumb, handsome face.

You want him to be as affected by this situation as you are.

“If you tell me why you wrote all over the scene, I’ll tell you.”

He exhales. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“The hardest.”

He presses a knee between your thighs, spreading your legs apart. Without thinking, you grind your core down onto him, brain firing as soon as the pressure on your clit increases.

His hand grips down hard on your hip as he pulls you close, whispering furiously in your ear. "I read over this scene a hundred fucking times and I added what I would do. That’s what those notes are.”

Pleasure spreads over your chest; you barely remember your promise. 

“I pictured myself. In that scene. I pictured you watching another man fuck me until you stepped in and showed him how it’s done.”

Tsukishima makes a noise like a whimper and a groan in his throat. His head falls forward on the stack, right next to yours. “Goddamnit, y/n.”

He presses his thigh more insistently against you, hand near to bruising on your hip. 

“Did that not figure in your notes?” you ask, fisting your hands in his shirt, greedy for him to touch you more.

With strength that makes your pussy clench, he picks you up by the waist and drags your core along his leg. You can feel how wet you are, the slide of your cunt slippery in your underwear.

And we’ve barely done anything, a giddy part of your brain whispers.

“If it was real, no one else would be able to make you cum like I could," he's saying, voice low. "But I bet you’d love to see them try, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Fuck them in front of me until your sloppy pussy needs me to step in and fuck you like the little whore you are.”

His words travel from your ear down to your clit, and a low ache twists in your gut. You fall forward onto his chest, hands twisting around his shirt collar.

You're already climbing toward release with each slide of your core against his thigh.

“Please, Tsukki.” A whine erupts in your throat. “Please. Fuck, I’m so close.”

He doesn't even entertain your implied suggestion. “You’ll come on my thigh, y/n, I know you can. I can feel how much of a mess you’re making through your jeans. How wet would you be if I pulled those off?”

“Take them off and find out," you pant into his skin.

His hands deftly shuck your jeans down your legs, just enough to expose your underwear. You should feel ridiculous riding a man’s thigh in the back of a library stack with your pants around your knees, but you can’t be damned to care.

Fingertips trace over your pussy, outlining the lips through the cotton of your underwear. He skims a thumb over your clit.

“You’ve ruined these.” He sounds delighted.

“Fucking take them off, Tsukishima, for fuck’s sake.” You’re begging, and you hate it, but at this point, you’d do anything to feel his touch on your bare skin.

“No,” he says softly, tempering the denial with a kiss to your temple. “You’ll finish like this.”

You’re glad your face is pressed against him. This way he can't see how affected you are, how every time he drags you against his thigh, you practically drown in pleasure.

Little gasps and pleas fall from your lips, muffled against his chest. One more drag and you cum violently, your hips chasing after your orgasm with such intensity you feel like you’re floating.

You come down slowly, ears ringing. You're pretty sure you hear Tsukishima talking to you, but the only thing drifting through your mind is that you haven’t cum like that in years, and of course it’s with the man you can’t stop thinking about, for better or for worse.

You look down and take in your soaked underwear, the damp stain on his trousers.

He hands you back the notes and helps you right yourself on shaky legs.

Somehow, this feels more intimate than anything you've done with him so far. His hands are calloused and strong, and you want to hold onto him a little longer.

The thought jolts you, and before you can stop it, the words are out.

"This was a mistake."

And what takes you aback is not that Tsukishima agrees with you, but that he looks almost sad when he does.

masterlist here. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3

[genderqueerdykes]

as an intersex trans wo/man, i've noticed that unfortunately it has become painfully obvious that not only do radfems and terfs try to abuse trans men into falling in line with their beliefs, but unfortunately, this happens to trans women and transfemmes as well. i've unfortunately seen several trans women fall down the the "men evil, women innocent, trans men have cis male privilege, trans men don't struggle, trans men aren't men or trans they're just confused butches," pipeline really quickly after transitioning or their eggs cracking, and it's not necessarily that transfem's fault, but rather an abusive person sweeping in to take advantage of someone who needs and wants validation in feeling like a woman. the person who put the terf ideals in their head during this crucial stage in development is to blame, it is not inherently the trans woman's fault.

vulnerable transfems and trans women become indoctrinated into these things. trans women and fems are not inherently bitter, shitty, hateful people. it's a select few who become groomed by radfems who push this belief, and push it hard, because that's what you do when youve been indoctrinated into a cult. it's not an issue inherent to trans women and transfeminism at all- it's vulnerable people being groomed. this is a serious issue of trans women and fems being groomed and brainwashed.

this is a huge deal and we have to stand up for each other, because the transfems getting groomed into this need support and help to get out of this cult. it is not okay for women who are just trying to find their footing to almost instantly get sucked up into a literal hate group. we have to help trans people who become indoctrinated into gender essentialism, antimasculism, and transandrophobia just as much as we help other trans people unlearn transmisogyny. these issues are both damaging our community on the whole.

radfems are aggressive and will try to indoctrinate anyone they can into antimasculism, transandrophobia, and gender essentialism. a lot of trans women in the early stages of transition really want to be validated as women and such, will become groomed by these groups of cis women who will gladly feed them toxic ideals like women can never be wrong, women are always innocent, men are always harmful and evil, it just benefits the radfems, not the trans woman. this behavior grooms yet another person into spreading radfeminism without realizing it. when one espouses these beliefs they become a spokesperson for radfeminism and terfism

i'm plain tired of seeing this argument, because it is nothing but gender essentialist binarist bullshit:

"transphobia is worse for trans women than trans men because of x, y, z."

its not worse. its different. but equal.

i understand that many folks have not lived the life a trans man leads, but whenever you try to speculate on what it's like, you will always be wrong, no matter what, because you weren't in that person's shoes. it's impossible to see the nitty gritty of how a specific group of people are treated unless you are that person or spend lots of time around large groups of those types of people. trans men face homelessness at a disproportionately high rate compared to other groups of queer folk. we also deal with forced detransition. we deal with being dehumanized by she/her pronouns. we deal with having lesbianism and butchness weaponized against us. we also deal with sexual violence. we also deal with physical, mental, and emotional abuse. we deal with gaslighting, lying, being robbed, abandoned, injured and killed. its virtually impossible to find support if you're a pregnant trans man.

trans men have a lot of unique struggles. this is not a comprehensive list, but rather to show you that ALL trans people struggle. we are united under the same banner of transphobic treatment. we are struggling, but we are struggling together, and we can uplift each other without tearing each other down. punching down on another trans person hurts us all.

belittling the trauma of other trans people is a form of queer infighting that terfs want you to do in order to fracture our community further. queer infighting doesn't help anyone whatsoever. trans men do not have it harder than trans women. trans women do not have it harder than trans men. amab and afab and intersex enbies don't have it worse than each other. these are all completely different and unique struggles that deserve to be acknowledged for what they are. you cannot use the same scale of severity for a totally different problem.

people love to completely gloss over the issues trans men face for the sake of believing that all men benefit from patriarchy. saying that trans men are not affected by specific kinds of transphobia is spreading the radfem belief that only women struggle under patriarchy. queer men, men of color, intersex men, gay men, bisexual men, trans men, polyamorous men, genderfluid men, bigender men, gender non conforming men, feminine men, men who crossdress, disabled men, neurodivergent men, mentally ill men, and other marginalized men suffer under patriarchy as well.

i'm not tolerating radfem gender essentialism being woven into queer ideals anymore. this behavior has to go. when you genuinely believe these things, we all lose.

[ebodebo]

The Conditioning: A Salt to the Wound Prequel

➛ companion piece to Salt to the Wound

PAIRING⁀➷ simon riley x fem!reader

WORD COUNT⁀➷ 12k

CONTAINS⁀➷ 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough & unprotected sex, p in v, complicated grief, complicated family dynamics, an attempt to repress memories, mentions of military & war trauma, cutting skin for blood, graphic depictions of death, foreshadowing, mentions of gun violence, little to no effort doing johnny's accent, mentions of abuse, heavy angst, mention of prescription drugs, mentions of death, questionable ethics & morals, religious speak, fluff, intertwined plot points from original fic (more on that below,) purposeful omission of tags to avoid spoilers, & no use of y/n.

AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ before reading, i would like to note that this is a direct prequel to salt to the wound. i highly encourage you to read that before this. anywho, i’m back with an expansion of the salt to the wound universe! i’ve decided to expand upon the original story, but not in the way i initially intended. i thought it would be interesting to explore more of simon’s perspective on his marriage and the deal he made in the original fic, thus this prequel was born. although, this fic does pov switch, it does so less occasionally. regardless, i sincerely hope this installment is satisfactory. if salt to the wound left you sad or unsatisfied with reader's ending, i hope this brings you some satisfaction. i don’t want to spoil anything, so i won't say anything more. i hope you enjoy. read at your own discretion.

The lines between Hell and Earth are blurry…

The air carried a bone-chilling cold that seemed to penetrate Simon's very being.

It felt as though the night carried a treacherous vengeance that was cowardly whispered in the form of icy wind.

Despite the cold, Simon hovers near the front entrance of the Thai place he had been dragged to on a blind date set up by Johnny, a fresh cigarette between his fingers, the smoke offering him a little warmth.

He should have known better than to take up Johnny's offer.

It was naive of him to think that an older brute like himself could find someone who would take him, baggage and all. 

How could anyone possibly love a man so rough around the edges, broken and battered by life? 

He's got scars that run deep, both inside and out, and they're the kind that won't heal easily. 

Might not heal ever.

Still, he's convinced that someone will come along and fix him, make him whole again. 

Always had his head too high in the God-damn clouds to see the storm brewing where he ought to be on the surface.

Out of the cold night, a voice broke through. "Think I could bum a cigarette off you?" Simon's eyes snapped up to see you standing before him, a warm smile on your face, a sudden spark of connection in the icy air. 

He narrows his eyes skeptically. "You smoke?"

"Not really," you shake your head. "Just had a shitty night."

He doesn't ask you to explain; he really doesn't care. He flicks a cigarette from his pack and hands it to you.

"Can you light me?" you ask sheepishly, putting the cigarette between your lips and hovering closer to him.

His lip quips as he flicks his lighter, hovering just below your cigarette. The flame quickly lights the end, sending smoke down your lungs.

You suck down the smoke gracefully, closing your eyes softly trying to seize your nerves.

Simon watches you for a moment. "Shouldn't be doin' that," he mumbles. "It's bad for you."

Your eyes snap open, a smile growing on your face. "You're one to talk," you say, blowing the smoke out between your lips. "I saw you smoke three through the glass," you cock a brow, eyes darting to look down at the ground next to his boot to see smashed cigarette buds. 

He tilts his head back, smoke blowing through his nostrils. "You been watchin' me?" His voice is rough, but you can tell there's humor in his words.

"Maybe," you shrug, tilting your head forward slightly to look at him through your lashes, a cheeky grin on your lips. "Saw you with a woman in there," you casually say, taking another puff. "You didn't look so happy."

"Saw you with a man," he counters, eyes shamelessly darting between your eyes and lips. "You didn't look too chipper either."

Your shoulders sag at the thought. "Yeah… my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend," you correct quickly. "He dumped me." Your voice carries a mix of sadness and a palpable sense of relief.

Simon cringes. "Oof. Heartless bastard."

You chew on your lip, your curiosity piqued. "And you?"

He lifts a brow, taking another drag. "What about me?" he prompts curiously. 

You roll your eyes playfully. Men. "Did you have a nice date?"

He puffs out the smoke, nodding along lightly. "That was my little sister."

Your face morphs into horror. You even drop your cigarette on the ground from how fast you cover your mouth with your hands. "Oh! Oh my God… " you start, genuine horror in your tone. "I'm so sorry… I, I just assumed—" you stutter, face stiff. 

Your shoulders relax as he lets out a gruff laugh. "Relax. Just takin' the piss," he chuckles. “Nah. Didn't know the girl. Was a blind date my mate set up for me," he explains through a dry laugh. "She was too uppity for me."

"She was cute," you try to find some good. "But, yeah, I overheard her talking about her daddy's multiple vacation houses in the Hamptons, before proceeding to complain about the price of the champagne," you agree with a chuckle.

He leans just an inch closer, now interested in the conversation. "Did you hear her go on about her father’s private broker firm?" He brings his cigarette to his lips. 

You giggle, leaning closer. "Yeah. Looks like daddy's raking in the big bucks, huh?" You nod, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

Simon pulls back, flicking his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it purposefully. "Broker firm sounds like a euphemism for where daddy parks his questionable investments."

You make a faux cringe face. "Yikes. I can see the raging jealousy oozing out of you," you gesture to him, with a sardonic infliction that's hard to miss.

He smiles. "Oh, yeah. Just riddled with jealousy," he goes along with it, his smile growing as you share a laugh, the warmth of your camaraderie evident in the air. 

The following words that flow off Simon's tongue come without warning. "Would you wanna grab a beer at the bar down the road?" His eyes flick to yours, looking back to his as your laughter dies down.

His nervousness is palpable, evident in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he maintains eye contact. "Are you asking me on a date?" you inquire, sensing his unease.

"I'll pay," he says, skirting around the question. 

You let out a dry laugh. "Well, I didn't think I was going to… " You trail off, only now realizing that you didn't even know his name. 

"Simon," he fills in without hesitation. "Call me Simon."

"Okay… Simon." His name rolls off your tongue in a purr that has him at a loss for words. "I'll get a beer with you, although I'm shocked you would settle for someone as dull as me after being dazzled by Hampton royalty," you jest, smiling at him.

He smiles back, harder. "Mhm. Always been more interested in the common folk," he jokes, as you spin on your heels, laughing, walking next to him towards the shitty dive bar on fifth.

In that moment, Simon sees his future.

A future that he had never dared to dream of until that very moment.

It all flashes through his brain in a light blur.

He sees simple mornings, when the light casts a warm glow on your skin, almost bringing him to tears. He can almost feel the softness of your skin and the warmth of the morning sun. 

He can see you in a long wedding dress with a sheer veil, not daring to fully conceal your beauty before he sees his babies on your hip as you bounce them lovingly. 

So many years full of pure love, until you both find yourselves on rocking chairs on your porch, connected to your grand white house, wrapped in a white picket fence that he will have spent years building up from the mud with his bare hands.

By then, half your grand babies will be learning to walk, while the other half will be busy decorating your driveway with chalk drawings, begging him to take them for a drive to see their uncle Johnny.

His visions of his fantastical family looked like the picture a soldier keeps tucked away in the pocket of his military uniform to protect it from spilled blood.

Serves as a reminder, motivating him to keep fighting through the war. Even in the direst moments, with a gun pointed to his head, his humility laid bare, he will keep fighting for his family, for they are where his heart lies, still untouched by vengeance, pure as the heavens above.

His future, as he envisions it, is a canvas of bright potential.

Yet, he remains oblivious to the looming shadow of a devil's bargain that will one day bind you two, leaving your soul eternally tainted and trapped.

For now, he can continue his fruitless efforts, ponder you with heart-filled eyes, and dream carelessly innocent dreams.

But the devil does not bargain with such innocence, for a darker fate awaits him.

A few months later, Simon is parked in the creaky chair of his home office, filing some paperwork. He is shivering; no amount of heat can warm his skin.

His raging fever, which had ruined his sleep, had carried over from the night before, leaving him feeling his skin flush and dry, barely able to sit upright in the wooden chair.

But that's the thing about Simon, he doesn't know when to quit.

He is stubborn, strong-willed to a disturbing degree. 

He hadn't yet found his limit; the breaking point that would make him just stop.

Must have gotten that from his mother because his father sure knew when to quit while he was ahead.

Simon leans over his desk to scribble on some files, each movement seemingly being harder than the last. He grunts just as he finishes a sentence, lightly tossing the pen to wipe his tired, sunken eyes.

His head flicks up at the sound of his doorbell ringing. With a sigh, he slowly stands and moves over to the door, opening it to see you with a bright smile and a warm pie in your embrace.

"Made you pie," you say, lifting the pie to ensure he sees it. "Hopefully, you like cherry," you smile meekly, watching his eyes drift to the pie.

He lifts his head to look at you, trying to keep his voice steady. "Love cherry," he mumbles, though some emotion has seeped through his tough front.

He can't believe you went and made him a pie.

You had been on a handful of unofficial dates in the past few months, but nothing official came about. 

You were just friends, at least he assumed you were friends. 

But here you were, the sweetest girl he's ever met, with a fresh pie you say is meant for him. He couldn't have possibly imagined you would go and do something that would make him think you care about him. 

"Are you alright? You look tired," you ask, narrowing your eyes in concern. You observe his deep eye bags, and your worry is palpable.

His eyes flick up to see your concerned ones. "Think I caught a cold," he murmurs. "Thanks for the pie, sweetheart." He takes the pie from your hands.

You pass the pie along, and the warmth of the pan spreads across Simon's skin, making him close his eyes softly. "Are you taking care of yourself?" you ask, a slight frown on your lips as you see the tip of his nose tinged red. 

He doesn't answer, just looks down at the pie.

You had made a beautiful lattice, and only a little cherry filling broke through the sweet dough. 

"Simon," you urge, your determination to make him open up evident in your voice. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

He looks back at you. "I'm alright."

You frown again; he hasn't been. "Can I come in?" you ask, your patience reassuring.

"Wouldn't wanna get you sick. Too pretty to be bedridden," he tries to joke, but his chest rumbles with a rough cough.

Your skin warms at the compliment. "I take my vitamins," you assure. "Don't worry about me, okay?" You place your hands on your hips, so he knows you're serious. "Now, am I going to have to shove you to get inside, or are you going to let me in willingly?" You arch your brow, your lips pursed. 

His lip quips; he is too tired to fight you, so he simply steps aside, allowing you to step through the door with ease.

He doesn't feel the surge of nervousness he probably should, as you step into his house and observe every fine detail, down to the scratches on his light wooden floors.

"You have a cat?" you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He shakes his head. "Nah. The other owner did," he explains, moving to grab your purse, which is hiked on your shoulder, and gently laying it across his kitchen island. 

"Are you taking any medication? Drinking enough water?" You start questioning as soon as Simon's shoulder relaxes.

"You some kind of nurse?" he asks in a humorous tone, a playful glint in his eyes, but you don't laugh. 

"I'll take that as a no," you roll your eyes, hands moving around his kitchen blindly to find his cups.

"I can get you some water," he moves over to you, unable to let you do anything alone. You swat his hand away, narrowing your eyes at him.

"It's not for me," you explain, grabbing a large glass and putting it under the tap to fill it to the brim with cold water. "Drink up, boy boy," you shove the water into his chest, and only a little sloshes over onto the floor.

"I'll clean that," you smile sheepishly, already moving to grab a rag off the counter. He sets the water on the counter, his hand gripping your shoulder, beckoning you to stand. 

"What are you doin'?" he asks with equal parts humor and confusion. 

Your lips morph into a confused smile. "What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely puzzled by his question.

He gently grasps the wet rag from your hand. "I mean you bringin' me pie, askin' about medicine, makin' me drink water," he lifts a brow. "What's all that about?"

You tilt your head to the side. "I'm taking care of you, Simon," you say with a reassuring smile, your eyes reflecting your genuine concern.

His lips flat line, mind swirling. "Takin' care of me?" 

"You're sick," you say, taking the rag from his hand. "Shouldn't be doing anything," you move to set the rag in the sink; you'll wash it later. "You need rest," you tilt your head forward, a glint in your eyes.

Simon is left utterly speechless, his mind struggling to comprehend what he is hearing.

Here comes you, this sweet girl who forces her way into his house bearing a pie and a gleaming smile, wanting to take care of him.

Nurse him back to health.

"Go sit," you tell him before he can ask if you're serious, ushering him to his couch. "What do you want to watch?"

His eyes stay glued to yours, his mouth slightly open. 

"Since you won't say, you'll have to watch what I want to," you flick through the channels until a trashy British reality television show dawns on the screen. The room is filled with the sound of some too-on-the-nose pop song that just so happens to sing the exact same scenario as what was occurring.

His eyes flick to the screen, a small smile growing on his lips.

"Lay back," you urge, pushing him back to lie against the back of the couch. "Where do you keep your medicine?"

He looks at you, utterly perplexed. "The, the bathroom. First drawer to the right," he murmurs, with a stutter, his confusion evident. 

You roam over to the bathroom, the only place you've ever seen in his house. You had to pee on the way to the cinema and made him stop at his house so you could. 

You didn't snoop through his things like you would usually do to the guys you've dated because you suspected he could smell any ounce of disorder like a hound. 

His eyes stay locked on the television as he hears you fish for the medication in his drawers. He taps his foot against the floor, feeling uneasy at the thought of lying still and doing nothing.

His fear of being deemed useless is a constant companion, driving him to move even when he can't.

It's the soldier in him who's seen and done things that most can't even imagine. 

He keeps moving, his mind never stopping, to avoid fully comprehending what he has had to do. 

Blood forever spilled in the name of protection.

Or so he says.

He hears your feet pattering on the wood back to him; you had stripped your shoes off at some point. "I got you some ibuprofen for the aches, some Afrin for decongestion, and some cough drops, I think, for… well, you know," you dispense the pills into your palm, handing them over for him to take. "You need water? Let me get you some water." Your care is a balm to his weary soul.

"I'm fine. Had to swallow some pain pills in the desert one time. Couldn't even use my own spit cause my mouth was all dry," he reaccounts, taking the pills dry. 

"You're drinking the water," you say, as you grab the cup and put it on the coffee table in front of him. Then, you hand him the cough drops. "I've never seen cough tablets before," you say, looking down at the table.

He lets out a dry laugh, grabbing the tablets from your hand to drop them in his mouth. "They’re some Scottish thing. A friend gave them to me," he mumbles, leaning deeper into the couch, feeling relaxed.

"Mhm," you hum, watching his eyes close gently. "Get some rest," you sweetly say as his eyes completely shut and he drifts off, a soft snore coming from him as he sleeps comfortably. 

When he wakes up some hours later, he feels less hot and achy than he had all night and day. When he moves to yawn, he almost chokes on the thermometer in his mouth. He pulls it out gently with a soft sigh and a confused mutter. 

He moves to stand, and a cold compress falls from his head to the floor with a soft thud. The thin linen blanket that covers his legs bunches up and slips off him.

He can hear the soft hum of water hitting the porcelain tub in the bathroom. He quickly stands, reaching for the gun that is normally strapped to his person, but feels nothing.

The padding of feet comes closer, and before he can react, his shoulders sag as he sees you smiling at him with lavender foaming bath soap in hand. "You're awake," you observe. "Good. I drew you a bath. It'll help soothe your muscles," you walk over to him, gesturing for him to follow you to the bathroom. 

"I'm not gettin' in the bath." A part of him believes you're joking, so he laughs. 

You aren’t.

"So, you're just going to waste the water?" You cock a brow and plant your hands on your hips.

He tilts his head back with a deep sigh. "You use it."

"I drew it for you, Simon. Don't be rude," you narrow your eyes at him, and he feels a little scared.

With a deep sigh, he moves his feet towards the bathroom. "You better not tell anyone about this," he instructs with a rough voice as he ducks into the bathroom.

"Scouts honor," you promise with a cheeky smirk.

He begins lifting his shirt over his head, and your mouth drops open at the sight. He glances at you. "Your jaw will lock if you keep it like that," he jokes with a smirk, tossing his shirt to the side.

You shake your head, slightly embarrassed. "Shut up, you old man," your face warms and when you look at him, he just gives you a rough chuckle. 

Once you turn out of the bathroom, he strips with an irritated noise, dipping himself into the warm bathtub, the bubbles creating a soft embrace. 

You come in and are pleasantly surprised he actually got in the tub. You sit on the toilet lid, feeling the humid air. "Can I wash you?" you ask, as you grab a stray loofah from the cabinet just above the toilet.

He nods, and you soak the netted material in the sudsy water and begin gently washing his chest, repeatedly collecting the water and squeezing over his aching bones. 

"Can't believe I'm lettin' you give me a bath," he mumbles after a moment of silence, though he feels a sense of peace he hasn't felt in years. 

You laugh before he sees your teeth chatter and your body shake.

He grabs your hand, halting your actions. "You cold, sweetheart?" 

You shrug. "Just a little."

There's a glint in his eyes, and before you know it, he's gripping your waist, hauling you over the porcelain side of the bathtub, and submerging you into the warm water.

"Simon!" you yell, laughter falling off your tongue as the water spills over the side and onto the bathroom floor as you straddle him. Your laughter seizes when he kisses you, deeply and passionately. 

He doesn't know what has come over him.

He just needed to act on impulse.

He just had to kiss you.

His lips move against yours with an ease he doesn't feel scared of. Your hands drape over his shoulders, and your lips move in sync.

He finds himself pulling back slightly. "Stay the night and the rest of the week," he mumbles, desperately trying to find the right words.

You smile at him, brushing his hair back off his forehead. "Are you trying to ask me to be your girlfriend?" 

He grips you tight, pupils widening. "What do you say?"

You press a kiss to his cheek. "I say yes."

His lips press back to yours fervently, and you can't help but put a break out in a toothy smile. 

Spontaneity can kill.

Acting on impulse shows no willpower.

Simon must really be his father's son.

Always so quick to act without thinking.

Guess some habits are hard to break, aren't they?

And what a shame he found someone to indulge his recklessness.

Pity, really.

Was starting to actually like her. 

"You sure about this?" Simon asks, holding your hand, his beer long forgotten. You both sit, squished into the booth at a small diner downtown.

"Come on. Don't tell me you're nervous?" you tease, feeling his tension. He sighs through his nose, his eyes wandering to the salt and pepper containers neatly lined on the table. 

"Soap… Johnny… he's… a bit outspoken," he mutters, hand twitching in yours.

A frown etches into your face before your hand releases its own and brushes against his cheek, making him turn to look at you. "Simon, I love you," you smile. "It only makes sense for me to meet the people you love," you say as if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Simon could feel his stomach dip at your words.

You love him.

A pure and innocent, no strings attached kind of love. 

He doesn't get to ask why before seeing Johnny strolling in. The confidence that oozes off him as he approaches the booth you and he are sitting at makes him roll his eyes.

"Aye, Simon, my boy," Johnny greets Simon warmly, a hint of familiarity in his tone that Simon can't help but bristle at.

Simon swallows any bad taste Johnny had put on his tongue when he came in.

He was family after all. 

"Who do we have here?" Johnny slides into the booth seat across from Simon and you. You smile a welcoming smile before you stick your hand out for Johnny to shake, giving him your name.

Simon raises a warning brow when Johnny almost bursts out laughing at your chivalry. Johnny smothers his laugh, taking your hand in his, giving it a slight shake, and playing a sly smile on his lips.

Once you pull away, Johnny makes himself comfortable in the booth seat, leaning forward slightly. "So," Johnny starts, already grinning. "How'd this happen?" He gestures between Simon and you. 

Simon throws his arm around your shoulders. "The Thai place," Simon gruffs. 

Johnny's keen eyes widen. "She's the girl, then?" he prompts, but before he can be corrected, he leans forward towards Simon. "I told ye' that goin' on the blind date was a good idea, ye old prude. Ye got yer'self a pretty bird out of it," he laughs excitedly.

Simon rolls his eyes, and you can't help but smile. "She's not the girl I went on the date with," Simon gruffly corrects. Johnny's expression changes, like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Johnny shifts over to the table to whisper to you. "There was no date. Just jokes," he tries to save, sending Simon a wink as if he had saved him from revealing some big secret, and you laugh.

"I was also on a date," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon. "We met outside the place," you laugh as Johnny releases a breath of relief at the admission.

"Phew, thas' a relief," Johnny pretends to wipe his forehead from faux perspiration. "Thought the big guy was gonna wring me out."

"That option isn't completely off the table," Simon roughly says, though it carries some humor. 

Johnny's laughter abruptly gives way to a serious expression, catching Simon off guard and causing your amusement to fade. "He's not payin' ye to be here, right?" he questions, his tone now skeptical.

You let out a fake gasp, hand hovering over your heart. "How'd you know?"

Johnny's eyes widen and flick between you and Simon. "Ye… paid her to come?" His words hold more admiration than criticism. 

"She's fibbin', Soap," Simon chuckles, his hand playfully pinching your side. You can't help but yelp a little. "Not payin' her." 

Johnny's skepticism is met with a playful eye roll from you. "I came here willingly. No money involved," you confirm, swaying your beer. 

"Don't trust ye, birdie," Johnny muses, a mischievous glint in his eye. He then turns to Simon with a sly smile. "Have ye two podged?" 

"Speak English, Mactavish," Simon says, sipping his beer.

"Sex," Johnny says with ease. "Ye two done that yet?"

His bluntness leaves you wide-eyed, and Simon's grip on his beer tightens. "Johnny," he warns.

Johnny rolls his eyes with an innocent shrug, eyes landing on you. "Come on, birdie. Yer folks have had that talk with ye, yeah?" He prods, paying no heed to Simon staring daggers at him.

"We're taking it slow," you say, swallowing the shock of the question. You opt to just answer and try to ease the palpable tension coming off Simon. 

"Takin' it slow? Where's the fun in that, Lt.?" Johnny's teasing tone raises the tension, causing Simon to let out an audible sigh and his hand to come to his tired eyes, the air thick with discomfort. 

"We're adults, Johnny. Not horny teenagers. We don't just crave a quick fuck," you murmur over the rim of your beer, causing Johnny's eyes to snap in surprise, even making Simon lip quip from Johnny's shock. 

Johnny narrows his eyes, trying to find a crack in your facade. "Fair point. But what if it's piss?" He leans back in the booth, oozing a confidence you can't place.

Simon goes to speak, probably to tell Johnny to shut the hell up, but you go before him, hand gripping Simon's tighter.

"Oh, trust me, it won't be," you say with a confidence that Johnny marvels at.

Johnny gives you a lopsided smile. "I like yer bird, Simon. She can hold her own," he nods towards you, giving you a stamp of approval that wasn't needed. 

You don't get to say anything before you see your phone buzzing on the wooden table. You grab it quickly to smother the sound and flip it over to see your sister calling you. "Do you mind?" you ask, eyes shifting between them.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Simon picks his arm up so you can slip out of the booth easily. You give him a smile and start walking towards the front door, heading outside.

"Simon," Johnny begins when you're long gone, getting Simon's attention. "Take care of yer' bird," Johnny says, eyeing Simon. "She's a special one," he breathes out, his eyes wandering to you pacing outside, the warm sun setting, hitting you at just the right angle to highlight your skin.

Simon notices the glint in Johnny's eyes when he looks at you.

He doesn't ask; he doesn't want to know.

"I will, Johnny," Simon mutters, grabbing his beer.

A part of Simon might have once thought he would always hold you close, but the reality is Johnny can preach to Simon like a priest holding a sermon, to hold onto you, keep you close. 

But some things are bound to slip through his fingers.

No matter how hard he tries.

Especially when the weight of his own darkness becomes too much to bear.

Simon can hear your laughter transcending through his house, clouding his eardrums, sending a shiver up his spine.

He stepped into the living room, his grin widening as he watched you make yourself at home on his couch, a soft blanket enveloping you and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

"What a prick," you shout, tossing some popcorn into your mouth. You're engrossed in the same trashy British reality show, a guilty pleasure you've come to enjoy.

"Some harsh words, sweetheart," Simon jests, moving to sit next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch, his hand sneaking into your popcorn bowl.

"He called his girlfriend mediocre," you explain, eyes glancing at Simon to gauge his reaction.

He quips a brow, eye looking at the television. "Hell, he is a prick."

"Told you so," you laugh, tossing more popcorn in your mouth and snuggling into Simon's side. 

He finds himself smiling, but not because of the two women now arguing over something egregious on the television screen before him, but because he can see you smiling beneath him. 

He isn't smiling because he can hear his neighbor next door yelling at her cat to get off the fridge but because you've moved yourself closer to him, pulling the blanket to cover his legs, even though it is far too small. 

And he certainly isn't smiling because Johnny just sent him a picture of his dog with a slice of cheese on his head, but because he finally believes you when you say you love him. 

It's the most strange feeling in the world.

To have someone who truly loves you without transaction or expectation.

He is free to be whomever he wants to be, not who you expect.

You don't expect anything from him.

Well, maybe he should throw the trash out; it's too heavy and smelly.

But, regardless, you see him.

And you still love him. 

"Marry me," his fingers move to massage your scalp. 

You laugh in his lap. "Just had to share my wee little blanket for you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. Your standards are tremendously low, Simon," you mumble, eyes softly closing.

"I'm serious," he says, his fingers still moving.

Your eyes open softly, eyes shifting around the room to make sure you heard him correctly. 

"You want to marry me?" you mutter with disbelief and curiosity.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Don't sound so surprised, sweetheart," his tone carries humor.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eyes. "You want to marry me?"

He tilts his head back. "Am I not supposed to want to?"

You shake your head, chewing on your lip. "No. I just… why?"

His eyes widened a little at the question, contemplating for a second. "You're easy," he says.

Now your eyes widen in offense, mouth hanging open. "That's a dick thing to say." 

He quickly grabs your shoulder, shaking his head fast. "No. Fuck, no. I meant that life with you is easy. Never had anyone who made anything easier for me but you… you do that for me," he says earnestly, with pure love. 

You can already feel your eyes brimming with tears as you grab his hand to squeeze. "I'm glad I do that for you, Simon," you murmur, massaging his hand with your fingers. "You… you do that for me too." The confession almost makes Simon drop to his knees and sob at your feet.

"I… I make things easier? For you?" He asks skeptically, eyes tinging red from impending tears. 

You sniffle, feeling the warm tears move down your cheeks. "Loving you is easy, Simon. You make it so damn easy. I would love to marry you," you lean your forehead against his for comfort.

His hands shake as he pulls you against him, embracing you with a deep, passionate love. 

After a moment, you pull back, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. "Simon. You're still active," you say, tilting your head. "You'll leave me."

He exhales, his skin glistening. "It won't be for long, bug."

"Can't you just… leave," you try to reason with pleading eyes. 

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers against your hand. "I can't, sweetheart. Those guys… I need them just as much as they need me," his voice is clogged with emotion. 

"I need you," you say desperately so he'll understand. 

He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. "Just one more mission, sweetheart. It'll be in and out."

You looked at him for a moment; he wasn't going to budge. "I don't want to be a widow, Simon. You come back to me," you warn, squeezing his hand. 

"I'll come back. There's nowhere else I'd want to be," he smiles.

You lick a salty tear from your lip. "Promise me, Simon."

He pauses for a moment before he murmurs, "I promise."

Foolish kids.

Man doesn't simply go to war without leaving a part of himself out on the field.

The question is, what's left when he returns?

Simon had kept his promise to you.

He did come home some weeks later, but not entirely, not truly. 

Once Price had shown up at the house, with Simon right behind him, in a wheelchair, you knew a part of Simon's soul had turned to ash that reeked of gunpowder and blood.

He moved past you and Price without a word into the house. Price explained that Simon had made a split decision to return to the warehouse they had just escaped from because he knew they had information on you.

They had yelled and shouted for him to come back to the chopper and escape while they had the means to do so, and they could deal with the fallout when they were safely out of active fire.

He didn't listen.

Guns blazing, he sprinted back in, trekked up numerous flights of stairs, and blasted through doors until he found the group of men who knew of his sweet wife back home.

He shot them dead where they stood.

Shot at their bodies, round after round, before he tossed a hand grenade to deal with the equipment and files they had. 

He trekked back out, sore but satisfied.

He didn't even see the pipe bomb being thrown in his direction; he was too focused on the chopper that still hovered near the ground, waiting for him. 

Everything happened so fast after that.

Hauling him into the chopper, not sure if they should call you and tell you he was KIA or if there was a chance he could live. Carrying him to the hospital, where the doctors performed CPR before they shocked him awake.

They all felt a rush of relief when he opened his eyes.

The doctor said he had nerve damage that caused temporary paralysis in his legs that would subject him to a wheelchair, and, eventually, he could make a full physical recovery. 

You couldn't even believe him when he told you, your mouth agape as your eyes shifted towards Simon, who wheeled his way into the living room to gaze out the window. 

"Just… call if you need anything, okay?" Price says, calm and reassuring.

You give a nod as you walk him to the door, brain spinning from the information.

Sure, Simon had gone in on the pretense of something potentially happening to you, but he could have died in that very spot.

That was all you could think about.

"Why would you do that?" you mumble as you make your way into the living room.

Simon doesn't answer; he just keeps looking out the window.

You run your fingers through your hair anxiously, tears brimming your waterline. "You could have died, Simon. You do realize that. Don't you?" Your concern was evident in your trembling voice.

"You want to chastise me some more, or am I free to roam?" His voice is rougher than you remember, and you feel your stomach drop.

"I… I'm not even going to answer that," anger slips off your tongue. "Do you not care that you could have died? I… I could have lost you," you choke out, flailing your arms around.

Yet, he still doesn't turn to face you.

"Will you at least look at me, Goddamn it!" you almost shout, voice strained.

He huffs a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you.

His beard had grown in, lightly gray and messy.

His hair is slightly longer, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

You almost had to ask yourself who the man was before you; he was surely not the man you had married not too long ago.

"You look different," you mumble absentmindedly.

"Tends to happen," he mutters, fingers gripping his wheels.

You release a shaky breath, unsure of what to say. "I wish you didn't do it, Simon," is all you can muster.

He closes his eyes gently, shaking his head before he starts to spin his wheel. He eases himself towards your shared room, leaving you alone in the living room, nervousness and defeat now bubbling in your stomach.

You had both managed to avoid each other for hours.

You stayed in the living room, even going to the bathroom and taking a bath, while he kept himself locked away in the bedroom, or so you thought.

Once you start cooking dinner, you look out of the window to see heavy rain hitting the ground. Among the coverage of heavy rainfall, you see Simon.

His wheelchair was deep in mud, and he just sat there, the rain soaking through his clothes, the chill seeping into his bones.

You gaped at the sight, tossing your kitchen rag onto the kitchen island. Quickly grabbing a raincoat off the hook, you moved out the door and onto the porch.

The rain smacks against the porch's wood, and you can see Simon leaning his head back against the back of his chair. "What the hell are you doing out here?" you shout loud enough so he can hear you over the rain.

He doesn't look back at you, just nods his head along.

"Simon. Look at me!" you yell, your voice filled with frustration and concern.

He spun his chair around slowly, his eyes blinking fervently from the rain splashing on his face.

"Are you insane? You need to get inside. You'll catch a cold," you say, your voice tinged with worry. You raise your hand to block the heavy rain droplets from hitting your eyes.

He eased his fingers on his wheels to inch closer, but before he reached the yard's edge, his wheels wouldn't budge, wedged in the thick mud. He looked at you at the doorway, his eyes pleading for help.

As you clutched your jacket, a wave of confusion washed over you, your pride standing firm in the face of uncertainty.

He noticed how your shoulders tensed, and he couldn't bear the distance between you two. His heart ached with the weight of unspoken words.

He wouldn't let some damn mud stop him.

Determined, he climbs out of the chair, the large water puddle splashing as he lands in it. His hands grip the ground, mud slipping and caking between his fingers as he crawls through it.

Your eyes widen. "Simon… don't, don't do that, baby," your voice is slightly shaky. “You, you're going to get all muddy," you say, feeling useless to the wave of emotion that washes over you.

Despite the sound of his labored breath and the squelch of mud under his hands, you remained resolute, your feet firmly planted on the old wooden porch.

He crawled halfway through the grit of the Earth's surface and then stopped, looking at you with a mixture of exhaustion and longing.

Something inside you finally snapped when you saw him, mud on his face, soaked clothes, and pleading eyes. You took a step forward, then another, until your foot sunk into the mud, and the rain pellets hit you with force, no longer blocked by the house.

You find yourself kneeling beside him in the mud when you reach him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as the rain pours.

"I did it for you," Simon finally murmurs, emotion clogging his voice. “I had to keep you safe, bug." He looks up at you, eyes red, water pouring down his lips. “Couldn’t live with myself if they… hurt you,” he mutters, voice going soft. 

"Simon… " The words caught in your throat as you gazed at him through your wet lashes, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Got my legs all fucked up, and everyone's actin' like I'm some kind of fuckin’ hero," he says with slight irritation.

"You are a hero, Simon," you say without a second thought, eyes searching his.

"No," he lightly shakes his head. "I'm yours," his fingers softly brush against your bottom lip. "I'm all yours, sweetheart."

Tears started pouring down your cheeks, and you leaned your forehead against Simon's.

He was now holding you up so you didn't collapse.

His voice lulled against your skin, offering you comfort.

Though his own mind swarmed with visions of what he had done, all the blood on his hands that were now wrapped around your innocent face.

The man faced enemy fire with courage, tied his own soul to blood in the name of protection, and yet no matter what tough front he put on, inside, he would always be a weak man.

Some months had passed since Simon had come home to you, battered and bruised.

You had adjusted to being his caretaker, which you really didn’t mind.

He, on the other hand, did.

His worst fear was being rendered useless, a fear that now tormented him in the depths of the night, seeped into his soul and rattled his skin.

He was grateful for your help, but he felt like a burden.

You had repeatedly reassured him that he could never be burdensome, but he struggled to accept that truth.

“Do you need another blanket?” you ask as you walk into the bedroom with three blankets in hand. The moon casts a glow over the room from behind the window.

Simon shakes his thoughts away as he sits up in the bed at your entrance. “Eh, sleep hot. You know that,” he lets out a gruff laugh, tugging his shirt off and tossing it in the laundry bin in the corner of the room.

“Good aim, soldier,” you tease, setting the blanket near him anyways and flicking off the light before throwing yourself onto the bed beside him.

As soon as you hit the mattress, his hands wrap around your waist, and he tugs you close to him so you rest on his chest. “Love you, bug,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you, Simon,” you whispered, feeling the warmth and comfort he provided.

You could feel the lull of sleep lick your brain, and you closed your eyes gently, quickly drifting off to sleep with the fan's hum and the faint glow of the lamp of the street lights outside to keep you company.

In the depths of the night, you dream.

Carelessly innocent to start, but somewhere between the walking fridge and laughing animals segment, you're laying in a bed similar to one you are now, but slightly different, more rugged, less domesticated.

You lay bare, in nothing but your wedding wing dawning your finger.

You begin touching yourself, your finger moving smoothly down your body, savoring the touch that sends a warm sensation to your lower stomach.

Before you know it, a man is kneeling before you, his tongue lapping at your clit, eliciting an outpour of moans that fall off your tongue.

When he looks up, there's a glint in his eyes.

You realize he is not your Simon, your devoted husband and nurturer.

It's Johnny.

"Simon's a lucky bastard," he mutters into your thigh. "Gets ye' all to himself," he presses a deep kiss into your inner thighs, making you arch your back off the mattress. "Gets this pretty pussy to himself every night, eh?" He brings his mouth back to your cunt, sucking and licking you until you shudder on his face, your arousal coating his tongue.

You spring awake, panting and sweaty.

Turning to your side, you see Simon peacefully sleeping despite your rapid movements. 

You pull the blanket back to see your arousal seep through your panties and drip onto the cover sheet of the bed.

You let out a quiet curse, grabbing your phone before slipping off the bed to go towards your drawers, making a mental effort not to wash the sheets tomorrow. 

You grab a fresh pair of panties, feeling the fresh feeling of shame as you trudge into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. 

You quickly change your panties, turning on the facet to gather some water to splash onto your face, mind riddled with guilt. 

That dream was no wild fantasy, a simple wet dream.

It was the truth.

That one regretful night, all of two weeks ago, a drunk you had succumbed to Johnny's drunk antics and pursuits while out by yourself, unbeknownst to Simon. 

Johnny had fucked you in the same very outfit that Simon had relished in before you had stepped out of the house.

Simon's favorite lipstick of yours had now covered his best friend's lips and chin. 

You grind your teeth at the reminder, the weight of guilt pressing down on you, your mind a whirlwind of regret and ache. 

You're pacing around the bathroom, the walls echoing your inner turmoil, unsure of what to do.

You know you should tell Simon, and you will, but only when he gets a little better.

You decide you can't deal with this mind warfare, so you open your phone, swiping to open your text thread to Johnny.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard anxiously before you type out a short sentence to which he responds almost immediately.

Me: We need to talk.

Me: Can we meet at that bar with the weird name tomorrow?

Johnny: Bang Bang Bar?

Johnny: Everything okay?

Me: Can you just meet me there tomorrow at six?

Johnny: I'll be there.

You release a shallow breath, the thought of seeing Johnny again sending a shiver down your spine.

But you know you need to talk to him.

You leave your phone in the bathroom and head back to the bed, slipping beside Simon without disturbing him. 

The amount of guilt you feel sleeping in the same bed where you just had a wet dream about his best friend, which wasn't even just a wet dream but a reminder of the night you had shared, is crippling. 

You reach to grab a bottle of prescribed pills from your nightstand, popping two and letting them hit your system. 

Once again, you find yourself drifting off to sleep, though this time, instead of a peaceful send-off, you can still feel the nerves on your skin even with the pills.

But for now, you could let sleep claim you, shushing away the feeling of inevitable doom yet to come.

The bar was crowded when you showed up, which was good. 

They won't be focused on you talking to Johnny; they'll be more focused on the woman who has just stripped her top off and the booze floating around the room. 

You step through the throng of people, stretching your neck to look for Johnny. 

Seeing his signature mohawk and prominent figure perched up in a booth doesn't take long. The waitress next to him flicks her manicured nail across his strong bicep, and he gives her his signature boyish grin.

You roll your eyes, moving towards him. He sits up straight as you approach, his eyes locking with yours immediately. 

"Aye, Birdie. Take a seat," he greets, leaning back, gesturing for you to sit as the waitress moves away quickly. 

"I'll stand," you stand firm, pursing your lips.

He leans forward, the same boyish smirk on his lips. "Come on. Don't make me look like an asshole," he jokes, sipping his beer. 

You shake your head, heart pounding. "I won't be long, Johnny."

He nods his head before he gestures for you to speak your peace.

You inhale a deep breath, tugging your purse tight. "Johnny…" you begin, your voice already tight. “What we did…" you continue, shaking your head in disbelief. “It can't happen again. It was a mistake.” You look at him with guilty eyes. “I love Simon."

He nods as you speak, tongue in his cheek. "Know you love Simon. He loves you."

"That's why I can't see you again. Ever," your tone is firm as you shuffle on your heels. 

He narrows his eyes in contemplation, sipping his beer, but doesn't say anything.

"You're not going to say anything?" you ask, confusion in your tone. 

He shrugs. "Think you already made up your mind, no?"

Your lips flatline; he was right. 

You already said your peace, so what were you still doing there?

"Yes. I did," you nod.

"Then that's it," he takes another sip of the beer like he doesn’t care.

You're not entirely sure what you expected.

Maybe, selfishly, you wanted Johnny to put up a small fight. 

Make it feel like what you did was even a little worth it.

But this is good.

This is right. 

"Good. I'll… I'll see you around," you utter quickly before you spin on your heels as you push back through the hoard of people and head back through the door, the rush of wind hitting you and rushing to fill your lungs as you inhale deeply.

You feel slightly disappointed but overall satisfied with your meeting with Johnny.

It was the right thing to do.

The only thing you could think to do to ease your conscience before telling Simon. 

Made you breathe easier. 

Soothed your brain that was going into overdrive. 

You're so consumed in your thoughts as you walk down the paved sidewalk that you don't even hear the voice calling your name behind you until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You yelp at the touch, turning around to see a disheveled Johnny before you. 

Your eyes widen. "Johnny?"

"I couldn't… couldn't just let ye walk away," his words are jumbled, half labored from running over as if he can't fully believe what he's doing.

"What do you mean?" Your eyes search his light eyes, full of confusion.

"I don't know. I just…" he trails off, hands wiping over his face. He eyes you for a moment, takes a step toward you, grabs your face between his hands, and kisses you deep enough to swap spit.

You can't help the way your body slumps into him as his tongue moves in your mouth.

His lips move against your familiarity and a fiery passion you can't explain or deny.

You don't know if you want to cry from guilt or moan from pleasure.

Johnny pulls away before you can decide. 

You wipe the saliva from your lips when he pulls away. "Johnny…"

"I know. I know," he agrees. "Just had to one last time… but I'll go. See ye around, Birdie." 

You stand there, shoulders sagged, when he walks away with a bland goodbye. 

It's for the best, but why did he have to kiss you?

It made it so much damn harder to let go.

You ponder the interaction as you take the five-minute walk home.

The feeling of shame washes over you when you step inside the house. The lights are dim and warm, and the air smells of coconut and mahogany.

You can hear the creak of the wood as you slowly take off your coat to hang it on the hook. Once you look up, you see Simon rolling in to greet you.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, beckoning you down for a kiss.

You want to die, but you think that would send Simon into an early grave faster than finding out you had slept with his best friend. 

You bend down and kiss his lips.

His eyes close as he kisses you back with a more profound passion, his tongue sliding across your lips, which makes you audibly whimper.

He pulls his head back, head tilting back in thought. “You’ve been with Johnny,” he says more as a statement than a question.

Your eyes widen, your stomach churning at his words. You struggle to find the right words. “I… how did you know?” you manage to stutter.

“I know what he tastes like,” he says with a straight face, no ill will.

You tilt your head to the side in contemplation. “You… and Johnny have…” you trail off, hoping he can fill in the blanks. 

“Did you fuck Johnny, bug?” he asks, once again with a straight face. 

There it is.

The question of the hour.

You shake your head in shame, eyes still on his because he at least deserves that. “Simon… there’s no excuse at all, but I… we were both drunk,” you mumble out.

“He told me,” he gruffs out stoically. 

Your eyes twitch. “What?”

“Called me right after,” he shrugs with ease.

“You… you knew?” you prompt. “This whole time?”

He nods. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly.

The unexpected turn of the conversation leaves you in a state of disbelief. 

“He’s temptin’, huh?” Simon raises an amused brow. 

“He’s… well, he’s… kind of. I don’t know what to say,” you voice slowly. 

Johnny told Simon.

He told your husband that he slept with his wife, and he was still alive to tell the tale. 

That’s why Johnny didn’t seem nervous at the bar because he had already told the one person who mattered the most in the situation.

"Bet you had Johnny in near tears, huh?" You hear Simon roughly ask with an amused smile. 

"Simon…" You can't help but feel a spark of heat on your skin as he speaks. 

He tilts his head back, licking his lips before beckoning you closer. You step close enough so he can grab you by the waist. He bends his face so his lips press into your lower stomach through your shirt before he moves his lips lower to plant a kiss on your cunt through your jeans. 

You let out a breathy moan, fingers threading through his hair. 

"Felt too good squeezin’ around him, yeah. Bet he was prayin' in this pussy," he mutters into you, teeth skimming the fabric just enough to nick through it. 

This is strange; you must have known that much.

But, God, you couldn't help the way your cunt ached with untamed greed. 

His canine skimmed across the sensitive skin. "Go on, baby. Tell me. Was Johnny prayin' in you?" His voice felt rough on your skin. "In what's mine?" 

"Fuck… Simon," you manage to choke out as he presses another deep kiss to your cunt. 

"Sit in my lap," he urges, low and husky.

You oblige, hands coming to rest on his shoulders to position yourself to straddle his lap delicately. Once you sunk on his lap, you looked down at him, pressing a deep kiss to his lips that he reciprocated with equal passion. 

"Too fuckin' perfect for Johnny, baby," he murmurs against your lips, fingers slipping to tug down your jeans. You chew on your lip as you sit up a little so he can tug them down to reveal your panties, complete with a growing spot of arousal in the cotton.

“You see that?” he tuts, pressing his finger against the wet spot, making your twitch against his fingers. “Johnny could never get you this wet. He didn’t get my wife this wet, did he, sweetheart?” he grits, pressing, dragging his finger lightly against your slit, nearing your puffy clit. 

“He didn’t,” you moan out as you shamelessly rock against his fingers, desperate for more contact. “I… I need you, baby,” you whine, gripping his shoulder tight. 

“I’m gonna fill you, babe. Keep you squirmin’ on my cock till you can’t walk,” he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck, sucking on the flesh with urgency. “Get me ready for you, baby,” he mumbles against your flesh, teeth running against your collarbone. 

Your eager hands move to unzip his jeans, slipping them down to reach for his erect cock, the tip already flush and leaking pre-come. You stroke him once before he’s gripping your waist and, without warning, pushing you down onto him.

You both hiss at the contact. Simon grits his teeth as he rocks you against his cock, coaxing your sweet release bit by bit. He leans closer, soft lips gliding against your ear. “She fuckin’ missed me, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. So deep,” he murmurs, brushing his tongue against your helix. 

You let out a loud moan, eyes shutting closed with intense pleasure. “You always take…” you pant between moans. “...such good care of me, Simon,” you finish, fingernails digging into his shoulders through his thin cotton shirt.

He kisses your lips. “Always gonna take care of my girl,” he bites your bottom lip slightly as his cock pounds into you. You practically scream as he hits just the right places, not even noticing his fingers slipping past your lips and moving down your throat.

You choke a little before you fully welcome them down further, his eyes peering at your mouth as you coat his fingers with your saliva. He pulls them out after a moment, humming with satisfaction at the gleam of them before using his freshly wet fingers to ease against your clit, offering you even more pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you whine, rocking yourself against not only his cock, but his fingers too, the stimulation all-consuming. 

“Come on, baby,” he urges, moving his fingers with urgency as he feels his orgasms start to wash over him. “Come all over my cock and fingers,” his eyes drift to watch his fingers moving in you, your fresh arousal coating them.

Your orgasm crashes over you right as he gets a third finger in, and he follows close behind. You heave in his lap, body shaking with gratification. 

You feel yourself slump against him, cheek resting on his shoulder, but only for a moment, before he picks up his fingers covered in your arousal and nudges them against your pouting lips. You open your mouth widely, and he glides them across your tongue and slightly down your throat.

You wrap your hand around his wrist as you turn to face him, lips closing around his fingers, sucking them clean, even taking them out with a loud pop that has Simon giving you a lopsided grin. 

He bends forward, tongue darting to collect the extra arousal on your lips before he gives you a deep kiss. 

Your heart is still pounding at the turn of events, but not just Simon accepting, no welcoming the fact you had slept with Johnny, but the sex that ensued after.

You have had sex numerous times, but this time it felt more carnivorous, possessive. 

And you loved every fucking second of it. 

Made you realize it was Simon.

He was the one, the love of your life. 

Poor girl, so naive.

So disgustingly pure. 

Couldn’t have foreseen the darkness that lurked; the abyss that waited patiently to swallow her whole.  

The months pass, one by one until a new year brings more rainfall and a vengeance that has single-handedly obliterated Simon’s entire world, his marriage, leaving him a shell of a man even a month later. 

Johnny had died. 

His best friend, no brother.

Taken from him with no forewarning, a sudden and brutal twist of fate that left Simon reeling in disdain. 

Price told him it was painless, but Simon knew.

He knew as soon as you passed the phone to him, your hand shaking and face devoid of any emotion, Price whispered his words over the phone in the same voice he would use to belie brutal truths. 

That Goddamn Johnny had got himself into something. 

Simon didn’t know what exactly; maybe it was better that way. 

He wouldn’t have to picture Johnny flailing around, bleeding himself dry before he didn’t so much as twitch anymore, his body and soul gone before his very eyes.

And yet, even with no inkling as to what occurred, he still did imagine the worst.

He was a soldier, after all, having seen the worst deaths imaginable and even facilitated many of them himself.

Perhaps it was naive, given his profession, but he never imagined Johnny being the one on the other side of the gun, the shot piercing through his skin, an ally, not an enemy.

The thoughts replayed in his mind every day since the news of his death had come his way.

Nothing could pacify the sheer ache he felt deep in his bones.

Not even the Bourbon he tossed back that is now burning a path down his throat.

Nothing could numb him, so he’ll at least try to get a slight buzz to ease his sorrows.

He’s perched over the wooden table of the bar, hunched over on the stool, as he signals the bartender to pour him another.

You were at the house doing something or another; he didn’t bother to ask before he left.

He really didn’t care.

Something he’s gotten exceptionally good at.

He’s been distant, sure, but even worse than that, he’s been colder.

He doesn’t even know himself anymore.

“You got a wife at home?” He hears the gruff voice of an older man as he moves to sit on the stool right next to him, even though the bar is nearly empty. So many spots are vacant, yet he chooses to sit directly next to him.

Simon doesn’t answer; he just takes a brisk sip of the whiskey.

The man gives him a chuckle, signaling the bartender, before he lazily points towards Simon. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

The bartender nods, fixing him a whiskey and setting it in front of the man. He takes a sip, a calm smile on his face. “This Kentucky? Got good taste, my boy,” he praises Simon as he takes another light sip.

Once again, Simon doesn’t answer, turning his attention to the football match on the television in front of him: Manchester United vs West Ham.

"Can feel the sadness wafting off you," the man mutters to Simon, his voice carrying a hint of humor. 

Simon glances at him. "You some kind of shrink or somethin'?" he gruffs, clearly irritated. 

The man laughs, a deep belly laugh. "I'm no one," he says before he leans closer next to Simon. "I can give you what you want," he promises, tilting his head at Simon's narrowing eyes. "Bring back your friend, but… it'll come with a price," he assures, smiling at Simon's wide eyes full of anger.

Simon sets his whiskey down with a soft thud. "The fuck did you say to me?"

The man chuckles. "I know you hate semantics. Just like me. Thought I wouldn't beat around the bush." He sits up on the stool. "Your friend… Johnny. I've seen him. He's a good boy, and he misses you dearly, Simon."

"Who the fuck are you?" Simon erupts, drawing the bartender's attention. 

The man smiles at the bartender, trying to ease his concern. "Someone who wants to help you," he simply says. "But it'll come with a price."

"Price?" Simon asks without much thought.

"The devil doesn't bargain for free, my boy," the man gruffly utters. 

Simon has no reason to believe this man.

He could very well be a homeless man trying to take advantage of him, but he's desperate.

He misses Johnny. 

"How much?" He fidgets for his wallet before the man extends his hand, halting his actions. 

"You think the devil cares about your money?" He shakes his head with a deep laugh. "No, no. He wants something more… practical."

"Like what?" Simon tips his head back, eyes wide, giving the man a good look into his soul.

He was desperate, a hopeless soul.

The man takes a sip of his whiskey. "An essence or soul, if you will, must be promised… sealed in blood," he voices so low Simon almost doesn't hear him. "Doesn't have to be yours…" he supplies, sensing Simon's unease. "But it has to be someone you're close to. Say… a spouse."

Simon ponders for a moment, the weight of the decision heavy on his mind. A vision of you crosses his mind. “My… my wife?”

“Mhm,” the man tilts his head in thought. “That would work mighty fine.”

The man, with an air of mystery, pulls out a paper and a small Bible, complete with large, gold Cardo font and a cross hovering above the text from his large coat pocket and holds it down low for Simon to see.

“This has all you need. Do what you wish, but you must not wait too long,” he hands both the paper and Bible to Simon, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “For the Gods are hungry.”

He can hear the sound of the TV when he trudges in from the bar, his heavy boots revealing his presence. 

The paper and small Bible burned a hole through his jacket pocket. 

He reaches for a glass, carefully fills it with some tap water, takes a sip, and swishes around his mouth, not bothering to greet you, curled up on the couch. He can sense your anxiety, glancing at your foot, tapping steadily against the vinyl flooring.

He runs the water to clean the metal sink of his salvia before he takes a proper sip, clearing out the taste of Bourbon and betrayal coating his tongue. 

"Sit. Our favorite show is on," you chime, a warm small growing on your lips.

He closes his eyes gently before he turns to you, shaking his head. "Not feelin' it tonight, sweetheart."

"Come on," you urge, pointing towards the television with your pointer finger. "We're about to find out if Henry is staying or leaving."

"I'm, I'm not in the mood," he mutters, only with slight annoyance.

But that doesn't stop you. "Come on. Would be nice to see you." 

He can feel the irritation bubbling. "Stop asking," he cuts sharply, setting the full glass in the sink.

You narrow your eyes slightly. "Why are you being so mean?"

In the back of his mind, he can't believe what he's doing.

That doesn't stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. 

"Christ, I already said I wasn't in the God-damned mood." 

Ice and venom coat his words as his hand slams into the countertop.

His heart sinks when he looks up to see a frown etched into your beautiful skin. 

"Well then," you murmur, eyes still on his. "Guess that settles it."

He releases a shallow breath, opening his mouth before shutting it promptly. He sees your eyes squint as you take a deep gulp.

He doesn't say anything else as he just moves to his office, shutting the door with a thud. 

He knows he's a coward.

Hell, he's more than that.

He's a man caught in the web of his own fears, constantly evading his problems instead of confronting them.

A master at doing nothing, a virtuoso of avoidance.

And to think he was now walking without his chair, the very thing he claimed made him feel useless, but he doesn’t realize that uselessness doesn't just dissipate.

It lies dormant.

Waiting and willing for the next opportunity to crawl back under the skin and whisper in one’s ear.

His heart raced as he frantically wandered around his office, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

He chewed on the inside of his cheeks, the heavy thud of his boots the only sound accompanying the blood rushing and thumping in his ears.

With a quiet curse and the churn of his stomach, he reached deep into his jacket pockets, grasping onto the loose paper and Bible the man had given him.

The instructions etched into the paper ominously read clear. 

“Beg for what you seek.”

He shuts his eyes softly, hand holding the paper shaking.

Tears stream down his cheek, dropping into his full beard. 

He shakes his head, defeated. “I… I want him back,” his words are cracked. “Please… I need him,” he licks his lips, tasting the salty tears of defeat on his tongue.

Sniffling, he reaches for the knife he wears tucked into a holster on his jeans, pulling out his knife and hovering the blade just above his thumb. With a deep groan and slice of his flesh, fresh blood gathers on his fingertip as he squeezes the skin. 

He presses his thumb, covered in his fresh blood, into the crinkled paper, turning the white a deep red. 

Ironic really. 

Because this time, instead of sealing his own fate, tying his own soul with his blood in the name of protection, he was damning your soul, in his blood, in the name of selfishness, so the darkness can hereby claim you, and he can find solace in this wretched bargain.

The sky was a deep, foreboding grey, with clouds that seemed to swirl and twist in every direction. A torrential downpour drenched the streets, with rain coming down in rigid sheets that threatened to wash away everything in its path.

And even though the storm is fiery, thunder growling and primal occurring outside.

It didn't stop the storm from brewing inside Simon's home.

His mind was a tempest, churning and devouring itself at the news of your passing.

It was a heavy burden, a weight that crushed his soul. The hospice nurse's words, 'died of natural causes related to your heart disease,' were like a verdict, but he knew the truth. 

It was his doing.

He had stolen your life, snatched up your bright potential, and set it ablaze for a self-serving wish that would swap your current life for Johnny's past one.

He had sold you out.

And so he was reaping what he sowed.

The house had been torn apart.

No longer the picture of warmth and comfort, it looked like a tornado, or in this case, a madman had run through, obliterating all that was. The furniture was overturned, the walls were marred with angry gashes, and the once serene atmosphere was now a chaotic mess.

Glass shards from the vases lay on the now scratched and wrecked vinyl flooring, while picture frames hang crooked and cracked from his fists that are bleeding and bruised.

As his rampage ensues, he hears a loud knock on his door. His eyes flick to the door, eyes red and full of unpacified rage; his boots make loud thuds as he wanders over.

His sagged shoulders tighten for a moment.

Despite the palpable anger over your passing, he finds himself considering the deal, and his spirits unexpectedly rise at the thought of seeing a familiar face.

The only face he has left to see.

His hand reaches for the door handle, pulling it open promptly, only for his eyes to widen at the sight.

It wasn’t Johnny at the door, reaching out to him.

It was his own uncaring father, caked in a thick coat of mud and reeking of brimstone.

Simon’s heart raced, and his hand trembled as he struggled to process the sight.

"I told ya you'd be seeing me again, son," his father's mud-caked face twisted in a grin. "Aren't you gonna greet your dear ole' dad?" he asks, holding his arms out. 

Simon's voice trembled with shock. "I... I don't understand. How are you..."

"How am I here?" His father finishes with a crude laugh, dropping his arms to his sides. "I fulfilled your wish as spoken, boy."

Simon's eyes widened in sheer terror, his brain struggling to comprehend what was happening. "No. I... I wished for Johnny back," he tried to rationalize. "Not you."

"You wished for him, boy," he informs, watching Simon's face drop even further with the revelation. "If Johnny was who you desired, you should have been more specific. The devil does not guess," he purses his lips. "Been watching you a long time, boy," his father gruffs, shaking his head. "Longer than you think."

Simon's eyes snap to him, his mouth open in disbelief. "You've been… watching me?"

"Didn't even realize it was your own father at the bar. Shame on you, son," his father shakes his head in disappointment. 

"You… you were the one who… who gave me the paper and… Bible?" Simon asks though he's scared to know the answer. 

"Crawled out of the pits of Hell just to be there and here… and now… you'll never be rid of me."

The darkness that lurks beneath this world is truly insidious. Humans will never know the true terrors awaiting them, possibly having crawled up from the fiery pits of Hell to coexist with them on Earth.

I’ve seen it firsthand.

And so I urge you to heed my warnings.

Be careful who you pray to, dear readers, for the Gods are not always benevolent.

At least… I know I am not.

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE⁀➷ please let me know all your thoughts in the comments, or if you have more specific questions, my ask box is always open. thanks so much for reading! also, shout out to my queenie @lavenderdaisychain for helping me get through the serious burn out i got writing this & reading over some parts i was hesitant about! love you!

[dinogoofymutated]

Plz tell me you’re doing a part 2/continuation of you nsfw nightcrawler(only if you don’t want to of course). I just have got to read about Kurt returning the favor cus I just know he’s going to be a little teaser/pleaser 🤭 ya know. Kurt has been one of my first loves since I was a kid and I’m so glad the nightcrawler fandom has come out of hiding because it feels nice to be in a place that gets you😌

NSFW!Nightcrawler/AFAB!reader - part 2!

Don't forget to read part 1!

Ask and you shall receive!! You and @the-girl-who-walks-with-faeries both requested a part 2 so here it is!! I hope this is okay, I know the original was completely GN but I wasn't sure how to do that with this one!

Also, I know we all love our goofy furball but this is a daily reminder that Kurt has so much depth to his character. It's really easy for us as a Fandom to characterize him as a happy-go-lucky ball of constant sunshine but he's much more than that!- Tis all. Peace ✌️

TW: MDNI!!!! Smut, fingering, PNV sex. Little bit of teasing. Lots of petnames. Sorry for the shitty German translations. Creampie.

Kurt used to be really self conscious about his hands when the two of you first got together. It's not that he thought you found them disgusting, in fact, he knew it was quite the opposite.

He was just worried that he wasn't able to prepare you properly. Especially since they're so wide set on his hand. Going two at a time wouldn't be comfortable for you or him.

Eventually, he did become more confident on himself, especially when he tried other ways of foreplay, making sure you're not only prepared, but fully sated before the main course.

“Please, let me return the favor, my love.”

Kurt's hands teasingly rubbed the crook of your thighs, caressing the sensitive inner skin. You can't help but let out a little whine as he slides his hands closer to your lips, only to slide away again. He chuckles, and you faintly hear his tail swaying back and forth against the bed.

"Kurt, don't tease." You softly chide, relaxing further into his chest. He leans over to kiss your cheek, trailing down to your neck sensually. You sigh as he licks and nips at the soft skin.

"Apologies, Schatz. Seems I can't help myself." He muses. You gasp as a fingertip grazes across your clit, teasing at first, before he adds a little more pressure. You let out a noise of pleasure and contentment at the sensation. Kurt's other hand reaches up to caress your breast, thumb gently brushing across your nipple. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as the finger on your clit dips down, teasing your slit as he gathers the sickness pooling there and drags it back up to your clit.

"All this, for me?" Kurt hums, his canines grazing the crook of your neck. You nodd in response, unable to think clearly enough to respond to him. He chuckles again, turning your head to pull you into a deep kiss. You feel one of his fingers teasing your slit again, sliding in rather smoothly. The action causes you to gasp into his mouth, and Kurt takes the invitation. His tongue caresses the inside of your mouth, keeping you rather occupied as he fingers your cunt. His kiss leave you breathless, gasping for air when you separate. His face is just as flushed as your own as his thumb wipes the spit from your mouth. You stick your tongue out to meet his thumb, licking the pad of the digit before sucking it into your mouth teasingly. Kurt can't take his eyes off of you, cursing quietly at the action. The curl of his finger inside of you causes you to release it, moaning as he touches you just right.

"Kurt?" He sucks in a breath at the sound of your voice.

"Yes, liebling?" The nickname causes a flutter in your chest even now, sprawled out across his lap in the throes of pleasure.

"Fuck me?" He's speechless for a moment, heated gaze keeping your own. He can't kelp but lean in and kiss you again, his tail wrapping around your waist to simply have you fully encompasses in his hold.

"...I will do more than just that, my love." He whispers once he gathers himself enough to speak. He gently turns you around, kissing you over and over as he lays you against the bed. His hands trail down your arms. Gathering your wrists and bringing them upwards to press kisses to both palms. His eyes narrow as he catching a glimpse of the bruise forming on one of your wrists, and a heated gaze turns to concern.

"Did I do this?" He asks, tail unwinding from around your waist, like he's worried he'd squeeze you to tight (again). You don't want to lie to him, but you don't want to tell him either, knowing that the thought of hurting you while caught up in his own pleasure is more than a nightmare for him. Instead you pull him down to kiss you. He sighs into the kiss, caressing the bruise before he moves onto his elbows to hold himself above you in the bed. He’s hard against you when you grind up against his pelvis, the action making him gasp. He separates from the kiss reluctantly as you begin to line him up, notching the head of his cock against your slit. He stops you before you try to take him in.

"You stop me if that ever happens again." Kurt says, a little more strictly than you've heard him speak to you before.

"Okay." You nodd at him. "I promise." He smiles at you, brushing the hair out of your face before he begins to push into you, slowly. You're breath gets caught in your throat as he does so, sinking into you inch by inch. Kurt’s face is scrunched up in pleasure, those beautiful sharp canines biting into his lip before he buries his face in your neck.

Nothing has ever felt as perfect as he does when he's finally bottomed out inside of you. He sits for a moment, letting you adjust to his length before your patting his shoulders, begging him to move. He does so, starting slowly, thrusting deep into you as he pours his love into your body. You're doing your best to keep quiet, but it's hard when Kurt feels so perfect inside of you. Each thrust into you sends another flicker of pleasure to your stomach, already feeling so close.

Kurt himself isn't fairing much better, his whines and noises of pleasure being a sound you want to memorize until the day you die. Every once in a whole he'll murmur words of praise and love and appreciation for you, your body, your soul. He's immersed in the depths of you, sinking into your cushiony walls faster and faster as he begins to reach his own peak once again. One particular thrust is a little shaprer than the others, leading you to call out his name.

"Pssst. wir müssen ruhig sein. Liebe." He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His strokes become faster as he gets closer and closer, not too far behind you.

"Kurt! I'm- ah... I..."

"Ich weiß, Schatz. Hah... ich bin bei dir." The knot of pleasure inside you snaps, and snapps hard. Kurt groans as he feels your walls fluttering around him, sucking him in. The sensation is too much. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he's reaches his own peak, cumming inside you in warm spurts. He twitches inside you, letting out small whines as he rides through the waves of pleasure.

Kurt collapses partially on top of you when he's done, pulling out gently and panting as the two of you try to catch your breath. His face is flushed when you look over at him, hair disheveled with his eyes blissfully closed. Your heart skips a few beats at the sight, and you find yourself reaching over to caress his face. His eyes blink open, and he smiles in a way that makes your heart stop. He holds your hand to his face, brushing his thumb across the skin of your knuckles.

"I missed you so much." You murmur, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. His smile would spread wider if it could, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

"We should make up for all the lost time then, love. How long do you think it will take for the others to notice us missing?"

[ponett]

pet peeve time: as much as i think scott cawthon is a dickhead, people on here always compare him to jk rowling and bring them up in the same breath, when i think that's a terrible comparison. like they're both evil, obviously, but there are different levels to this

cawthon is your run-of-the-mill rich conservative donating thousands to republicans' campaign funds. he sucks, but there are guys like that in every town in america

meanwhile jk rowling is funneling literally billions of dollars into stripping away trans peoples' rights. she is one of the most vocal, influential, and financially powerful people working against trans people today, and her actions in the UK have had a negative impact around the world

so like. it's perhaps doing a disservice to how much active harm she's doing when we act like cawthon's shittiness is anywhere near equivocal, aside from the fact that they're both conservative dickheads who made things that have popular fandoms on here