#absolute room-temperature brain moments

[antisolanum]

Bro you’re the one on whom a swastika tattoo belongs, you’re call the survivors of the Shoah the reich in order to justify the new murder of seven million Jews, your allies are calling for Jews to be raped and their children murdered, you could not be more evil if you don’t care, but I’m sure you’ll try to find a way to up how evil you are - that’s inevitably what happens on this path. I really wish you guys would start wearing swastikas and stop pretending you’re anti Nazis, you’re literally repeating their propaganda. You want our seven year old nephews dead the same way the Nazis murdered our grandparents seven year old brothers. Shut the ever loving hell up forever about our trauma, if you’re going to root for us to be murdered, I think the bear minimum you can do is be mildly less phenomenally evil. Think you can try that? Try being not so completely the devil incarnate?

you literally cannot parody these people, they are completely gone and only a shell remains

[reidmania]

opposites attract | s. reid

summary; spencer would give the world to be your person, even after you argue that you two are too different.

warnings; fem reader, pining!spencer, lowkey pining!reader, bombshell!reader, rejection, reader is described as confident and more of a black cat, insecurities, doubting, a bad date mentioned, happy ending, spencer lowkey gets frustrated, reader has tattoos.

an; messy and switches perspectives whoopsies. Idk how many words, a lot. Too many.

Two years. That was how long Spencer had been a complete and utter mess. Two years since his brain didn’t quite function the same, he remained intelligent, sure, but god so incomplete. Two years since you started at the BAU, two years since he met you.

You were out of his league. He had decided it the moment he laid eyes on you. You were stunning, absolutely perfect in anyones gaze. You were everything he could ever want and more, not just physically. Your laugh, your voice, the way you spoke to everyone around you, gentle, warm. The way you sat quietly in the corner most days, not because you felt out of place, nor shy, not because you didn’t enjoy being there, but just because no matter where in a room you were, your presence was known. Especially to Spencer.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t fall completely in love with you the first time the two of you ever had a conversation and you spoke to him with a smile, listened to him, he tried to pretend the scent of your perfume didn’t make him lightheaded, and the sight of your tattoo that he only saw on occasion’s didn’t make him wonder if you had more, what made you get it, was there meaning?

Spencer wanted to know everything about you, he wanted to live in your brain and know your every like and dislike, what made you smile a little wider, what made you unable to stop laughing, what your favourite drink was, what colour you liked the most, where your family was from, your middle name.

Spencer would stop the world to know you.

That was impossible to hide, even two years later. He tried, so many times to get your attention, to be the subject of your fascination. It didn’t help that every-time you looked in his direction his skin grew ten temperatures too warm and his head spun.

He tried asking you out, twice. Sort of.

The first time was too subtle, too rambling and hidden in the mix of stutters and hot cheeks, fidgeting hands. Because you were looking at him, with a gaze so intense and caring, patient.

How was he ever suppose to talk when you were looking at him like that? Like there was something that made him worth the gravity the warmth in your eyes held.

“Would you date me?” It was blurted out on a Tuesday afternoon, you were standing beside him as the buzz of the bullpen had calmed down, your gaze was focused on reorganising the files on his desk, his gaze was on you. You were reorganising because you didn’t like the way he had done it, and it had been ‘bugging’ you for weeks.

Spencer loved the way his files were organised, but he loved you more.

It was stupid, he didn’t even mean to say it. It was out of place leaving his lips and he knew it the moment your head turned towards him and a sweet laugh left your lips, not mocking him, god you would never. It was a laugh of shock, confusion, maybe even surprise.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, raising your eyebrow slightly as you met his eyes. His cheeks heated before he could help it, eyes went wide because he had no idea what he was doing.

“What- I- no.” His voice was an octave higher, a tell sign he was nervous, if you needed any more tell signs between the fidgeting of his hands, his bright pink cheeks and his avoidant gaze. You smiled as you shook your head, looking back at the files on his desk, he watched your hand as your ran your finger along them once they were organised neatly, anyone else he might’ve cringed at the sight, but it was you.

“I don’t think so” You had mumbled in response and Spencer felt the world shift into an imbalance. You said it so casually. He didn’t know if his heart was beating too fast or if it was breaking. You turned your head back to look at him, a frown on your lips when you saw the frown that had snuck its way onto his features before he could even realise.

“Not because you aren’t great. Or attractive. You are — You definitely are. I just think we are too different.” You said. His eyebrows knitted together as he met your eyes. He hated the fact you were frowning, he hated the fact he was frowning. He hated what you had just said, god he loved you.

“Right” he didn’t know what to say.

“Spence” You spoke through a warm huff of laughter, shaking your head as you twisted your body to face him fully, your hip leaning against the desk as you crossed your arms over your chest. He watched your hair fall down the sides of your face, over your shoulders. He wondered if you had changed your shampoo since the last time, the only time you had hugged him a few weeks ago, when he had gotten the chance to breath it in, and then it was all he thought about for weeks.

You smiled at him and it was contagious, despite the ache in his chest and overwhelming sense of illness in his stomach, you were smiling. “I think you’re amazing, i always have” you started and his cheeks warmed more. “But we are complete opposite’s.”

He wanted to argue you. Say that he could change and be more like you, more like the guys he had seen pick you up after work, he could be whatever you wanted. He could be someone. Someone to you.

But he didn’t.

That was the last time Spencer had attempted to ask you out, you never bought it up. You never questioned it again, you didn’t push you ask why he wanted to know. Spencer remained sickeningly in love with everything about you, you remained pretending to not notice.

Why were you here? You couldn’t quite remember or find the time to think about it properly between the noise surrounding the fancy restaurant you were in and the sickening long rant the boy in front of you was going on. Something about a business, something about saving it, something egotistical and sickeningly boring.

The date starts out fine. It’s all small talk at first—work, hobbies, the usual pleasantries. But soon, you realize that Mark has a lot to say. About himself. A lot.

“And then I closed the deal,” he says, recounting some work story about how he single-handedly saved his company from financial ruin. He leans back in his chair, smiling like he’s just told you the most fascinating thing in the world. You nod politely, but your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background as you think about something else, someone else.

Spencer.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Probably at home, curled up with a book, or maybe he’s watching a documentary. You can almost picture him, pacing around his apartment, muttering facts to himself about some obscure topic that no one but him finds interesting. But you love that about him. He’s so passionate about everything, even the things that most people would overlook. And he’s never trying to show off. He just loves sharing what he knows.

You try to pay attention to the guy in front of you, you really really do. But god he is so boring. You wonder how quickly you could get one of your friends to come save you from this horror of a date. You wonder how long you would have to hide in the bathroom for before he disappeared.

Mark’s voice pulls you back to reality. “So, what do you think?” he asks.

“Hmm?” You blink, realizing you’ve missed the last five minutes of whatever he was talking about.

“I was saying,” he repeats, a little slower this time, “I just think it’s amazing how people like me can juggle so many things at once. Don’t you think?”

You smile, but it’s strained. “Sure, that’s impressive.”

As the date drags on, you start to notice little things. Like the way Mark talks to the waiter, snapping his fingers for attention, barely looking up from his phone when the waiter brings the food. He doesn’t say thank you. Not once. It’s subtle, but it grates on you. You find yourself cringing, wondering if anyone else notices.

He was much more interesting when he asked you out a few nights ago at a bar, when you were drunk. Why had you agreed? Maybe drunk you saw something sober you didn’t. Or maybe drunk you just saw a male who was conventionally attractive and made you laugh. You wondered how low the bar was

You didn’t have a lot of time to wonder before you heard your name from behind you, your head spun and you almost cried with gratefulness when you saw Penelope standing there, a wide grin on her face, and then Spencer standing beside her, he offered you a gentle shy wave that made your heart warm.

“Oh my gosh! Do you guys want to come sit?” You asked, praying they said yes, praying that Penelope noticed the wide urgent look in your eyes and understood that you were begging. You were genuinely begging for a conversation about anything other than Mark’s biggest accomplishments.

“Oh- We don’t want to interrupt.” Spencer mumbled, looking between you and Mark, the two of you sitting opposite sides of the booth you were in. You noticed the look in Spencer’s eye, you knew what it was. He didn’t want to sit there while you were on a date with someone else. Clearly he misread the urgency in your gaze.

“No! Mark doesn’t mind? Do you mind Mark?” You asked, spinning your head around to face Mark who was confused on the two people and why they were talking to you. Why they had interrupted him. You had to hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

“Uh..” he started, you cut him off. “He doesn’t mind. Come sit.” You shuffled over to make room for the two.

Penelope slides into the booth beside you, while Spencer takes the seat across from you, next to Mark. He looks nervous, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table, but he offers you a small, shy smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” you ask, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling up inside you.

“Oh, we were just nearby, and I figured we’d grab something to eat,” Penelope says.

Spencer fidgets with his napkin, glancing at you, then back at the table. “I-I was telling Penelope about this, uh, documentary I watched the other night. It’s about the history of the subway system in New York. I think you’d really like it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nods, his eyes lighting up as he starts to explain. “Yeah, it’s fascinating, actually. They had to navigate all these geological challenges, and the engineering behind it is incredible. I know you mentioned once that you’re interested in architecture, and I thought you might appreciate how they designed the stations.”

You stare at him for a moment, surprised. You don’t even remember telling him that you liked architecture, but he did. And now, here he is, rambling about a documentary he thinks you’d enjoy, not because he’s trying to impress you, but because he genuinely thought you’d find it interesting.

Meanwhile, Mark is looking more and more uncomfortable, clearly not enjoying the conversation. He cuts in, talking over Spencer to launch into another story about himself, but you’re barely listening anymore. Instead, you’re watching Spencer, noticing how different he is from Mark. Spencer, who’s always so considerate, who listens more than he talks, who looks at you like you’re the most important person in the room, even when he’s nervous.

And then there’s Mark, who hasn’t asked you a single question all night, who’s rude to the waiter, and who’s more interested in hearing himself talk than getting to know you.

“I think I might head off..” Mark muttered, clearly annoyed at the fact you had not only been interrupted on your date, but also frustrated that you were paying more attention to Spencer than him. You couldn’t care less.

“Oh okay! Have a good night” You smiled, sickeningly nice as he shuffled his way past Spencer to leave the table. He glanced at you once, not saying anything before he walked away.

“He was an asshole!!” Penelope bursts out into laughter the minute Mark was out of earshot, you immediately joined her laughter while Spencer remained quiet, shuffling around on the now empty side of the booth.

“Those are the type of guys you go out with?” He asked, his voice was quiet, almost offended. You wish you understood why when you stopped laughing at met his gaze. You opened your mouth to talk as the tension around the table grew.

“Hey! Don’t judge!” She gasped out, pointing her finger dramatically at Spencer, clearly not noticing his underlying feelings and why he had even said anything, you did. “It’s slim pickings out here!!”

Spencer hummed, tapping his fingers against the table as he avoided meeting your gaze. You frowned slightly. Soon enough the conversation fell back into rhythm, flowing like it did any other time. They ate, you paid since it was your date. Then Penelope left.

You stood outside of the restaurant, looking around the busy streets. “How are you getting home?” Spencer asked, his gaze meeting yours as you tilted your head upwards to look at him, you couldn’t not smile. It was impossible not to smile around Spencer.

“Uh- Walking. I walked. It’s really not far.” You nodded to support your words as you buried your hands inside the warmth of your pockets. You had been in a state since Spencer had gotten there, a state you couldn’t quite explain. Silently lost in thought, a state of confusion? Maybe realisation.

“I’ll walk you home. Its late.” He said it like it was a no brainer. Like it was the most obvious thing for him to do. No date you had ever been on had offered you walk you home.

Every time Spencer speaks, you feel yourself softening, smiling without even realizing it. His nervous energy, the way he fumbles over his words, it’s all so endearing. He’s not trying to prove anything to you. He just wants to share the things he loves with you, and it’s the sweetest thing.

“Okay.” You breathe out the silent agreement before your feet find rhythm next to Spencer’s as you walk down the street, the post lights causing an orange glow across the ground, across his face.

“Theres a study.” Spencer started, his breathe coming out warm against the cold air causing a fog of steam to follow his breath, you watched it for an moment before your eyes flickered to the side of his face, you’re still walking, his gaze doesn’t meet yours.

“That uh— Shows that opposites attract, it’s more of a theory, since scientifically it doesn’t actually work like that — although negatives are attracted to positives if you’re looking at electricity — but uh- People believe that a lot of people are attracted to people opposite them, because each person offers something the other lacks, making the relationship feel more complete.. Majority of relationships that are built off of opposites work better than people who are too similar because theres more of a balance.. its chaotic but, it uh — it works.”

He was nervous. You could tell. Your breath hitched slightly as he spoke, as he brought it up again. Your mind tried to process the overload of information he had mumbled out. You tried to process it.

“So scientifically we wouldn’t work.” You huffed out. He laughed. Genuinely laugh, it was breathy and quiet but genuine and it made your heart warm.

“Technically— but theoretically—”

You cut him off, a rare occurrence, “I thought you were a science guy.” You mumbled.

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “I think I am just a you guy.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was sweet in a way that your brain couldn’t process. He was going against everything he believed to be correct because he wanted you?

“I thought data and statistics are the most reliable source of information.” You mumbled the response, words he had said, probably months ago. Why were you fighting him on this? Why were you fighting yourself on this? You weren’t sure.

“Sure; most of the time. But they are subjective. Especially when talking about psychologically. Each couple, each set of people — they’re different.” He said, his gaze didn’t meet yours. You pulled your eyes away to focus on the street in front of you. You were getting closer to your house, yet part of you wanted to stay right here.

“You think we could work?” You asked. It was a whisper.

He paused, you could see him nod in your peripheral. “I do. I’d make it work, i’d do anything.” Maybe it came out more desperate than he had intended, you found it sweet.

You found him sweet.

“Spencer” you paused your movements and his stopped with yours. His body turned to face you as you looked up at him. His eyes were pleading, desperate, hoping. It almost made your heart ache at the slight fear in them, that you were going to maybe reject him again.

But you found him sweet.

“Id date you.” You answered the question he had asked maybe months ago now, you didn’t realise until now that you had conveniently stopped outside your house. You turned your head to look at the front door before back at Spencer.

“Can i- uh- Will you- I-“ He stuttered and your heart warmed at his nervous attempt to ask you out.

“Yes.” You answered gently, saving him the hassle. Maybe being different was a good thing. Maybe you could beat the statistics that proved otherwise.

Maybe opposites did attract.

[nereidprinc3ss]

Ok but I think you hit on something in “in the dead of night” about how Spencer leans into his mammalian instincts. Imagine him angry and tense after a rough day and needing that and then talking you through the motions of it and why it makes him feel better because of the science and chemicals behind it all

i absolutely love this!! thank you for requesting:)

also experimenting with a new short and sweet format for blurbs/request! feedback is always appreciated<3

wc 800

warnings: fem!reader, very suggestive, d/s dynamics

“I don’t—Spencer—”

Something in your mouth keeps you from finishing the sentence. Namely: your boyfriend’s tongue. You gasp into him as he tugs your jacket off, arching your back against the wall he’s pressed you to so that the fabric can hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Spence, please,” you manage, barely, as his hand cups your jaw and his thumb presses under your chin, encouraging you to angle your head up and make room for his lips. It’s not that you don’t want this—you told him he could be rough with you and you meant it—but you’re slightly overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic display of nearing aggressive passion.

“What, baby?” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands snake under your shirt. Focused on the feeling of his hand pressed against your waist, you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“You’re acting… different.”

A pause—his head drops against your shoulder as he reigns himself in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—you don’t need to stop, I just… it might make me feel better if I knew what this was about.”

He sucks in a breath.

“You want to hear about my day?”

The way his fingers trail downward over your skin is so gentle it feels almost dangerous.

“… Yeah.” But you don’t at all sound sure of yourself. A hum from him seems to rattle your skull as he drags his lips up your neck and over your jaw, kissing you with a softness that is almost certainly deceptive.

“You know what, angel? I don’t actually really feel like talking about that right now. Does that tell you—” he bites your lip, and it doesn’t really hurt, but you whine anyway, “what kind of day I had?”

No words are forming for you anymore, so you make do with an airy “mhm.”

The first button at the bottom of your shirt is undone before you even realize he was unbuttoning it.

“Have you ever heard of the ventrolateral ventromedial hypothalamus?” Spencer murmurs, undoing the buttons on your shirt with a practiced expertise that is hard to keep up with—especially when he keeps teasing your lips with his like this. It doesn’t even matter if you’ve heard of that or not; all the information you’ve ever retained is gone from the stores of your brain. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer, it feels deeply unimportant. You shake your head no. “The hypothalamus does a lot. It regulates our appetites, our body temperatures, hormones…”

Why is this so sexy.

“It also has a lot to do with how we express our emotions. And that tiny part of the hypothalamus—the one I just mentioned—it’s where we process two really big feelings.” He undoes the last button, gently pushing your open shirt from your shoulders. “Anger.” Hands creep around your hips, blindly unzipping your skirt. “And arousal.”

Oh!

“In a disregulated brain, that can be a dangerous combination. But,” he tugs the straps of your bra down, “if you understand it, you can use it to your advantage.”

Your breath is bated as you do the work of kicking off your shoes, and he unclasps your bra.

“The human brain is fallible in so many ways. At the end of the day, we’re delicate, and vulnerable, and convoluted—but we’re also pretty simple creatures, motivated by a few basic instincts. Anger and sex are intrinsic to who we are as animals. For most of history, they’ve defined us. And they’re so closely related. Do you follow?”

Your response comes as a gasp when you realize you haven’t been breathing for a long moment now.

“Yes.” Does it matter if you understand? You just want him to touch you.

“Good.” His lowered voice gets even quieter as he continues, brushing hair behind your ear carefully. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

“I know.”

You don’t remember how all your clothes ended up on the kitchen floor, but they’re certainly not on you anymore as he presses flush against your bare skin.

“I will always take care of you and keep you safe. That being said—sometimes the best thing you can do when you’re having a really big feeling is to follow that basic animal instinct. It’s why sprinting can help when you’re having a panic attack. Your body is in fight or flight and it will relax if you follow the instinct to run.”

Spencer’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ve been having some of those really big feelings today. Do you know what’s going to make me feel better?”

You whimper. Fabric slips past your hips and falls to the ground as Spencer begins closing the small distance between your mouths—but not before uttering a word that has your heart racing.

“You.”

[captainpetebradshaw]

so i watched 2x22 "the wire" for the first time today and it was a near religious experience so you're getting my thoughts on it under the cut

I love how comfortable they've gotten with each other; talking books? disagreeing about books? garak asking if julian can't just use his status as a doctor to get them to skip the line?

"perfect health, huh??" julian is so offended by garak lying to him about his condition lol

"i'm a doctor, not a botanist" is this some kind of star trek tradition?

"why can't he just tell me what's going on?" "it sounds like you're taking this personally" "i suppose I am... It's just that garak and I have been having lunch together once a week for more than a year now" once a week?! for more than a year?!

and then julian angrily stabbing dax's plant in frustration. let it out.

unsure if quark called julian to come get the absolutely hammered garak from his bar because he's the doctor or because julian is literally the only social contact quark could think of for garak???

"i prefer to drink somewhere quiet" "quiet? excellent idea... we'll go to my quarters" "whatever you want. but first i must make a stop at the infirmary" guess garak wasn't drunk enough for that little trick

but he was drunk enough to not notice the bottle hand-off to quark

"make it stop, make it stop..." aww no, poor baby!

julian using his doctor credentials to basically break into garak's. guess they ended up in his quarters after all

"if i was ever tortured, [the implant] was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins" i gotta say, that has some freaky fucked up potential for fanfics and i can't wait to see how often it has been appropriated in the last 30 years

"living on this station is torture for me, doctor. the temperature is always too cold. the lights are always too bright. every bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt" ah yes, the autism experience

"why don't you just shut the damn thing off?" julian, do they teach nothing about addiction in med school?

i had to rewind this scene a couple times because i was chanting "kiss! kiss! kiss!" in my living room and didn't listen to a word they said. the 4:3 aspect ratio is also doing its thing

"has it ever occured to you that i might be getting exactly what i deserve?" "no one deserves this" julian going from all that taunting and appealing to garak's pride to this???? unexpected softness incoming

garak telling this story about how he is responsible for so many people dying and julian just saying right now he's just concerned for his health and won't let him die??? "you need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, i promise i'll help you through them" like this is insane. i assumed people shipped them for a reason (and lower decks made them "canon" for a reason) but i was LIVING watching this.

it also has to be said that andrew robinson is acting the ever living shit out of these scenes - fantastic

even odo can't get past protector mode chief medical officer doctor bashir

staying by his bedside? for hours???

shoulder touch denied!!!

it's wild, garak must be suffering so much in that moment but he's still spinning up some new potential backstory. maybe this time it's not a lie but we just don't know.

"and so they exiled you" "that's right! and left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." "i'm sorry you feel that way. i thought you enjoyed my company." "oh i did! and that's the worst part. i can't belive that i actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into your smug sanctimonious face. i hate this place and i hate you." "ok, garak." addicts do get just absolutely hateful so this sounds pretty spot on to me.

on a side note, i don't think i could have done lunch every week with julian. he is smug and he has a big ego and i relate to the other senior officers who were sometimes a little condescending in their reactions when he was boasting about something or other. but that's ok, i don't have to. garak enjoyed it, it seems.

garak: you still have to learn the truth julian: heart eyes motherfucker

"why are you telling me this, garak?" "so that you can forgive me. why else? i need to know that someone forgives me"

"i forgive you. for whatever it is you did" "thank you, doctor. that's most kind"

so julian goes and finds the guy who's kind of responsible for garak having that implant in the first place. it's also i think the first time julian acknowledges they are friends?

"how sick is garak?" "he's dying" "and you're trying to save him?" "that's right" "strange... i thought you were his friend?" "i suppose i am" "then you should let him die. after all, for garak, a life in exile is no life at all"

"thank you" "don't thank me. i'm not doing garak any favors. he doesn't deserve a quick death. on the contrary. i want him to live a long, miserable life. i want him to grow old on that station surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again. "what a lovely sentiment" "and it's from the heart, i assure you" <- that made me laugh

we learn garak's first name!

he's well again! back to the regularly scheduled lunch date!

and he's got a new book recommendation for julian, how nice

"what i want to know out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't" "my dear doctor, they were all true" "even the lies?"

"especially the lies"

smiley boys!

this ended up being more of a collection of my favorite quotes from the episode but that's fine with me. it's my post.

[dreamsinmoonlight]

Angel Cocoon

(Blame the brain rot. I watched Hazbin and had a dream about pathetic Adam and found myself deeply in love with this asshole. I did not expect it and I feel if I don't write I will explode so have this. Probably not my best work but it was stuck in my head all day at work; I have ideas for other stuff, including a more indepth fic (might be x reader, might be x oc, haven't decided yet). Hopefully this isn't too bad though

Update: Now with a sequel, whaaaaa? Angel Massages up and running

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Adam (damned pathetic man), angel!Reader

Pairing: Adam x Reader

Genre: Comfort, fluff (not smutty? For Adam? I'm impressed by myself sometimes)

Summary: Every morning this happens. You do not mind.)

Every morning you were thankful that heaven's temperature was always perfect. Because every morning you woke up in a state that could best be described as the Cocoon.

When you first started dating the egotistical, loud mouthed, foul mouthed, perverted asshole known as the leader of the exterminators, aka Adam the first man or “Dick Master” if he could ever get his way, you had expected a lot of things. Getting your ear talked off on a regular basis, all sorts of pet names running the gambit from honestly a bit sweet (what, you liked being called sugartits) to you're-lucky-i-don't-take-you-seriously-Adam (who calls their significant other a slut, really), being expected to go to most if not all of his music gigs, occasionally having your back blown out because damn could that man fuck, learning to find some of the stupidest things funny because he managed to make it so; these were things you expected or at least got better used to. It was sort of like dating a hyperactive teenager but nine feet tall and with the strength enough to swing around a guitar-axe like it was a pool noodle. You had not had a normal day since the moment you agreed to this and you had quickly realized that that was fine by you.

But this. This you did not expect. Every morning, every single morning because God forbid you be allowed to sleep alone, you woke up not to your room, not to the ceiling or the sunlight filtering through the window or even your blankets. No, instead you woke up to the first man, first of the human angels, curled around you like you were going to disappear if he didn't hold you as tight and completely as possible. To call what he did a koala hug would be a disservice and did nothing to describe this phenomena, which upon the first morning after you had fallen asleep in bed with him you had freaked out a little over. You still were startled every time you woke up to it since. It was more like what you coined it as: a cocoon, created by the combination of two factors.

One: Adam. He was of course much bigger than you, a giant among angels and that was how you liked it. After all who didn't daydream of climbing a tree once in a while? Except this tree loved to talk and could make you feel things you were pretty sure was very much not pure. You were a good, solid four feet shorter than him, almost half his size; this worked in your favor when you wanted to hide behind him because of some stupid prank or when you again decided to climb onto him or honestly generally being picked up by the troublemaking angel which he certainly liked to do. The other side was that when he curled up his body enough it could surround you with little effort at all. Those arms of his wrapped easily around you and you could feel the fraction of true strength with which he held you, still more than enough to hold you where you were. His legs were folded up just enough to cut off escape from below, leaving you cradled against his body. His head tucked down, buried in your hair, he was warm and hairy in multiple places, and if you were absolutely honest a little overweight for someone who lived in heaven of all places. But none of these things bothered you and in the position you were in, your head pressed against his bare chest, you could hear the ever surprising existence of a heartbeat within a long dead man's chest. You felt your own calm hearing it; you couldn't help but love it.

Two: his wings. Oh those beautiful golden appendages, almost as beautiful as those golden eyes of your idiot boyfriend's. The feathers shimmered and shone near enough to rival the sun and you could see them past your prison of Adam flesh. How he could sleep so peacefully with them wrapped around you both was a mystery you spend every morning contemplating; it could not possibly be comfortable. Your own shuddered lightly on your back in sympathy but trying to stretch yours only brushed them against his and his, as they always did when this happened, quaked but did not open. He slept with them wrapped around you two like an eggshell, encasing you both and leaving no escape all around.

You reached out by instinct, running your fingers lightly along the feathers. They too were warm and soft as down yet you knew how strong they truly were, how strong his wings were like all other parts of him.

Save maybe his psyche. You felt the feathers shiver under your touch and he made a noise in his sleep, nuzzling his face further into your hair, his arms holding tighter to you. You woke like this every morning, since the first time you'd fallen into bed with him, and at first it was a mystery why, like so many things about him. How could he be so loud, how could he be so crude, how could he be so rude. But bit by bit you'd learned and you had come to understand.

He held onto you like you might disappear. Somewhere deep down that's exactly what he feared would happen. You knew about Lilith, you knew about Eve, and you knew how to read subconscious messages. He encased you like he was afraid otherwise you'd slip away, that you'd leave, that you'd go too. You woke to your head against his chest; how often had he fallen asleep with his on yours? Adam was many things, and truthful about what was really going on in his head and heart was definitely not one of them, but it didn't take a genius to know why he hated letting you out of his sight. Why he always held you like this in his sleep. Why he got enraged whenever the idea of you ever meeting Lucifer Morningstar came up.

Could you blame him? You couldn't and nor could you resist a smile as you wrapped your arms around him, closing your eyes and snuggling close to your ever-so-troublesome lover.

Sure you probably should get up soon but honestly it was hard to want to when you felt comfy right where you were. Besides it wasn't like you really minded all that much what would happen next after you both woke; he'd whine and you'd massage his sore wings. But you'd long since stopped trying to convince him to not sleep like that.

It was hard not to love being loved so deeply after all.

[crguang]

now i bend like a willow thinking of you

You don’t do sleepless nights. But tonight, Kafka’s absence feels heavier than usual.

fem!reader, 1.2K words of fluff really

A/N: can’t believe kafka of all people got me writing… i thought of this cute scenario and it wouldn’t leave my mind until i wrote it. curse you, sexy woman!!!!

Thermostat set to just below room temperature and unable to see a foot in front of you due to the room’s absolute darkness, it won’t be long before you surrender to your body’s fatigue. You stayed up later than usual, your mind restlessly running circles around a certain woman. You’ve willed it to shut up and let you sleep for almost an hour now, to no avail. Your limbs are heavy, your cheek is comfortably buried in your pillow and still you think of her. Honestly, how pathetic can you be— unable to sleep because her presence leaves behind a substantial silence whenever she leaves your sight. It’s strange, it’s the first time quiet has made you uneasy. You’ve built your life in the deep of it and found a home in solitude, yet…

In the past few years you’ve known her, you’ve learned that Kafka leaves an impression in any room she steps into, purposefully or not. She’s elusive and her thoughts even more so, but impossible to overlook. Maybe it’s the obvious disinterest in almost everything that reflects through her eyes. Maybe it’s the fixed curl of her lips into her signature enigmatic smile, leaving you with the sensation that she has something up her sleeve. Perhaps it’s her unusual hair color. You don’t know. Despite her infuriating ways and the amusement she finds in toying with people, you’ve always noticed her; the subtle perfume she wears, the twitch of her mouth when something catches her eye, her ridiculous attention to detail when it comes to coats. You feel you could notice everything about her and still not know who she is. Or rather, still have things to discover like she’s an entire universe compacted into one person. Could you be content learning her if that was the only thing you dedicated your years to?

You bring a palm to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up, and groan in disgust. No way the thought of her was flustering you so. How deplorable. It’s only been four days since she offered you a wink as goodbye and left to complete part of Elio’s Script with Silver Wolf in tow. You’re stuck with Blade and Sam, the brooding ones, and it would be fine if the quiet wasn’t making your skin crawl. Such an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. You pat your cheek a couple times and shake your head. You shift into the bed, adjusting the comforter over your body. You will not let Kafka take up any more space in your mind when you should be peacefully asleep, enough is enough.

You’re drowsy and minutes away from finally passing out when the door creaks open. You hear it shut softly seconds later. Your muddled mind only allows your muscles to tense up in the face of a potential threat before the realization hits you when the sound of heels clacking across the floor registers in your brain. You sit up in a flash, reach for the lamp on your bedside table to flick the light open, then turn towards your supposed assailant with narrowed eyes.

Kafka blinks at you when you meet her gaze, and her fingers stop fiddling with the button of her shirt as she stands in the middle of the room without her favourite coat. You stare at each other for a moment before her eyelids lower perceptibly and her lips stretch into that usual smile.

“…Ugh.” You ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at seeing her in the dim yellow light and turn the lamp back off. You can feel her amusement as you settle back into a comfortable position on your side, an arm under the pillow.

You’re still sleepy, but now that she’s actually here your traitorous mind has been lit up again. You hear the rustling of her clothes as she unclasps the various straps and buckles of her outfit. Without saying a word, she fills the silence around you in a way that brings relief to your soul. It’s stupid, you think, how easily she reduces you to a lovestruck fool. You hate the power she holds over you, yet crave its soothing effect.

“How was the mission?” You mutter, eyes still shut.

You hear her clothes hit the floor when she replies with a drawl, “Boring. Long.”

You catch the notes of exasperation in her voice. “At least you got to stretch your legs.”

She hums. You guess she’s rummaging through your closet for something to sleep in when she pauses, presumably finds what she’s looking for, then closes the door.

“Don’t worry,” she says, her tone undoubtedly teasing, “we’ll find a use for you yet.”

“Fuck you,” you utter without a bite, fatigue slurring your words a little.

Her following chuckle makes you smile. There are muted footsteps on the wooden floor as Kafka approaches the bed, tugging on the tie in her hair to set it loose from her ponytail. She runs a hand through the freed locks.

“Move,” she orders simply.

You grumble, brows furrowing in offense even as you comply and make space for her on the left side of the bed. “You’re so bossy. It’s literally my bed.”

She makes a noise of agreement while slipping under the covers. Her chest presses against your back and a hand sneaks under your shirt to slither across your stomach to the valley of your breasts where it rests comfortably. Her thigh lodges itself between yours. You hear the faintest breath of satisfaction as the tip of her nose brushes your exposed nape. Kafka is warm and secure against you, two things you feel a bit silly to associate with her. They best describe her in this moment, however, and you’re too tired to fight how relaxed she makes you feel.

“…You’re wearing my shampoo,” she says suddenly. You feel her breath on your skin.

“No.”

Embarrassment washes over you. You forgot that you washed your hair with her shampoo that morning because you always liked the scent and you missed her. You didn’t think she would be back in at least a couple more days and thought that the smell would have time to fade away before she could notice. Ugh.

You can almost see her teasing, growing smile in your mind’s eye as she makes a show of inhaling your hair more deeply, burying her nose in it and taking a long audible breath.

“That is definitely my shampoo.”

“I ran out of mine and yours was right there,” you reply dismissively.

Kafka smiles. She sees through your charade, of course, she always has. Her index finger traces inconsequential shapes into the skin of your chest.

“You missed me.”

You don’t contradict her. “Whatever.”

Your hand moves under your shirt to lace your fingers with hers and she hums contently behind you. Kafka leaves many statements unsaid, masterfully navigates a conversation to only reveal what she wants you to know, but you know her enough for these words to not get lost in the sensations she gives you. It’s the middle of the night and she came to your room fully dressed in her everyday clothes. She only had the idea to discard her coat before seeking you out moments after coming back from her mission, and now she’s curled around you like a satisfied cat, breathing in the shampoo in your hair. She’s missed you too.

With Kafka’s heartbeat against your back and her controlled breaths on the back of your neck, sleep comes ridiculously easy. You doze off, the sound of her alike a lullaby meant for your ears only.

[k2ntoss]

hi hi it's me again, back from the void

so like i've been so absolutely sick these past few days, it's horrid, but I've not been able to stop thinking about Jason bc y'know, total brain rot over here

anyway, i just need a jason in my life to give me cuddles and read to me while I'm sick and make me soup and gimme kisses and ugh i wish he was real so baddd 😭

- the very sickly lil 🦊

POOKIE????? first of all, how are you feeling now? i do understand your brain rot, i've been thinking a lot about jason while at work and i get too lost on it sometimes heh now let me get you something that can make you feel better 🫡 listen to this when you read, check on the trad bc the song is so sweet ): HOPE THIS HELPS TO CHEER YOU UP, 🦊

jason takes his vigilante shifts as serious as it's possible, after all that's his life and there's nothing more important than that or it was like that before you. there's no way he finds something else to get his mind busy when you're all he can think of and believe me when i say, he makes everything he can for you to always get the princess treatment you deserve and he couldn't help it, from the first time he laid his eyes on you he was totally in love and even when things weren't easy at first you both worked them through and that had gotten you here.

now jason can't see himself just going out on patrol when you're sick, that's the case now, it's a cold but a strong one and he's worried "grayson, i'm not joking- yeah, just one night i swear i'll owe you a big one" you can hear his voice as he speaks with dick, you had tried to convince him that you could rest on your bed and you would be fine but he wouldn't leave you when you weren't feeling good. his heavy steps let you know he's walking back into the room and jason smiles softly when you look at him from under the blankets "how are you feeling now, baby?" he asks as he sits next to you, his hand reaching to touch your forehead so he can check your temperature.

"i guess that there's no point on telling you i'm feeling good, right?" you asks with a soft chuckle, his touch is so gentle that it makes you feel fuzzy inside as he shakes his head before lying next to you "i'm not going on patrol, dick is going to cover me with bruce" jason tells you when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer so you nuzzle your head against his side "so i'll stay here to make sure you really take care of yourself"

he makes sure you're comfortable next to him and when you look up at him jason smiles brightly, is something so usual of him to you, even when there are bad and rough days or fights between you two there's also good moments like this and you both have made sure they are what matters the most because there's been enough shit that happened to you and him to cling into more of it. jason picks up the book he's currently reading, once again pride and prejudice because he knows you like it when he reads to you, jason would lean in to whisper some lines into your ear before he kisses your temple while his other hand plays with your hair.

"are we feeling better, princess?" he asks in a whisper, a chaste kiss to your cheek and one more in your lips because jason really doesn't mind if he gets sick too because that means you'll take care of him too "i feel better now... but i'm a little hungry" you say, voice gruffy and eyes a little sleepy thanks to your boyfriend's soothing presence and cuddles, he nods and sits straight on the bed with a thoughtful expression before letting out a hum "want some soup?" and as soon as you nod jason is walking to the kitchen because it's what has to be done if it gets his love to feel better and happy.

[thehypnone]

I know im not the person who sent the original ask but I would love to see more on the gills thing if you’re comfortable

i had dewzephfrit thoughts!!!

gills, anal ang vaginal sex, double penetration, overstimulation, kinda temperature play

Dewdrop is completely full.

He doesn’t remember much from the last hour beside Ifrit and Zephyr snatching him from the common room, stripping him and sitting him on their cocks before he’s even fully processed what was happening. He isn’t complaining—it’s an universal knowledge that he absolutely loves being stuffed full with anything and everything he can get.

What’s making his brain absolutely melt out of his ears, though, is Zephyr’s tongue in the gills on the left side of his neck and Ifrit’s fingers in the slits on the right.

“He’s so slick everywhere, Zeph,” the fire ghoul grunts and his hips twitch upwards, drilling his cock deep into Dewdrop’s sopping wet cunt. He moans sweetly and Zephyr uses that as an invitation to shove their tongue further into his gills.

They pull back after all but licking the inside of the water ghoul’s throat and they hum approvingly, “Such a wet little ghoul, aren’t you, droplet?”

He replies intelligently with yet another high, blissed out moan and both Zephyr and Ifrit chuckle. It’s the air ghoul’s turn to thrust into Dewdrop, slamming their cock into his tight asshole. The difference in temperatures between the three ghouls is another thing that makes Dewdrop absolutely mad; he feels like an ice cube shoved between a furnace that wants to absolutely melt him and a piece of cold glass desperately trying to keep him intact.

The water ghoul’s forehead thumps against Ifrit’s shoulder and he shudders, his claws digging further into his hips.

“Zeph,” Ifrit starts, “you think we can make him cum just like that?”

They scoff, “Obviously.”

If Dewdrop’s eyes wouldn’t be squeezed shut and if he’d look up, he’d see the two of them sharing a knowing look and a smirk over his head. He cries out when Ifrit and Zephyr stop all their movement. “N–No, please, gimme, gimme something.”

They only laugh at him.

Zephyr descends back and sucks the frills of his gill fins into their mouth, scrapes their fangs along the slits. The flesh there is so delicate that just a little bit more pressure and the air ghoul would make Dewdrop bleed. They have before, but now’s not the time.

Their tongue dips inside and they hum at the salty-sweet taste of the slick membrane covering the organ. Zephyr runs the very tip of the appendage along it and pretends to not notice Ifrit’s eyes burning through them as they do so, enjoying the feel of every single little ridge under their tongue.

They don’t care much for Dewdrop’s moaning and whining, not at all, and neither does Ifrit when he pushes his fingertips into the other set of his gills. They’re nothing like the air ghoul’s tongue—they’re hot and rough and hard and the feeling hovers on the line between pleasure and pain. Ifrit strokes inside and stretches the delicate slits and Dewdrop wails, clenching tightly around both their cocks.

“There we go,” Zephyr teases right into his throat. It starts to hurt, but neither of them pull back and the water ghoul’s pleasured cries do turn into ones of overstimulation.

“Break…I–I need…gimme a moment, please,” he begs, but he gets laughed at once again.

“Oh, but we’re not done, droplet. We’re far from done.”

[risuola]

BREATHE THROUGH YOUR NOSE — F. READER x KAMO CHOSO, who’s your not-so-ordinary roommate

Blood is Choso’s thing, so it’s no surprise that he’s absolutely turned on when you show up in your shared room covered in it. Quickly, he abandoned watching tv and focused all of his attention on you. To help you, of course.

cw: smut, temperature play, breath play, choking, blood kink, body worship, littlest bit of aftercare, Choso is mean, but also he's the sweetest bean (couldn't decide), reader discretion is advised — 2,4k words

masterlist

“Breathe through your nose.” Choso’s deep, labored tone barely got acknowledged by your brain and something akin to hmph! made an attempt to leave your throat. You really couldn’t remember exactly how the hell you ended up there, on the leathery couch in your shared room, on your knees and elbows, with hands clenching the slippery fabric just to steady yourself a little bit.

Kamo was right beside you, ruthlessly pounding into you with all of the force his muscled body contained, bullying his cock deep into your soaked and dripping insides. For a good while now, he kept his large hand roughly pressed over your mouth, limiting your airflow enough to have you struggle. Breathe through your nose, he advised you with a wicked smirk twisting his lip line but that was easier said than done. It wasn’t him who was nearly choking on his own tears and moans.

Your senses were hazed and eyes tightly shut, you couldn’t properly focus on the oxygen when he was just so harsh with the way his hips were thrusting into you, his pelvis clashing with your ass time after time, pushing you over the edge of insanity with so much ease it was just horrifying. If there was anything that you would never suspect Choso to do, that was it. You knew the death painting long enough to have a pretty solid opinion on him – he was calm, stoic even. Sometimes silly and very caring, but overall, he wasn’t giving off the vibe of I can and I will fuck you dumb kind of man. Damn, you didn’t even suspect him of really having any sexual drive to begin with, although that would be your mistake. He was, after all, half-human, but now, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was actually his curse side that made him so insatiable. So ruthless and dominant.

You gasped for air desperately when for a short second he loosened up the bruising grip he had on your face, only to take away your freedom of breathing once more. It was taunting, he basked in the way you tried to fill in your lungs and with almost psychotic satisfaction he took that away from you again. The mind-numbing, eye-watering pistons of his dick didn’t stop for a single moment as he persistently was making his way under your skin and into your soul. All you could see was blur of dark, night shades and red, so much red. Your red.

You got to your shared room late, after the unfortunate encounter with one very virulent curse that although easily exorcised, still left you with dozens of little slits and slashes across your body. Those little, bleeding creases in your skin were the reason for Choso immediately stopping whatever he was just doing and jumping to you, wanting to help, but instead of it, he for sure made the blood loss worse. He couldn’t help himself. You, covered in fresh crimson did something to him, and just like he was perfectly able to control and manipulate blood in and out of his body, now he couldn’t stop it from flowing down, straight to his cock. He wanted, no, he needed to touch you, to taste you, to just possess you, even if for a moment and when for god knows what reason you allowed him to do whatever he liked, he just lost it.

There was not an inch of your body that he wouldn’t caress. Your red covered his hands, his mouth and clothes, even those that at this point were already on the floor. There was a sting to your wounds, every time his tongue swiped over one of them your spine was electrocuted with an impulse of painful pleasure. Those impulses flooded your brain and then filled every cell inside your body with pure ecstasy.

Choso was experimental with you, he was observing and learning, soaking in your body’s reactions to whatever he was doing. He registered every shiver of you, every louder moan of satisfaction and every whimper of discomfort. Not a single jolt went unnoticed and some of your reactions he found absolutely addicting. Like the little squirm you were doing, the unconscious line of protection your skin had whenever he would run his cold as ice fingers along your spine. His internal temperature control really got in handy in making you lost in the sensation of him.

“Cho-so~ah,“ you whined quietly as he swiftly flipped you onto your back. Once back between your trembling thighs, he was immediately pushing his way back between your velvety walls, grazing over every sweet spot in you as he slipped in. There was a ring of creamy white at the base of his girth already formed, the testimony of how fucking good he was in just brainwashing you into nothing but mess. You came already, although you couldn’t tell how many times, and he also came at least once – an evidence of that gushing out of your hole every time he drilled into it.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He groaned lowly, leaning over you and wrapping his lips around one of the most bleeding slash you had – the one right above your collar bone. He sucked on in, savoring the sweet metallic that melted in his mouth, and it made you feel almost light-headed. He really made you feel like you’re floating and if not for the constant, harsh thrusting that grounded you, the heavy weight of his cock pumping your already oversensitive pussy in a pace that you could have sworn felt inhumane – yeah, if not for that, you might have actually lift above the bloody mess you did on the hotel couch.

“S-so good,” you mumbled absentmindedly and gasped loud as his ice cold, wet tongue flicked over your hardened nipple. It felt like he just put an ice cube over the bud and he played with it, twirling and twisting it all over your skin, making you shiver harshly underneath him, and even more wet although that you thought wasn’t possible. The slick sounds were filling the otherwise silent room, you could feel the pouring juices covering your thighs as he was dragging his hips back and forward, back and forward, fucking your way into oblivion.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Choso chuckled, something evil and menacing lingering underneath his labored tone. That little thing got your pussy squelching around him, your legs quivering as you felt your climax approaching – a second one, and he groaned deliciously, feeling the pressure of your walls trying to milk him. “Just a little bit more,” he almost ordered, his voice now bearing hints of desperation as he picked up the tempo.

Despite how fast he was moving, despite the force he was putting into those slams, they were all precisely hitting the right spots. Choso absorbed the pleasure that was overflowing your body, he was drinking it, basking in it. Teasing you endlessly with how cold he can make his body or how hot he can be a second later. It was a sensory hell for you, and heaven at the same time. You felt like burning – any time he’d make himself warmer, he left searing traces along your shapes and then, right after that he contrasted it with the ice cold, wet kisses and long licks, making you crumble below him.

“I can’t–,“ you tried. Everything inside you screamed to cum yet again, you couldn’t think at all at this point. It was just stars and white haze in front of your eyes, the room blended into one big splotch of nothing and only thing that mattered was the death painting inside you.

“I’m sure you can,” Kamo chuckled, allowing his long, slender fingers to wrap around your throat. With the firm, bruising squeeze he took the breathing privilege away from you and immediately, your hands landed on his veiny forearm, trying to force him to ease the hold, but he just smirked at your efforts. You looked so pretty below him, so gorgeous with your shaking legs around his hips, squeezing him from time to time, with your chest heaving and aching for air, your face stained with tears and your tits bouncing every time his hips slammed into yours. Not to mention all of the blood smeared over your delicate body. You were taking him so well, even though at first you swore he’s not gonna fit you, that he’s too big and you physically can’t take it. Now your pussy was sucking him in more and more, absolutely weeping around him, swallowing him to the very bottom. “I saw you in battle,” he applied even more pressure over your throat. “I know you can take much more than that.”

Something incoherent left your squeezed airways, a sound bearing no particular meaning and you could feel another load of hot tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, already gathering along your lash line. Your nails left red, long marks over Choso’s forearms, matching the ones that you already gave his back and shoulders before. Sharp jolts of seething pleasure were shooting through your center and spreading ecstatic hellfire over your entire body. Despite the cold touch of his fingers, you were burning alive, you could feel the flames overtaking your veins as euphoria was rushing through them.

Kamo’s grip was unforgiving, he was thriving in the way your entire form was tensing underneath his touch, he could almost hear it screaming for a break. The heavy sound of your heartbeat seemed like music to his ears, he couldn’t stop himself, not when your pussy took him with so much insatiable hunger.

He took his hand off your neck and once again, you gasped for air, filling your lungs desperately and as if the relief of being able to breathe reached down to your cunt, you could feel yourself being close again. The trembling of your thighs became more apparent and Choso groaned deeply, the sound half-airy, as he felt his dick being squeezed by your velvety walls and he had no intentions to stop it. If you wanted to milk him again, who he was to say no to it?

Putting all of his gathered knowledge to use, he reached down, pressing his thumb over your swollen clit, rubbing circles onto it and almost immediately, making you lose it. That climax somehow felt even more intense than every previous one; it overtook you in light speed, sending your mind into another dimension and if not for the absolute malfunction of your brain functions, you’d probably be worried if you’ll be able to come back from there.

“Look at me,” Choso growled and you had no idea when he leaned down onto you, trapping you between his strong arms with his face just a breath away from yours when you looked hazily into his dilated eyes. Your fingers found their way into his hair, brushing through his dark, long locks. “So beautiful,” he muttered, stealing kiss after kiss from your ajar lips.

Your back arched when he came, you could feel his dick flexing and throbbing inside of you as he was emptying his balls, spraying your velvety, oversensitive walls with his hot load, and he had a lot to give. He wasn’t even done and already he was spilling, his cum dropping down onto the couch, where a mixture of filth created a stain. There was so much mess all around you two, blood, sweat and tears, your juices and so much white Choso shot out.

He groaned into your lips, his pelvis moving slower, languidly fucking you through your highs. His mouth shifted to taste the salty residues from underneath your eyes when he finally stilled. The wet sounds that were bouncing off the walls for a while already now quieted down, making space for the melody of heavy breathes and soft, satisfied yet exhausted groans and whimpers.

“Let me get us cleaned up,” Choso murmured into your ear once his heartbeat steadied – much quicker than yours, and you gave him a nod of approval.

With a delicacy so different to how harshly he was treating you for the last, what felt like, hours, the death painting swooped you off the nasty leathery seats and carried into the bathroom. With a supporting grip over your waist, he slowly washed away all of the filth from your body and from his own as well, and you helped him as much as you could, despite your arms screaming from exhaustion. Touching him was addictive, you couldn’t pinpoint why were you so attracted to him so suddenly.

“You are so gorgeous,” he praised you softly, drying your skin gently with a towel. You felt much better without the sticky layer of dried blood and sweat covering you, all of your wounds already started to heal. When he was down, supporting himself on one of his knees and patting away the droplets of water from your thighs, you could finally take in his form. Strong, toned muscles stretching underneath the light layer of skin created a god-like statue. Choso’s figure was really to die for, with broad expanse of his shoulders and thin waist, very prominent abs and leading down to delicious thighs. All of him was impressive, it really was hard to believe he was half-curse, counting 150 years of age.

“You are gorgeous too,” you told him but he kept his gaze down suddenly shy to hear compliments and he brushed it off, with a soft shrug. It really seemed amusing now, that just few moments back he was ruthlessly pounding into you and now, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes when you praised him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he spoke, putting away the towel and swooping you once again into his arms. In a matter of few minutes, all the lights in the house were off and you were under the sheets in your bed, your head resting over the firm surface of Choso’s chest as his heartbeat was lulling you to sleep.

Before, you thought that day sucked – the little curse caused you more troubles than it should and even if you exorcised it, it still managed to put some cuts onto you. You got back home pissed, annoyed mostly by the way you created an opening for it to even land an attack on you. You were a high grade sorcerer for years now and yet, sometimes things like this surprised you, but in perspective… nothing surprised you more that day, than Choso did. If the sky suddenly turned green and the grass became purple, it would stun you less than what the death painting hid underneath his usually calm demeanor and after that, you were curious what else he had in his store.

You will check that later. You absolutely will.

[veryripebanana]

Yall know like "the indominable human spirit trend"? But like this one is from human perspective.

"Fuck... "

Wrath, Pain, Agony, Fear.

"Fuck this..."

My vision blurred, my leg limping, i feel blood crawling down my body from head to toe, mine and theirs. They kidnapped my family and I, and while i was sitting there, locked in forced paralysis but conscious enough to hear, see, and feel their pain as these fucking bastards do their wretched experiments on my family. My wife, FORCED TO BREED AND CARRY OUT SEVERAL DIFFRENT LIFEFORMS WITHING MINUTESALL WITHOUT EVEN A DROP OF ANESTHESIA! My children forced to live several thousand, even MILLIONS OF DIFFERENT LIVES in a short span of time just to see how it CHANGES THEIR MENTALITY...

EVERY NIGHT, THEY WERE CAGED IN WITH ME, I HEAR THEIR CRIES, THEIR WAILS, BEGGING, ASKING, TELLING ME TO HELP! But how can i? These demons injected something in my spine that rendered my entire body immovable...

"WHY? WHY ONLY ME? Why was i disregarded in these torture trials that my family had to go through? Put me in there instead! Let them go... please... i beg of you..."

I can't talk, but i hope my thoughs can go through to them all...

...

Days later, my family were killed. I guess the stress was too much for them... my children had their brains explode from the inside, my wife had her body so messed up she mutated and barely even looked human at the end...

The doors of the cage open.

It's my turn.

They dragged me out and put me in a chair, injected something in my spine again and moments later i gained control of my body once more. But i was restrained. Locked in place with braces on my hands and feet in the chair.

"The fuck is this shit? Medieval interrogation? All these goddamn tech you used to torture my family and now just this?! I didn't know even a superior lifeform's tech can only last a pathetic amount of time."

I wanted to anger them. I wanted them to want to kill me.

"Human, you are now named no.4 as the fourth and final testing on human species limitations and biology. In our next experime-"

i spat on its face.

"No.4, coordinate without resistance."

"Bitch please motherfucker, kill me. Do your best shot." Kill me.

"Precisely, your testing will revolve around the fragility of bare human body without external armour."

Fuck. Well, i wanted this.

Several carts go in the room, with racks filled with diffrent types of artillery, blunt weapons, and spears, all with diffrent abilities ranging from medieval spears to modern guns, from heat that can go against the core of a star to absolute zero temperatures, from bombs that condenses matter into nothingness to bombs that delivers an impact close to a meteor strike. All were tested and all wounds were healed.

Every. Single. Day.

I lasted for weeks, months even. In agony, hoping that they one day make a mistake and target my brain.

Unfortunately for me, they did, but i did not die. And fortunately for me, the shakles that bind me from the chair came loose, now i can stand.

Beaten, and tired, i tried to go for one of the guns and shoot myself on my own. When i finally got one, one of them saw, and they opened fire.

Lasers, or bullets, or projectiles i don't even know at this point peirce through my body one by one, i fell.

But i did not die, my body is littered with holes and blood gushing throughout them.

And i had a gun.

One thing i learned after all these time was, their weapons wasn't easy to reload and it takes time to fix 1 magazine into one artillery weapon. But mine is loaded, so i opened fire.

I shot one in their "head", they got up.

I shot one near the area of their "heart", they got up.

I shot one near the area of the neck, gotcha bitch.

One by one, i went through all 20 of them in the room, one shot kills to their "necks". Some finished reloading their guns and shot me and some managed to break one of my legs and arms but then again, it is only I who walked out of that room, alive.

And i took another reloaded gun just in case.

Now i wander this ship, it looks barren but I do not think so, there were 24 diffrent aliens here based from them all taking turns trying on the experiment with me and especially my family. And i took note of one, one special alien, one with the most colored garments out of them all. I assume it's the captain.

I wandered the ship for a few minuites before...

A message, on repeat, i couldn't understand hut i assume they already know where i am.

...

I walked for a few more minuites and hear footsteps, fuck yes.

I see one of them, a scout i presume being guarded, alert and alone.

It engages fire and i fire back in return, after a lengthy exchange we were both out of ammo, but now it's wounded. I rushed into it with my hand clenched into a fist, but i was fainting, loosing my hold on my body.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Finally" i thought to myself...

So what the fuck is this? Why am i engaging in brutal hand to hand wild fight with this bastard using both my arms and legs. My broken appendages flopping around but i do not feel pain from any of them. I fight, and in the end, i grabbed my gun and stabbed it into the fucker's neck.

"let me die"

Toughts racing through my head, begging, yearning for my demise. Yet my very own mind cages me in this flesh, for what?

it says "to fight."

I reach an open room, i went around and look what i saw, the last three motherfuckers hiding in the dark. Too bad my eyes have already adjusted to it.

1 of them attempt to shoot me, 1 of them rush to me, and the last, well it just sat there.

Again i was shot, grazed by bullets, beaten with the other one, but fuck, if i can't feel shit i will let them express pain for me.

I grabbed a nearby glass and shattered it, then stabbed the one near me with a piece of glass and used it'sbody as temporary shield as i walked towards the last two...

The other? Well it just ran out of bullets.

I stabbed it again in the "neck", i was now panting, i start to feel everything again, it's like something is wearing off...

I slowly dropped the glass and the alien to the ground, but i will not let the last one go.

I walked, to the best of my ability and through the pain of many broken bones, i walked.

Nearer and nearer i can see that shit shivering.

I slowly go near it, and it pushed something near its "head".

-translator on-

"Please, i am sorry. I beg of you let me go..." it said.

"Fucking cliché bitch", well we all know what the fuck I should do right?

But this time without breaking eye contact, in fact i widen them, let this shivering little cunt look into my bloodied unyielding eyes as i slowly, very very fucking slowly push that shard of glass into it's "neck" as i watch the light from its eyes wash away in blood.

"Finally..."

It only took a few steps away but, as expected i too fell and enjoyed my peace at last, in this drifting, lost, and soulless spacecraft that i pray never reach the sight of any living organism ever again.

[firenati0n]

roop's first rwrb fics aka fics that left an impact aka fics that kicked off her rwrb fic love aka fics that make her heart go weeeoooweeeooo <3

hello! this list was quite literally revealed to me in a dream just now...which means now you all have to read it. happy holidays. a gift for you.

i read RWRB when it released, but started reading rwrb fics earlier this year during some tough titty times...and have since discovered a gorgeous community of folks just pouring their hearts out into the fandom fabric, giving me the courage to start putting bits of my work out there as well. here are some of the works that were present in my life at VERY roop-specific moments this year:

First fic I sent kudos to (i caved and made an ao3 after reading this one lmaoooo): With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) by @kiwiana-writes

First fic that forced me to send my first tumblr ask screaming directly at the author for my feelings: also With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) by @kiwiana-writes

First fic I bookmarked with the knowledge that this fic would destroy me: all that glitters (is not gold) by @indomitable-love

First fic I reread immediately after finishing like literally immediately: Going Platinum by @cricketnationrise

First fic I sent to someone not in the rwrb fandom but is a fan of the au so i schemed that this fic would suck them into the rwrb fandom and I was successful: Rogue's Gallery by @orchidscript

First fic(s) I sent to a boy as a bizarre mating ritual that actually worked: lifelines by @indomitable-love, Am I the Asshole? by @everwitch-magiks, and i ask you how you're doing (and i let you lie) by @matherines (his first fics, he loved them btw)

First fic that made me ugly cry not because it was inherently sad but because i achieved emotional catharsis i was not expecting: One Too Many Mornings by @orchidscript

First fic that made me CRY LAUGH until i was wheezing: and history remembered. by @sherryvalli

First fic that was a WIP I followed and screamed with each update: Cold Cases, Lost Causes by @tintagel-or-cockleshells

First fic that made me run laps around my room in sheer stress: Nova, Baby by @cha-melodius

First fic that made me run laps around my room in sheer thirst: Show Me What You're Working With by @clottedcreamfudge

First fic that made me giggle and kick my feet and blush: No Sense or Sensibility by @inexplicablymine

First fic that made me cry buckets in a costco parking lot: i ask you how you're doing (and i let you lie) by @matherines

First fic that made me learn something new about myself and patched up a crack in my heart: Down By The Water, I Saw You by @myheartalivewrites

First fic that taught me something I didn't know and had me doing a deep dive on wikipedia for 3 straight hours: Moonlighting by @orchidscript

First fic that had me writhing on the floor in absolute agony: What Do I Know? by @three-drink-amy

First fic that made me stare tearfully at a wall in quiet contemplation: Help Me Hold On to You by @affectionatelyrs

First fic that had me slamming subscribe to a series faster than I could say "kinktober": Temperature's Up, 'Bout to Erupt by @sparklepocalypse

First fic that opened my eyes to a whole new world of tags and also a new part of my brain: In His Wildest Dreams by @myheartalivewrites

First fic that made me feel such insane amounts of pining and yearning and longing that i had to take a walk: but if you could see us from a distance, you’d know i’ve always been so close to you by @anincompletelist

First fic that made me rethink my life while sitting in a DMV lobby waiting to renew my driver's license: Deep Blue by @myheartalivewrites

First fic that made me stay up all night to comment on each chapter as I read it in one sitting: Omakase by @orchidscript

First fic that I reread and live reacted to the author 3 hours before my dissertation was due instead of finishing the damn paper: to the victor, the spoils by @rmd-writes

First fic that made me feel incredibly homesick and had me looking up flights at 4am: after hours by @dumbpeachjuice

And finally... First fic I ever wrote after reading all of these incredible fics and wanting to also put a little piece of silly roop out into the world: our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go) by me :)

if you made it this far, thanks for reading. love you all. <3

xoxo roop

[chil-aglia]

can I request Leo x Adriaen where Leo is dealing with Adriaen being in heat?

The Heat (Leo X Adriaen)

Absolutely! Obviously, this isn’t going to be NSFW so it’s safe for everyone to read!

Warnings; Somewhat feral Adriaen

——————————————————————————————————

Adriaen awoke feeling off. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that was different today. Lately for the past few days he’s been strange, he’d get hungry out of the nowhere, a burst of energy that will suddenly appear out of the blue which sometimes even startles Adriaen. He also just felt hot most of the time, at first, he thought it was the temperature but even with cool air he’d just feel hot.

Adriaen groans as he tosses and turns in his bed. He was panting and sweating, as though he was running a marathon, he opens his eyes, blinking to adjust to the light as he can faintly hear the voices of the others. What time was it anyways?

He lifted his head slightly, reaching out for his phone and taps the screen. He shot straight up in shock.

2pm?! How the hell did I sleep that long?

Adriaen rubs his eyes, then he froze when he caught a whiff of something in the air. It was sweet, and alluring but Adriaen couldn’t tell what it was. It was making him drool, or at least felt like drooling.

“Adri? You awake now? I got some left-over pizza for you.” Leo knocks, before slowly opening the door and peeking inside. Leo smiled when he saw the other up and awake, unaware of the wide-eyed stare directed at him.

“Did you stay up late again or something? It’s after lunch!” Leo chuckled in amusement, heading deeper inside the room, placing the plate of pizza on top of his bed.

Close…he’s too close. And smells…so good.

Adriaen opens his mouth, letting out a series of pants and he could feel his brain rebooting itself. He twitched his fingers, Leo was talking but it was white noise for Adriaen who walks a bit closer and eventually grabs Leo, pulling him forward.

“Wha—?!”

Leo grunts when he collided with Adriaen’s plastron, he blinks owlishly and blushed at the sudden closeness, he cranes his head to stare at in confusion. “A-Adri? You all right—“ He begin to ask but paused when he froze on the spot.

Adriaen was sniffing him; he could hear the pants coming out of him and felt how his body inching as close as he could to Leo. In a way it felt like Leo was being devoured.

Something…is wrong!

Leo panicked, noticing the sudden off behaviour as he managed to pull himself away from Adriaen who groans and shakes his heads as he backs up to a corner, crouching down with his hands on his head as though he was fighting something inside him.

“Adriaen, what’s wrong? Tell me, I can probably help you.”

“I don’t…hah, know…”

Adriaen weakly points towards the door, his face flushed as he curled one arm around his waist, “Get…D-Donnie. Run…tests.” He managed to choke out, falling to the floor as he whimpers. Leo watched with sympathy and uncertainty of leaving Adriaen alone in such a state, but he had to go get help.

“O-okay. I’ll be right back.”

Leo runs off, heading towards Donnie’s lab-room. Not bothering to knock, he barged in. “Donnie! Somethings wrong with Adriaen. You gotta help him!” Leo begs, unaware that Donnie was working on one of his many projects, he had flinched when Leo burst through the door. Grumbling under his breath at being interrupted.

But the moment he heard the sentence that Adriaen was in trouble, he sat up and quickly followed Leo out and headed back to Adriaen’s room.

“He said you should run tests.” Leo added, watching Donatello carefully make his way to Adriaen who had managed to crawl up from the floor and lean against his bed, mouth hung open with some drool escaping from his lip. 

“Adriaen, are you able to walk?” Donnie questions, to which it took some time but eventually he received a nod. “Okay, come to my room. I can run a few tests to determine what’s happening.” He assured, offering his hand out for Adriaen to take.

The latter eyed the open palm, reaching out shakily and gripping Donnie. He was pulled to his feet where he felt like he could barely walk, but with the help of Donnie he was limping his way out the room.

The moment he saw Leo, he froze. Another strong scent overflowed from the slider, it was making Adriaen nauseous as he pushed Donnie off him and ran to the lab, going to the nearest bin and heaving over it. 

Nothing came out of him, but he couldn’t risk it.

Leo and Donnie head inside, inching closer to their out of sort's fellow turtle. “No…Leo.” Adriaen grunts out, Leo tilting his head in puzzlement. “No, me? What does that mean?” He asks, crouching down to make himself seem a bit smaller in hopes it would ease Adriaen.

“Leo…hah, leave.”

Leo frowns, about to argue back but Donnie intervenes and nods. “I agree. Leo you’ll only be a distraction. I’ll do what I can and run some tests, in the meantime, tell Mikey and Raph to not disturb me.” He ushered his brother out the lab, barely giving him a chance to respond before closing the door on his face.

Leo lingers outside the lab but decided to follow the order from Donnie and spoke with Mikey and Raph who were immediately concerned upon the mention of Adriaen seemingly to be unwell.

Minutes turns into hours, the others were occupying themselves until further notice, Leo could barely sit still, tapping his leg as he sat and tried to watch some Jupiter Jim movies. But his mind was all about Adriaen. The way he spoke, the way he looked, just…everything.

He recalled the hot breath of the mutant when he pulled Leo towards him. He hasn’t done that before, and it was enough to send butterflies to Leo’s stomach.

“Guys, I have an answer to Adriaen’s behaviour.” Donnie suddenly waltzes in, having the three perk up and race over to get answers. 

“What did you find?”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s not sick is he?”

Donnie was a bit baffled from the questions as he pushed his brothers back for some personal space. “Relax guys, everything is fine.” He assured the three who continue to look, eagerly waiting for more.

“Adriaen is experiencing something that he hasn’t had before. He’s right now going through…a rut.”

Mikey blinks unsure of the term, “A what?” He asks but before Donnie could explain the term, Leo was the first to speak up, his eyes wide in shock.

“Mating season?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve concluded with my research.”

Leo placed his hand over his mouth in thought, it would explain the behaviour. But…he didn’t think Adriaen was going to even have a rut. Shouldn’t that had happened a while ago? Why did it only now just start?

“Where is Adriaen?” Raphael questions, concern written over his face as Donnie gestured back to his lab. “He’s in my lab, I put him in isolation, so he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone.” He informs, Leo steps forward. “Can we see him?” He mutters to which Donnie hums in thought.

“I…I guess so. Maybe one at a time, so Leo you can go see him first. Don’t spook him, he’s…a bit jumpy.”

“Don’t spook him. Got it.”

Leo quickly hurried off to the lab, curiously poking his head through and searching for Adriaen. He saw how Donnie constructed a barrier in the far corner of his lab-room. Adriaen was stuck on the other side of the see through plastic tarp. It reminded Leo of the time they had to be isolated when Splinter got the rat flu.

Leo slowly made his way over and crouched down to the floor, he sits on the other side of the barrier, watching as Adriaen was crawling around on all fours, sniffing around and letting out chirps.

Leo tilts his head, unsure of what Adriaen was doing. Donnie had silently made his way over and stood behind his brother. “He’s gone into a feral state. He’s been like that for the past hour.” Donnie informs, Leo flicking his eyes to his brother before looking back at Adriaen.

“Feral? So, he’s…”

“He’s running on pure animal instinct.”

“I see…but he’s not in any pain, is he?”

“No, I don’t believe he is.”

Adriaen turns his attention to Leo and Donnie, more focused on the slider as he crawls over and bumps his head against the barrier, letting out a whiny trill as he scratched at the tarp.

He was clearly trying to reach Leo, fluttering his hands towards his face but couldn’t touch him. He circles around his space and tries coming back to reach for Leo again.

“What’s he doing?” 

“That, my dear brother is a ritual Adriaen’s species does to court a mate. He sees you as an attractive turtle and is trying to well….you know.”

Leo’s face bursts into a red hue. “He wants to mate with me?!” He yells, Donnie wincing and leaning away before exhaling. “To put it bluntly. Yep. Clearly, I can’t let him out, in case he endangers himself or others.” Donnie stated, crossing his arms as Leo watched Adriaen with interest.

Adriaen continued to make clicking noises out of annoyance, he bumps his head against the barrier in hopes to be free as he chirps for Leo to let him out. Leo sweats as he stands up and looks away, if he continued to watch he might just fulfil Adriaen’s wish and set him free.

“I also hypothesise that Adriaen may not remember anything when he’s in his feral state.”

“He won’t?”

“Probably not. We’ll have to wait and see until his heat is over.”

“When will that be?”

Donnie hums and typed away on his computer, “Let’s see…according to the internet, his species rut will last around March to mid-June. But that’s just if he was a regular turtle, considering he’s a mutant, his rut will last…well, it’s inconclusive.” Donnie elucidates, sweating a bit when Leo frowns.

“inconclusive?”

“We don’t know how long it’ll be. It could take days, weeks maybe even months.”

Leo turns his gaze to Adriaen who was sniffing the air, sitting on his back legs like a dog as he looks around with large eyes.

“There has to be some other way right?”

“The only thing I can possibly think of is if we let Adriaen perform his mating ritual.”

Leo blushed and shook his head at the thought, “That’s just…hah, crazy, right. Letting him…” Leo trails off, his mind going into places where he can’t help but slap himself to get himself together.

Donnie deadpans and shakes his head at his brother, “In the meantime, we’ll keep him in here.” Donnie noted to which Leo nods in agreement, “What about food and water?” He inquired, growing concern for Adriaen’s needs.

“We’ll have to slip him the food and water when he’s not looking. But so far, he hasn’t shown any aggression sign, so I don’t think we’ll have to worry that much.”

Adriaen yawns, rubbing at his eyes to show that he was getting sleepy. “Let’s leave him alone for now. Get him to rest.” Leo concluded, grabbing Donnie as the two walk out. Leo paused and glanced back at Adriaen who lays down on a makeshift bed of blankets, closing his eyes to sleep.

"I’ll come check on you later."

Leo softly smiled before closing the door to Donnie’s lab-room.

——————————————————————————————————

hopefully this was okay. I’ll probably make it a miniseries where we see all the chaotic stuff happening

Feel free to draw scenes and tag me! I’ll probably even feature your art into the potential chapters

[wol-fica]

-𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤 ℙ𝕋. 𝟞-

parings - wednesdayaddams x fem!reader

summary - wednesday and r learn about the wonderful world of taxes sksksksk

warnings - swearing but that’s it my dudes

an - big thanks to @myfturn for requesting this to become a series <3 ——————————

In your opinion, whoever invented weather was a terrible person. Winter nights in New Jersey were absolutely awful, considering the cold drop in temperatures and the humid air, you were suffering. Your body couldn’t decide if it wanted to bundle up under the covers or get away from them, which was excruciatingly annoying.

It also didn’t help that your heater had recently given up on you. Normally, you would assume your appliances in your luxurious gothic mansion would work perfectly, but all hell was against you and decided to make you suffer in the cold.

So that is why you were bundled up in your wife’s hoodie as you curled up by your fireplace. Payment files and your monthly taxes for november were spewed out around you as you jotted things down on a notebook. Your lip was in between your teeth, being chewed on gently as you calculated the prices for your water bill and electricity bill.

A frown of confusion made its way onto your face and you mumbled a small ��fuck” as you stared at your water bill tax for the past three months. Your brain didn’t seem to want to work with you, so none of the written material was clicking as you read it.

Unfortunately, Nevermore never offered a personal finance or real world class, and now that you are an actual adult with an actual life you have to take care of, you felt overwhelmed and lost.

Usually Wednesday would be the one doing your taxes, being that she is the smarter out of the two of you. But, you being as stubborn as ever, you scolded her and told her you both needed to share the workload as you were now married and would share everything almost equally.

“Fuck!” You cursed again, throwing your pen away from yourself in frustration.

Now you could go ask Wednesday for help, you always did when you were frustrated or upset about things, but you acted cocky and overconfident about doing your taxes by yourself, in which she got irritated and told you not to ask her for any assistance.

Your eyes squinted at the pen, watching it roll around before stopping by the door to Wednesday’s private writing room. You could hear the faint ‘click clack’ of her type writer as she worked on chapter three of her fourth book. The full series could be see on a shelf in your bedroom; you would occasionally grab one to read and enjoy if you were bored.

You stared at the fire, it’s crackling becoming a comfort for you as you attempted to relax your emotions. For awhile, you just sat there, basking in the warmth and ignoring the tax papers laid out on the floor. You knew you needed to do them, and you knew the only way you could would be to ask Wednesday for help.

After contemplating your life or your pride, you caved in and chose to go request her presence. Carefully, as to not loose your cocooned shape, you stood up and shuffled to Wednesday’s office door. Your hand raised, pausing in a moment of hesitation before knocking on the wooden surface.

“Come in.” A voice called, prompting you to open the door.

There, was your gorgeous wife. Her usually braided hair was unbraided and tied back in a half up half down style as her wavy black locks cascaded around her shoulders. She was dressed in an over large white shirt and black panties, and surprisingly her feet were coved in fluffy black socks that you got her for valentine’s day.

Her back was to you, her legs tucked under her chair as she poured her little black heart out onto the pages of her book. You watched as her fingers danced across the typewriter, pause, and then begin typing again as she found a new perspective to write.

“You knocked.” Wednesday said as she typed speedily.

You gulped, pursing your lips as you shuffled forward so you stood beside her, peering over her shoulder at the paragraphs she had been writing. One of her hands slid away from the keys to caress your thigh, her thumb rubbing your hip lovingly.

“What do you need mi amor?” She questioned, her black eyes focused on her page.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned into her comforting touch. The hand that was previously rubbing your thigh now wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you into Wednesday’s lap.

“Y/N.” She said softly, pressing her lips to your neck, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m frustrated.” You huffed, leaning your chin on top of her head as she continued typing.

“About…”

“Doing taxes…” You grumbled, a pout forming on your face.

Wednesday scoffed, squeezing you lightly as she finished her page. She gave your neck another kiss and hummed against your skin.

“I thought you didn’t want my assistance.” She replied as you hopped off of her, standing up to follow you.

“Well I didn’t, at first.” You mumbled, leading her to the fireplace where all of your papers were thrown about the floor, “Then I realized I wasn’t as smart as you.”

“You’re just now realizing?” She smirked slightly, sitting down on the carpet as you gawked in disbelief.

“My feelings are hurt.”

“That IS my job, is it not?”

“Nes...” You groaned, hiding your head in your hands.

“I’m joking, do you have a pen?” Wednesday asked, looking under a few papers for your previously chucked pen.

You nodded, walking to her door to retrieve the pen you threw from before, and came back to give it to her and sit with her.

Immediately she got to work, her eyes skimming each paper as she calculated numbers and signed her signature on certain papers that needed it. Your eyes shamelessly scanned across her face, taking in the small details that had you encapsulated every time you saw her. The freckles that dotted her face, the way her eyebrows scrunched up when she was focused, how her tongue would sneak out in between her lips as she worked.

“Stop staring at me.” She murmured, bumping her knee against yours.

You laughed, resting your chin in your hands as you gazed at with with a love drunk stare. She was your muse, your drug that made you feel all woozy inside; of course you couldn’t not stare.

“Done.” Wednesday finally said, setting the pen down on a neat pile of papers.

“How?!” You exclaimed in awe, staring at the finished tax envelopes.

She chuckled, music to your ears, and pulled herself into your lap. She unwound the blanket so she could slip into your cocoon, humming at the warmth you produced.

“I’m just flawless, cara mia.” Wednesday mumbled into your neck, placing yet another kiss there; her favorite spot.

“You sure are, mon cher.”

She blushed, landing you a sharp jab to your stomach that left you whining in pain as you doubled over against her. Her hand snaked around you jaw to inspect your face, her other hand running up you shirt to feel your ribs for any damage.

“You’ll be fine.” Wednesday droned before snuggling into you and staring into the fire.

You smiled, your arms going around her body to hold her closely. Silence was a precious part of your relationship, whether you both work in the same room quietly, or just gaze into the night skin together on the roof.

After a moment or so, Wednesday started to drift off into sleep, a small snore leaving her slightly parted lips as you cuddled her. In the rare chance that this happens, you soak in the peacefulness of just being able to love and protect her without her potentially getting angry with you.

What a wonderful world….

—————-

*sobbing*

taglist:

@theafterofnevermore @k1mba @dreaming-of-u @thenextdawn @alexkolax @crystal-lily-101 @aahdiieb @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @efectoangel @i984 @annalestern @vorsdany @deep-fried-egg @yomomisgay @cursedchar

i do not give permission for anyone to repost or copy my work onto any other platform

[quarantineddreamer]

Jyn Week Day 1: Home

I wasn't sure I was gonna post this, because it's really not my best work. But then again, with the way my brain has been lately not much is! And I wanted to participate and show our girl some love so. Fighting through the perfectionist in me and here's this little thing <3

Though the Rebels had breathed new life into the cave upon their arrival, the network of tight tunnels and sprawling caverns that made up Echo Base had a history that stretched back to a time long before the war. There were stars younger than the stone walls that surrounded them, buried beneath layers of ice so thick, it was unlikely the galaxy would ever uncover the secrets they contained.

It had not taken Jyn long to begin exploring the area, seeking hidden nooks and crannies to which she might escape. Within a week, she had formed a sprawling mental map, memorized the quickest routes to every exit, marked the nearest spaces to duck to when Draven was after her about her latest display of ‘irresponsible/reckless/unacceptable’ behavior–or, when she simply needed quiet. (Which seemed to happen more and more with each passing day spent trapped in this hellhole.)

Tonight, she was bundled in her warmest gear: every thermal layer she possessed, two sweaters, one parka, her hat and scarf, gloves, and four socks pulled one after the other till she could barely squeeze her feet into her boots, much less feel them. 

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, catching a ripple of light and shadow as it wandered across his face. “I've been feeling lost…but I think I’m beginning to find my way.”

[chorussfruit]

Okay, I have a brain worm, so consider for a moment a world in which we have an omegaverse AU with alpha!Tommy and omega!Dream, during the short window of time that Tommy's trapped inside the prison with Dream.

Dream starts showing signs of heat and is in steep denial of it - Tommy is, at first, suspicious, because there's no way Dream's an omega, right? and Dream's telling him, "No, I'm not an omega, are you crazy? It's just the lava, Tommy, it's screwing with your sense of temperature, it's screwing with your nose, you're not smelling anything, it all smells like igneous rock in here."

Hours pass, and the smell becomes undeniable, and Tommy tells him "Dude, you're absolutely going into heat," meanwhile Dream goes "No I'm not, I told you, I'm a beta! I don't get cycles!" and it's a back and forth argument about whether or not Tommy's nose is right. Dream is also being really hostile in a defensive way, which is weird, and he's staying on the other side of the cell, which - Tommy is not complaining; he doesn't want to be anywhere near Dream.

And it keeps going on until the scent just gets... unbearable. Tommy is certain he was right all along now, and that means that Dream is an omega in heat, and Tommy is the only alpha in the room, and that's... not great. He looks over, and Dream is shaking, fingernails digging into his own arms, head tucked to his chest.

It's about this point in time that Tommy's starting to get dizzy because, well, he's an alpha, and it's not like this scent is going to leave him totally unaffected. He could leave it alone, definitely, although it would hurt to ignore. He shouts across the lava for Sam, to be let out, please, because Dream's in heat and that means Tommy's in danger, but the only response from Sam is that Tommy's not going to be let out because "That's a security concern, Tommy," and "Dream's an omega in heat, he's not going to be strong, you can push him off if he tries anything." Which, technically, that could be true. Could be. He doesn't know how much the heat is going to weaken Dream. Tommy could be totally fucked (literally, figuratively.)

It's a bit eerie, the transformation of Dream from hostile and snapping to whining and squirming by himself in the corner of the cell. Tommy tries to tune it all out. He looks back, and sometime between all of this, Dream's gotten out of the prison garb, just in a tank top and some boxers, skin flushed and sweaty and Tommy is so, so very affected.

And what it comes down to is this: Tommy could fight it off, fight the instinct within him, toss Dream to the other side of the cell if he comes crawling over to him in heat-addled delirium begging for an alpha knot. Tommy could ignore the way his alpha brain is screaming for him to do something about the unclaimed omega in heat right next to him, and just - ride out the pain, the headache. He could listen to Dream try to get himself off in vain. He could keep his dignity, his painful, prideful dignity, or. Or he could fuck Dream into next week.

(Besides, it's not like the thought hasn't crossed his mind this whole time, of flipping the usual script and getting Dream to submit for him. It's appealing in its own right, and Tommy hates it, and he gives into it anyways. Because Tommy is weak, too. And he wants to own Dream, if only for twenty-four hours.)

[mikhailwrites]

The fire in your eyes / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #19 - Uniforms

Military Parades. Everyone hates them. Instead of doing something useful and productive, you need to dress up and march in front of staring crowds. Nobody cares if it’s so hot the road is melting or so cold your eyes are freezing over. However, there might be a silver lining to this one: Johnny fucking MacTavish proudly displaying his Scottish heritage.

I'm writing this at 3AM, terribly sorry if it's even less coherent and has even more mistakes than usual. Btw did you know SAS has its own tartan? Well, now you do.

The door to the rec room opens, Ghost immediately checks them. And has to look away and back again. As if to make sure he’s truly seeing... that. Johnny. In a kilt. Not just the kilt, in fact, the whole getup.

Gaz whistles, eyeing the other Sergeant. “Looking sharp, mate! Got a date? Some pretty bird to impress?”

“Damn right, I do,” Johnny smirks as he momentarily looks at Simon. Oh, he likes to play with fire. But he does look sharp, Gaz is right about that. “But we gotta address the elephant in the room. Ghost in a uniform? What did you bribe him with? And the chest candy, too? Had to be expensive.”

“That would be classified, Sergeant,” Price appears out of nowhere, rivalling Ghost’s namesake. “I hope you boys are ready to make a good impression today.”

“Yes, sir!” they answer him in unison. They don’t have to like parades, but they all understand why they must be at their best.

It all goes smoothly; they’ve rehearsed it, after all, for countless hours. Even the weather takes pity on them and graces the parade with an overcast and reasonable temperature. They march, they do the show, people are applauding, a few are shouting some profanities as if a good portion of the parade doesn’t have a near-death experience. As if they didn’t hear the whistle of a bullet flying way too close to their head.

Ghost keeps his mind carefully clear. He performs as is expected of him, enjoys the fleeting moments he gets to see Johnny and tries not to count passing minutes. Then there’s a hymn, another march, and, yes, finally, they’re free. He needs a drink, as do the rest of One-Four-One. Drink, and then he gets out of the uniform. Every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he startles a bit until his brain catches up. God, he hates this.

As Simon nears the pub they had earlier agreed to meet, there is an unusual amount of noise and ruckus coming from inside—the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, shouts and thuds. Ghost tags Price standing a little out of the way, leaning against the wall and smoking one of his usual cigars.

“Someone already managed to start a fight?” Simon asks as he comes closer, mildly impressed.

“Uh-huh,” Price nods. “We did.”

Ghost blinks a few times. Alright, he didn’t see that coming. “What happened?”

“Someone insulted Soap’s kilt and, if I got it right, even went as far as to say something about his mother. And you don’t just insult SAS soldier’s mum, do you?” Price asks a wholly rhetorical question. Ghost only nods, but then he looks around the deserted street.

“So, why aren’t you inside?”

“Plausible deniability. If I go there, I’ll have to clean up the mess and employ some disciplinary measures. You know the drill.”

“Want me to sort it out, sir?”

“Please do.”

That’s the only permission Ghost needs. He takes off the jacket, handing it to Price. He might not like it, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to get his measurements taken again for a new one.

It’s an absolute chaos inside. Luckily, Ghost thrives in chaos. He sweeps the pub from left to right, taking a quick and rough account of the situation. Gaz is to his right; two men are holding him up as the third takes a swing at him. It’s not a bad punch, Gaz’s head jerks to the side, blood from the split lip dripping on his uniform. As the assailant prepares for another swing, Ghost intervenes. This is his teammate right here, the man who’s saved Ghost’s life on numerous occasions.

Ghost moves quickly, sliding behind the man’s back and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him into the overturned table. The two blokes holding Gaz up look at Ghost, then at each other. There’s a hint of recognition. They let Gaz go immediately and try to charge Ghost, both of them at the same time. Not a bad thinking.

Ghost dodges one fist aimed at his stomach and trips the man. The other one lands a hit on Ghost’s kidneys. It hurts, but he’s used to pain. However, before Ghost can react, Gaz is there, kneeing the bloke in the stomach before sucker-punching him. Okay, that’s one-half of the job done.

“Where’s Soap?” Ghost barks out loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Gaz looks around. Numerous fights are going on, as is expected. There’s tension and rivalry between the military branches and the units. This sort of gathering is a powder keg. “I don’t…,” Gaz starts, trying to find their other Sergeant. “Oh….”

Ghost follows Gaz’s gaze, and… yeah. Oh.

Soap is lying on the ground, one guy’s neck held between his thighs while simultaneously doing a proper fist-assisted dentistry on another bloke who’s struggling to crawl away. Johnny looks like a rabid dog.

“You gonna need help with him?” Gaz asks, not making even a single move.

“Nah, get out of here, Price is waiting outside,” Ghost shakes his head, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and tucking the sleeves up.

First, he frees the half-choked bloke before he kicks him further from Johnny. Then he grabs Soap and forces him to his knees, thus letting go of the second guy in the process. Ghost quickly glances at their uniform. Royal Marines. Of course. Ghost almost wants to kick them some more.

Instead, he does the reasonable thing worthy of an officer. He takes Soap and, much to the Sergeant’s protests drags him away. Soap is loud, cursing Ghost in that incomprehensible language of his, but even he isn’t so out of it as to hit Ghost, who also happens to be his commanding officer as well as a partner of sorts.

Ghost pretends not to notice and appreciate the searing heat in Soap’s blue eyes. Johnny doesn’t lose his shit nearly as often as many would think, yet when it does happen, it’s an absolute masterclass of carnage. And Ghost loves it. However, he can’t be thinking with his prick right now. They need to get out before someone with actual power shows up.

The ride back to Hereford is a short and quiet one. They stop at a petrol station and get some ice. Gaz is nursing his split lip and bruised jaw, Soap is pressing a handful of ice on the back of his head, where he claims someone hit him with a chair. He’s bleeding from the shallow cut on his forehead, and his left eye is beginning to swell. He got a thorough beating, but Ghost can’t help but think that he didn’t really save Soap. If anything, he saved those two poor bastards Soap was beating up. The Sergeant would probably eat them alive if someone didn’t stop him.

They get out of the car, Ghost immediately grabbing Soap and dragging him away. Price sighs, and Gaz chuckles.

Ghost is leading them to the barracks, to his room. The door closes, lock clicks in place. Johnny is dirty, bruised and bloody; his uniform is ripped in several places, too. He’s a damn mess, but Ghost has always had some seriously crossed wires. He’s been hard in his trousers for a while, and there’s no way he’s waiting a minute more to do something about it.

“Uh… Listen, LT, I’m sor…,” Soap doesn’t get to finish his apology before Ghost is on him, damn near devouring his mouth while his hand clutches at Soap’s thigh over the thick layers of tartan. Johnny lets out a slightly exasperated laugh as he backs up and falls onto the bed. Ghost follows, never allowing more than an inch of space between them. The new position allows him to reach under the kilt finally. He kneads at Soap’s bare thigh, remembering that he nearly choked a man with it. Fuck!

Ghost quickly undoes his belt and shucks his trousers down under his arse. “Lube,” he growls at Soap because the Sergeant is closer to the nightstand. Johnny does as he’s told, fishing out the bottle and handing it over with the same practised move as if he would hand Ghost a magazine.

“Prep?” Ghost asks, clipped and right down to the business.

“Fuck it, want you in me thirty minutes ago,” Johnny smirks. The fire in his eyes is back now. He didn’t get to rip the Marines apart, but now he might get that anger channelled in a different way.

“Wanted to be in you the moment I saw you in the morning,” Ghost retorts.

“You tell me the sweetest things, Simon. Hurry up!” Soap smiles, licking his lips as he watches Ghost fumble with the lube.

It burns a bit at first, then it hurts a bit more, but Soap is no virgin. Ghost is holding back a great deal, trying to go reasonably slow. Soap groans, but instead of pulling away or making any attempt to stop Ghost, he nudges him closer, whining as he forces himself to take more. Ghost is mesmerised, completely lost in him.

Johnny writhes under him, unable to stay still. Ghost’s prick halfway in is both too much and not enough, and it’s frustrating. Finally, he makes up his mind, hooks his legs behind Ghost’s back and demonstrates just how much strength there really is in his legs.

Ghost gasps and moans, Soap whines, arching his back off the bed, struggling to take a breath for a few seconds. “Christ, Johnny,” Simon wheezes, struggling to control himself and the situation. Scratch that; he doesn’t control the situation at all. Soap does, especially once he adjusts and simply uses Ghost to take what he needs.

Simon doesn’t mind. He would be willing to give this man anything he could desire. Anything at all. Simon would cut out his own cold, cold heart and gift it to him. He would burn down the world. For now, it seems that his cock will suffice.

Soap, for the lack of better words, fucks himself on it, and the kilt, rumpled and tucked up, leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. Johnny shivers as the glistening glans of his hardon rubs against the wool, but Ghost does nothing to help him.

If he did, it would’ve been over way too quickly. Instead, he leverages Soap’s hips, changing the angle significantly. Soap yelps before hissing an ecstatic “Yes!” Soon enough, more words follow. Please and harder are especially frequent, and Ghost does give it to him.

Snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace, he gets a lovely gasp each time he bottoms out. Johnny is clawing at the sheets with one hand and at Ghost’s forearm with the other. Come morning, he will probably look like a wild cat mauled him.

It’s a sweet kind of pain. Johnny will feel him for a few days; it’s only fair Ghost will, too. Simon feels the tension build up inside him; his thrusts are slower but firmer, forcing a breath out of Soap, who looks like half of his mind is wandering elsewhere. Eyes hooded, mouth hanging open, face slack in that special way only a good shag can do.

“’M close,” Ghost warns. Or maybe it’s a promise, what with the way Johnny’s legs hold him tighter, trying to force him deeper. Simon blindly searches around until he finds the lube, pouring a little into his palm before he grips Johnny’s neglected prick. It’s hot and hard, velvety, with prominent veins that make Ghost’s mouth water as he remembers how it feels in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. How Johnny tastes, how his hand in Simon’s hair feels. Simon cries out, a broken sound of utter relief, as he pumps into Soap with each pulse that wrecks his body, coming inside him for what feels like an eternity but is mere seconds.

His hand slacks, but Soap covers it, tightens the grip and continues to fuck into Simon’s fist with quick, erratic thrusts. He’s close, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed with desperation and concentration. Simon moans as Soap rides his oversensitive cock.

Even in his post-orgasmic state, Ghost feels the faint rush of excitement as he watches Soap coming undone and, a few seconds later, actually coming, soiling his uniform, jacket, kilt, shirt, all of it. Ghost lets them both breathe for a few seconds before Johnny lets go of his hand; Simon, in turn, let’s go of Johnny’s cock, and brings his hand to his mouth. Johnny makes a small, helpless noise as he watches Ghost lick the cum off his fingers and palm.

Simon collapses on the bed next to Johnny, exhaustion catching up to him quickly.

“You’re beautiful,” Simon whispers, unable to stop himself.

Soap stares at him for a moment before he snorts. “Aye, damn right I am, what with the black eye, all bloodied and bruised.

“You’re prettiest when you’re bloodied and bruised. And angry, I like you angry,” Ghost continues, his filter completely fried. Johnny would probably tease him about it later, but for now, he can say whatever he wants.