#Usually I don't care about this day but... There is Tremor

[marinusart]

This mad day

Blood and gore warning

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Eight--Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Rough Sex, Slapping (for sexual titillation), Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasm, Overstimulation, GUNPLAY, Outdoor Sex, Gagging, Choking, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, ANGST ANGST ANGSTTTTTTT!!!!! GET THE TISSUES OUT!

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the aftermath of your heartfelt confession, the ambiance shifted beneath the curtain of rain. Mattheo's initial warmth, which had enveloped the moment, began to withdraw, slowly being replaced by his usual guarded demeanor.

Tension, thick and tangible, emanated from him, as if he yearned to retract, to voice a refusal. The gaze that had once been soft, akin to melted chocolate, now bore a stark reluctance. It was as though the vulnerability you had glimpsed moments earlier had transformed into a protective shield, guarding him against the intensity of the unexpected revelation.

Undeterred, you pressed forward, defying the cooling atmosphere with a resolute step. Your hands, a gentle insistence against the encroaching frost, found their place on his face. Amidst the rhythmic percussion of springtime raindrops, your eyes held an unbroken contact, mirroring the pounding cadence of your heart. A silent gaze held him in place, allowing the weight of your words to permeate the space before you spoke again.

"Don't say anything," you whispered, the words borne on the breath of the rain-soaked air, a plea to let the unspoken emotions settle in the delicate stillness between you two. "You've said so much, Mattheo...you've shared so much with me...I don't need you to say another word...just...just listen,"

Mattheo blinked, the subtle motion accompanied by the quiet working of his throat as he swallowed. His hands, hanging at his sides, remained still as yours maintained their firm grasp on his face. An almost imperceptible nod from him prompted you to inhale sharply, capturing the breath in your lungs.

"Perhaps I lied to you..." you began, your voice soft, tender. "Perhaps I wasn't being truthful when I said I never believed in destiny...because in a way, I do...but I also believe that we are only destined to do the things we'd choose to do anyway..."

A pause ensued as you studied his countenance, your gaze tracing the scars on his skin and taking note of his perfect imperfections that shaped the essence of who he is.

"And I'd choose you, Mattheo...in a hundred fucking lifetimes, in a hundred different realities, I would choose you...every fucking time..." you declared, your grip on him intensifying. Your hands trembled, mirroring the tremor in your voice. "I don't care about your history, I don't care about any of the bad things you've done...everything you've been through has made you who you are...and I am fucking in love with who you are...every single part of you...your smart mouth, your cheeky smirk, every line and every scar..."

Drawing him nearer, you gently guided him until his forehead found solace against yours. His hands discovered the curve of your waist, pulling you into an embrace that emanated urgency, a profound need to absorb every syllable you uttered, each word a testament to the depth of emotions shared between you.

"Your skin, absent of its scars, would be like a sky without stars," you murmured, your shared breaths blending in the intimate proximity. "I didn't fall in love with you; I fucking walked into love with you--with my eyes wide open, deliberately choosing every step along the way. Everything you've revealed changes nothing, Matty...I love you, utterly and unequivocally."

A profound silence enveloped the space, and time seemed to elongate into a suspended realm, each passing moment an eternity. His eyes, a tumultuous storm of unexpressed feelings, gently fluttered closed, his lips parting as his breaths, once steady, now took on a rhythm almost akin to panting--a visceral manifestation of the emotions swirling within.

His hands, deliberate in their motion, traversed the landscape of your back, ascending with a sense of purpose. As they reached your head, his fingers, fueled by a desperate urgency, found purchase, gripping your face with a fervor that spoke volumes. In this charged atmosphere, his eyes, concealed behind closed lids, hinted at the vulnerability beneath the stoic exterior. The suspended moment begged for release, aching for the words that lingered on the precipice.

"Say it again..." his murmured request, laden with longing, reverberated through the charged air. "I just-"

"I love you," you said, the words firmer this time, your hands threading behind his head, fingers entwining in his soaked hair. "I love you..."

His jaw tensed, and he released a shaky breath--his eyelids fluttering, the grip on your skull tightening. "Again."

"I love you," you repeated, your voice gaining strength, fingers digging into his scalp as though you could force the words through. "I fucking love you, Mattheo Riddle."

Breaths intermingled, and your grips on each other surpassed the hold of any chains or restraints. In the pulsating intensity, your minds spun with a whirlwind of thoughts. Was there a sweeter arrangement than this? He gets to ask you, over and over to repeat it--while you get to tell him, over and over, that you mean it.

Your nails dug into his scalp, foreheads pressing together with an almost painful force. "I thought it would be impossible to ever find someone...to ever be with someone, when beneath my surface of composure, I'm scattered in a million different pieces--like a puzzle with missing parts..." you paused, lips softly grazing his. "But then you showed me that every piece doesn't have to be in place to create something beautiful...something real...that love can exist in the most imperfect, lost, broken people."

A guttural noise escaped him, resonating low in his throat as his fingers dug into your skin, cradling your head.

You inhaled a shallow breath before you continued, "and I promise you, my love will be just as strong, just as beautiful, whether you, too, are in a thousand pieces, or just one.”

Mattheo, completely struck silent, locked eyes with your parted lips. In perfect synchrony, your gaze met his, and in that silent exchange, there was a mere gasp of air before his mouth was on yours. The passion between your bodies ignited into an unbridled inferno, refusing any attempt at restraint. His kiss was a slippery bruise, melding madness at your skin, tongue driving into you while he inhaled through his nose. You met him, movement for movement, groaning against him, fingers folding further into his hair, thumbs tracing the tops of his ears, and he groaned against your lips before capturing them again,

The kiss was unlike any before--a fervent blaze spiraling out of control, unwilling to be subdued for even a moment longer. His lips met yours with an intensity that felt almost primal; a hungry, desperate fusion of raw emotion and longing. His hands cradled your head with a force that hinted at an uncontainable desire, making you wonder if he sought to meld your very essence. The cool droplets of rain cascaded around you, soaking your skin to the bone, but you couldn't find it in you to care.

"I need you, princess..." he whispered, parting from the kiss, his hands gliding down your back as his lips found the curve of your neck. "But you already knew that, didn't you? Pretty girl..."

Your eyelids fluttered in response, fingers tightly grasping his hair, a desperate grip that mirrored the intensity of his kisses trailing down your neck. Your lip found refuge between your teeth as his mouth explored the path of rain cascading along your skin.

"My tainted little angel," he murmured, his words a provocative caress against your ear. "Crushingly beautiful...tender like a bruise..."

His hands, firm and insistent, sought the curves of your hips, fingers grasping at the wet fabric of your dress, tugging it upwards along your thighs. "You were the first sin actually worth hurting for...had me wrapped around your little finger before you even fucking touched me..."

You throbbed, a full-body pulse, humming into him with a shudder, Mattheo's lips moved back to yours, nipping at your lower lip before sliding to your chin, following the streams on your skin as he pressed clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, falling to suck and nibble at your heartbeat. Whimpering, you nuzzled your head into his, and he responded with a sharp bite to your neck, barely-restrained, earning a squeal from your throat.

"I told myself I was fine...that I was better off alone...never needed anyone, never wanted anyone...but then you came around, and after all this fucking time, after everything I put you through...it's still you, it's you who fucking believes in me..." he murmured against your skin. “You mean so fucking much to me…and when I finally admitted to that myself, when I finally let myself feel…you made me better, and I don't mean from being my tutor...you just made me want to be better...fuck, Raven...I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at the stars...I wanted to get better grades for you…I quit drinking and drugs because I wanted to be a better man for you..."

As he lifted your dress beyond your hips, your hands eagerly joined the movement, gathering the fabric's hem and peeling it over your head. His eyes traversed over every inch of newly exposed flesh, absorbing the sight with an intensity that spoke volumes. You observed as he swiftly shed his suit jacket, stripping the soaked fabric from his frame and laying it on the ground. His hands deftly moved to undo his belt, discarding his gun in the process. Returning a firm grip on your hips, he crashed his mouth back to yours, a relentless hunger igniting the kiss.

Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until you were both on the ground; him on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

"I’ve had some, then most of you...all, and then none of you..." a soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection, covered only by the thin fabric of his boxers. "I-I can't lose you again...it's you...it's fucking always been you..."

"Oh, Gods..." your voice cracked, emotion bubbling in your chest, threatening to spill out as you rolled your hips against him. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. "You won't...you fucking can't..."

Rain bathed you both, rivers roaming over your curves, white cloth of your bra a dewy illusion over your breasts. His thumbs skimmed your nipples with prickles of pleasure, and you moaned, head falling back on your shoulders. As if the sound awakened something inside him, he gripped your hips, flipping the two of you around until you were on your back beneath him, lips instantly moving to your neck, sucking at your throat.

You slid your hands under his shirt, savoring the firm contours of his body. He tensed, a low groan escaping into the intimate space between you, while his hips pressed against you with a force that seemed intent on melding you with the forest floor. Your fingertips traced the hard muscles, memorizing the damp, heated feel of his skin. In his voracious pursuit, he exhibited no restraint, extracting painful hickeys from the pulse at your neck.

The heat of desire surged between your thighs, and he moved lower, marking you with unrestrained passion. Tissue yielded to the pressure of his teeth, welts blooming under the fervent touch of his lips. Anxiety flickered through your mind as visible evidence of his ardor emerged, but the soft groan escaping his chest erased any concerns. Your back arched, willingly offering more of your untamed flesh to his insistent exploration. Grateful, he bit at the swell of your tits, crimson crescents blooming, and his hands moved to your underwear as he laved at your nipple through your bra, scraping it with his teeth through the fabric.

Mattheo fumbled at your folds, two thick fingers peeling you open, assessing your slickness, teasing your entrance. "Still so fucking wet for me..." he murmured, clucking his tongue. "And in the middle of the fucking forest...you'd take my cock anywhere I wanted, hm?"

You bit your lip, trying to grind against his hand. "What can I say...watching you use that gun did something to me..."

"Naughty, naughty girl..." he leaned to your ear, thumb skating your clit--you gasped. "Weren't you ever told to stay away from the asshole, weapon wielding bad boys?"

"Perhaps," you hissed through a moan as Mattheo pushed two fingers inside you--your walls tightening around him, hips twitching, head lolling against his soaked jacket. "Though I've never been good at following orders."

Mattheo huffed. "I'd say."

His mouth consumed you with a fervor, tracing a path of rich violet marks from your chin down to your clavicle, his spit mingling with the rain. Scissoring you open, he rolled your stiff clit, rocking his wrist, curling and working your walls, his other hand palming at his erection in an attempt to pacify himself. You bucked your hips, a shivering moan escaping, and he cursed, slamming in to the knuckle.

"If I fuck you now," he muttered at your jawline, "you'll have to take all of me. Everything I give you." He bit your neck, hard, forcing a cry from your lips. "I won't be able to control myself."

Heat scorched you, and you pulsed around him in anticipation, his fingers crooking in your wet core. Thunder grumbled in the distance. "Thought I'd long proved my capability."

Mattheo purred, and bit you again, pain shooting through you. "Earlier doesn't count, we were rushing...I need to wreck this tight little cunt...I'll fuck you harder and deeper than any of those assholes could ever fucking dream of..."

You shuddered, meeting his eyes. "Do your worst."

Snarling, he leaned back onto his knees, tore his fingers from your core and stuffed them in your mouth; you whinged in surprise, working to suckle them clean. Mattheo's free hand unleashed his dick, twitching eagerly despite its thick, heavy length. He jammed his hand to the back of your throat, and you gagged before he depressed your tongue, prying open your jaw.

"You know how this works." His gaze locked onto you, and the sky seemed to ignite with lightning around him. "Beg for it."

When he released you, you gasped into the rain. "Please, fuck me."

In the blink of an eye, his hand struck you, unleashing a spray of saliva from your parted lips. "That was pathetic," he snickered. "I fucking said beg."

Your face burned--humiliation, shock, and most importantly: desire. If this is what he meant, you wanted more. "Why don't you fucking make me?"

"There's that dirty mouth..." Mattheo smirked, shifting as he reached for his gun, gripping it with his free hand while the other stroked his cock. Before you could process it, he brought the barrel toward your temple, pressing the cold, wet metal against your skull. "Last fucking chance, princess...if you don't beg for my cock I'll fuck you so hard you'll be begging for mercy instead."

A whirlwind of shame and yearning left your head spinning, the likely instigators of your brief lapse into temporary insanity. "I'm not scared of you, Riddle..."

“Oh, princess.” His smirk grew. "You should be."

Adjusting the gun, he compelled the barrel past your lips, the icy metal coating your tongue. His other hand delved into your hair, gripping your soaked strands tightly as he forcefully drove the gun deeper into your throat. Then, without warning, he broke you open, splitting your core with a deep, harsh thrust, head slamming your cervix. You cried out against the weapon, body recoiling in pain, hands moving to his hips, and he shook you in reprimand.

"Oh, no--don't fucking bother." He drove his palm into your head, his nails scratching your scalp. "No running. Take it."

Mattheo pulled out fully before ramming back into you, spearing you with his cock, your body quaking with the force of each of his violent thrusts. His breath was already ragged, furious groans pushed from his chest as he fucked deep into you. Your lungs were empty, failing to find oxygen in his onslaught, your walls squeezing his length in delight, drool spilling down your chin and mingling with the flow of rain.

"Fuck--such an insatiable little cunt..." he growled, his eyes drilling into yours, taunting you through his gaze. "It missed this cock already, didn't it?"

Another deep thrust, meeting your cervix, and you winced, groaning against the gun as you tried to nod.

"That's right...shit..." he pulled the gun from your mouth, strings of drool hanging like garland from the barrel, quickly being washed away with the rain. "My girl...my fucking beautiful, filthy girl..."

He tossed it onto the ground next to your head, drawing his hand down toward your belly, slick fingers rubbing merciless circles on the bundle of nerves in rhythm with his pistoning hips--you wailed, drooling with pleasure, assaulted with a sudden, immediate need to orgasm.

"Fucking hell, you're so tight when you're about to cum..." he groaned, punishing your pussy with hard, rapid thrusts. "Prove you can take it. Cum on this cock."

Between the attention on your clit and the size of his dick, you snapped, convulsing and trembling while your blood flooded with flames, blazing heat through your thighs and to your toes. Above you, Mattheo hissed, fucking you through it, valiantly holding off his own orgasm as yours fizzed at your flesh. When your core's pulsing slowed, he shifted, propping your calves up his shoulders before he leaned forward and clamped his palm down on your neck.

"Don't squirm, baby..." his low voice commanded, and as you whimpered, squirming beneath him, his grin deepened. His eyes, now wild and intoxicated with desire, held a promise. "I gave you fair warning."

His free hand pinched your cheeks, slowly sliding out before slamming back in and pounding your cunt, growling breath leaking from his lungs, his hold on your throat tightening. The pressure in your head only doubled the frenzy of being fucked--you wheezed, your pulse thumping in your temples, and this spurred him on, drilling you with a depraved stare as he plowed into your tight pussy again and again and again.

The rain was steam on your skin, thunder a distant noise behind the sound of slapping skin and your strangled, whimpering moans. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing dick, sore clit twitching once more with a growing demand to be sated--Mattheo grunted, tugging you closer, eyes drilling into yours.

"Open that filthy mouth."

Wincing, you complied, parting your lips as he commanded. Without hesitation, he leaned down and spat into it.

"Now swallow it. Show me."

With determination etched on your face, you managed to comply against the pressure of his massive hand. Popping your jaw apart with a grimace, you showcased your resilience, earning a smirk from him. In response, he rewarded you with a series of both painful and blissful strokes of his hips, pushing your body to its absolute limit. Your breath had vanished ages ago, your heart now a wild entity, coursing through your veins.

"Poor baby," he sneered, feign sincerity in his tone. "I think you need to cum again."

He snaked his free hand between your legs, rolling your aching clit, and you groaned--or tried to, anyway--the speed of your pulse resonating through the grip on your neck. He felt it, too, head bowing in pleasured shock as you thrummed around him, your oncoming climax massaging his thick cock with every new thrust.

"Fuck." Resolute, he rubbed you faster, watching you--in his gaze, you saw nothing but an endless, dark void of lust. "Who do you fucking belong to?"

The words barely made it out. "Y-you, Mattheo..."

His choke tightened, and your vision blurred. "Who owns this tight little pussy?"

"You--you do, Mattheo..." you gasped.

"That's right," he sneered, and swirled your nub so quickly you squealed. "Cum for me, princess..."

The force of your orgasm surged through you, blurring your vision, and you screamed, choked by his hand as every muscle below your waist convulsed in a rapturous ecstasy. Your pussy milked and squeezed his cock, but he resisted his own climax once more, sinking into you until you descended. He drank in the sight of you--eyes rolled, raindrops scattered like diamonds on your skin, your throat and chest smothered with the evidence of his possession.

"Good fucking girl...take me...take all of me," he muttered, voice low and deep in the night air. "Every single fucking inch."

Mattheo shifted again, one arm coiling under you to fist your hair, the other cranking your leg back until your knee hit your chest. Groaning with pleasure, he hammered into you, stretching you wide, filling you to the base. Soaked strands of his hair slid into his eyes, and he tossed them back, wetting his lips and fucking you deep, trapping you in his feral gaze.

"You love me." He tilted your head back with a deliberate motion. "You fucking love me."

You nodded, not a shred of hesitation. "Yes-fuck! I do!"

He swallowed, inching closer, his forehead tenderly meeting yours. "After all of it," he whispered, the words almost lost in the shared breath, "after everything..."

Your chin quivered, and the revelation about his parents cut into your heart, a painful echo of his turbulent past. It hurt, yes, but it also felt like the a groundbreaking revelation, the ending to the story which finally explained why he was the way he was. There was an undeniable understanding that surged between your hearts, a silent recognition that both of you needed love in ways only the other could provide.

Despite the turmoil, you couldn't blame him for something so deeply rooted. The man craved love as desperately as you did, neither of you ever willing to admit it. In the synergy of your souls, there existed an undeniable connection, a perfect harmony that transcended spoken words. Even in the hushed language of silence, your hearts resonated, acknowledging that there would never be two souls more perfectly suited for each other than yours.

"After everything." You wrapped your arms around him, safe when lightning crashed, rocking your hips in his pace. "No matter what."

"Fuck." He wound your hair in his fist, and wrenched your head back, tearing at your throat with his teeth, harsh thrusts pulverizing your cunt. "...I'm--fuck--I'm going to make you break again." His hand left your leg, long fingers back to stroking your tender clit. "And then I'm going to fill you up with my cum."

Senses barraged, you shrieked, overwhelmed and oversensitive. He wasn't fucking joking. You wanted mercy. "Fuck! Mattheo! Please-please-"

"No. Take it," he snarled into your ear. "Take it."

He assailed your nub, and you quailed, curling around him like a snake, shaking from the overwhelming intensity of his power, lids shut while he nipped your neck, demolished your pussy, panted hard into your ear.

"You're mine." He growled, his voice shredded raw with lust. "Mine."

"I'm yours!" You shrieked, nails digging crescents into his back. "Yours."

"Fuck-" he hissed, slamming harder, deeper. "Mine! All fucking mine..."

"Yours! Fuck!" It was all too much, too great, brain crashing into a wanton mess. "All fucking yours!"

Your body convulsed, teeth sinking into your lip, propelled through a realm of heightened sensitivity into an ecstasy that seared your skin. Gasps and incoherent pleas spilled from your lips, a desperate supplication for release, for him to unleash the crescendo that would send you soaring and screaming and cumming.

"That's it," Mattheo growled, pumping into you, folding you into his frame. "You're taking me so fucking well baby, just one more...cum for me, angel."

Your senses fractured, caught between euphoria and disbelief, and your body spasmed, climax radiating through your every fiber, a luminous burst that shattered any remnants of sanity, setting Mattheo ablaze in its wake. He groaned, grunted, burying himself to the hilt, warm cock pulsing as he poured hot cum deep into your cunt. For a moment, he didn't move, silently working to catch his breath before he pulled back, shifting onto his knees.

You fixated on him, your head weighed down, struggling to fathom the endearment he had bestowed upon you--silently endeavouring to etch every detail of this encounter into the recesses of your memory. A contented sigh escaped you, accompanied by a smile that radiated the joy swelling within your chest.

However, as you gazed at him, basking in the warmth of affection twinkling in his eyes, you noticed a flicker of something else--an abrupt shift. His thumb grazed your chin absentmindedly before he moved, working to tuck himself away. You mirrored his actions, attempting to salvage what was left of your clothing, now thoroughly drenched by the relentless rain.

Walking through the forest on your way back to the castle, the shadows of the trees played in the puddle-soaked ground, creating a surreal dance around you. Mattheo extended his hand, a silent invitation you willingly accepted. The brief connection sent a comforting warmth through you, grounding you amidst the uncertainty.

As you navigated the path, thoughts swirled like the mist around you. The night's events echoed in your mind, and a cloud of questions veiled the clarity you sought. Contemplating a potential job at the castle, you wondered about its impact on your newfound bond with Mattheo. Did you still harbour the same enthusiasm for the job amid these compelling complexities? The walk became a journey through both the tangible forest and the intricate maze of your thoughts, navigating the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Approaching the castle, the distant melody of music embraced the night air, whispering promises of celebration within. Capturing the tune, Mattheo halted abruptly, pivoting to face you as the two of you lingered just outside the castle walls, hidden by the shadows of the night.

Your brows furrowed inquisitively as you locked eyes with him, seeking to understand the meaning behind this sudden pause. "What are you-"

"Shh." He cooed, eyes darting around.

After a brief survey of the surroundings, he fixed his eyes back on you with a newfound emotion swirling within them. Without another word, Mattheo enveloped you in a tender embrace, guiding your arms to rest on his neck as his firm hands settled on your hips. Bathed in the gentle glow of castle lights, he initiated a graceful sway to the rhythm of a slow, melodic tune that harmonized seamlessly with the rain-soaked ambiance.

In the suspended moment, your gaze locked with his, the world around you blurred as the rain continued its gentle descent, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the springtime storm. It felt perfect, a clandestine world of your own, away from the prying eyes of others.

"All those people think love's for show..." Mattheo blinked, drawing his face closer. "But I'd fucking die for you in secret."

Your breath hitched, water welling in your eyes. You quickly blinked it away, searching his face, mapping it, along with everything else from this night into memory.

"How'd I get so lucky..." you tightened your hold on him, the raindrops adding a gentle percussion to the soundtrack of the moment. "A sky full of stars, and yet you're staring at me..."

"There's no need," he murmured, directing your head to lay against his chest. "Avere lei è come avere le stelle."

Your heart leapt. "How did you-"

"Notts been teaching me," he said, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips, the pride in his tone. "You know what I said, don't you?"

You blushed, unable to stifle your grin. "I do."

He hummed. "Tell me."

"No," you whispered, fingers digging into his neck as you shifted your head to look up at him. "I'd like to hear you say it."

His smirk grew, and he peered down at you. "To have her, is to have the stars."

“Mm,” you glimpsed his mouth, brushing your lips against his as you murmured, "E averlo, è come avere la luna." (And to have him, is to have the moon.)

His smirk blossomed into a radiant smile as he gripped your face, drawing you into a profound, messy, deep kiss. Every fiber of your being quivered under the intense surge of emotions you felt for this man--love enveloping you entirely, and whether or not he uttered the words, you could sense it--right now, ten minutes ago, and every moment in between.

All you wanted, more than anything, was that he’d hold you tight, and whisper that you’d find a way to be together. But then, his hands fell from your face, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you back into him. With his lips pressed to your forehead, he whispered,

“I’ve never loved anything, Raven…anyone…I didn’t even know I had a heart until you made it beat.” He murmured, tightening his grip. “Now this heart belongs to you. And I’ll fucking kill every last person that tries to keep you from me…”

You shuddered, breathing him in. “We’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out.”

He hummed, nodding softly, the two of you swaying to the gentle melody, ignoring the cold rain pouring down against your bodies. You weren’t sure how long you’d stood there, minutes, maybe even hours--but as the song came to an end, switching to another, more upbeat one, you smiled, meeting his dark, gleaming eyes.

“I love you, Mattheo.”

He pressed his lips to yours. “I love you, Raven.”

[aventurineswife]

Can I make a request for Veritas and Kaveh and how they react to the reader taking care of them after a long day of work, even when they insist they're fine? (Established relationship).

Tides of Solace

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Caring/Supportive Reader, Gentle Touch, Vulnerability, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn, Introspection.

Warnings: Mild exhaustion (physical and emotional), Light mentions of overworking/stress, Mild pride issues.

It had been a long day. Ratio had spent hours in the Intelligentsia Guild's archives, poring over documents, theorizing new methods to combat ignorance, and lecturing on the importance of knowledge. As usual, he pushed himself to the limits of his intellect, all while dismissing any signs of exhaustion that might have crept up on him. He was a man of intellect, after all, and to rest would be to acknowledge weakness.

Yet, as he entered the modest quarters he shared with you, a shift in the air told him something was different tonight. The warm glow of the lamps softened the edges of his usual sharp demeanor, and a quiet peace seemed to settle in the room. He hadn't noticed you sitting at the small table, an empty cup of tea still warm beside you.

Ratio sighed softly, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the day lingering on his shoulders despite his attempts to mask it. "I'm fine," he said, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his words. "A mere nuisance. Nothing to worry about."

You rose from your seat, walking over to him with a soft smile. Without a word, you reached up and began to remove his arm braces, carefully placing them aside as he silently watched you. His usual air of self-assurance melted as your hands moved with such precision, as though you knew his body better than he did himself.

"Veritas," you said gently, "You don't always have to carry the world on your shoulders."

"I do," he replied without hesitation, though there was a quiet softness in his eyes as he met your gaze. "Who else will? The ignorance of the universe is vast, and it's my burden to bear."

You smiled, knowing how much his sense of responsibility weighed on him. But tonight, you wouldn't let him carry it alone. You led him to the couch, settling beside him as you wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t speak for a while, letting the silence speak volumes. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and the tension he'd been holding onto all day began to ease.

"I’m not asking you to bear it alone," you whispered. "I’m here for you, always."

Ratio’s eyes softened, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer before he closed his eyes. For the first time all day, he allowed himself to truly rest, his mind quieting beneath the comfort of your presence. He could feel his intellect slipping into peaceful surrender, and for once, he allowed it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

Kaveh had spent the entire day overseeing the restoration of one of Sumeru's ancient landmarks. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and his body felt the toll of the hours he'd spent bent over blueprints and giving impassioned speeches to his workers. Yet, in his heart, he was content—he had done his part to contribute to something greater than himself.

When he entered his shared living space with Alhaitham and you, however, the fatigue hit him all at once. His usual jovial smile seemed a little more strained, his usual wit absent as he made his way toward the small table where you sat, already preparing a warm cup of tea.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing a lock of hair from his face as he collapsed into the chair opposite you, though his tone was less certain than usual. "Really, it's just... a long day. I can handle it."

You didn't respond with words; instead, you set the tea aside and stood, moving toward him. Your gentle touch on his shoulders made him sigh deeply, his back slumping under your hands. He knew better than to resist—after all, he'd seen how you took care of him in small, thoughtful ways, but his pride often kept him from asking for help.

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "I suppose it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? Letting someone take care of me. I’m supposed to be the one helping others."

"You don't always have to be the one giving," you said, guiding him to the couch. "Let me help you for once."

As you began to loosen the straps on his sash, Kaveh allowed himself to let go of his usual walls. He leaned back, eyes closing for a moment as you worked. His heart, too, seemed to soften in the quiet of your touch.

"You always know just how to make me feel better," Kaveh admitted, his voice tinged with both vulnerability and gratitude. "I don’t deserve it, but I’m glad you’re here."

You could feel his tense muscles begin to relax as your hands worked over them, loosening the knots of stress he'd carried all day. His breath deepened, and for a moment, the worries of the world melted away. You settled beside him, offering him the tea you'd prepared earlier, and he took it with a faint smile.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting yours with genuine sincerity. "I’ve always thought of myself as strong, but I think I’m realizing that I’m stronger when I have you by my side."

Kaveh’s heart, ever so tender and full of passion, found peace in your care. The idealist within him might have once rejected this form of help, but tonight, he welcomed it—and, in doing so, he welcomed you deeper into his life.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

for the drabbles

I like the idea of royal au, like kinda vibes of swanqueen but Wanda is cruel and reader always here to take punishment and to comfort her and one day Wanda has her nightmare again and she calls reader to deal with fear through sex but reader refuses, instead taking care of her through cuddles and soft care. Wanda confused but then they had that chat about reader always being here because reader don't think Wanda's cruel, she thinks Wanda is broken by events in her life

and then that's it, happy after

–🐭

For You I'd Do Anything

Queen!Wanda Maximoff x knight!fem!reader

Summary: Your Queen requires your assistance after a nightmare, but you give her a second option.

Word Count: 648

Warnings: Nothing really. A comfort fic.

Authors Note: Queen Wanda has my heart. Her having all the power, but still letting us see her crumble mmmmm love her

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the royal palace. The corridors were silent, the usual hustle of servants and guards replaced by a serene stillness. Queen Wanda Maximoff, a ruler known for her cold and unyielding demeanor, was tossing and turning in her grand bedchamber, haunted by nightmares.

You, her personal knight, were accustomed to the queen’s cruelty, always bearing the brunt of her wrath without complaint. Your loyalty and devotion to her were unwavering, driven by a belief that her harsh exterior concealed deep wounds from her past.

Suddenly, a sharp, panicked cry pierced the silence. You were already on your feet, armor hastily donned, and rushed to the queen’s chambers. When you entered, you found Wanda sitting up in bed, her face pale and glistening with sweat.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

Wanda’s eyes, wide with fear, flickered to you. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted, her voice uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. “I need you to…make it go away.”

Her implication was clear, and while you had never refused her before, tonight was different. You couldn’t bring yourself to take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she commanded it.

“No, my queen,” you said gently but firmly. “Not like that.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion and anger. “You dare defy me?”

You stepped closer, your expression softening. “I dare to care for you, Your Majesty. Let me help you in another way.” You took off the armor you had hastily donned.

You approached her bedside and, with tentative movements, sat down beside her. Wanda watched you warily, unsure of your intentions. Slowly, you reached out and took her hand, your touch warm and reassuring.

“Lie back down,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

To your surprise, Wanda complied, though her expression remained a mixture of confusion and suspicion. You gently pulled the covers over her and then wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. She stiffened at first, unaccustomed to such gentle contact, but gradually she relaxed, her head resting against your chest.

You stroked her hair softly, whispering soothing words. “It’s alright, Wanda. You’re safe. I’m here.”

The queen’s breaths slowly evened out, the remnants of her nightmare fading away. For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and her steady breathing.

“Why do you do this?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you stay?”

“Because I care about you,” you replied without hesitation. “I don’t think you’re cruel, Wanda. I think you’re hurt. I see the pain behind your actions, the sadness in your eyes. And I want to help you, to be there for you, no matter what.”

Wanda turned slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of vulnerability and disbelief. “No one has ever…seen me like that before.”

You smiled gently. “Then let me be the first. You don’t have to face your fears alone. I’ll always be here for you, Wanda. Always.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and for the first time, you saw the fragile, broken woman behind the queen’s mask. She clung to you a little tighter, finding solace in your unwavering presence.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

You held her close, knowing that this moment was the beginning of something new. The queen had finally found someone who saw her for who she truly was, and you were determined to be her strength, her solace, and her unwavering protector.

As the night wore on, Wanda’s breathing grew steady and calm, and for the first time in a long while, she drifted into a peaceful sleep, secure in the knowledge that she was not alone.

[folkookie97]

❝ blue valentine ❞ — JJK

— SUMMARY: ❝ No welcoming hugs or your voice humming one of his songs while you cooking one his favorite recipes. Jungkook noticed that you already knew about everything he did. ❞

— PAIRING: fiancé!Jungkook x female!reader

— TYPE: angst

— WORD COUNT: 883

— WARNINGS: Inspired by Babe (Taylor Swift), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cheating, Infidelity, POV Second Person, Established Relationship/Engagement, Argument, Swearing

— NOTES: Sorry guys but today my mood is something like 'Look at this... they're holding hands. I want them dead'. But I hope you like it <3

— RELEASE DATE: February 14, 2024

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3

"You already know, don't you?"

The words left Jungkook's lips before he could control them. As much as he wanted to sound kinda nonchalant, he felt a pain in the back of his neck starting to bother him beyond usual.

He noticed what was about to happen the moment he entered the living room, closing the door behind him and without any sign of your presence waiting for him to come home. No welcoming hugs or your voice humming one of his songs while you cooking one his favorite recipes.

Jungkook noticed that you already knew about everything he did. He could see it in the dark circles under your watery eyes that kept looking at the TV in the room, even without paying real attention to the movie.

You just nodded your head, feigning disinterest about your fiancé's question — even though he could notice how your hands tightened the blanket that protected yourself from the cold.

"Honey—" Jungkook started, feeling his voice tremble and the bitter taste of blood in his throat. How many hours had he been almost biting his own lips?

Probably since he got on the plane to go home.

To come back to you.

You didn't even move, you just switch the focus of your attention for a few seconds. At the same time your eyes met his, Jungkook's heart broke into thousands of little pieces. But the gaze didn't last long. “Don't do it. I don’t wanna talk about that now, Jungkook.”

Before he could get the chance to argue against it or beg you to listen his apologies, you glared at him one more time, sending tremors through each of his limbs. He could barely sustain an exchange of gazes with you.

His fiancée. The love of his life. The one he longed to care for and protect until the end of his life. The one he should never break the heart to.

"Today is Valentine's Day."

Damn, he had really screwed up.

Swallowing hard, he nodded his head. "I... I know."

Your mocking chuckle reminded him that you knew him better than anyone. "I often can recognize your shitty attempts to lie to me. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Fuck. "My love—" He tried to get closer to you and your double bed's edge, but the simple stretching of your hand towards him stopped his body.

Where was your engagement ring?

Something in your mind clicked on. "STOP CALLING ME LIKE THAT! ARE YOU DEAF? Didn't you listen me telling you that I don't wanna talk about your fucking cheating right now?" Jungkook's heart skipped a beat at the acidity in your tone.

The scary and new doubt in his thoughts was breaking him more than ever. "Where's your ring?"

"Wow, I'm glad you care about our engagement. When I saw so many pictures of you and that hot girl kissing at an afterparty of one of your shows, I really thought you had forgotten about it for a few minutes."

Jungkook whimpered due to your sarcasm, ignoring the fire in your gaze as he sat down next to you, already letting a river of tears run down his flushed cheeks. "Please, honey... You know I love you. That... that was a terrible mistake."

"Oh, Kookie..." His nickname never felt so painful on your lips. "I think 'terrible' is a very simple word to express how humiliating this is for me."

You felt like throwing up when he whimpered again, the bright tears suddenly progressing into a loud, annoying cry. You never imagined you would be so repulsed by looking into his Bambi eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Please, honey..." Jungkook sobbed, ignoring her grumbles and pulling her into a tight hug.

You tried to push him away, taking off the weight of his arms that held you, afraid that you might escape after a blink of an eye. He couldn't lose you. He couldn't do it. "JUNGKOOK! LET GO OF ME! STAY THE FUCK AWAY!"

The more you tried freeing yourself from his body, the more Jungkook cried like a little child. You hated seeing him cry, almost as much as you hated him in that moment. Almost as much as you hated the pain in your heart begging yourself to forgive him. Begging yourself to keep loving him. Begging youself to give in and ignore your own mind.

You barely realized you were also a blubbering mess until you found it difficult speaking without letting out little shaky cries. "I fucking hate you. I... I hate you so bad, Jungkook. I hate what you did to me. To us."

"Me too..." Jungkook's voice sounded more broken than before and mixed with loud crying as he lightly opened his arms, freeing you from his desperate hug. "I hate myself too..."

"You disgust me, you're so disgusting. How could you do this?" You sobbed again, using all your effort to look away. If you let yourself be carried away by those pretty eyes that begged for your forgiveness, that story would repeat itself one day. You couldn't handle the possibility of living that situation all over again. "Oh my God. You really blew this. I hate you. You don't... You don't deserve me."

"I know..."

He really knew.

[lucid-heart]

Teeth in Your Throat

Vampire!Lottie Matthews x f!Reader 🔞

🩸Lottie hesitates to feed from you because she's scared of hurting you. But you know she would never, she just needs a little convincing🩸

WC: 1.7k+

masterlist • read on ao3 • request

CW: Blood Drinking, Kinda Subby Top Lottie,

"You can bite," you say. "You need to feed. And I trust you."

Lottie's eyes haven't left yours but the usual dark brown has been replaced with a glowing red. The beautiful vampire hesitates when given the chance to drink your blood. She's always worried she will hurt you.

But you know she wouldn't.

And she is very, very hungry.

"It's okay," Lottie says with a slight tremor. "I'll find Nat, she can get me-"

You grab her hand and tug her closer. Lottie stumbles and bumps into you. Her skin is cold to the touch but will quickly warm once in contact with you for long enough. She nervously looks away, as if looking at you for too long will cause her to lose control.

Maybe that's what you need her to. To give her the push over the edge.

"Lottie. Are you really going to run and find Nat when I'm right here?" You roll your eyes in fake exasperation. "Hmph. Maybe I should go find Shauna."

Lottie's eyes snap to yours and her brows furrow.

"What?" A single word but it's ice cold.

Lottie hides her emotions well, years of being forced to act like the perfect daughter for parents that never cared about her. But you know her too well. Even now as she tries to act casual, it bleeds through her stare. Hot, raging, jealously.

You shrug. "Nothing. Just I know Shauna would appreciate a taste. Since Jackie is away, she hasn't had human blood in a while. And I beat she would be real rough about it-"

Lottie grabs you with pure vampire strength. One moment you're standing face to face in her room, the next your back is against the wall with her body caging you in. She bares her teeth as her fangs snap down, eyes glowing red.

Your heart races in your chest. You should feel fear from being so close to someone so dangerous and the adrenaline rushes through your system. Heat burns in your chest and you let out a shaky exhale.

"Don't," she says. "Don't talk about Shauna."

You raise a hand to her lips. Slowly you press your thumb into her mouth and against the sharp tip of her fang until it draws blood. Then you press deeper into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around your fingertip as she catches the taste of you. Of what you're offering.

She groans and her eyes flutter.

"What are you so afraid of?" you ask. "You need to feed. I think it's hot when you bite me. I think there's an easy solution here."

Lottie lets your thumb slip from her mouth and she stares at you with intense eyes. Ever since you've started dating, you've chased the darker side of her. She worries that you'll be afraid of her. Doesn't she know you love it? You want her.

"Baby, please." You lift your head to expose your throat to her. "I need you."

Something in Lottie snaps and she pounces. Her lips lay waste to your neck as she kisses and nips, sure to leave a splattering of marks the next day. You moan and hold onto her. But she doesn't break skin. Not yet. Not even as she teases her fangs against your pulse point.

"You're such a temptation," she murmurs. "I want to so badly."

"Why don't you?" you gasp breathlessly.

She presses you against the wall and a thigh slots between your legs. You bite back a groan as you press against her, need pulsing through your core. She's hardly even touched you yet.

"Mm." Lottie kisses your jaw. "Adrenaline makes blood taste sweeter."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Prey that runs, that is afraid. It's why we hunt. Why we chase. It tastes good." A hand dances across your chest over your clothes, a light tease. "But do you want to know what tastes best?"

She finds your wrist and lifts your still bleeding thumb to her mouth. She meets your gaze with hooded eyes as she licks the bead of blood welling on your fingertip.

Your heart thunders in your chest, so loud it might overwhelm you. You know Lottie can hear it. Her vampire hearing allows her to pick up on even the slightest of changes. The corners of her mouth quirk in knowing. She knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Prey that wants it tastes best."

Wants her.

Needs her.

Needs-

Lottie leans in and claims your lips, the metallic tang of your blood still on her tongue. You taste it in a fleeting moment before it's just her kissing you. Usually Lottie is sweet and kind, a wonderful girlfriend who loves you very much. This side of her is that but also darker and possessive. She kisses you like she wants to devour you. To claim you.

You must have really ticked her off when you mentioned Shauna.

You wrap your arms around her neck and hold her closer. Her frame is slim but you can feel the power she possesses. If she wanted to, she could throw you across the room without blinking. You are weightless to her.

Evidenced by the way she effortlessly hooks a hand under your thigh and lifts you against the wall.

"That's it," you breathe against her mouth. "That's my girl."

Lottie groans and she slams a hand into the wall beside your head.

"You like that? Being called mine?" You tug at the front of her shirt until she gasps. "Do you want me?"

"Yes, yes, so badly." It comes out as half a needy beg and half a hiss. Lottie licks her lips and bares her fangs, twin points shining and full extended.

You want her fangs buried in your neck while her long fingers are buried inside you.

Lottie seems to get the idea as her eyes darken. She shifts her hands to your waist and carries you over to her bed. Down onto the many cushions you go with her on top of you. She can't stop kissing you. She can't get enough of you.

You find the hem of her shirt and tug it over her head. The second she's free, she's back kissing you again. It's hungry, pressing you back against the pillow with even the slightest touch. She's so hot.

"(Y/N)?" she groans.

"Mm?"

You dig your nails into her shoulder blades and she shudders.

"Can I...?" Her eyes sweep down your body.

She doesn't need to ask, you've wanted this since the moment you lay eyes on her. How could you not? Lottie Matthews can command a room with her smile alone. She enchants and entrances, and that's even without her vampire powers. You've wanted her since the beginning.

The vampire thing is just a bonus.

"Please."

Lottie shifts back and lifts your shirt. As she takes it off, she plants kisses up your stomach, your chest, your throat until she reaches your lips once again. Your entire body feels like it's burning alive.

You need her to touch you.

"God, you are so hot," she murmurs. "I could just eat you."

You bite her bottom lip for emphasis and tug it back. "Do it then. I'm here for the taking."

She doesn't need anymore encouraging. Lottie eagerly leans in and kisses you again. But this time, as her lip strays across her your jaw, her intent is clear. Sharp teeth tease at your skin as the hunter finds her mark.

But Lottie doesn't bite just quite yet.

She trails a hand down your stomach into your pants, finding you wet and ready for her. It doesn't take her long to find the perfect angle and then she's sinking into you.

"Fuck, Lottie!"

You arch up into her waiting mouth. She kisses your neck, just below your ear.

"God, (Y/N), I want you bad," she gasps. "You're so-!"

How can she say that as her fingers thrust in and out of you? She quickly finds a strong rhythm, curling deep inside you. Heat spreads through you until you feel like you're aflame. You're burning for her. You won't last long.

Lottie lets out a shaky exhale and her body presses against you.

"Fuck, that's it," you groan. "Just like that! Keep going, Lot, I'm so close!"

"Y-Yeah?"

Your nails find themselves in her back again and she whines, the noise sending a hot flash right through your chest. You scratch down her spine and she moans.

"So close, you're doing so well, Lottie," you gasp.

As if spurred on by your praise, she ducks her head against your skin. Her fangs caress the vulnerable expanse of your shoulder, just waiting for her moment. You know exactly when she will bite you. And you weren't lying when you said you were close.

You cry out her name as you come, drawing blood from how hard you're clutching to her back.

And Lottie sinks her teeth into your neck.

Jackie described to you what it felt like but nothing could have prepared you. No pain, no sting, just hot pleasure spreading through your entire body. Lottie drinks from you and it completely overwhelms you.

Fingers in you, teeth in you.

"L-Lottie! Oh god, Lottie!"

She drinks her fill. You can't quite tell if you're lightheaded from that, from coming, or a messy combination of both. Either way, you never felt anything like that before. Intensely euphoric and addictive.

Lottie paints your throat red with kisses, tongue lightly pressing to the weeping wounds. She groans deep in her throat.

"(Y/N)... that was..."

You know.

You released your hold from her back and flop back against her pillows. Lottie raises her head and her lips are painted blood red. You raise a hand and wipe the drop trying to roll down her chin.

"Good?"

She laughs. "More than good."

You touch your throat and your fingers come away red. Lottie flushes, embarassed at the mess she made. No matter, she will have plenty of time to clean it later. You reach a hand towards her. Lottie meekly accepts your fingers and licks them clean.

"Still hungry?"

"Uh... I... not really-!"

You hook a leg over her hips and turn the two of you. Lottie ends up sprawled beneath you, hair spread out like a dark halo. You smile down at her. Her blush is very cute for someone who is so dangerous.

"Okay. Then I guess it's my turn to feed on you," you smirk.

You have so much exposed, unmarked skin to work with. When the night is over, your claim on Lottie will be painted all over her skin.

Lottie nods. "Yes, (Y/N)... Please."

You smile.

As if you needed asking.

[i-m-art-ix]

More Headcanons about FSM family

10#

As a child, Lloyd resembled his father, only he had a different hair color, but as he grew older, he began to look less and less like his father (seasons 2-7). In seasons 8-15 he started to look more like his grandfather when he was Lloyd's age until in season 16 he looked identical to FSM (When FSM was a teenager, of course) (apart from the eyes, FSM had one purple and the other gold)

11#

In some flashbacks we see FSM wielding a sword, so I say that FSM is a master swordsman, and considering that Lloyd became the second master of spinjitzu (The Ultimate Spinjitzu Master) in total and was supposed to learn FSM's fighting style, which brings us to the fact that Lloyd is a master swordsman, because in the series we only see him using a sword (I don't remember him fighting with any other weapon), so the best sword master was FSM (no one can match him then or now) and right behind him in second place is Lloyd.

12#

After season 10 and "Lloyd's death", Wu has nightmares that Lloyd didn't wake up, that they really lost him, every time he is terrified and goes to check if Lloyd is okay, Wu can't lose the last member of his family. One time when Wu went to check on Lloyd, he wasn't in the room and Wu almost had a panic attack, he searched around the monastery until he found Lloyd in the kitchen as soon as he saw him he ran to Lloyd and hugged him and didn't want to let go, while Lloyd was completely confused and a little scared, later they talked about it and from then on, Lloyd began to be more careful during missions so as not to give his uncle a heart attack.

13#

Lloyd, due to his heritage and elemental powers, is strongly connected to ninjago, if something threatens the land he can feel it, when all dimensions merged Lloyd felt great pain due to the ninjago lands being torn apart. After the fusion, he realized that because of this event he had scars on his chest that looked like cracks.

14#

Lloyd's golden power hurt him when he fought the Overlord, he didn't feel it because of the adrenaline, but later it turned out that the golden power was too powerful for Lloyd's body (mainly because of his human part) so after the fight he realized that it was on his hands (from his hands to his shoulders) scars appeared that looked like they had been struck by lightning, they were golden in color and when Lloyd used his power they began to glow. Lloyd, of course, didn't tell anyone and he just started traveling around ninjago to learn how to control it better and see if his body gets used to it. Lloyd still has those scars to this day and come on the golden power is gone the scars still glow when he uses his elemental power but this time in green.

15#

After becoming the Golden Ninja, Lloyd received many powers and improvements, for example, his healing became faster, he had greater endurance and improved senses but one of the strangest changes was that the blood turned gold, yes Lloyd had golden blood.

16#

Lloyd is literally the reincarnation of FSM, he has his powers, he can do what he does and he is a perfect hybrid (a combination of Oni, dragon and human) same as FSM (only FSM wasn't human but still a perfect hybrid).

17#

Due to his heritage and being the next incarnation of FSM, he has perfected Spinjitzu and uses it often in his fighting style (I don't know if it's just me, but Lloyd seems to use Spinjitzu more than the others)

18#

Due to the power he has and his connection to Ninjago, Lloyd when angry can cause cracks in the ground or mini earth tremors, which are usually harmless but still need to be careful, that's why Lloyd has the best composure of all the ninjas (well, except Zen)

[stray-kaz]

Wind and Rain : a Sanji x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Sanji has always been your anchor, so when a storm hits big enough to rock the Going Merry, you run straight to him. He tries to ease you and calm your panic, but he does it a little too well.

A/N: Self indulgent. Sorry not sorry.

This is for ADULTS.

Wind screamed and rain slashed the windows and wood of the Going Merry. You clamped an oversized pillow over your ears to try and block it out, but the storm raged and beat the ship and the crack of lightning shocked goosebumps all over your body. You had no idea how any of your crewmates could be sleeping through this.

A thunderous boom saw you scrambling out from under your covers and sprinting to the door. You slammed it so hard it didn't catch and bounced back against the wall, standing open, but you didn't care. With adrenaline rushing through your veins, you had only one destination in mind, where you felt safest.

It took several long moments for Sanji to realise someone was actually banging on his door, and that it wasn't just the storm outside. He lifted his head and peered over his shoulder, previously intent on sleeping in preparation for rising early in the morning. But it was not to be, it seemed.

The hammering continued, and as there was no litany of creative insults or begging for food, he knew it wasn't Zoro or Luffy. So he dragged himself out of bed and trekked to the door, swinging it open and blinking hard when he discovered you on the other side of it, dressed only in thin summer pajamas and shivering in the hallway.

His mind slow and sluggish, he was slow to respond, until you crashed forward into him, your face in the centre of his bare chest and arms wrapped tightly around his back. Slowly, he reacted at last, and pressed his hand to the back of your head, his other arm winding around your waist. The skin beneath your ridden up tank top burned his forearm, but he tried to focus not on that and instead on the way you shook against him, like a leaf on the breeze.

"Shush shush, lovely, are you all right? Storms not your thing?" he soothed quietly, his voice raspy from being woken.

You shook your head, pressing your burning cheek against his skin, your fingers interlocking even tighter at the small of his back.

"How did I not know this about you?" Sanji murmured, huffing a bit.

You shrugged.

"Guess you don't know everything about me" you mumbled.

Sanji hugged you tighter until your full body tremors started to dissipate and you relaxed into him, soaking in the warmth of his bare skin against yours. You eventually looked up at him.

"Can I stay in your room and sleep with you?" you asked, biting your lip.

Sanji shook inappropriate thoughts out of his head and nodded.

"Okay, lovely. Come on in. Let me just get a shirt on."

He led you inside and closed the door behind you, and you watched as he found a clean t-shirt and pulled it on, tugging it down over the stomach muscles you hadn't been able to take your eyes off until then. He was usually so buttoned up, you were never able to see him like this. The last time you saw him without a shirt was when he rescued Luffy from a watery death.

But before he could catch you staring, you shuffled over to his bed and flopped down face first onto it, groaning as the muscles in your shoulders and back protested. Sanji arched his eyebrows at the sound and knelt on the bed next to you.

"Aside from the storm, are you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Are you in pain?"

"Always" you mumbled. "Zoro has me running drills with him every day. He says it's to keep me sharp, but I have my doubts."

Sanji snorted, reaching out a hand to stroke your hair down to the base of your neck. He did his best to ignore the tiny shiver that ran through you at the touch.

"Would a massage help?" he asked you. "I'm guessing mosshead doesn't do anything to help with the aches and pains after the drills are done."

"Nope" you replied, shaking your head. "He does not. A massage sounds good."

"Are you comfy?"

You turned your head to the side and wiggled a bit until you were, your arms up underneath the pillow for extra support. You listened to Sanji shuffling on the bed, trying to figure out the best position for him to be in, until he finally settled on gingerly straddling your hips, keeping his weight off you.

He worked his fingers into the taut knots in your shoulders and upper back, blatantly ignoring the lack of bra straps impeding his progress. Of course you weren't wearing a bra; you had been sleeping when the storm rudely woke you up.

You soaked in the feeling of Sanji's fingers digging into your aching muscles, struggling not to moan but not able to help it. He shuffled backwards, pressing his knuckles into your lower back before dragging his palms down the length of your legs. You weren't expecting him to move lower than your back and glanced over your shoulder at him, slowly becoming aware of the slow, warm sensation filling your belly.

Sanji paused, hesitating with his hands curled around the backs of your knees.

"Is this okay?" he asked, eyebrows drawn together slightly.

You nodded, exhaling a little shakily.

"Mmhmm" you murmured.

You had almost forgotten the storm entirely, the warmth and strength of his hands working over your body turning you mindless. His fingertips tickled the back of your knee slightly and you giggled, pressing yourself further into the mattress and widening the gap between your legs without thinking.

Sanji cleared his throat and fumbled his way down your calves before wrapping long fingers around your ankles.

"Feeling safer?" he asked; his voice sounded deeper, throatier, cut with an anxious edge.

"Yes."

You wondered why he sounded like that, but you couldn't ask as you were too busy moaning aloud at the feel of his hands dragging all the way back up your legs and pressing hard into the plush of your upper thighs.

Sanji felt his face fill with heat from the sounds you were making, not to mention his hands were now settled just below the curves of your backside, his thumbs just barely slipped under the soft hem of your pajama bottoms. He shifted his weight around until he was kneeling in between your knees, his body forcing your legs further apart.

You pressed your burning face into the pillow, accidentally inhaling the scent of him: clean soap and sea salt. You blanked for a split second, but it was enough time for your body to betray you and your hips to press back, Sanji's thumbs slipping right up under the edges of your cotton shorts and brushing smooth skin and lace.

He breathed out harshly and you froze completely still, berating yourself for behaving like this with your best friend. Sanji stared down at you, at his hands on you, his mind spinning wildly. Before now, he had only dreamed of touching you like this, more than a hug or a passing shoulder touch. Now, he wasn't sure what to do next.

You told him.

"Don't stop" you mumbled, words muffled by the pillow.

He leaned over you, freeing one hand to gently tilt your head to one side. You blinked up at him.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly. "I need to make sure I heard you correctly."

You closed your eyes and he feathered his thumb across your eyelids and the bridge of your nose.

"Please don't stop" you whispered. "Your hands feel good."

He smiled shyly, even though you couldn't currently even see his face.

"Do they?" he replied softly.

When you nodded, he shifted his hands to your sides, stroking lightly, and toying with the bottom of your tank top, rucking it up beneath his palms. The ship rocked, but you hardly noticed as Sanji's hands skimmed over your back, heated skin revealed by impatient fingers.

He ghosted his palms up to your shoulder blades and back down, stopping just shy of your rear, even though you wriggled to encourage him.

"Would anything else feel good?" he murmured, glancing down at the strain in his own sleep pants.

You whimpered his name into the pillow and pushed back towards him, dizzy with want. He flushed to the tips of his ears and lost his internal battle, sliding his hands down your body again until they curved over your ass, grasping and kneading his fingers deep into the flesh and muscle. You groaned and he leaned down a little, just enough to lightly press his covered tip against you.

You mewled and struggled up onto your elbows to see him over your shoulder. The sight of him almost sent you back down. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair was disheveled, hanging forward and obscuring one eye, but the other was barely a rim of blue anymore, iris swallowed in black.

"Someday, you'll be the death of me" he sighed, his hips unconsciously rocking into you.

He continued to grip you, holding you steady, a telltale damp spot on the front of his sweats.

"Sanji?" you gasped, surprised. "What?"

He shook his hair out of the way, giving you a glimpse of flush tipped ears.

"I've loved you for years" he admitted. "I've wanted you since I saw you. You're my best friend and I want you in ways you would not understand."

You felt your cheeks heat further as you arched your hips up higher, trying to get Sanji to press against where you really wanted him.

"You have no idea how I feel" you shot back, emboldened and inflamed.

"Huh?"

You couldn't help but smile at his lack of eloquence when he was usually so wordy. When you didn't respond right away, he tickled you over your shorts.

"Tell me" he murmured. "Go on, lovely girl. How do you feel?"

You shivered under the wash of his words.

"Warm" you mumbled. "Safe. Turned on, Sanji."

He released a sigh that sounded like a moan and finally pressed against the seam of your shorts, falling forward over you and landing on his forearms, chin notched on your shoulder, breath hot on your ear, rutting desperate between your legs.

"I'm sorry" he groaned in your ear, even though he did not stop. "You came to me for comfort from the storm, not whatever this is."

You turned your head just enough to brush your lips across his cheek, not close enough to reach his mouth. His breathing hitched again.

"What storm?" you replied jokingly. "This is pretty good comfort, Vinsmoke."

Sanji huffed and wiggled a hand beneath you, pushing it up under your tank top and flattening his palm to your bare stomach. You murmured nonsensically at his touch on your skin and watched the blush rise once more in his cheeks as his hand quested upwards until his thumb brushed the curve of one breast.

You lifted yourself up slightly on unsteady arms, just enough for his wandering hand to shift and fingers to find your nipple, lightly running over it before pinching gently. You cried out and pushed back against him, suddenly caught between two pleasure points and unsure where to go. You could almost feel your heartbeat between your legs and as he simultaneously rocked into you and teased with his fingers, you clenched around nothing and felt tears of frustration building up behind your eyes.

"Sanji" you moaned, trying to push closer to actually get to kiss him.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, tipping his head down to capture your bottom lip in a clumsy half kiss. "What's wrong?"

You could have cried at that question, at being given the chance to answer it.

"Please" you begged. "I feel empty. Please, Sanji. I need...something."

He bumped his forehead gently against yours, eyes dark.

"I can fix that" he murmured, brushing his nose over yours.

A thrill crept down your spine as he slowly withdrew his hand from your chest and walked his fingers back down your belly and then underneath the waistband of your pj shorts, easing them past the elastic of your underwear. You shook, still holding yourself up over the mattress. Sanji felt the tremble of your arms and pulled his hand free, shaking his head at your protesting whimper. He tore his t-shirt off and threw it somewhere in the room, out of sight. Then he sat down cross legged on the bed.

"Come here" he said, holding his hands out.

You scrambled around to perch in his lap, trying not to rub against him as you did so. Sanji carefully pulled your legs apart and hooked each over one of his thighs, spreading you out with ease. The bare skin of his chest and stomach felt heavenly against your back, but the sweet slide of his fingers along your inner thigh was like a drug, smoothing closer and closer to where you wanted them to be.

You pressed hard back against his chest when he pried the fabric of your shorts and underwear away from your skin and pushed his hand inside, groaning quietly in your ear as he watched it disappear over your shoulder and felt the warm of you at the same moment. You panted in anticipation, eyes lidded, and Sanji pressed his lips to your ear as one finger slowly pressed inside you to the hilt, as deeply as it could go, and you trembled, moaning helplessly.

You rocked in his lap, chasing the feeling, chasing more. He crooked his finger slightly, stroking inside you, curious.

"This good?" he murmured. "What do you like, lovely?"

Your head thudded back on his shoulder, your gaze fixed on his wrist as it moved steadily back and forth.

"More" you pleaded. "I like more."

You didn't care that he could probably feel the heat of your face as you pressed into his neck; all you cared about was the second finger he added and the cool metal of his ring tugging at your entrance with each thrust. And then his palm brushed your clit and your whole body jerked, legs opening impossibly wider for him.

You reached up blindly behind you and grasped Sanji's hair, wrapping it around your fingers and using it to anchor yourself, reveling in the sensation of his touch and the sound of his soft moan in your ear. He kept the pace of his hand painstakingly steady, winding you slowly up, up, up. Until you gripped his hair tighter and tilted your head to suck hard beneath the sharp line of his jaw.

Sanji growled and his hips bucked, his fingers suddenly gaining speed, pressing repeatedly on the soft spot where you wanted them, his palm catching roughly over your clit.

"Happy?" he gasped, feeling you contract like a vise around his fingers. "Finished?"

You dragged his head down and kissed him, rolling down against his hand, still searching.

"Please, Sanji" you whispered into his mouth.

He sped up again and ground his palm against you, groaning through his teeth when you whimpered and came on his fingers, clenching tightly on them inside you. He shifted his other hand down to your leg and stroked soothing circles into the soft skin above your knee, humming quietly to offset the loud pounding of his heart against your back.

Your head lolled against his shoulder as the last tingles dissipated and he carefully pulled his hand free, your eyes slowly fluttering open again.

"Can you breathe?" Sanji asked quietly.

You nodded and he smiled, kissed your temple. He carefully manouevred you off his lap and laid you out flat on your stomach again, smoothing his hands down your back and pausing at your shorts.

"I can stop now" he told you. "We don't have to go any further."

"Don't you dare" you replied, lifting yourself up again to turn your head and meet his gaze. "Please keep going. I can tell you're not done."

Sanji glanced down at himself and sank his teeth into his lip, looking down at you again. He plucked at the material still covering you and you wriggled a little. He took the hint and slowly pulled your shorts and underwear down, relishing in your little shiver. He leaned forward and kissed the base of your spine, warm breath washing over you. He backed off the bed to stand, settling his hands on the waistband of his sweats. Pink rose in his cheeks as he realised you were watching him.

"Go on" you murmured.

His eyes on yours, he pulled his sweats down and off over his feet. He didn't miss how you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and shifted down the bed toward him on your knees. He knelt on the edge and you started to flip over to your back, but he stopped you, grasping at your thighs.

You glanced questioningly at him over your shoulder. His smile was crooked, tugging at your insides.

"No, just stay where you are, lovely girl. I can fill you up nice and easy right there."

You dropped your head and shoulders down and moaned into Sanji's pillow at the sound of his words, electricity crackling up and down your spine. He dragged his gaze over you, bare except for your tank top, still pushed up under your breasts, upper body pressed right into the mattress, hips arched high in the air, panting desperately as he settled behind you and smoothed his palms over your ass.

He ran his fingers up your inner thighs and watched you shaking as he gripped them to hold you open, nudging his blunt tip against your entrance and teasing you mindless. You pressed against him, wordlessly pleading, and keened into the pillow when he slipped an inch into you without effort.

Sanji rocked his hips experimentally and sank another two inches, cursing up to the ceiling as you clawed at the sheets and pushed back again, trying to take him in fully. His face and chest were flushed with desire and he could have sworn he was being pulled by his very blood to you. He heard a muffled please followed by his name, and he gave in, bottoming out, hips flush to you.

You almost collapsed under the pleasure; he was already grazing the spot his fingers had reached just minutes earlier, and you could feel the same coil winding again, but better, even tighter. He hadn't even started moving yet.

When he did start to move, you cried out, a sharp incoherent noise that was barely restricted by the pillow. Sanji's hips shot forward in excitement and you trembled from the sudden force, the sudden pleasure.

The air in the bedroom was warm and heavy, overwhelmed with the sounds of Sanji's moans as he watched you fall apart under him and your ecstatic gasps as you tried to grind back onto him, your hips higher than they'd ever been. Sanji held onto them as he pushed and pulled, working in and out of you, fascinated by the way your body sucked him back in every time he tried to leave.

"Made for me, huh, lovely girl?" he grunted, reaching around under you to roll a nipple between his fingers.

You yelped in surprise, but it quickly developed into a loud happy moan as you were once again pleasured in two places. You gripped him hard and he groaned heavily in your ear as he surged forward to lean right over you, rutting short, deep thrusts that made your eyes roll back and an unintelligible ramble tip out of your mouth.

Sanji felt a shudder run through him, his hips losing their perfect rhythm. He dragged his hand from your breast down between your legs again, where one light flick against your clit broke you and you crashed hard around him as deep inside you as he could get, inner walls clamping so tightly his blue eyes widened in shock.

"I need to...I'm going to...sweetheart, I need to pull out. Let go?"

You just shook your head at him, slowly returning to your own mind, still feeling fizzy in your veins.

"No" you groaned, hips twitching back again, muscles contracting on purpose. "Don't go. Please, Sanji. I want to feel it happen."

His eyes rolled up and he had just enough time to lock both arms around your middle before he lost control and spilled into you, filling you with sudden heat before his lax weight bore you down against the mattress, his hips twitching against you.

You lay there under him for a long while, regaining your breath and enjoying the drumbeat of his heart against your back, before he groaned quietly and disengaged, rolling heavily onto his back. You pushed up to look at him, sliding a hand across his chest to feel his heart again. He glanced at you then caught your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles.

"Hey" you murmured.

Sanji smiled, sweet crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

"Hey, lovely" he said softly. "You okay?"

You nodded on his shoulder.

"Yes. Are you?"

He snorted and pulled you half on top of him, hitching one leg over his hip.

"Believe me when I tell you I have never been happier than right now."

You grinned and pushed a hand into his blond hair, shuffling nearer to him. You craned up to kiss his cheek.

"By the way, I love you, too."

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

[the-caretakest-of-the-caretakers]

TOH Hunter headcanons (Golden Guard) (hurt/comfort and whump)

I made a list of my headcanons for Hunter in his Golden Guard era! I'm rather nervous about posting this-

I must warn, this account is focused on whump. Whump is a subgenre closely similar to hurt/comfort in which an author puts a fictional character through physical or psychological pain. Please, do not read if that could make you uncomfortable.

This list will contain mentions of:

Panic and anxiety attacks

Disordered eating

Physical injuries

Mild physical illness

Don't read under the cut if those matters are triggering to you.

- Hunter has nightmares about events he hasn't experienced per se, but that were experienced by previous grimwalkers in his position. Most of his nightmares involve Belos killing him, which amplifies his need to please the emperor in fear that his nightmares will become real.

- Hunter has some disordered thoughts when it comes to eating, since he's been taught that he needs to earn such a "luxury". He may have nutritional deficiencies due to this, such as anemia.

- On the same vein, it's likely that Hunter gets weird cravings often, both from anemia and from undereating. Occasionally he might even have binging episodes where he sneaks late at night into the kitchen and starts eating without others knowing, not even cooking the raw food.

- Flapjack acts like an emotional support animal to him. He follows Hunter everywhere and rests on his shoulder whenever he's tired, or if he needs comfort. Flapjack has also supported Hunter through panic and anxiety attacks, nuzzling into his chest.

- Wearing his Golden Guard armor aids him a lot when trying to show a calm facade, as he can hide his face, as well as limit the tremors when his body gets shaky. It gives him a sense of power and belonging as well. Therefore, he feels especially vulnerable when he's not in his armor.

- He suffers from Complex-PTSD. Sometimes, he gets emotional flashbacks that trigger anxiety and panic attacks. Hunter doesn't know what a panic attack is, but he's really ashamed of suffering from them. He just assumes it's a normal thing he has to learn to stop on command.

- Hunter is actually very emotionally sensitive. Since he was never allowed to show it, though, his body got subconsciously used to expressing his emotional stress through physical symptoms. Therefore, it's not unusual for him to feel "off" (with intense migraines, fatigue, stomachaches...) after an emotionally charged day.

- He snaps at people when they show concern for him, since he thinks he's being mocked or seen as incompetent. Other coven members never really showed concern, after all. The only person who has ever shown any sort of remote care for him before has been the emperor, and that kind of care was always conditional. Hunter feels like he has to prove his strength to everyone who tries to treat him like "someone" instead of "something".

- The Emperor's Coven had little-to-no actual medical assistance. The usual procedure for wounds was to bandage them without cleaning them beforehand. Hunter never questioned it. Most of his scars are from injuries that were never treated properly.

[thegreatdandilion]

Saint's body is made of steel but not his mind - Whump Fic

Saint stood outside the classroom, the noisy chatter of students filtering through the open door. His hand trembled slightly as he clutched the strap of his bag. He wasn’t sure how many times he had tried to approach Shin in the past week, but every attempt ended with Shin’s sharp words cutting him down. Saint’s usual resolve was starting to crack, but he reminded himself why he was here.

“One more time,” he whispered to himself, stepping into the room.

Shin sat in the far corner, surrounded by a few friends, his sharp profile illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window. Saint’s chest tightened as he took in the sight of his former best friend—the same boy who used to laugh with him, share secrets, and dream about the future together. Now, every glance Shin gave him was filled with anger and bitterness.

“Hey, Shin,” Saint called softly as he approached.

Shin’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing instantly. “What do you want, Saint?” he snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?”

Saint forced a small smile, ignoring the pit forming in his stomach. “I want to tell you something. Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Shin said coldly, turning his attention back to his notebook. “Go bother someone else.”

The sharp dismissal stung, but Saint didn’t move. “Shin, please. I… I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Shin’s jaw tightened. He slammed his notebook shut and stood up. “Sorry? Your sorry doesn't mean anything to me! You broke my leg and then disappeared for three years, Saint! Do you even understand what that felt like?”

Saint’s lips parted, but no words came out. The weight of Shin’s accusations pressed down on him like a boulder. "I...I don't..."

Shin laughed bitterly cutting him off, his voice rising. “Of course, you don’t. Because you never cared enough to visit, to call, to explain. You just… left me. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was nothing to you.”

Saint’s vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that he cared more than Shin could ever imagine. But his throat felt tight, his chest constricting painfully.

“Shin,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t leave you on purpose. I swear.”

“Oh just stop with your damn excuses!” Shin snapped, his voice like ice. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Sitting in that hospital bed, waiting for you? Day after day, hoping you’d show up. But you never did. You just… vanished. You’re a coward, Saint. A selfish, gutless coward.”

Saint staggered back as if Shin had physically struck him. The words cut deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. His heart began pounding erratically, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. The pain in his chest was sharp and suffocating, spreading like wildfire. His vision blurred as panic clawed at him, his legs trembling so badly he could barely stay upright. The bag fell from his shoulder as he sagged and staggered back.

“Saint?” Shin’s voice softened, the sharp edge replaced by concern as he noticed the tears streaming down Saint’s pale face and the visible tremors wracking his body.

Saint swayed, clutching at his chest as if trying to physically hold himself together. The room spun around him, his knees giving way as he dropped to the floor. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, each one more painful than the last.

“I can’t…” Saint choked out, his voice barely audible.

“Hey, hey, Saint,” Shin knelt down immediately, the anger in his eyes replaced with panic. He guided Saint to sit on the floor, pulling him close so that Saint’s back rested against Shin’s chest. “Just breathe, okay? Match my breathing. Slow and deep. Like this.”

Shin exaggerated his breathing, loud and deliberate, his hands steady on Saint’s shoulder and the other wrapping around his chest. “In… and out. That’s it. You can do it, Saint. Focus on me.”

Saint’s body trembled as he tried to follow Shin’s lead. The pressure in his chest remained unbearable, like a vice tightening around his heart. His mind raced with guilt, shame, and fear, spiraling deeper into the overwhelming pain. But Shin’s steady presence, the warmth of his hands, and the sound of his calm breathing began to pull Saint out of panic.

After what felt like an eternity, Saint’s breathing began to even out, the stabbing pain in his chest subsiding into a dull ache. He sagged against Shin, exhausted beyond words. His voice was barely a whisper as he muttered, “I’m sorry…”

Before Shin could respond, Saint’s body went limp, his head lolling back against Shin’s shoulder. Shin’s breath caught, panic flaring in his chest. “Saint? Hey! Wake up!”

Shin’s trembling hands cradled Saint’s face, patting his cheeks gently. “Come on, Saint. Don’t do this. Stay with me.” He didn’t care about the stares from the other students gathering around; his only focus was on the boy in his arms.

With the support of Tew, he took Saint straight to the school infirmary. By the time they reached the infirmary, Saint was unconscious, his breathing shallow. The nurse immediately took over, guiding Shin to lay Saint down on one of the beds. She checked his vitals.

“He’s exhausted and stressed,” she said after a few moments. “Physically and emotionally as well I think. He needs rest.”

Shin sat beside the bed, his head in his hands. Guilt clawed at his chest as he replayed the scene in his mind. He had been so focused on his own pain that he hadn’t seen what Saint was going through.

When Saint finally stirred, his eyes fluttering open, Shin leaned closer. “Saint? Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Saint blinked up at him, his expression wary. “Why… why are you here?”

Shin’s throat tightened. “Because I was worried. You collapsed, and…” He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.

Saint turned his head away, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Shin. I didn’t want to leave you. True, I couldn't face you on the first day. A few days after, I tried to visit, but…” He paused, his voice breaking. “Your mom told me to stay away. She said I’d caused enough damage and that you didn’t want to see me.”

Shin froze, his mind reeling. “What?”

“I wanted to be there for you,” Saint continued, his voice trembling. “But she said it was better if I didn’t. I mean, which mother would want the person who hurt her son to be around him. I didn’t know what else to do, so I stayed away thinking I'd never see you again. But I missed you so much, Shin. Every single day.”

Shin’s heart sank as the truth hit him. He reached out, taking Saint’s hand in his own.

“Saint, I… I didn’t know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I should have listened to you. I should have given you a chance to explain.”

Saint looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and hope. “Do you still hate me?”

Shin shook his head vehemently. “No. I never hated you. I was just… hurt. But now I see that you were hurting too." I’m sorry for everything I said to you, Saint. I didn’t mean it.” Shin couldn’t help but chuckle through his own tears. He reached out, squeezing Saint’s hand tightly. “And I'm sorry, for… being such a jerk. I missed you, Saint. More than I ever wanted to admit.”

Saint’s eyelids fluttered, his exhaustion catching up with him.

“You should rest,” Shin said softly, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He hesitated before reaching out, gently taking Saint’s hand in his own. “I’ll stay here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Saint’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Thank you,” Saint said, his voice heavy with sincerity. “For staying.”

Shin squeezed his hand gently. “I should be the one thanking you. For not giving up on me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Saint’s eyes grew heavier, and he let out a content sigh. “You were worth it,” he mumbled, his words slurring as sleep began to claim him. His grip on Shin’s hand loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go entirely.

Shin watched as Saint’s breathing evened out, his face peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever. A faint smile lingered on Shin’s lips as he leaned back in the chair, still holding Saint’s hand.

“I’m not letting go this time,” Shin whispered, more to himself than to the sleeping boy beside him.

The End Bonus GIF to make you smile.

[baronessvonglitter]

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 2 | "rainy day"

Dave York x f!reader

Word count: 1,638

Summary: you're put in a sticky situation when you try on Carol's wedding ring

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, brief sexual fantasy, apart from that this chapter is about longing

Series Masterlist

You've just dropped off the girls at school and, seeing that Dave is still home (a rare occasion this late in the day) you're secretly overjoyed and make an excuse to stay near him. Carol's car is not in the driveway, so you figure she must be at a salon appointment.

"I'm going to make some more coffee. Care for a cup, Mr. York?" you casually ask, watching him at the kitchen table.

He chuckles softly and looks up at you. The look on his face is slightly amused. "Sure." His deep voice sends a tiny tremor to your heart. "I'm always up for a cup of coffee."

You notice he looks less tired today and you want to ask what's on his mind, but as he's kept his dealings with you polite and professional, you aren't sure what to say. "Happy anniversary," you tell him, realizing you forgot to say it to Carol earlier. "Looking forward to dinner tonight?"

Knowing just how he likes his coffee, you prepare it just so and fix yourself a cup as well. Joining him at the table you sneak glances at him over your coffee cup - something you'd never dare to do in front of his wife. But she's not here.

You realize he hasn't answered you, likely hasn't even heard you. "Is something wrong?" you ask.

"Hm?" He looks at you, his concentration broken and for a moment you adore the lost puppy dog look in his eyes. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Everything's fine, I'm just a little tired still. Late flight.. you know." He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You simply nod and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. A torrent of rain falls from the sky and you both watch the downpour through the windows. "Looks like Mother Nature wants us to have a cozy day inside," he says jokingly, and your heart jumps to imagine what a day like that would be with him. Cuddling, kissing, fucking on the couch while an old black and white movie plays on the TV in the background.

"It'd be nice to get under the covers, read a little until I fall asleep," you say when you realize he's watching you. "Do you have to go to work today?" He was still in his pajamas: a white t-shirt and blue plaid wool pants.

"Unfortunately yes. I've got a big meeting today." He looks you over as he sips his coffee, licks the droplets from his lips. "What are you going to do with yourself all day?"

"Well, no cozy day for me either. I have to pick up the dry cleaning then make brownies for the girls' bake sale at school. And as usual, I'll be daydreaming about you.

He nods. "Well," he stands to stretch. "I'm going to go upstairs and shower."

"Of course. Don't let me keep you." Blushing a little you get up to do some dishes. By the time you're drying them, Dave comes back down, freshly showered and dressed for work. He smiles as he approaches you at the counter and helps you, and you get a little flustered at his presence, the nearness of him. "Please, you don't have to help. You're already dressed up." And boy does he look good. Black suit, crisp white shirt, and the tie that you gave him for a Father's Day present this past summer, red with silver stripes. Plus his American flag pin. In your sweater and yoga pants you feel unsophisticated. Young. Below his league.

And of course because you're flustered your clumsiness rears its head and you accidentally drop a plate on the floor and it shatters. "Oh my god! Sorry! I'll clean it up!" You race to get the broom and dustpan to tidy the floor. Dave helps you, assuring you it's fine, and when your fingers accidentally touch it's like a little shock of electricity. Your gazes meet, but you sense too much in this brief moment, and you glance at his hands, the band of gold that gleams upon his finger. "I almost forgot, I'm picking up Carol's wedding ring from the jeweler's today," you say as you sweep up the plate shards. "She's going to love the inscription you added for your anniversary." Your face is hot, as if Dave can see through your babbling. You reprimand yourself for talking too much during your nice little moment.

"Yeah, she's going to love it all right," he says faintly, as if deep in thought.

"Any woman would love that." You stand to put the broken pieces in the trash. Inwardly you berate yourself for your timidity, for perpetuating a crush that will go nowhere, and for thinking that it even could. Dave says something but you don't catch it. And when you turn around he's gone.

That afternoon Alice and Molly help you with the baking then do their homework upstairs. Alone, you eye Carol's wedding ring in its box. You read the inscription on the back: 'Two are better than one'. Just out of curiosity you try it on your own finger, imagining that Dave has selected it for you, bought it for you, offered a life of love with this gorgeous diamond. You imagine yourself saying yes, hugging him, kissing him, telling all your friends and family.. it's a silly fantasy, but it makes you smile.

Then it gets stuck on your finger.

Carol must have the most delicate hands in all the world, because out of everything you try, nothing works. Ice, water, Vaseline: all useless. It's the worst thing that could happen, and on the worst timing. You feel like an idiotic character in a sitcom. You're still trying to force it off when Dave comes home. He sees the distress in your face. "What's wrong?"

"I did something stupid." You lift your hand and show him his wife's ring on your finger. "I just wanted to try it on, and now it's stuck. I can't let her come home and see me like this.."

He tries to help you remove it without hurting you, but it proves fruitless. "All right. Well, if it's stuck on your finger it's going to have to stay for a moment." He looks amused by the situation. "I guess you're going to be wearing it for now."

Your eyes widen and you glance at your watch. "She'll be home soon.. and you have your anniversary dinner tonight.." you feel a sense of hopelessness and you wish you hadn't been so curious about something that isn't yours. "I'll make it come off, I promise. It's my fault for putting it on in the first place."

Dave smiles warmly. "Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. It was an innocent mistake."

"Maybe we could keep this little incident just between us?"

"It'll be our little secret. I promise."

You hear Carol's car in the driveway. "Maybe you could distract her for a little bit? I think I know one more thing to try to get this off.."

In the kitchen you try a last minute remedy while also listening for Carol. You hear the front door open, and she says, "Aren't you going to welcome me home, Dave?"

With a rush of adrenaline you finally free the ring from your finger, put it back in its velvet box, and stuff it in your pocket. "Hi Carol! Please, let me get those grocery bags for you! I'm sure you want to start getting ready for your big date tonight," you say in a singsong voice. When she's not looking you hand Dave the box with the ring inside as you carry the bags to the kitchen.

You're shaking as you put the groceries away, but you're much calmer than before. You worry that Carol can suddenly read minds and that she'll know what you were doing with her wedding ring on.

"Dave and I are staying at a hotel after dinner tonight," Carol informs you. "We won't be back until the morning."

There's a little stab of jealousy in your heart, but it's not the first time you've ever felt it while working here. You hide your feelings with a smile and get to work on dinner for the girls. As Carol goes upstairs to get ready she leaves you and Dave alone in the kitchen. The air is rife with simmering tension, both of you curious about the other, yet maintaining a safe distance. Carol and the girls come down, the little ones ready to eat and the lady of the house dressed elegantly, leaving a cloud of Versace perfume in her wake. "We should head out now." She gives Dave a little peck on the cheek, causing both you and him to blush.

You think they've left, and you don't hear the door reopen. Dave comes back, looking a little shy, which is unusual for him. "I just.. wanted you to know how much you've meant to me since you started working here," he says, out of earshot of the girls. "You're more important to me than you think. You really help around the house and you watch over the kids. I'm glad you're here.. I'm very lucky to have you with us."

You've known Dave for several months, and he's not one to talk in circles. You have a feeling he's not saying something. "I'm the lucky one," you quietly reply.

Dave shakes his head. "You're really something, you know that?" His smile lights up his face.

You could stay here and flirt with him all night, but even though Carol's too much of a lady to honk the car horn while waiting for him, you let him know it's time to go. "Bye now. Happy anniversary, Mr. York."

He nods, winks at you, and leaves.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika

[keyh0use]

I was hoping the suspense would kill you

Months after Rafe supposedly passes from an overdose, Barry starts seeing ghosts. TW: mentions of overdose, implied suicide. NSFW

Four months, sixteen days and three hours since the police were called and Tanneyhill was swarmed with first responders. Only seventy-three minutes after Rafe had been released from county jail and five hours after Barry put him there.  

The scale rattles off a number and Barry twists the baggie closed tight, tossing it on the table to sift through a pile of green bills. He fucking hates drugs. All of them. Continuing to deal makes his brain foggy with too many big emotions and the sight of addicts begging for their fix has his teeth aching, a steady tremor in his overworked hands threatening to reach out and shake them by the shoulders, plead with them to stop. 

Because Barry has. Cold turkey. 

It's comical, really, belly-laugh inducing that a kooks death is what knocked him off a path he's always been on, but it did. Barry has watched friends get their brains splattered on the walls from intentional and stray bullets alike—yet he still touts guns. Watched his own father drink until the old man's organs gave out—yet Barry practically exists off a diet of alcohol to numb the pain these days. 

"It's all there," Garrett comments, bracing himself on the table to hover in the dealers personal space. 

Rafe has always hated Garrett, right from their very first interaction. For months the kook would return to the trailer, only to find them lost in conversation after a deal, and would wear a look of betrayal for the rest of the night. And then one day Barry was shoved down on the ratty couch after greasy red hair had retreated, Rafe saying sweetly I don't want that guy here anymore, okay? once they were rutting shamelessly, cock buried to the hilt in his boys tight ass when he replied breathlessly: okay, baby, alright, without argument. Because no matter how much Barry liked to claim it was the other way around, he was Rafe's bitch.

He would've done anything for that boy. 

Throwing the wad of cash back down soundly, Barry wipes at his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger until they come together to pinch the bridge of his nose. This is all his life is now, monotonous and triggering, plagued with memories of what he had and lost.  Sucking in a deep breath to compose himself, Barry mumbles, "Yup, see that. Go on now." He almost has a heart attack when a hand settles on the nape of his neck.  "You know, Barry..." starts Garrett, ignoring the direct order in favour of shifting closer. "I heard something once about speeding up the grieving process." 

The change of tone isn't lost on Barry. He knows the touch of another might ease the loneliness for a pinch, offer comfort and warmth in his otherwise bleak and miserable life...but then when Barry tries to sink into the pleasure, if he can at all, he'll be snapped out of it by the sudden realisation that the hand wrapped around his cock lacks the usual cool tinge of too many rings and probably vomit.  It's too soon. A detailed suicide note, a missing boat and no body to beg forgiveness to. No answers, no sleep, or moment of peace for months. It's too fucking soon, too full on uncertainty and rapidly declining hope. Even considering it feels like cheating. 

"Get off me," Barry forces out, slow and careful. 

"Come on," Garrett flirtatiously continues. "You've heard the saying: fastest way to get over someone is to get under somebody else. Worth a shot, don't you think?" 

Yeah, Rafe always hated Garrett and now Barry realises he was naive to shrug the kooks worries off, so used to the all the jealous and possessive behaviour that it didn't even occur to him that this time all the insecurities could be valid. 

Barry remembers one night at a party neither of them really had any desire to attend in the first place, Garrett had shoved Rafe while mouthing off and three minutes later the dealer was cornered by his boyfriend, barely having enough time to utter a word before a tongue was shoved down his throat. 

Neither of them were into voyeurism, no matter how touchy Rafe could get. Yet Barry couldn't stop violent waves of arousal from crashing over him or a wet patch soaking through his basketball shorts as the boy sat directly on his dick, thick outline pressed snug under Rafe's ass through thin layers of cloth as his bulge was ridden. The room was dark and smoggy with various types of smoke, but Barry knew Garrett had seen the aggressive show of ownership before stomping away. 

Rafe was just like that; needing constant reassurance. It used to make the older man uneasy, worried about what their friends would think at the very public displays of affection and how the behaviour was infectious, Barry growing more territorial over time but fuck did he miss it now. 

If he could only go back and get another chance, no fucking way would he feel even a smidgen of embarrassment over having the hottest piece of ass on the island fawning all over him. He would be proud and receptive and appreciative. 

Yeah, Barry would do a lot of things differently. 

Barry opens his mouth to protest, but then there it is—a flash of flesh and blonde hair. Just like he's been seeing all over the damn cut for weeks. Barry freezes his readied insult to follow it along the treeline with sharp attention through the dirty window splattered with raindrops, watching as the figure stills. The image is distorted, like a seers vision or a midday dream, clear enough to assume but distant enough to question. The skin wrapped around Barry's tense muscles feels too tight and bile rises in his stopped-up throat, choking him with emotion.  Another slew of unimportant comments fall from Garrett's mouth, close enough to make Barry stumble half a step back in surprise before he's caught by the bicep. The sting behind his eyes builds until salt streams down his cheek to drip off his jaw. Barry fights against the hold with languid, uncoordinated movements, still focused on his baby standing out in the muddy yard. 

Rafe is gone, the rational part of Barry's brain screams over and over but it's futile because Rafe—whether a figment built out of guilt or a fucking ghost—is right there!  There's a pocket knife open on the kitchen table within reaching distance. Barry's fingers itch to curl around the black handle so he can plunge it right into Garrett's voice box, shut the bitch up forever for even thinking anyone could replace Rafe.  Heavy footsteps on metal rungs make both men startle and separate, Barry's back bumping the fridge as the door handle jiggles in a specific pattern to knock it loose, a trick very few people have had the privilege to learn. And then all the oxygen is being sucked out through the entryway as the barrier is thrown open, a walking corpse storming in. 

Tension crackles through the air as rain pounds against the metal siding, all three men standing stock-still, predator and prey trapped in the same small enclosure. In all the years of knowing one another, through all the pogue bullshit and family drama, Barry has never seen Rafe so full of anger—he's vibrating with it, hands balled into tight fists at his side's. 

"Thought you were dead," Garrett stutters out. 

Quick as a whip, Rafe spits, "You fucking wish, dickhead." 

"Rafe?" Barry calls brokenly, shaking his head in confusion. Because Garrett can see the illusion, too...can communicate with it, and it back to them. 

Rafe answers through clenched teeth, "He's not allowed to be here." 

"Go," the older man demands, shoving at Garrett's shoulder, who doesn't need to be told twice before rushing by Rafe to escape. 

The man standing before Barry is undeniably Rafe. Though this tall, sturdy figure seldom resembles the boy he lost a few short months ago. Rafe is donning a golden tan, broad shoulders squared and stance defensive. And blonde hair has been buzzed short, much like Barry's own. He remembers staring at his reflection in the mirror after a shower, curls dripping lukewarm water down his back and no slender fingers carefully untangling them and suddenly he didn't fucking want the reminder anymore. Barry wonders if that's what happened to Rafe. 

Brown eyes trail down over a ticking jaw until Barry can take in what the kook is wearing: loose fitted jeans and a button-up plaid shirt, looking dishevelled and damp from the weather. It takes Barry a long, long time to be able to tear his attention away from the foreign sight. 

"What? Nothing to say to me?" Rafe probes, bringing the dealer out of his trance. 

"You've been stalkin' me," mutters Barry in realisation. It makes him dizzy. "Messin' with my head, fuckin' haunting me..." But Rafe is alive! Rafe is alive and that's all that matters now. Not his lurching stomach or cloudy vision, just that Rafe is here with a beating heart. 

Rafe purses his pink lips, says with a careless shrug, "Maybe...or maybe it was just your conscience catching up with you. A little too late, but—" 

"Ya' don't know what this has been like for me," counters Barry in a rush. 

"I don't care," dismisses Rafe. It's almost convincing.  But Barry can hear a thousand echoes from previous arguments after Ward would go on some bullshit spiel to play on Rafe's fears; that dealer doesn't care about you, son. Time to give that lowlife up, he's only after our money. Do you really believe you're the only one he's doing this to? Probably has every naive rich kid in his bed, funding his lifestyle. And Rafe would come home with tears soaking the fabric of his polo shirt, seeking out hours of reassurance, Barry pressing gentle kisses into swollen eyelids and stroking soft hair.  Even though it was immensely selfish, Barry was desperate for those nights because it meant he was wholeheartedly wanted. Needed—just like he needs Rafe. 

And now, barging in to interrupt Barry with another man...it must mean Rafe still cares. That what they have isn't over. 

Barry asks, voice slow to enunciate every word, "You have any fuckin' idea what you've put me through? How much I've—" 

"Probably something similar to what I've been feeling since you betrayed me," Rafe fires back. "I was stupid enough to think you loved me or something." 

Barry wants to lash out, to beat on the kooks chest and hurl vile words until he feels better. Instead, he reasons, "You were gonna get yourself killed, probably me, too. That sound like love t'ya, boy? Hmm?" Some of the relief and confusion Barry has felt since the first sight of Rafe alive has drained, slowly being filled back up with rage. "I would'a never done this to you." 

Rafe has taken a threatening step forward, within reaching distance now and fuck, does Barry want to touch. "What you did was worse," he spits. 

Two sets of hands find purchase on the others body, knocking chests with an aggressive pull. There's so much between them, electric and addicting and it's the first time Barry's felt anything but sadness in too long, choking out something close to a sob. Rafe's hands—bigger and rougher than he remembers—cup his jaw, his own curling tight around the boys trim waist. 

Pushing, tugging, panting harshly...looking into bright blue eyes is like coming home, the trailer surrounding them nothing but a tin shell. 

Buttons scatter like the last remnants of Barry's sanity as the crisp shirt the kook wears is torn down the middle, feeling mad with want and disbelief. Their lips meet with a wet smack, not timid or gentle like a reunion kiss ought to be, all twisting tongues and nipping teeth. By the time the two stumble across the kitchen and into the bedroom, both are naked from the waist up, fumbling hands yanking impatiently at Barry's shorts.

And then Rafe jerks away like he's been burned, staring at a point over Barry's shoulder. An old chair sits tucked in the corner, taking up too much space in the small room, pastel clothing strewn about with right where they were dropped four months ago. 

Barry colours in embarrassment, every voice of support he had ringing in his ears telling him it's healthy to box everything up—something he couldn't bring himself to do. 

Blue eyes trail away from the chair to the far bedside table, still littered with gold pieces of jewellery and scraps of paper used to scribble Ward's rushed instructions on. Thirty minutes ago packing all this shit away felt like a task too heavy for Barry's grieving heart and now it just feels like a fucking shrine. 

"Did you think I was coming back?" Rafe asks, a mean bite to the question that's so foreign when directed at Barry. 

"No," Barry stammers, brows pinched as he scrambles for a way to salvage the mood. "I just...it was too...I missed—" 

Rafe unceremoniously shoves Barry hard, the older man stumbling back with a panicked shout before falling on the stiff mattress, gaping up at the ceiling. "I'm not coming back to you," the boy insists, toeing off his own shoes so he can drop his jeans. "I'm not! So don't think that's what this is." 

"Okay," Barry whispers in reply, swallowing around the lump of emotion that's once again found a home in his throat. 

"This is the last time we're ever doing this." Shorts are shimmied down to Barry's knees before Rafe crawls over him with determination, giving his girthy length a few dry tugs.  Barry wants to plead and cry, crush the boy to his chest and never let go, but instead all he does is nod in understanding. "Okay," he repeats on a whisper, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as precome is smeared over the swollen tip. 

If it hadn't been so long, the words surely would have wilted his desire. Instead, Barry keens at the harsh touch as Rafe stretches to retrieve the lube, left right where it was. It's a shock to the system when a cool stream of gooey liquid pours over the purpling cockhead, the kook paying no mind to Barry's shocked gasp. 

"No, no, hey," Barry breathes out, calloused hands untangling from the bedding to grasp tight around sharp hip bones, now straddling his own. 

Rafe insists, "I'm fine." 

"You're not, let me—" 

"Just shut the fuck up, lay there and do nothing," orders Rafe, positioning the leaky tip against his unprepared hole. "I mean, that's what you do, isn't it? Sit back and let me take the fucking fall while you get off scot-free?" 

Any response Barry could have come up with shrivels up and dies as the boy sinks down slowly, strong thighs tensing on either side of his body, grimace firmly in place. Relief floods Barry as he takes in Rafe's uncomfortable expression and quickly softening cock, all the confirmation needed to prove he wasn't being fucked around on during their time apart. He can't help but let warm, sure palms stroke up and down the lithe body, a familiar urge to comfort bubbling up inside him. 

It'll be okay, baby, keep goin'—he'd say, just like the first time Rafe took him like this. It'll feel good soon, once your body's trained t' know better, promise. 

Rafe's heedless act is dropped the moment he's breached, feeling uncomfortably stretched once the tip is fully inside, chest heaving and mouth slack. There's a nervous glint in his eye that Barry instantly picks up on—much to the kooks dismay—and soft-spoken praise is being muttered up at him, encouraging him to take the sizeable length at a leisurely pace. 

"Fuck that," Rafe spits, gritting his teeth to stop from crying out as Barry's cock fucks him open, wet shaft dragging along dry walls. "And fuck you." 

Barry's too busy focusing on not prematurely blowing his load to listen, stomach caving in with his effort. No matter how hard his fingers flex, digging painfully into Rafe's sides, the boy doesn't give him a moment to collect himself before starting to bounce.

Above Barry, Rafe winces every time he bottoms out, bracing himself against the older man's tanned chest. The stretch is bordering on way too much, more intense than ever before without being properly prepared, the kook scrunching his face up to keep quiet. 

There was never a time Barry wasn't eager to take full control in the bedroom—or wherever else they got into it—but this time was different. So different it's hard to stay erect, to stay in the moment. Barry wants to talk more than anything, despite his pulsating cock and pull behind his belly button begging for sweet release after weeks of denial, heart strings pulled too taut to get it up before now. 

But Rafe looks like this is what he needs more than anything else, grinding his ass down in Barry's lap with newfound vigour, distressed grunts giving way to needy whimpers. He's so beautiful and he's right here and he's alive, the dealer staring up at him in awe. 

All that shatters when watery blue eyes glance down to meet Barry's appreciative gaze. 

"This is..." Rafe gasps out between high-pitched moans, trying to school his cock-drunk expression into something more stern before continuing with, "The last time, yeah?" 

But Barry doesn't have half the mind to pretend anymore, shaking his head against the duvet beneath him, fucking up into his boys tight body with reckless abandon. 

Rafe warns, "Barry—" but it comes out breathless, wet tip smacking against him on every thrust, precome glistening on his abs. 

"No," the older man forces out. 

"Yes," Rafe hisses back. 

Barry plants his feet firmly on the mattress to ram into the bundle of nerves inside Rafe with precision, tough hands kneading the boys ass. There's no fight in him, now or maybe ever, overwhelmed with both bodily pleasure and relief. 

The new position knocks Rafe forward, catching himself on the bed next to the dealer's head, only inches between their ruddy faces, sweat pouring down his temples as he's fucked. Maybe it's to get the upper hand for once or maybe it's just to be mean, but Rafe forces himself through wanton moans to say, "I'm gonna find someone else." Beneath him, Barry's movements falter and the broken look that crosses the other man's face almost makes Rafe relent. Almost. "Someone better." 

Those words play on Barry's biggest fear: he's not enough. He's never been enough. 

They've never been into that sort of thing; teasing one another about cheating or leaving or both. If this were before, Barry would've pulled out the moment the sentence was uttered with a soft prick and direct threats. Before Rafe would have never said some shit like that. 

But that was before and this is now, and in the now Barry needs to prove himself. 

"Did you hear me?" Rafe whispers, ducking to nip at the other man's bottom lip. "We're done. I fucking hate you—" 

Barry can't look at him right now, just like Barry couldn't look at him on the marsh. 

A ragged sob wretches out of Rafe when the thrusting ceases without warning, barely registering he's being manhandled onto his stomach with a pillow shoved under his groin, Barry's slippery cock sliding back in from behind.

Its just a means to an end—Barry pulls out only to cram himself back in twice as hard, starting a punishing pace that makes the boy wail, pounding into the fucked-open hole like it belongs to a toy and not the love of his life.

Rafe needs to come, Barry resolutely decided. Then we can talk. 

The kook is a mess of whimpers and fresh falling tears on the bedding, absentmindedly squirming under the harsh onslaught against his prostate, stretched wide around the base and trapped under the weight of the older man, who doesn't let up no matter how much Rafe whines: too deep, too big, too fucking much. 

It may be too deep and too big and too fucking much but that's how Rafe liked to be taken, that had been abundantly clear from the first time Barry spread his legs open. 

Searing kisses are dropped along the column of Rafe's neck and he can't help but reach back, cradle Barry's head as bruises are sucked into his tanned skin. 

"I love you," Barry groans, for the very first time. 

Rafe tenses up, fingers digging into short dark hair to anchor himself as he comes against the flattened pillow with a cry of the older man's name.

Stilling his jerky hips to spill deep inside, violently constricting muscles milk every last drop from Barry, who's struck silent from the burning intensity, mouth gaping. Even though the orgasm was impending from their very first touch, it still takes him by surprise, nearly dropping the entirety of his weight on the kook while recovering. 

"I love you," he repeats quietly, nuzzling Rafe's nape as they come down from the high. "Missed you so much, baby boy—" 

The contentment Barry feels is interrupted by a sharp elbow to his ribs, causing him to pull away from the warm body beneath him and in turn, yank his flagging dick free from the sensitive hole with a pained hiss. 

Rafe snaps, "Get the fuck off me, what the fuck. Shit. Get off me!" And rolls off the bed without word, working quickly to locate his jeans before slipping them on along with his boxers, all while Barry watches in shock. No cuddling, no shifting sore hips to get comfortable or giggly complaints about come soaking the sheets. 

Any warmth between them, any sliver of a chance at this being a sign they could return to normalcy is getting torn to shreds as Rafe readies to leave, bending to tie his sneakers after slipping his socks back in place. 

This is it. This is really it. Rafe is leaving him. 

"We need to talk," Barry stammers out, panic settling in his chest. "Rafe, I—look, what I did was wrong, I was wrong...wasn't thinkin' clearly, aight? I messed up, but I want—" 

"You're right, you weren't thinking," Rafe cuts in with a scoff, crossing the floor to pick through his leftover belongings on the nightstand. "And now I'm going for good and you're going to regret it for the rest of your miserable fucking life, I count on it. Actually, it's the only thing that brings me any peace these days." 

Barry guesses, "Daddy gon' kill me finally?" 

"No." Rafe's jaw jumps at the assumption, avoiding the other man's pleading eyes. "Don't get me wrong, he would if he knew but I told him some bullshit cover story about how you played into the arrest to help me from the outside, said it again and again until he genuinely believed one of the pogues was the rat. Fuck, he still thinks we're together, can you believe that? Such bullshit." 

"It's not bullshit," insists Barry. He doesn't reach out to Rafe, but he desperately wants to. "I want that—to be together. Let me...y'know, try to win you back. I'll prove how serious I am, just sit back down and we'll talk." 

Rafe makes a grab for Barry's discarded shorts, fishing around the pockets until his fingers curl around the dealer's outdated phone. "Why don't you call Garrett?" he suggests, tossing the device down on the bedspread. "I'm sure your little boyfriend would love to come talk to you. I've got better shit to do." 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Rafe, for the first time in their relationship, isn't doing as told and not just because he wants to be punished. The bedroom door is left open as the kook leaves. The sound of footfall carries in from the hallway, then the kitchen, and then a lock clicks back into place as the front door is shut. 

Then it's just Barry again. 

The next morning, when Barry has no choice but to roll out of his rumpled bed, a pile of tear-soiled tissues on the side table and red swollen eyes making it hard to see, he goes through his daily routine on autopilot. 

Piss, brush teeth, tie up wild hair, get a bowl of cereal, sink into the couch, scroll through his shitty phone...

The name Cameron glares like a beacon in the night, Barry's thumb flying across the screen to click the news article linked, reading and rereading the paragraphs in disbelief. They tell of honourable Ward Cameron, not just a leeching business man but a doting father, speaking freely in support of his recovering son. The story goes; Rafe confessed to a harrowing struggle with addiction while in a very dark place, which led to his father taking initiative by checking him into a rehab centre eight hours away, the family booking an Airbnb in the region to lend support. 

There's a special section at the end on how thankful and apologetic Ward is for all the concern, claiming the whole family had stepped back from social media to lend their full attention to Rafe's betterment. 

The whole thing has Barry's entire body aching with fatigue. Plagued with how he wept for months, sick every time he caught sight of a pink shirt in a crowd or heard the familiar rev of a dirt bike speeding by. How Sarah and Wheezie—whom he loved like his own damn sisters after all this time—ignored every text, every call. And he deserves it for what he did, he knows that, still he aches. 

Barry tosses the phone screen-down on the cushion beside him, stewing with his racing thoughts for well over an hour, now empty bowl perched on his lap. He tries telling himself over and over again it's enough to know Rafe is alive, even if his boy isn't his anymore. He repeats the sentiment until it's almost believable.  

Yeah, it'll be enough. It has to be.

[moviesludge]

tagged by @thechurchofsplatterdaysaints

Do you make your bed? Not usually, but oddly enough I did during covid. Something about doing it then made sense to me but I haven't really thought about it. And then I did it when my ex used to nag me about it. I do it sometimes.

Fave number? Don't really care now but I used to like 13 and 14.

What's your job? Unemployed. Would like to be employed but refuse to work a job I hate unless I have no other option. The stress of my last job sucked bad. I help my family though (parents and sister), and there's a lot to do. My dad does absolutely everything and he's 70, so you know. Shit will be changing sooner than later.

Go back to school? I'm not ruling it out.

Can you parallel park? I can. It's weird too, because the first time I ever did it was completely out of necessity and it was a dark night and it was a really small space too. I couldn't believe it when I did it the first time. And I don't consider myself that good of a driver.

Job you had that would surprise people? I guess the most surprising maybe is call center supervisor for eharmony. Or Blockbuster? I dunno.

Aliens real? I feel like the scope of the universe makes this a certainty and it amazes me how many people think it's a ridiculous idea. Talk about main character syndrome!

Can you drive stick? I never had the means to even learn

Guilty pleasure? Eating stuff I know I'm not supposed to (very sparingly!)

Tattoos? no but I think about it sometimes. I feel like I'd get sick of it no matter what it was.

Fave color? too many. earthtones and ryb are up there.

Fave type of music? probably all the stuff in the post-punk/new wave/no wave/power pop sphere. I'm picky about metal, but when I like something I like it a lot. Also been finding out there's a fair amount of rap stuff I dig. I really like soul and funk music and some oldies (50s & 60s, not modern oldies which are 80s).

Do you like puzzles? Word/mind shit, trivia, board games, etc. Yeah I love Jeopardy and I subscribe to NYT games. I do the crosswords, wordle, strands, spelling bee, and connections games every day. I also like nonagrams and I'll do a sudoku once in a while.

Phobias? just making it in the world, especially when my parents are gone. My parents getting sick and/or dying. Climate change causing a global food supply collapse in my lifetime. The U.S. falling fully into fascism. Basically things that are all certain to happen sooner or later

Favorite childhood sport? Basketball and baseball. Never liked playing soccer or football.

Talk to yourself? Yeah mostly when I'm irritated about something.

Movies you adore? Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, Evil Dead II, Speed Racer, Starship Troopers, Black Christmas, Bad Santa, My Cousin Vinny, Tremors, Gremlins 2, Better Off Dead, Big Trouble In Little China, Boxer's Omen, Terrorvision, etc

Coffee or Tea? both, but mostly coffee. I tried chai tea recently though and I like it a lot.

1st thing you wanted to be when grew up? The way my mind is, I didn't really think about things this way. All I remember desiring as a kid about being an adult was being on even ground with other adults and being given basic respect instead of being treated like a little kid. Like I wanted to sit on the couch and have my feet touch the floor. I wondered what my face would look like as an adult. The idea of a far off future job was irrelevant to me.

tagging @donnerpartyofone @steamedtangerine @jesusismyhostage

[belit0]

hiiii :) hope ur doing well !!

Can i get shisui with prompts 4 & 12 (separate pls)

thank u ☺️

Hi darling! Better late than never!!🥹❤️‍🩹 Dont get mad at me :(

(I've written number 12 so many times at this point that I can't even think of what to add🤣💕)

Im using what Sam provided the other day for this one😩🫱🏼‍🫲🏼

NSFW prompts!

4) READER is famous for faking all their orgasms and Shisui takes it as a challenge. Later Shisui is counting all reader’s orgasms during sex.

"You're disappointing me, (Y/N), especially after the things you said. Do you want to stop?" he asks with all the audacity in the world, a mischievous grin on his face as if he hadn't been fucking her for a full hour. He didn't even take care to finish, but made sure to make her feel for the first time in her life.

It is customary for (Y/N) to mention with all of her affairs the fact that none of them really manage to arouse pleasure between her legs, and she uses it as a pathetic fact when at the end of the night, the man in her bed accomplished nothing more than to make her pretend like a porn star.

There is wonderful satisfaction in destroying the heart of every person who passes by her bedroom, as though she collects them, and she believed that today's adventure would be no different than usual.

After a match on Tinder and a brief introduction to each other, it wasn't hard to arrange an evening time to meet. (Y/N) started the night talking about how she only gets satisfaction from her toys, and that no man is truly good in bed. Her intended victim, Shisui, according to his profile, nodded at every comment she made, smiling into his glass as if mocking the stories she told.

He even dared to ask sober questions "How do you like it?" "Where do you feel the most?" "What are the things you can't tolerate?" "Swallowing or spitting?", and she thought he was simply giving himself encouragement to try, do his best, and fail like everyone else.

It was outrageous and infuriating, making her even more eager to test him.

She closed her monologue with a "let's see what you have to offer, pretty boy", and didn't expect to scream the way she did when Shisui brought out what he was hiding.

For the first time in her whole damn life, someone touched her clit with precision, sending tickles all the way to the tip of her head and making her moan involuntarily. The man merely smiled, and when (Y/N) wanted to fire with her own heavy artillery, he silenced her with a rampant kiss.

He made her finish twice on his fingers before even removing his pants, and all pride went down the drain as she lost control over the tremors in her legs.

"Need a break, pretty girl?" the man comes up to her face level, crouching down on the floor next to her. His eyes are even sweet, but the constant smirk implanted on his face only tells of how inflated his ego is becoming.

"No... I don!-" Her sentence is interrupted by the head of his cock, and a prominent length burying itself carelessly in her throat. All the finesse Shisui presented at the beginning of the night now seems like a disguise he used to get into her bed, listening to her complaints about the sexual inability of any average man.

The problem is that this Uchiha is nothing of the sort, but rather a force to be reckoned with.

"Swallow it all then, and don't stop touching yourself love, we're not done with that pussy." He fucks her throat as if it were a random hole, holding her by the hair and making sharp movements with his hips. He doesn't slow down even when he feels her gagging, allowing her relief only when (Y/N) squeezes his leg.

They engage in that cycle a few more times until she runs out of oxygen, unable to think or process any more pleasure.

Shisui lifts her up by her arms and guides her to the bed, causing the girl to fall onto her back. He controls and moves her hands, making her hold her legs below her knees. Her cunt is completely exposed, and she only hears some spitting before she is filled.

(Y/N) screams out loud from the mixture of pleasure and overstimulation, pussy used like never before, and Shisui giving no slack with the pace he keeps up. The Uchiha looks like a well-oiled machine as he thrusts in and out, both hands on the side of her head and staring at her.

He holds her by the jaw as he kisses her with what seems like pure passion, all the fire one stranger can feel for another, and whispers "I thought you'd have more to offer, you said too many stupid things before you even saw me naked."

She can't reply to that, nor does she manage to analyze how the man can sustain such a violent rhythm and speak as if not agitated. Both hips collide again and again, as his balls slap against her buttocks. He forces one of her hands to release her leg and move towards that area, making her hold his sack in hand and squeeze.

"Just like that (Y/N), pull… good girl." He sounds a little more worked up, without lowering the level of seriousness of his thrusts. "Such a good fucking girl, and such a tight pussy, shit..."

She doesn't even register the force she puts into her grip, nor in how her other hand unthinkingly goes to her clit, finishing again over Shisui's penetrations. The man seems to approve of her action, and that's what sends him through his wonderful peak.

(Y/N) thinks about the fact that he wasn't even wearing a condom when she feels him come on her stomach, but doesn't have the heart or strength to worry about it.

12) Imagine that Shisui and READER lived together. Shisui comes home one day and hears loud moaning coming from their bedroom, recognizing reader’s voice. Shisui assumes, to their horror, that reader is cheating on them, and they rush to the bedroom and open the door. Instead of seeing a cheating partner, Shisui actually walks in on reader masturbating/using sex toys.

"(Y/N) WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH- oh" Is the intonation with which Shisui enters the room, determined to kill the man between his wife's legs and leave her as soon as the blood dries on his hands.

He is usually greeted from his missions with hot food and love, kisses, hugs, good sex, but today all he heard as he walked through the door were moans, merciless and familiar, (Y/N)'s sweet voice screaming to the four winds without a care.

He didn't even take the time to analyze the situation, to decide if it was worth listening or to look for another presence on the perimeter, his anger fueled by the weariness of coming home after days of killing people.

Life is hard, and Shisui just wanted to hug his wife.

When he finally walks through the door, he eats for breakfast the image of his frightened wife, and a vibrant pink toy he has never seen in her hands, attacking that spot only he knows how to work well. He doesn't know whether to feel jealous at being replaced by that vibrator, or happy that he (Y/N) isn't fucking anyone else.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you, love, go on. Do you mind if I stay and watch?"

[marumarielle]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐃𝐑 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 (𝟎𝟎𝟐)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ another one after abandoning my schoolworks LMAOOOO. ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ this one is more family centered (DR STRANGEEEEEEEE!!!) because i miss my dad

tw: none rlly, just a moody stephen strange lols

mcu dr moodboard

dr strange is my father figure (HE NEEDS MORE LOVE FRFR)

He used to love to make letters for people he loves but after the accident he stopped making them because he's insecure lf his handwriting

But i tell him to do it anyway because it's a rare thing to receive these days

Then i got a letter the next day :DDDDDD

Stephen and I know each other so well he gets that parent sense.

Yknow, the type of parent sense where his gut just gives him a feeling of "Oh, she feels down today. I'll make her something to make her feel better"

also applies to danger btw (we'll get to that in another post 😉)

This man writes me letters with encouraging and reassuring words whenever i feel down but he'll usually slide them beneath my door because i tend to stay in my room after a bad day😭😭😭

He usually starts it off with a "I've felt something heavy on my chest for a while. Did something happen, sweetheart? Are you sleeping well?" AND IABDUSBSJWBDHW ILYSM YOU DONT EVEN KNOOWWWWWWW

idc about what anyone says, STEPHEN IS A MASTER BAKER AND COOK

this man is literally the eldest in his family and had 2 younger siblings ofc he had to take care of them

(p.s. the only reason y he stopped baking and cooking was because of his tremors)

I have long hair in my DR and so he whenever he's outside and sees a hair accessory shop, he'll come home with a paper bag full of hair pins, clips, clams, hair ties, etc.

He then says it would be a waste if i didn't use any of them so he'll style my hair himself (its his excuse for showing affection)

oh and THIS MAN HAS STYLEEE

he won't hesitate to tell me if my clothes don't match and then he proceeds to teach me how to style my clothes correctly

Doesn't let me fight enemies

Would literally step between me and an enemy with ZERO HESITATION (dw guys i scripted he doesn't die, HES MY DAD I WONT LET THAT HAPPEN DUHHH)

I would quietly steal his phone when he's not looking and take a funny selfie of myself (the one angle where the camera's near your forehead)

LMAO HE USED ONE OF THE PICS AS A LOCKSCREEN?????? okay dude, whatever makes you happy ig

He's also v strict tho

So. if im late he trains with this sour mood (he hates his time being wasted)

can sometimes be a bit harsh but v apologetic afterwards

he proceeds to cook something up for me as a sorry

that's all for now. i made this at like 1 AM so its v messy. TY FOR READINGGG!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Caregiver (LU Twilight Ficlet)

Dusk usually soured Twilight's mood, but today it was the rain. Or the walking. Or the constant fighting they'd been doing recently. He wasn't sure. Maybe it was none of those things.

Some days just weren't good days.

After the chores were done, Twilight offered to do a perimeter check and disappeared into the forest, shifting into his wolf form. He felt... different when he was like this. He supposed it was a stupid observation to make, saying one felt different when one was a wolf. Of course that would feel different.

But it was more than just the physicality of it. Like this, he was considered a monster. Like this, he was considered a sweet friend. Like this, he wasn't expected any heroic duties. Like this, people were afraid of him. Like this, he could just be with animals and nature. Like this, he could be left alone.

Like this, he couldn't cry.

Today just wasn't a good day. Anxieties and worries filled him, words biting into his mind like beasts tearing his sanity apart. Things that would usually be a quick observation that he would swat away suddenly returned with reinforcements, ready to trample him into the dust.

Four hated shadow magic, and Twilight used it extensively.

Time was happily married, Sky was head over heels in love with someone who probably loved him just as much, and Twilight was alone.

Wild could have breakdowns because everyone understood that he was a mess, and Twilight had to be the strong one for him even if he felt like he was going to fall apart.

Warriors had so many reasons to be a broken mess yet he wasn't, and Twilight had so few reasons yet he was.

Hyrule and Legend had no families, and Twilight had one that adored him yet he treated them poorly, he was never around anymore for them.

Wind had seen too much at his age but still had hope, and Twilight had a peaceful wonderful childhood and was filled with nothing.

Sometimes... sometimes Twilight just wanted it to end. Sometimes he wished he could sleep as well and as long as Sky seemed to, and sometimes he was so insane with energy and had nothing to do with it.

Four would hate him if he knew. Wild would never rely on him if he saw how Twilight hurt too, he wouldn't want to burden the Ordonian with his problems. Sky and Time would offer sympathetic words or touches but that didn't change the hollowness inside him. Warriors would tease and try to perk him up, and it would only emphasize how much better the captain was. Hyrule, Legend, and Wind would offer their support in their own ways, and it would highlight Twilight's pathetic state of mind even more.

Who else would hate him, he wondered. Would it just be Four? Hyrule might hate him, with as much magical energy as he has about him, shadow magic probably felt like a disease to him. If he showed his true nature, revealed all his secrets, his thoughts, his desires, his beliefs, his feelings... who else would hate him?

Who would be disappointed in him?

A choking sound emitted form his throat, making his chest burn. He couldn't cry as a wolf, but it would still try to escape.

Just let it out. No one's here.

Twilight shifted back into Hylian form and collapsed into a pile of leaves. The tears came in waves, racking his body with violent tremors and muffled sobs before leaving him drained and exhausted, and then it would start anew. He felt like his heart and mind were screaming at each other, his heart taking him and shaking him to his core until he was depleted while his mind told him to get over it.

Others have it worse. I need to take care of them. I have no excuse to feel like this. So what if they hate me for who I am, for what I think and believe, I can help them and support them until we get to that point. They don't have to know who I really am. And if they find out, then...

Then what? What would he do when he was an outcast to some of his brothers? If he couldn't support the others because they were afraid to bother him? He wasn't foolish with his emotionalism, he knew he wasn't going to be thrown out or anything, but... but he imagined he would be shunned. The bitter cold stabbed him from the inside out, making the tears spring fresh as if he hadn't cried four times already.

This was so stupid. He knew better than to let this upset him.

But today just wasn't a good day.

So much time passed the sun had completely faded behind the horizon. Twilight shivered as the damp cool air of night settled into his skin. It chilled the hot tears that stained his cheeks and slammed reality into his soul like a slap to the face.

Twilight took a deep breath, wiped his face clean, and rose.

Perhaps I will be an outcast if they find out. Perhaps some of them will hate me, and some will pity me to the point of exclusion. So they don't have to find out. I can support them as I am, with everything as it is. I can help them and be there for them, offer what little assistance I can provide.

They don't have to know who I am.

Twilight took another breath, steadying himself. He just wanted to help. The camaraderie meant the world to him, but he could live without it if need be. He just wanted to help. He could help - he knew Time's fate and could maybe alter it. He saw Wild's pain and had his trust, so he could help him through his trauma. Wolfie saw more than anyone, and Twilight could soothe the hurts the others held close to their hearts.

Twilight took a third breath, and felt whole again. Because this wasn't about him. It was about his family.

He went back to camp, and smiled when everyone greeted him.

Time watched him a little too long, eye discerning. "Everything all right?"

Twilight waved a dismissive hand as he walked to Wild, settling beside his little brother. "Of course."