#do you think that for every punch there was once a softer touch for every place that their fists land

[jaybirdscoffee]

see everybody loves to talk about orion unnecessarily putting the megatronus decal on d-16’s shoulder, which is entirely valid. HOWEVER i see absolutely nobody talking about d-16 brushing dust and debris off of orion when he climbs out of the cart at the start of the movie. and i have been thinking about it nonstop.

[misswynters]

Jinx having a gf who’s touchy and affectionate

requested. @luc1dw0rld

Jinx’s hideout was always filled with chaos, half-finished inventions strewn across every surface, faint scorch marks on the walls, and the constant hum of machinery that never quite worked the way she wanted. But today, it felt different. Calmer, almost peaceful. It wasn’t because she’d finally decided to clean up the mess. She hadn’t. It was because of you.

You were sprawled out on her couch, an old, tattered thing she’d salvaged from a junkyard, but it felt like a throne whenever you were on it. Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor in front of you, tinkering with a grenade she’d been working on for days. Your legs dangled over the edge of the couch, and every so often, your foot brushed against her shoulder. Each touch, light as it was, sent a warmth through her that she didn’t know how to handle.

“Y’know, I think I’ve got this one right this time,” Jinx muttered, her tongue poking out as she focused on the tiny screws and wires in her hands. Her usual frenetic energy was dulled and her movements slower.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” you said from above her. Your voice was soft, laced with the kind of unwavering confidence in her abilities that always made her stomach twist in unfamiliar ways.

She glanced up at you, her eyes wide and unguarded for a split second before she remembered herself and looked away. “Pfft. Don’t go jinxin’ it, babe,” she said, forcing a smirk as she set the grenade down. But her voice lacked its usual sharp edge, softened by the way you were looking at her.

You slid off the couch and onto the floor beside her, your legs folding neatly under you. “Need help?” you asked, even though you both knew your technical skills couldn’t match hers. It didn’t matter. The question wasn’t really about the grenade.

Jinx tensed for a moment, her fingers twitching against her thighs. She wasn’t used to this. To someone just…being there. It was a different kind of tension, though. Not the kind that made her fingers itch for a trigger or her mind spiral into chaos. It was much softer.

“Nah, I’m good,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. But she didn’t move away when your hand rested lightly on her knee.

You smiled at her, that small, knowing smile that always made her feel like you could see straight through her defenses. “Alright,” you said, leaning back on your hands.

Jinx’s gaze flicked to your hand on her knee, then to your face. She could feel the weight of your affection in the smallest gestures. The way your fingers curled slightly, as if anchoring her in place. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once, a contradiction she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“You’re all…touchy, y’know that?” she said, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out softer than she intended.

“Does it bother you?” you asked, tilting your head.

Jinx hesitated, her fingers drumming against her leg in a rapid rhythm. “Nah. It’s just…weird. Not bad weird. Just…weird weird.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy. “I’ll take weird weird.”

She watched as you leaned closer, your fingers brushing a stray strand of blue hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so casual, it made her heart stutter. She wasn’t used to people touching her like this. As if she was something fragile, something worth handling with care.

“Why’re you always doing that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“Touching me. Like…like that.”

You tilted your head, your expression soft but serious. “Because I love you, Jinx.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to do with them. Love wasn’t something she was good at. It was messy and complicated and full of things she didn’t understand. Whenever she was with you, her entire world felt simpler.

She looked away, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. “You’re such a sap,” she muttered, but there was no bite in her words.

“That means you like it,” you said, your voice teasing but warm.

She rolled her eyes, but the faint smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned closer until your forehead was resting against hers. Jinx froze, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the heat of your skin, the steady rhythm of your breathing, and it was…nice.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice shaky but sincere. “Just…not used to this. Feels…weird.”

“Weird weird?”

“Yeah. But, like…good weird.”

You smiled, your hand slipping into hers. Her fingers twitched, hesitant at first, but then they tightened around yours. She didn’t say anything, but the way her grip lingered said more than words ever could. For a while, the two of you just sat there, her hand in yours, her forehead still pressed against yours. The chaos of the hideout faded into the background, replaced by a quiet that was rare for her. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came with loneliness. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe. Jinx absolutely loved the time she would spend with you. You are her world.

banner. @anitalenia

[sincerelykimii]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥...𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲.

You love bucky and you hate it, you hate how hot he sounds, you hate how fucking handsome he is, you even find yourself staring at him, while daydreaming about the most sinful things you wish bucky would do to you.

Bucky on the other hand is the same, he hates how much he loves you, how much he worships your body how angelic your voice is, it infuriates him, whenever both you guys are forced to train together he teases you, flirts with you, insults you, and in all honesty you would flirt back, except you would purr seductive words in his ear that would get him caught of guard and you would use this to kick the back of his leg and make him fall to his knees before you, worked every time.

Once again you’re paired with, your sworn enemy. standing in front of him arguing about god knows what. Sometimes you think he just argues with you to argue, I roll my eyes as the insults fall from his lips, “I didn’t do it on purpose…you’re infuriating sometimes, you know that?” I retort back, fed up with his stupidity, my voice dropping to a quieter tone, remembering what Steve told me about getting loud. His breath catches slightly at your quiet, sultry tone. The way you're purring those words has him feeling things he shouldn't, especially not while they're supposed to be training. His voice coming out rougher than intended "You think this is infuriating? you haven’t seen anything yet, doll"

There it is, that irritating nickname, the one that he only uses when referring to me. I hate how smooth it rolls off of his tongue, how it lingers in my mind for days, I hate how much I don’t hate it. I bite the inside of my lip, his voice making me almost…nervous? The roughness in it seeping through, making my cheeks flush. “that’s what I said, isn’t it?” my voice coming out softer than intended, great, that just really helps my case.

Bucky steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he notices the flush creeping up your cheeks. He leans in, voice dropping to a low whisper. “Infuriating enough to make you blush like that?” His lips quirk into a smirk, realizing he's gotten under your skin. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how to get through you. Every time he sees you, his stomach flutters with an unfamiliar feeling, a feeling so unknown to him that he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Eyes meeting his as he steps into my personal space. the thoughts racing in my mind about him are sinful, erotic, just simply gross, and I can’t seem to shake them. I snap out of my thoughts, shoving him back by his chest. “whatever, we have training to do.” The push only serves to make him smirk more, his body reacting to your touch despite the shove. You notice his pupils dilating slightly as he recovers his balance. "Then why are we spending so much time talking instead of hitting each other?" With that I send a punch, landing directly on his stomach. the impact only making him stumble back slightly. He looks at me, eyes darkening, “that’s all you got?” he mumbles, sending a punch towards my face, dodging it with ease I grab his arm twisting it behind his back. He’s so cocky it makes me sick, but I can’t deny it draws me in more than should. He grunts at the hold, unable to break free from your grip. His heart racing, not from the physical strain, but from your closeness. "Cheap shot," he mutters, though there's no genuine anger in his voice. Instead, it's laced with something else - desire.

my breathing matches his quickly, the proximity making my head spin. “Get it together Barnes, you’re fighting like your mind is elsewhere.” I know it’s elsewhere, the way he’s been looking at me, the way his pupils overtake the blueness in his eyes as they dilate, god I hate him…do I? before I know it, taking me from my thoughts immediately, Bucky wrenches his arm free with a sudden jerk, spinning around to face you. His chest heaves with panting breaths, eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and undeniable hunger, now face to face with Bucky, breath heavy, eyes locked onto his. “And where exactly would my mind be, huh?”

“Clearly not on the training.” I retort sarcastically. His jaw clenches, the tension between you almost palpable. Leaning in closer, he whispers roughly, "You want to know where my mind is? It's wondering what it'd be like to push you against this wall..." His voice drops lower, gaze on your lips, lingering there for a moment before snapping back up to your eyes. "Forget it," he mutters, turning away abruptly. I don’t know what came over me, the proximity between us building my confidence inch by inch. With a swift motion I catch his hand pulling him into a slow, passionate kiss. Stunned, Bucky freezes for a moment before his arms wrap around you, deepening the kiss. His hands tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer, the world around them fading away. "Fuck," he curses against your lips. "What are you doing?" Pulling away from the kiss, forehead resting against his, “what I should’ve done, so, so long ago.” I whisper against his lips. letting the words linger for a moment longer, before finding his in another kiss, this one needier than the last. His control snaps completely, one hand sliding up to cup your face again, while the other pulls you flush against him. The feeling of his lips against mine, make my mind fuzzy. His kisses become more urgent, teeth grazing your lower lip as he tries to get closer despite the impossible angle. "Been..." he pants between kisses "Been waiting..." I break the kiss before we both do something we’ll regret on this mat.

“I’ve waited longer.” I mumble, my tone teasing. A deep chuckle escapes his throat as he rests his forehead against yours again, his breathing still heavy. "Well then someone should've made a move sooner." His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back "You always were too stubborn..." He steals one last quick kiss. Letting out a soft chuckle, returning the kiss, “whatever…” I mumble although there’s no heat behind my words at all anymore, just pure affection. He smiles against your lips, the warmth spreading through him as he holds you close. After a moment, he pulls back, looking around at the training room with a newfound awareness. "We should probably get back to training, huh?" He asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 : A few day later, Bucky and I walk into the living room, sitting with the rest of the avengers. Our thighs touching, not a single insult slipping from our lips, I glance over to Steve, his confusion is palpable as he watches Bucky and you sitting together, hands touching casually. “What?” He opens his mouth to ask a question, but Clint beats him to it. "Hey, what's going on with you two?" He asks, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. His eyes flick between you and bucky, eyebrows furrowing in further confusion. I shrug my shoulders, leaning further into buckys embrace, just enough to get the others ‘riled’ up, “what do you mean?”

Bucky chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he feels you lean into him. He shoots a playful glance at Clint before focusing back on Steve, who looks utterly bewildered. "Nothing's going on," he states casually, shrugging one shoulder. I nod in agreement, struggling to hide my smirk. “well, I’m gonna go to my room.” I announce standing up quickly. Before disappearing into my room I leave a soft, gentle kiss on buckys cheek, leaving the others jaws on the floor. His eyes follow you, finally looking away as you disappear into your room, a smirk playing on his lips as he hears the collective gasps and murmurs from the rest of the Avengers. He leans back casually, draping an arm over the back of the couch. "What?"

Steve finally speaks after minutes of processing, “what the fuck.” Bucky chuckles softly, before disappearing to the room you retreated to moments ago, Tony opens his mouth to let out a sarcastic remark as he usually does, but nothing comes out. The shock still hitting him just as much as the others.

[lottiesliterature]

Summary:Javier Peña is injured during a mission, and you’re forced to take care of him while stuck in a small, one-bedroom cabin.

Warnings: 18+, mdni, injury (bullet wound), one bed, close proximity. Pedro Pascal

Wc: 1,340

The mission had gone south quickly.

It had started like any other operation—precision, stealth, and quick thinking. But things escalated when Javier was shot. It wasn’t a serious wound, thank God, just a graze across his side that was bleeding more than it should, and that’s how you found yourself in the remote cabin, tending to his injury in the middle of nowhere.

I'm fine,” he muttered, slumping against the wall as you wiped away the blood with a disinfectant soaked cloth. His eyes never left the floor, and his jaw clenched in that stubborn way you knew all too well.

You shot him a skeptical look. “If you're fine, then why do you look like you're about to pass out?” He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. Javier Peña was a man who hated showing vulnerability, even if he was the one who’d just been shot. His pride always came before everything else, including the reality of his injuries.

The tension in the room was suffocating, the kind that came from two people who knew each other too well and not well enough all at once.

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “I said I’m fine. You don’t need to—”.

“Don’t,” you cut him off, sitting back on your heels and glaring at him. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re invincible. It’s not working.”

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm rattling the windowpane. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but still edged with that irritating stubbornness.

You froze for a split second, your hand hovering over his side. The heat of his skin beneath your fingers burned like a warning, but you ignored it. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?” The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your fingers tightened around the cloth, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing instead on the blood staining your hands. “Because you’d do the same for me,” you said, your voice low but firm.

Javier’s silence was deafening, and it made the air between you feel heavier.

When you finally looked up, his face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable but undeniably vulnerable. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, but you couldn’t afford to get distracted—not now.

“Lift your arm,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly.

He hesitated, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment you thought he might argue. But then he exhaled sharply and did as you asked, wincing as the motion pulled at the torn skin. You didn’t miss the way his hand brushed against your side, whether accidental or deliberate, and it sent a wave of heat straight to your chest.

You worked in silence, your hands steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Every time your fingers grazed his skin, you felt him tense beneath your touch. The closeness was unbearable, every movement drawing you closer to an invisible line neither of you seemed ready to cross.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence.

“Liar,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

A low chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with pain. “You always this bossy?”

You glared at him, your temper flaring. “Only when my partner gets himself shot and refuses to take it seriously.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the wound, your hands lingering on his side longer than necessary. When you finally looked up, the raw emotion in his gaze made your breath hitch.

Finally, you broke eye contact, your voice shaky as you muttered, “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” he said, the gruffness in his tone not enough to mask the exhaustion bleeding through.

“You’re not fine, Javier,” you snapped, standing up abruptly and pacing to the other side of the small room. The tension in your chest was unbearable, a knot that refused to unravel. You gestured to the single bed pushed against the wall, your frustration bubbling over. “Just take the bed before you pass out.”

He shot you a look, one brow raised, the kind that usually made people stop arguing. But you weren’t most people.

“You’ve lost blood, and you’re hurt,” you added before he could argue. “You need it more than I do.”

“You’re exhausted,” he countered, his voice rough but firm. “You think I don’t notice how you’ve been running on fumes?”

You ignored him, grabbing the blanket you’d pulled off the bed and laying it down on the floorboards. The room was small, cold, and lit only by the flickering yellow glow of the bedside lamp. But you didn’t care. Anything was better than sharing that bed and having to endure the unbearable tension lingering in the air between you.

“I’m not arguing with you about this,” you said, lying down on your makeshift bed. You turned your back to him, pulling your coat over yourself for extra warmth.

He let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t say anything else. The sound of him settling onto the bed filled the silence, followed by the creak of the old mattress.

You tried to sleep, but the floor was unforgivingly hard, and the chill seeped into your bones despite your coat and the thin blanket. Every time you shifted, the bruises and tension from the day’s events flared to life, keeping sleep just out of reach.

Eventually, though, exhaustion won out, and you drifted off.

Javier lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for your soft, uneven breathing, a clear sign that you weren’t resting peacefully.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. Stubborn. That’s what you were. Stubborn and self-sacrificing, always putting him first even when you didn’t need to. It made his chest ache, though he’d never admit it out loud.

When your breathing finally evened out, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan, standing up carefully to avoid pulling at the stitches in his side. The sight of you curled up on the floor made him frown. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought of you spending the night like that stirred something deep inside him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He crouched down beside you, moving slowly to avoid waking you. His hands hovered for a moment, hesitant, before slipping beneath you—one under your knees and the other supporting your back. You stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur, but didn’t wake as he lifted you effortlessly.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered softly, more to himself than to you, as he carried you to the bed.

The mattress creaked as he laid you down gently, pulling the blanket up over you. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the blanket as he looked at your face, now peaceful in sleep.

Shaking his head, he moved to sit back on the floor, resigned to a sleepless night. But before he could settle, your hand reached out, catching his wrist.

“Stay,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

He froze, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. Your eyes were barely open, your grip on his wrist loose, but the vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter the walls he’d so carefully built.

After a long moment, he exhaled and climbed into the bed beside you, careful to keep some distance. The mattress was small, and the proximity was impossible to ignore, but he stayed still, watching as your breathing evened out again.

“Stubborn,” he whispered one last time, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

And for the first time in a long time, Javier Peña allowed himself to relax, the weight of the day melting away as the quiet rhythm of your presence lulled him to sleep.

[pedrospatch]

jealous

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You aren't together, but Joel doesn't want to see you with anyone else.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. asshole Joel, jealous Joel, he softens up a bit though. established dynamic, Joel and reader have known each other for a decade.

word count: 2k

a/n: highkey i recycled this idea from myself b/c jealous Joel is like...so hot to me. i love this trope, my favorite variant is when he gets aggressively possessive however i don't think i can top some of the amazing fics out there that have gone that direction so i took a softer, fluffier approach to it. also, happy tlou finale day everyone, we'll get through it all together 💗

Jackson, Wyoming

Winter 2024

“Before you head out for patrol, I just wanted to say that I had a great time with you last night.”

Joel’s blood boiled hot in each and every single vein in his entire body as he watched the scene that was unfolding before him just outside of the horse stables. It was late in the evening, and Tommy’s group was gearing up to head out for tonight’s patrol.

You had just finished saddling up your borrowed horse, Daisy, when Owen had sauntered up to you. Joel didn’t know the man, aside from his name. He had been placed in Owen’s patrol group once or twice in the past several months since returning to Jackson, but for the most part, he’d never spoken more than two words to him, and even when he had, it was only when he really didn’t have a choice. Though he didn’t know Owen, one thing was for damn fucking sure—he didn’t like the way that he was looking at you.

And he definitely didn’t like the way that you were looking at him, either.

In the decade that he’d known you, Joel had never seen you lay your eyes on another man before, not until this very moment.

And it was bothering the fucking shit out of him.

“Yeah, I had a really nice time too,” You replied, flashing him a warm and friendly smile. It was in your nature to be sweet and kind to just about anyone you felt you could trust, that was nothing out of the ordinary, but seeing you interact so effortlessly with him only made Joel’s anger bubble even hotter.

Owen reached out to take your hand in his and Joel angrily clenched his fists the moment he touched you. “We should do it again sometime. Maybe on a night when you’re not stuck with patrol duty?” he suggested.

You nodded, smiling once again. “Sure, I’d really like that.”

Joel couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

He was mere seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. Though he had every desire to go up to Owen, snatched his hand away from yours and give him a piece of his mind, Joel had to remind himself that the last thing he needed to do was cause any kind of trouble in the settlement—Maria wouldn’t have any of that in her community, even if he was her husband’s brother.

After taking a minute to somewhat calm himself enough to a point where he knew he wouldn’t throw a punch, he stiffly walked towards the two of you, calling your name. “Hate to interrupt,” he practically sneered, “But we’re startin’ to lose our time. Tommy’s waitin’ for us at the gate.”

Owen grinned sheepishly, squeezing your hand. “Sorry about that, Miller. I didn’t mean to keep your patrol partner, here.”

Ignoring him, Joel narrowed his dark brown eyes at you. “Get on the horse and let’s fuckin’ go. Now.”

Your smile faded, your mouth falling open slightly in shock at his tone.

Though you knew Joel had always been rough around the edges with other people, he’d never spoken to you like that before. For a brief moment, it almost felt like he’d just slapped you across the face.

Without waiting for your response, he whirled around on the heel of his leather boot in the snow and stalked off towards his waiting stallion, his rifle hanging over his shoulder.

Owen frowned, letting go of your hand. “Jeez. What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice wavered slightly. “But I’m certainly going to find out.”

After bidding a quick goodbye to Owen, you quickly walked over to Joel just before he could climb up into the saddle of his horse.

“Excuse me, but what the fucking hell was that?” You asked fiercely as you approached him. 

With his back still to you, he rigidly replied, “What was what?”

“Get on the horse and let’s fucking go. Now,” You mimicked him, crossing your arms over your chest. “How dare you fucking talk to me like that! What’s your fucking problem?”

He remained silent.

“Joel?” You waited for a moment, but still, he said nothing. “Hello? Joel, I’m talking to you! Answer me!”

Slowly, he turned around to face you. His eyes had gone stone cold.

You’d seen him give those eyes to others before, but he had never given them to you.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we have a lot of work to do around here. Tommy and Maria expect both of us to pull our fuckin’ weight if we want to stay here. You understand that?”

“But Joel—”

“We don’t have time for you to stand around flirtin’ with your little boyfriend over there and wastin’ time.”

Despite being angry, you could have laughed—you almost did.

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, you managed to hold it back.

“First of all, we’re not fucking teenagers, Joel, so cut that shit out,” You said, letting your arms drop back down to your sides. “I hardly know Owen. We met at the Tipsy Bison last night, we had a few drinks and we were just telling each other that we had a good time, that’s all.”

Joel snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, ain’t that fuckin’ sweet.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taken aback by his behavior.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, Joel Miller, I would say that you were jealous or something,” You accused him. You felt a shiver go up and down the length of your spine. It was hard to tell if it was because of the frigid, negative degree temperatures outside—or was it due to the fact that there was actually a possibility that the man you had been helplessly in love with for almost ten years now was bothered by the idea of you being with someone else?

He scoffed in response. “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, sweetheart. I ain’t jealous.”

“Then why the hell are you so upset?”

“I ain’t upset, either.”

“Okay, then why else would you be acting like such a damn asshole towards me?” You challenged him, causing his jaw to clench tightly. “If you’re not jealous, then why do you look like you’re fucking ready to murder Owen with your bare hands?”

Joel groaned out of frustration. “Jesus, can you just fuckin’ drop it? We have to leave before Tommy—”

You reached out and grabbed his arm. “We’re not going anywhere until we talk this out, Joel. I need to know what’s going on with you. Please. Just fucking talk to me.”

He snatched his arm out of your grasp and took a step back. “What the fuck do you want me to say? That you’re absolutely right? That I’m fuckin’ jealous? That the second I saw that prick take your hand, it took every single ounce of strength I had inside me not to walk over and knock his fuckin’ head off his shoulders?”

You exhaled the shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding back. “Joel, you have no fucking right to be jealous. You know how I feel about you, you have always known how I fucking feel about you. But you were the one who told me that we couldn’t be together, that we could never be together.” Your voice began to tremble, and you paused for a brief moment, trying to collect yourself. “You’re the one who said that we’d never be anything more than smuggling partners. Even after everything that’s happened with us, what we’ve been through with Ellie—you still keep me at arm’s length, now more than ever before.”

“So you finally found somebody else,” he stated, bitterly. “That it? You tryin’ to move on from me?”

“Yes. No.” You let out a small groan, knowing that if there was one thing you could not do, it was lie to Joel. “Yes, okay? I’ve been trying to fucking move on from you.”

Joel’s stomach sank at your admission. “And he’s the guy, huh?”

“Owen is a nice guy. And I really liked spending time with him—” You looked up at him, seeing the hurt flash in his eyes. “I’ve been so fucking lonely, alright?” You continued quickly before he could say anything. “You’ve been avoiding me for months now, Joel. Ever since we came back to Jackson, things have changed. Do you think I haven’t noticed that we only ever talk when we’re sent out on patrol together? That we don’t eat our meals together anymore like we used to? That whenever I even try and approach you, you make up some excuse to leave, even when we’re in our own fucking house?” Hot, frustrated tears blurred your vision. Not wanting to cry, you furiously blinked them back. “Ellie asked me the other day if something was wrong with us. Even she notices the way you’ve been treating me these last few months, Joel. How you avoid me like I’m the fucking plague.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut, not knowing what to say.

“You can’t be upset with me for trying to move on, not when you’re the one who’s been pushing me away—and I don’t just mean here in Jackson. For ten fucking years you’ve been pushing me away, Joel.” Your voice cracked, and a tear finally gave way and slipped down the side of your face.

His expression suddenly softened. “I had to push you away, darlin’.”

You subconsciously stepped closer to him. “But why?”

“Because, what I felt—what I’ve been feelin’ for you, it’s somethin’ that I didn’t think I could feel for someone ever again. It’s so strong and runs so fuckin’ deep that it scares the shit out of me,” Joel confessed, a trembling edge to his tone. “Before Wyoming, it was so fuckin’ easy not to think about it. We were too busy fightin’ to survive, to protect Ellie—now that we’re here and every goddamn day isn’t a fight for survival, things changed, alright? What I feel for you runs through my mind all fuckin’ day. There ain’t no avoidin’ it.”

“Joel—”

He cut you off. “I never meant to hurt you. When we got here, I thought it’d be best to put some distance between us. I thought that maybe if I spent less time with you, what I feel would just go away somehow. But I was wrong. Wrong and stupid to think that what I’ve been feelin’ for ten fuckin’ years would just disappear.”

“What do you feel for me, Joel?” You whispered, looking up at him.

Your eyes widened in a slight surprise as Joel reached up and gently cupped your cheek in the palm of his gloved hand. He put his other hand on your hip and pulled you as close as he possibly could to him. He looked deeply into your eyes as your arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck. Joel leaned down into you, and the both of you stood absolutely still, each waiting for the other to make the final move. 

Finally, it was Joel who closed the remaining distance between you and him.

He softly pressed his lips to yours. Any and all hesitation that he might have had before vanished completely as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

“That,” he said breathlessly once he’d pulled away, “Is what I feel for you.”

“Never thought I’d see the fucking day,” You murmured against his lips, a tiny, joking smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Joel leaned his forehead against yours and sighed, his warm breath tickling your nose. “Look darlin’, m’real sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. It’s just that seein’ you with that prick, the thought of you with him, or with any other man that ain’t me, I just couldn’t fuckin’ handle it.” He paused briefly, taking a look around. Part of him hoped Owen was still around and watching his every move. “I’m gonna have to find a way to make sure every man in Jackson knows you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” You assured him, gently. “Believe me. You are the only man that I could ever want. I’m all yours, Joel.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

tags for pegging, fem + afab!reader, bottom toji + bisexual toji, sex work, 18+

in my mind... i think toji has probably bottomed before at least once in his life. he's only been with men in that sense though, and even then - given his appearance, he's still more used to topping. shiu joked to him once that women can tell his dick is all he's good for and it makes toji laugh since it's not entirely untrue. he's experiment, had a few freaks who wanted him on bottom and not the other way around.

but when that's the occasion, it's still mostly just some guy trying to get their rocks off. what it feels like to toji is of no importance, not really. it's just something to get their dicks wet and well, whatever. toji can respect that

you probably meet toji in some bar where he's trying to pick up a woman to take him home so he's not out on the streets. he finds you beautiful so he chats you up like always. he's good at it. and you seem a little smug, a little amused but you flirt back. he can tell you've got money so he makes sure to pull out all the stops.

you work something out, but you warn toji that you've got pretty nasty tastes. in his head he's whatever about it. he's done a lot more than most, and all kinds of kinky play both in his personal life and not. he's thinking you want what most business want which is choking or some slapping - something to take the edge off.

that ends up being very far from the truth. you tell him flat what you want to do to him which is fuck him. like... actually fuck him. you show him the collecting of toys and everything. it's nothing he's never done before so he doesn't think anything of it. and admittedly the thought is...weirdly exciting even if it confuses him. it's not like you get anything out of it, right?

still though - he does as told. gets clean in your shower and comes out. you're the same as you were in the bar. maybe softer, really. your way of speech is warmer as you guide him into your bed.

weirdly enough - you're strict. you bind his wrists at the start and only unbind them when you go to fuck him. and you do a lot of the legwork. and it's very different to any other experience he's ever had in his life. it's a little embarrassing, a little shameful - but he's so fucking hard seeing it. such a beautiful woman treating him like that - it's fuckin' embarrassing. it's crazy how good it feels. he doesn't know how you do it, but you do it well and it feels good.

but it's different from every other kind of pleasure. you help get him open on your fingers and you're rubbing a spot that makes his stomach feel like it's burning from the inside. he's panting, drooling in your bed - and you coo at him the entire time like a tamed dog. he can only think to describe it as affectionate and it has a powerful effect on his dick.

you don't touch his dick at all no matter how much he asks. not once after you secure it tight behind him so rings. so he's cumming from the inside for the first time and it's ridiculous.

by the time it's fine for you to fuck him - he's not just going with the flow. he's shamefully eager, shamefully desperate. he's kinda self-aware about the whole matter but his dick hurts and you promise to let him cum at least after. so he wants to get to it as fast as he can.

he's taken stuff in before, knows how it feels - but his insides have never been all that sensitive and they've never been so big. you've been abusing them for the last hour. stretching, touching, rubbing. fucking torture. so when you finally do slip your cock in - it feels like getting a punch to the lungs.

it's so deep. so stupidly deep it makes him go fucking limp in your bed. you put a hand on his stomach when you bottom out and he can feel you from the inside. he cums faster from the inside. it's the stretch and swell and buck of your hips so mean into the fucking spot that makes him spray all over his chest.

you fuck better than he could've guessed. the motion is rhythmic and precise. pretty, sharp nails digging into his hips in missionary before getting him on his knees and taking from behind. you make it clear he's not allowed to touch his dick. treating him like a sleeve for your cock instead of a person.

he knows about stuff like this on the other end, but damn does it feel different this way. and it effects him, makes him drunk in a weird way that a woman as beautiful as you is making him cum so filthy. and he's exposing all that to you with no regard at all.

you're merciless but you give in eventually his dick is practically bursting when you take the ring off and let him cum one time proper - barely a stroke of hands before it spills between your fingers and you wipe it back onto his skin.

"you're fun to play with," is the only thing you say at the end. and he doesn't know if he should laugh or not so he smiles and says.

"wanna play with me again, then?"

he's pleased when you agree. he thinks it'd suck if that was the last time. just once was all it took to get him there. get him hooked

but given how fast you've learned to yank his leash, you probably knew that'd be the case beforehand. he's more than happy to give into you since that's the case.

[fallenbutterfly-nemesis]

Love & Hate, Part 2

Grimmjow x reader

---

Weeks passed without a trace of him, and while you swore it was a relief, a strange sense of irritation gnawed at you. Every rustle, every hollow lurking in the shadows, every shift in the air—your first thought was Grimmjow. You told yourself it was because he was a threat, not because of… anything else. Still, no amount of convincing could shake the feeling that something was missing.

Then, one evening, just as you were wrapping up a mission, you felt that unmistakable, wild spiritual pressure flood the air. Grimmjow. And like clockwork, your pulse quickened, that familiar blend of frustration and thrill surging through you. You’d barely turned around before he appeared right in front of you, arms crossed, smirk locked and loaded.

“Miss me?” he asked, sounding all too pleased with himself.

You sighed dramatically, giving him a deadpan look. “I forgot you even existed.”

“Really?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, testing. “'Cause from the way you’re glaring at me right now, I’d say you missed me a lot.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. “In your dreams. But sure, Grimmjow, if it helps your fragile ego, go ahead and think that.”

He laughed, the kind of laugh that was equal parts genuine and infuriating. “You talk a big game for someone who’s clearly happy to see me.”

You scoffed, your cheeks heating up in betrayal. “What are you even doing here?”

He shrugged, casual as always. “Just passing through. Thought I’d check on my favorite punching bag.” He leaned in, his voice lowering, that smirk daring you to react. “Wouldn’t want you getting soft without me around to keep you sharp.”

“Please. You’re the one who’s gonna get soft if you keep spending all your time lurking in shadows,” you shot back, but your pulse betrayed you, racing as he closed the distance, a touch too close for comfort. “Why don’t you find some other idiot to annoy?”

Grimmjow chuckled, looking at you with an intense, almost unreadable expression. “Nah. None of them are as fun as you.”

For a split second, the air between you shifted, the tension stretching so thick you could practically feel it. You hated how he always had that effect on you, how he knew exactly which buttons to press, how he made it impossible to think straight. But before you could respond, Grimmjow’s expression darkened, his gaze shifting past you.

“Get down,” he muttered, pushing you aside as a blast of energy whizzed by, leaving a scorched mark on the ground. You barely had time to react before a swarm of hollows closed in around you both, their claws and teeth flashing in the moonlight.

Without missing a beat, the two of you fell into a brutal rhythm, fending off the attackers side-by-side. For all his arrogance, Grimmjow fought like no one you’d ever seen—raw, ruthless, and fierce. You found yourself matching his intensity, both of you moving in sync like you’d trained together for years.

“Watch your left!” he shouted, blocking a hollow from blindsiding you.

“I had it covered,” you shot back, slashing through the creature with ease.

“Sure, whatever you say,” he replied with a grin, tearing through another with his bare hands. Blood spattered across his face, and he looked back at you with a wild, almost feral look in his eyes. “Try to keep up.”

When the last hollow fell, you were both left breathing hard, surrounded by the aftermath of the fight. Grimmjow stood there, looking completely in his element, a hint of admiration mixed into his usual cocky stare.

“Not bad, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “You might actually be getting stronger.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat in your chest. “I’ve always been strong, Grimmjow. Maybe it’s you who needs to keep up.”

For once, he didn’t fire back. Instead, he looked at you with a curious expression, almost like he was seeing you for the first time. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

And then, before you knew what was happening, he stepped forward, closing the space between you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t say a word, just looked at you with that intense, piercing gaze that had always driven you crazy. There was no snide remark, no mocking laugh. Just a silence that seemed to pull you in, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite name.

You were about to say something—anything to break the tension—when he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both fierce and soft, as if he was testing the waters but daring you to pull away. You should have pushed him back, should have told him off, but somehow, you found yourself kissing him back, caught up in the heat and fire of it all.

When he finally pulled away, he looked down at you with that infuriating smirk back in place, but there was something different behind it this time, a softness that surprised you.

“Guess I missed you after all,” he murmured, before stepping back, that cocky grin once again firmly in place.

You glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as you both walked away from the battlefield, side-by-side, you knew you were both tangled up in something neither of you could quite escape. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate it as much as you pretended to.

I wrote these last night ✋🏻😔

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Under the stars | Words 1.4k

The night air is cool against Regulus's skin, biting into his exposed cheeks and neck though it isn’t cold enough to drive him back indoors.

The silence between them is comfortable, easy, broken only by occasional rustling of grass as James shifts beside him, lying flat on his back, eyes heavily focused on the endless night sky.

The stars above twinkle lazily, making the dark sky seem like a blanket full of shiny things. Instead of their usual place—the Astronomy tower—James has insisted they come out here—has dragged Regulus by the arm wearing the same maddening grin. 

There’s something magnetic about James, something that makes it hard to say no, even when Regulus wants to.

Now they lay side by side, arms touching gently, stretched out on the damp grass right in the middle of the quidditch pitch. 

But for once, James is unbelievably quiet. 

And Regulus likes him this way. Not that James’s talking was entirely unbearable—no, that isn’t it. But there is something about the silence that makes Regulus feel… less alone.

“There.” James breaks the stillness, lifting an arm to point toward the sky, his voice barely above a whisper. “That one. It looks like a broomstick, doesn’t it?”

Regulus follows the direction of James’s outstretched hand, squinting at the constellation James is referring to. He tilts his head, trying to make sense of it, but all he sees is a jumble of stars.

He snorts. “That’s not even close to a broomstick, James.” 

James laughs softly, not the loud, boisterous sound Regulus is used to hearing, but a quieter, more intimate chuckle. “Yeah, well… maybe I just see things differently.”

There’s something in his tone that makes Regulus pause, something beneath the usual playful teasing. He turns his head slightly to glance at James, but James is still looking up, his expression softer than Regulus has ever seen it.

“You know,” James continues, voice lower now, like he’s confessing something he isn’t meaning to. “Every time I look up at the stars… I think of you.”

Regulus’s heart dances in his chest. “What?”

“Yeah.” James finally turns his head to meet Regulus’s gaze, brown eyes shining with something soft. “You’re like that, you know? Always there. Quiet. Distant. But… kind of beautiful.”

The words hit Regulus like a punch to the chest. Beautiful. No one has ever called him that, not in a way that feels real, not in a way that matters. And yet, hearing it from James Potter of all people makes something inside him break loose.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stick in his throat.

“You’re messing with me,” he finally chokes out, voice full of accusation. 

James’s smile doesn’t falter. “I don’t lie when it comes to you, Regulus.’’

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes Regulus’s heart race, a sincerity that terrifies him. He’s used to people wanting things from him—affection, loyalty, obedience—but James doesn’t seem to want anything. Just this moment. Just the stars and the quiet and Regulus by his side.

“Are you alright?’’

“Why wouldn’t I be?’’

“James,’’ Regulus murmurs, his fingers gently covering James’ hand. “Please, just tell me.”

“I think… I think—I’m not in love with Evans anymore.’’

Regulus’ mouth hangs agape at the same time his heart skips a beat. He’s ready to embrace hurt. Of course, James might be hurt over it. 

“Oh,’’ he whispers, barely audible. “You… wanna talk about it?’’

“I don’t know. Not really. I feel like,’’ James chokes, eyes squeezing shut. “I feel like I’ve been chasing an idea not a— not a person. And I hate myself for it.”

“James. James, don’t be. It’s alright to mess up our lives a bit you know?’’ Regulus mutters, “No one hands us a guideline to live our lives. It’s in our hands to do so. It’s normal and accepted to be flawed and to be filled with some mistakes.”

“I know. That’s not all to it either.”

“Oh.”

James hesitates, his breath hitching like he’s on the verge of death. “I’m in love with this person,” he whispers, his voice shaking but determined. “I’m so in love with them. When they smile—god, when they smile, I can’t breathe. It’s like everything in me stops. And when their eyes catch the light, when they look at me and there’s that spark…” He lets out a strangled laugh. “It’s everything. They’re everything. I want to hold them, protect them, and love them. And it’s driving me mad because I don’t know what to do with it.”

Regulus feels his stomach drop, the words sinking in with the force of a tidal wave. His mind spins with the realisation, with the crushing weight of what James is saying. James is in love. Deeply, irrevocably in love with someone else.

Not him, again. But with someone else, again.

“So… does she not feel the same way? Is that why you’re upset?” 

James blinks, his brow furrowing. “She?”

“Huh?” 

“Not a she,” James murmurs quietly, as if the truth is finally slipping from his grasp.

Oh, a boy then. 

Regulus swallows hard. “That’s alright, too. I mean, I’m literally gay, James. I—”

“I’m in love with you,” James interrupts, his voice trembling but unyielding, “It’s you, Reg. You are the person I’m in love with”

The world falls silent.

Regulus’s mouth hangs open, his mind struggling to catch up with what he has just heard. His heart pounds  so loudly in his ears that it drowns out the rest of the world, leaving nothing but the echo of James’s words. 

“What?” 

James’s eyes are desperate now, searching Regulus’s face for any sign.

“It’s you, Regulus,” he repeats, his voice softer, more vulnerable. “You make me feel all those things. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

James Potter is in love with him. Not with someone else this time.

He tries to process it, trying to make sense of the rapid, frantic beating of his heart, the way his chest aches with the force of it all. 

James’s face is pale, his eyes wide and filled with something raw—fear, maybe, or hope. “I’m sorry,” James whispers, the words trembling in the night air. “I didn’t mean to— I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I had to tell you.”

Regulus’s breath hitches, his throat tight with the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing through him. He wants to speak, wants to say something—anything—that’ll make this easier, but the words were stuck, lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

“James…” His voice is barely audible, a whisper in the wind.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed you to know.” 

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late nights spent together, the way James’s smile always seemed softer when it was just the two of them, the way his eyes lingered on Regulus a little too long, the way his jokes had always seemed a little more tender, a little more meaningful.

Regulus’s hands tremble as he moves, his fingers brushing against James’s arm, tentative, unsure. James’s head snaps up, his wide eyes locking onto Regulus’s, and for a moment, they just stare at each other, the world around them fading away.

“You love me?” Regulus asks, his voice barely more than a breath.

James swallows hard, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, Reg. I love you.”

And at that moment, Regulus knew. He knew because his heart feels lighter, like it’s finally free after being caged for so long. He knows because he wants to reach out and pull James into his arms, to feel the warmth of him, the solidity of him, and never let go.

“I think…” Regulus’s voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath, “I think I might love you, too.”

James eyes go wide, breath catching. “You think?’’

“No, I—” Regulus shakes his head. Not think, no. He knows. “I know.”

Before Regulus can second-guess himself, he closes the distance between them, his lips crashing against James’s in a kiss that was all at once fierce and tender, desperate and gentle.

James kisses him back with the same intensity, his hands finding their way to Regulus’s face, holding him like he was something precious, something he can’t bear to lose. 

And in that moment, under the stars and the cool night breeze, everything finally made sense.

James pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against Regulus’s, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. “You really mean it?” he asks, his voice full of hope and disbelief.

Regulus smiles, something soft and real. “Yeah, I really mean it.”

And for the first time in quite a long time, James Potter looks like he isn’t lost anymore. He looks like he’s home.

[lonewisteria]

Damage Control

Chpt. 3

☽ chpt. 1 | chpt. 2

☽ wooo I have never posted smut publicly before. I hope it’s good for y’all, mwah. More to come. There will be a softer smut scene, I swear.

☽ notes: MINORS DNI, smut, alcoholism, fem reader, gn pronouns, ram!Schlatt x dog!reader, use of ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’, fingering, size kink if you squint, kind of pet play (use of ‘pup’ and ‘mutt’), rough smut, eating out, edging, hickies/biting, unprotected pnv, soft aftercare

☽ summary: you leave Schlatt the next day to go to work, stern about the fact he needs to not drink. But when you return, to see he had alcohol, things get heated.

☽ words: 3,750

It was the following day after babying Schlatt in his cabin. Since your little intervention, he holed himself up in the main bedroom, even as you tidied up and washed his work clothes. Whatever, you can’t be there at every moment to fuss over him.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, yet your mind drifts to him all day at work. You promised to check on him later and now, you’re nothing but a heaping puddle of anxiety. Schlatt is more stubborn than he appeared, but you hope, just this once, he’d lay off the alcohol.

As soon as the clock strikes 10pm, you’re out the door before anyone can say goodbye. Your ears are twitching and your hands fumbling with your keys as you approach your car.

And while you drive, your fingers fidget on the wheel, the image of him leaning into you lingering in your mind, making you reluctantly flustered. You felt like you were losing it. No one would believe you if you said Schlatt stared at you with kindness. He gazed at you like he needed you, and not solely the TLC sense.

You park your car next to his and scurry to the front door, knocking before stepping inside the cabin. Your eyes immediately zero in on the half-empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table. There Schlatt was, head lolled against the couch cushions, some rap music flowing from the radio, proving you wrong about trusting him alone with his vices.

“Fuck, Schlatt!” You growl as you stalk over to him (not without frustratingly slipping your shoes and coat off first) with your tail lashing, “I thought we said no more booze until you’re a bit better?”

Half a bottle is practically nothing for him, but alcohol is alcohol. Trust is trust. Your canines flash in a snarl as you snatch the whiskey, glaring down at him.

“I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I won’t-“

“Don’t you dare fuckin lecture me,” he snarls, surging to his feet in one smooth motion, towering over you as he jabs a finger at your chest, “I didn’t ask for your help. And I sure as hell don’t need your pity.”

He grabs the bottle back from your grasp, causing your fingers to touch. The brief contact sends a flutter in his stomach, a heat that has nothing to do with alcohol.

“I’ll drink when I damn well please, you bitch. I’ll do whatever the hell I want, consequences be damned,” he snaps.

He leans in, so close you can feel his whiskey-laden breath on your face as he continues. “You think you can fix me with your pretty words and concerned looks?”

His proximity makes your ears pin back and your tail bristle at his harsh tone. The racing of your heart going against your will.

“You’re the fucking President!” you growl, “you should be at the capital, not in some cabin trying to kill your liver!”

You know you should push him away and leave him wallowing in his own turmoil, but you keep rambling. “You’re so fucking arrogant. Why can’t you think of people other than yourself, huh?”

Ouch. Schlatt can’t lie, that one bruises more than any punch. He masks it with an icy stare as his hand shoots out to take your ears in one hand, like he’s holding a squirming animal. The action causes you to bare your teeth at him, desperately withholding your urge to fuck up his pretty face.

“I am thinking of my people,” he hisses, “every fuckin day, I’m thinking of em’. I’m trying to keep this country from falling apart at the seams.”

Now your foreheads are touching. Your breaths mingling. Your shared pique simmering together. His voice drops an octave as his gaze bores into you.

“But sometimes, I need a fuckin break. To let loose, forget about the weight of everything,” his hands release your ears to move to your face, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“And right now, I want to forget about everything. Except you.”

As much as you want to lash out and tell him to fuck off, everything about this —and him— is intoxicating.

“You’re a fucking mess Schlatt,” you growl, “a drunk, self-destructive mess and you’re dragging me down with you.”

Even as those words leave your mouth, they’re only partially true. You aren’t being dragged anywhere – you’re choosing this. You’ve chosen to help him, fully aware it’s a mistake.

You’ve chosen to fist your hands in his shirt and pull him in for a demanding kiss. Schlatt groans into your mouth and is quick to draw you into his lap on the couch, setting the whiskey down so his selfish hands can wander freely.

Nothing else matters. Not the presidency, not Manberg, not the consequences. There’s only him.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you both panting, his hands flying to undo the buttons of your shirt. His fingers fumble, and in his eagerness, he snaps a button off and rips the fabric, prompting you to smack him upside the head.

“I’ll buy you a new fuckin’ top,” he pants, pushing the shirt off your shoulders to fall on the floor, “I’ll buy you a fuckin’ hundred of em’.”

You connect lips again and his hands dig into your ass to pull you closer. You swallow his groan as you grind against him, his bulge straining against his sweats. Now, you can’t see the damn thing, too prioritized on the sensation of his lips and hands, but it’s unmistakably thick. The butterflies swarming in your stomach are incessant at the thought.

Schlatt’s hands slide around to undo the buttons of your slacks to slide them down your hips. Before he slithers past your underwear, he brings two fingers to your lips, which you obediently take into your mouth. He finger fucks your face, groaning as he grows impossibly harder while your tongue swirls around his digits. When he withdraws, he promptly trails them down and circles your entrance past your underwear. You’re so wet. So horrifically wet that perhaps he didn’t need to leave your lips a saliva ridden mess.

“You’re so fuckin soaked already,” he teases, barely brushing your folds, “what? Ya like when I’m a dickhead to you?”

You grit your teeth, ready to bark a retort, but his fingers shut you up as they slide into you. Slowly he pumps them, adding a gentle curl as he does so. Your hips involuntarily buck against his hand, your walls desperately clenching around him. Reaching down, you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding his fingers deeper. You practically hold him in place as you rock your hips in time with his thrusts.

This man fantasized about you far more than he cares to admit. He’s experienced with a fair share of lovers; dainty rabbit hybrids, his playful asshole of an ex, and cocky traitors of the nation. But never such a dominant, forthright guard dog like yourself. This is proving a delightful challenge and he is relishing it.

In retaliation for his arrogant comment, you lean into his neck and start marking up his skin. Your moans rumble against him and he responds by increasing the tempo of his fingers. There’s an attitude in how you bite and suck his neck, but of course he savors it, sinking further into the couch and closing his eyes momentarily.

His thumb starts pressing and rubbing your clit, causing your hips to sputter and heartier moans to escape you. Unable to endure the sight of your bra any longer, he unhooks it and tosses it carelessly over his shoulder. A large hand presses onto your chest, pushing you away from his neck so he can fully appreciate the view. Your tits are moving with each grind of your hips and he grits his teeth to suppress his desires.

You continue to shamelessly grind against his hand and grip his shoulders. “Fuck…you just gonna sit there…” you demand breathlessly, tail thrashing behind you, “and finger me?”

In one swift motion, Schlatt acts on your taunt and stands with you in his arms, withdrawing his fingers from you without a second thought. He barges through the bedroom door and practically tosses you on the bed, watching as your body —especially your tits— bounce from the impact. His hands make quick work of your bottoms, pulling your slacks and underwear all the way down to throw aside. This leaves you completely bare to his gaze while he hovers over you, fully clothed.

“Shit, your rack is nice,” he mumbles aloud, reaching down to grab your breast, but you seize his grabby hand.

“Hey, asshole,” you snap, “I’m not gonna be the only one naked right now.”

“Oh, right,” he mutters, surprisingly compliant as he strips his shirt, leaving you to drink in his bare torso. Seeing him yesterday in a mere towel was quite enough to ignite your imagination, but this was a completely different experience that had you clenching around nothing.

And when he shimmies his bottoms off, letting his cock slap against his stomach, your eyes widen. Your observation was correct. He was far bigger than anything else you’ve taken. Of all the times you’ve faced this ram, you haven’t had an ounce of fear glazing your eyes – until now.

Schlatt is quick to notice it too, a light laugh leaving him as he climbs onto the bed. “So, you’re not scared of me when I’m drunk and yellin at ya, but you’re scared of my cock?”

“Shut up and touch me already,” you growl, the gentle flush across your face betraying your bravado.

He snickers at you and cups your tits in his large hands, feeling them up, only subtly touching your nipples. You can sense his restraint, which goes against his character, but you’ve also come to truly comprehend him from recent encounters. Beneath the harsh demeanor lies a ram seeking a tenderness he somehow found in you.

This progresses for another minute before he leans down, leaving wet kisses on the flush of your breasts. Biting, sucking, and kissing everywhere except your erect nipples. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him to pay attention to them, but he only grunts, lost in his worship of you.

Ultimately, he relents, pressing the flat of his tongue against a nipple, eliciting a relieved sigh from you. He licks and sucks on it before shifting to the other, his hand massaging the abandoned breast.

After lavishing you with attention and saliva slicked skin, Schlatt kisses downward. His lips leave a heated, sloppy trail as they traverse your stomach, hips, and mound, ending it off with a fleeting kiss to your clit that has you squirming.

Unlike earlier, he dives right in, tongue probing your entrance, nose nestled in your folds, and facial hair rugburning your inner thighs. A choir of moans and whimpers rise from your throat. Your hands instinctively grip his hair. The lewd noises he’s producing down there vibrate against your core, making you curse and whine.

His hands clutch your legs and push them closed around his head, allowing you to squeeze. The way he’s devouring you makes it clear he’s been starving, with nothing but alcohol fueling him for days. Right before you snap in ecstasy, he removes himself. Your arousal glistens on the lower half of his face, the shit eating grin he’s wearing is slick and soaked. You’re left in shambles on the sheets, body neglected and thrumming with arousal.

You’re not given a minute to regain yourself before his cockhead is bullying your entrance. Seems like his restraint has limits considering he’s now sinking in you, fast, causing you to jerk up and claw at his abdomen. Your eyes are wide and a gasp escapes your lips as he shoves himself into you.

“Fuck, Schlatt!” you hiss with your ears pinned back, “slow down you fucking jerk!”

Despite your harsh words, you feel yourself responding eagerly to his switched harsh treatment. It’s been too long since you allowed yourself to feel anything and Schlatt’s awakened desires you thought were long buried.

“Sorry, doll,” he grunts out, removing a couple inches from you until the burning sensation dissipates.

“Sorry, doll?” you mock and raise your eyesbrows. There’s a coy smile plastered on your face at his sudden shift in demeanor. He’s apologizing and calling you ‘doll’? Who is this man?

Though he disregards your banter, save for a quick glare, before shoving a pillow under your hips and throwing your legs over his shoulders. His thumb lands on your clit, carefully pulling it up to grant him an unobstructed view of him thrusting into you inch by inch, little by little. His movements are shallow and controlled, but you see his muscles tense as he fights himself from slamming into you.

The feeble movements are enough to coax strained whines and moans from you. You lean your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the pleasurable way he’s easing himself in.

“Nuh-uh, look at me,” Schlatt demands, his hand grabbing your hair and pulling your head back up.

“Wanna see that pretty face,” he adds and you obey. You watch as his thrusts grow longer and more brutal, until he’s fully sheathed in you, causing your jaw to go slack and eyebrows knit together. As much as your eyes want to roll back, you keep them trained on your joined bodies.

The gentleness he presented fades away when he starts moving. He’s ramming into you now, the lewd squelching from your sopping cunt is music to his ears. His eyes never leave you, drinking in the way your cunt stretches around him, how your tits bounce with each thrust, and your face contorts in pleasure. Fuck, he’d only ever dreamed of witnessing your usually stern face go tight with ecstasy. Now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop himself from driving into you.

“I’m gonna fuck that stupid attitude right out of ya,” he growls, letting his elbows cage your head and his hair tickle your face, “you got no idea what ya do to me, mutt.”

Oh, but you did have an idea, and it was playing out right before you. “Make you a whore?” you can’t resist teasing him.

“Fuck, that attitude,” he growls, delivering a particularly harsh thrust, watching your back arch and hands fist the sheets.

You could barely thrust up into him with how your thighs were pressed against his stomach, sticky with combined sweat. Each thrust makes the bulge in your stomach noticeable, a testament to his size compared to you. Finally, he has control over you and that defiant mouth of yours. Even if it’s simply in bed, it’s more than enough.

His cock is virtually abusing your cervix, the pleasure-pain having you emit pornographic moans. The pressure makes your eyes water, but god, you love it. This was everything you imagined and then some.

He’s pistoning in and out of you, causing your arousal to leak down the curve of your ass and soak the pillow and sheets. At this point, you’re utterly brainless, his cock sending you reeling under him. Your tail wags furiously against the sheets, the noises your making only spurring his momentum on. His horns whack against the headboard with how rough he is, an evident reflection of his behavior outside this room.

“Shoulda fucked you sooner,” he grunts, burying his face into your neck, biting down harsh and sucking your skin between his sharp teeth. You’re completely encased by him now. His heavy balls are slapping your ass as a white ring builds at the base of his cock with each rut.

Honestly? He’s pissed it took so damn long to train this stupid dog into submission. Pissed that your cunt feels nothing but perfect gushing around his cock, sucking him in. It’s almost like a reward for putting up with your defiance for so long.

“See? All fuckin quiet,” he huffs against your skin, landing a brutal thrust that brings you slightly back to reality. Just enough clarity to bite back.

Literally.

You snap at his ear, the fur standing on end when your teeth connect with it. He curses against your neck, but continues to plow into you and mark you up all pretty for your coworkers to see.

His hand snakes between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing and pressing your attitude back into place. He finishes his work on your neck with a lingering kiss before pulling back to watch your face. You had released his ear and were back to a fucked out slump on his bed. Damn dog.

Your eyes meet and a grin stretches across his face. You bite back a moan, only to hiss at him. “I fucking hate you. Keep going.”

The laugh that leaves Schlatt’s lips resonates off the walls, mingling with your joined squelching sounds and your moans and whimpers. His ministrations on your clit persist and he brings his free hand to your thigh, clawed fingers digging into your skin.

He adjusts his angle, all the while fucking you, so he can thrust in an upward motion to hit that sweet, rough spot in your cunt. Your thigh winds tight beneath his touch, signifying just how close you are. If that isn’t enough motivation to keep going, then how you claw at his back, leaving red welts, certainly is. The variety of noises you make higher and louder definitely are.

“You like this, huh, pup?” he growls, fingers deftly rubbing your clit, eyes fucking your body alongside his cock.

“Lettin the emperor fuckin ruin ya, fuckin shit-“

When you clench around his stupidly fat cock, an orgasm hitting you sharply, he groans. Your eyes start to roll back and flutter shut, but he’s quick to grab one of your ears to redirect your attention. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your claws dig into his back for support, eyes trained on his as he keeps fucking you.

Even though you’re finished, left limp against the sheets, he isn’t. He’s using your poor pussy like a damn toy now, chasing higher and higher, thrusts erratic, until he ultimately breaks. He buries himself as deep as he can, his cum shooting loads into your cunt as his face stuffs back into your neck.

Both of you linger like that, Schlatt still shoved inside you, his body acting like a weight blanket against your’s. It’s silent, the only sound being your shared panting.

Well…you didn’t expect this entire runaway situation to evolve into this. A traitorous part of you is glad it did though.

Without a word, he pulls out and sits back on his heels, watching your combined releases grow the wet spots on the sheets and pillow. He shuffles off the bed and into the connecting bathroom, the sound of running water making your limp ears perk. He returns with a damp rag — and is that Benedictine? Does he have alcohol at his disposal everywhere?

“Thought I said no more drinking,” you huff. He watches you push yourself into a sit, body slow and clumsy as the high fades.

When he reaches the bed, he hands you the bottle. “For me, but not for you,” he laughs, “drink. You deserve it.”

Your fingers tremble as you take the bottle, letting the alcohol burn your throat as you take a sip. No wonder he had boxes of this lying around; it’s delicious.

As you go in for seconds, your eyes scan him as he towers over the side of the bed. Bruises and bite marks adorn his neck, one in particular with broken skin, along with the glisten of his slick cock, his tousled hair, and clawed up shoulders. Damn, he’s fine, even after an intense fuck.

He notices your fawning and smirks, his fingers pressing against the worst bite to examine the meager smear of blood. No way he was going to parade around Manberg like this, as much as he wanted to flaunt it all. You’ll work on hiding it later.

He leans over and brushes strands of hair from your flush face. His touch is gentle, tender even, a crazy contrast to how he was fucking you raw minutes ago.

“You good?” he asks, searching for any hint of regret or pain on your face. But all he finds is bliss.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” you reassure him.

“Good pup.” He gives you a soft pat to your cheek that causes your tail to wag softly and ears to twitch. He notices and smiles a bit, watching your eyes soften at his praise.

After adjusting the towel, he leans down to start cleaning you up, the cloth warm on your skin. He takes his time, wiping away the cum smears on your thighs, chuckling when he reaches your folds and you suck in a sharp breath.

“What was that earlier? Calling me doll?” You tease, setting the Benedictine on the nightstand.

“Fuck off and let me take care of ya,” he grumbles.

You let him finish without added remarks and he cleans himself off before disposing of the rag in the corner of the room. He herds you off the bed momentarily so he can tug the top blanket and pillow off to join the rag, considering the fabric was soaked from both of you. Wow, he’s actually taking care of things for once! Granted, it’s all aftercare, but you’re not complaining.

You pull the covers back and crawl under them, Schlatt following in suit. You’re unsure if cuddling was his thing, but he proves you wrong by wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your chest. Of course he likes cuddling; you should know by now that the whole tough guy persona was mostly that, a facade.

Your fingers start to fiddle with his hair and trace the lines of his horns, while his hand draped over you traces patterns on your skin. He knows he shouldn’t indulge in this moment of vulnerability, but your warmth, your tenderness, no person could come to resist it.

You nurse on the same thoughts. You’re always so guarded with everyone, but something about his gentleness, the warm intimacy after being railed, makes it difficult for you to maintain those walls.

And a part of you wishes tomorrow would never come, that you both could avoid returning to Manberg and leaving behind whatever is blossoming between you two.

[manicpixiedreamjop]

oooohhhh 28 - "I know your friends" with either solittle or armitozer please! <333

(Putting this one under a cut bc it got a bit long!)

“What the fuck happened to you?”

It’s not as if Edward has any say in where Sol goes or what he does, as Sol had been kind enough to remind him on his way out the door earlier when Edward had asked where he was going (“None of your fuckin’ business Neddie, you’re not my boyfriend and you’re not my mum, so fuck off, yeah?”). He feels justified in asking now though, as Sol stumbles through the door just past one in the morning, lip split, brilliant black eye blooming on the right side of his face.

“Got in a fight, didn’t I?” says Sol, tugging open the fridge and leaning into it, pulling out a beer and immediately holding it up to the bruise on his eye. His eyes look slightly out of focus, and Edward doesn’t know if it’s from the injury or if he’s been drinking already too.

“With who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Your face is bleeding, Sol,” says Edward, shoving himself to his feet and walking across the kitchen towards him. “So yeah, I’d say it fucking matters.”

“A friend,” snaps Sol.

“What friend?”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know your friends.”

“Can we not with the third degree, right now?” asks Sol, and this time Edward is sure he’s drunk. Better that than concussed, he supposes. “My fuckin’ head is killing me.”

“Do you think it’s because you got punched in the face?” asks Edward, but he softens his voice, taking the beer out of Sol’s hand with one hand and turning his chin towards the light with the other. The bruise is nasty, but the cut on his lip isn’t as bad as it had looked when he’d walked in, only crusted with old blood, already mostly closed. “Come on, Sol,” he continues, even softer this time. “What’s going on with you?”

Sol lets out a long, slow breath through his nose, and finally looks at Edward properly, eyes big and far softer than Edward ever gets to see them when Sol’s sober. “Was seeing someone,” Sol says finally. “Didn’t work out.”

“They did—” Edward says, forcing himself to stay calm, to push down the anger rising in him, sure it’s the last thing Sol needs right now.

“I thought—” Sol starts, but he cuts himself off too, shrugging awkwardly. Edward realises all at once that his hand is still on Sol’s chin, but can’t bring himself to move it, especially not when Sol leans into the touch. “I don’t know what I thought,” he continues after a moment, and then, before Edward can say anything else, Sol leans forward and kisses him.

He tastes like blood and whiskey, his several days of stubble scratching against Edward’s chin, and Edward is already opening his mouth and leaning back into the kiss before he quite processes what he’s doing. Because they don’t do this, him and Sol. They’re flatmates, they’re old friends, and maybe they’ve gotten off together a few times when they were drunk, and maybe Edward fantasises about getting down on his knees and sucking Sol off every time Sol comes home from the gym all flushed and sweaty and grinning, but they don’t do this. Edward has never even dared allow himself to want this.

“Sol,” he says, pulling away, forcing himself not to react to the small, disappointed noise that Sol makes. “You’re drunk.”

“And?” asks Sol. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you. That I haven’t wanted you for… for fuckin’ ever.”

“You’re drunk,” Edward says again, as much to himself as to Sol. “And bleeding, and… Let’s just get you cleaned up, alright? We can talk about this in the morning.”

Sol stares at him a moment longer, eyes still wide, before his face hardens again and he steps back, holding the beer can back up to his eye.

“I can deal with it,” he says tersely. “I’ve had worse.” Edward doesn’t know if he’s still talking about the black eye or not.

“Sure,” says Edward, taking a step back as well. “Yeah. I’ll just… leave you to it then.”

“Cheers,” says Sol, and then he’s stepping away, out of Edward’s orbit, and down the hall towards the bathroom.

[recitedemise]

asked by @enrhysmion:

He was not warned about the damn punch. He tastes nothing like booze, really. He can't get enough of it; if anything, it's sweet. He wants to join the rest of his friends in celebrating since it's such a beautiful occasion. He continues to sip on this fruity beverage without realizing how much alcohol he is really consuming. The world around him eventually gets… brighter. All appears feasible, and all his surroundings are dazzling like a dream. His never-ending remorse momentarily escapes his thoughts when this unwavering wall surrounding his reality collapses. Finally --- freedom to do as he pleases and to spend time with whoever he pleases. It must be a dream, after all, if it feels like one... Like many nights prior to this one, he sees him in his dreams, ambling around as though he owns the place. This one man, the source of both his anguish and yearning. Even if Rhys has a unique bond with the wizard, he typically lacks the courage to give in to his desires. For him, every day is a source of both joy and agony as he longs for his companionship yet is terrified to hear more about his supposed goddess. Mystra, Mystra, damn you! --- she has no right to call him her 'chosen one' and yet treat him so poorly. How dare she! He will also choose him and treat him far better than she ever could. 

With a voice softer than silk and warmer than the sun, Gale addresses him once more. But this name, this damned disgusting name, is all he can hear. Mystra, Mystra, Mystra—he's sure that there are a gazillion more lovely things that his friend's mouth is capable of. Like groaning, or perhaps moaning. He can't help but wonder how the other man sounds when he moans as his thoughts begin to race with ideas of how to make him shudder with utter pleasure. Yes, exactly — that sounds incredibly delicious but might not be achievable for the time being. He doesn't dare cross this boundary just yet, even if it's only a dream. But what about sharing a kiss? Rhys bets he's a good kisser because his tongue is always so swift. Maybe this dream may provide the best chance to verify his theory. Rhys touches Gale's torso without thinking twice, right over his orb. His fingernails sink in just a little bit, like he's attempting to pull the orb from his chest or cover Mystra's scar with his own. His other hand reaches for Gale's nape, and he hesitates a moment before pulling him in for a kiss. However, it's not a charming, innocent kiss—rather, it's passionate, ravenous, and bordering on beastly. With a fervor that is unlike him, the devout and consistently kind preacher is devouring up the other man's mouth. He is biting Gale's bottom lip, and he quickly deepens the kiss by putting his tongue into his mouth. He holds on until they both run out of breath, sticking his tongue out to taste the dripping saliva on his partner's chin and bottom lip. "You deserve to be kissed every day and every night." As he finally releases the other man from his hold, he just whispers those sincere words to him. So far, this dream has been incredibly vivid and quite… well, exquisite.

He can feel the weight of that gaze. About the bare of his neck, back turned toward their watchful cleric, Gale notes the simmer of his coiling nerves. Wordless, he looks to his manual, but the words don't meet him.

This is... different. Novel, he confesses. Their healer has, and to perhaps the awareness of most everyone else, fancied his glances toward this Waterdeep son. Gale's sensed it on many of their far-gone sunsets, even in those nights where their shadows were long, and each time, he admits, it'd stirred in him a maelstrom--anxiety like butterflies, like bees in a field. He likes him, he had realized. Their companions slip away for their slumber, their sherry bottles left about the logs of their seats, and it is moments later when he hears purposeful footsteps. Gale, turning, looks on up.

"Rhys," Gale starts. Your eyes. The way want flashes in them--! Oh. "What are you--"

He is upon him. Gloriously. Gale makes a noise, embarrassingly undignified, that spills handsomely, prettily, and startled off his lips. His heart swallows it with haste, his great hands strong against the curve of Gale's neck, but sat about that chest, his other palm lays, and that orb, thundering, ripples a-glow. I'm yearning, it sings. Like storm. Like thunder. The way he tastes--it is lavish vineyards. A color spills past that hand, something cross between violets and amethyst jewels as Gale, mortifyingly, knows he is had. He's only being grabbed. Gosh, only being kissed. But to be kissed and grappled is a delicious feeling, and it's been long, an eternity since he's last whined. He has never been touched. Never by Mystra, there in her planes. Now, it's as though he's an adolescent once more, quivering to hands both strong and greedy. He hungers, he knows, but not like this. Gale feels teeth, tongue, and he startles on a gasp. He pulls away, face red, and his exhale harried.

You deserve to be kissed every day and every night.

Something in his ribcage growls and wails.

"That's enough." His pulse hammers. There is something wicked bellowing in his bones, unearthing yearning and desire in frightening droves. Gale feels ninety ways uprooted, a thousand ways relieved, but despite the joy of knowing he is clearly desired, there is a million more ways that he feels wrought. He wants to kiss him. Gods know he does... but looking at the color smoldering those cheeks, Gale, swallowing, grabs those wrists. No more. "Not now. Not like this." His fingers are warm against that skin, and Rhys' is crushingly handsome.

Please. "I'm afraid you drank far too much. Do not misunderstand me. I have imagined your hands on many nights," he starts, "more than my pride will allow me to ever confess, and they are eager, always kind, but more than that besides, they are sure."

"Another night, perhaps, if you'd still desire me." He backs away, yearning. "But when you are there in mind and only then. Your body is not enough, not for me."

[balkanradfem]

hey i dont think i would actually be able to help that much and you probably have already looked into this before, but just in case you havent, if you try to describe your neck pain in detail i could see if i can figure out what might be able to help relieve it? i get neck pain due to work and its reduced through weird exercises most people dont ever think to do. i sit at weird angles a lot so i have to do exercises that compensate for that

Oh I'd be happy to! If you can figure anything out that would be great, even though at this point two physio specialists and a physiotherapist have looked at it and decided that the symptoms just make no sense, and a mri shows that everything is fine with my bones, disks and muscles.

The most troubling symptoms are that I'm unable to carry anything over 2kg, and honestly my left side is way worse, I can't carry more than 1kg with my left hand, I can carry 2 with my right. (I also have back pain on my left side).

Other really upsetting symptom is that I feel every impact in my neck, for example I can't run or jump, any harsh contact with the floor feels like I've been hit directly inside of my neck, or like the bones of my neck are hitting into my skull. I feel every step as I walk as an impact in my neck, and because of that I can rarely walk for more than 10 minutes. It has helped a little since a friend suggested I put an implant in my shoes, to make them softer, so the impact is lessened. I also can walk longer on very soft surfaces, like a forest after rain, when the soil is soft.

I also can't use tools like a hammer, hoe, anything involving hitting. I can't punch a bag anymore. Whatever impact is made, it feels like the impact is inside of my neck, or between my head and my neck. The first vertebrae of the neck is where the pain is most intense. I've been told since that this is impossible because these don't even touch, and the neck goes inside of my skull instead, but I have no other language to describe it, feels like my skull is taking damage from either being hit or brutally rubbed against the bones of my neck. Or like there's some nerves inbetween getting crushed. (but that would show on the mri)

Other symptoms that are just annoying: I can't lean my neck forward too much, I can't sit for long periods of time, I can't sit leaning back at all, it will start hurting after 1 minute of that, I have to either sit straight or lean slightly forward. I can't sleep with a pillow, I need a completely flat surface.

Once the neck pain gets irritated (if I accidentally carry something heavy of walk for too long) it will hurt so much I will no longer be able to sit or stand, I'll have to lie down on a completely flat surface for several days for it to recover. I also have to sleep on my back. It also gets irritated if I go to the dentist and have to sit on that chair leaned back for 15 minutes, the entire appointment is incredibly painful.

If the neck is not irritated, then I can sleep on my side curled up in a ball, but still without a pillow.

I noticed lately that it hurts if I try to turn my head to the left, it used to not hurt just from that motion, unless I would try to keep the position. It generally hurts if I try to turn my head to any side for too long, I have to keep looking forward or slightly down.

My neck will also hurt if I put anything on my head, like a towel, or a hood, anything that's giving it extra weight or putting any pressure on it.

There are things I still can't do with manageable or minimal pain! I can do some gardening, if I take breaks and accept that generally crouching and looking down will be mildly painful. I can ride a bike with next to no pain, I can do cleaning where I don't have to walk much, and it doesn't bother me. I can do foraging as long as I don't look too much down and move the rest of my body more than I move my neck. And doing normal stuff in the kitchen like cooking, kneading dough, washing dishes, doesn't bother me at all.

I have tried a few exercises in the past, found on youtube, but every and each of those was painful to do, and I didn't know if it would do extra damage, so I stopped. I think now I can try doing any exercises since there's nothing physically wrong with me, I'm unlikely to do actual damage (but I'm still scared of irritating the pain).

I appreciate being given a chance to just talk about the pain because usually I just try to not talk about it, because I don't want everyone around me to feel bad about it all the time, and nothing really helps. I've been prescribed a muscle-relaxant to take for a week, and while I was taking it, it was better, and less painful, but as soon as I stopped taking it, the pain came right back.

[marysunburn]

Shivers (part Il)

Here for part I.

Azir wakes up all of a sudden, sweat dripping down his beak and shivers choking his words. Through blurry eyes he sees Nasus push the rest of his retinue aside and grab his hand in a stone-hard grasp.

“My lord?”

“I’m… so cold.”

It’s more a whine to himself than a notification to Nasus, as Xerath would punish him cruelly if he dared to request comfort of any kind. “You deserve nothing, Azir. This is but a morsel of the life we lived because of you.” So it catches the ex-Emperor by surprise to see Nasus bring him to his chest, grab the ulterior blankets passed upon him by Akshan and cover him with these as if he was afraid he’d slip away if he didn’t.

Now, as absolutely not imperial as it is, Azir wants to be held and comforted. He stays still and welcomes every touch as Nasus wraps his upper body into a shawl, including the back of his head – it’s much softer than… that other thing, and it’s white silk. It’s like a cocoon of warmth, and even the shivers feel less intense. He rests his head on the Curator’s shoulder and winces as he massages his feathers, shivering endlessly onto his tunic.

“Is it helping anyhow?”

“Yes… don’t go, my friend. Keep holding me tight. I’ll make sure you’re repaid f-for…”

“Shush, little bird.” What would Azir even repay him with? He’s just reciting old formulas of imperial pomp at this point. “What matters now is your welfare. You’ll have a serene rest and spread your wings once more onto the world.”

Even in the state he’s in, Azir can’t help but notice Taliyah’s face at those words. She looks as if she’d rather see him burn to a crisp, or – the sky help him – lock him back inside that coffin.

I must talk to her at once. But not now... sickness makes you foolish, Xerath has taught him over and over in his punishments. "Even more foolish than old foolish Azir. A monument of stupidity for the annals"

"Now, my lord... hold still"

"NO!"

Silence breaks into the tent as Azir realizes what has occurred. He's backed into the fabric walls of the tent, blankets falling off him, covering his face with his crossed arms – and Nasus watches him in dismay, holding a damp cloth in his fist which is now dripping onto the sandy floor of the tent.

Did he honestly think he'd...

As the rest of the retinue backs off, partly to avoid whatever vagary may be coming through his mind, partly to give him space to breathe and compose himself, Azir blinks his way back onto the earth. What am I doing? Nasus is not Xerath, he wouldn't... but all he saw was a fist coming towards him, and he's received so many fists to the face – and slaps, and kicks, and even canes for Shurima's sake – they end up blending onto each other.

"Ugh... I'm utterly ashamed of my behavior, Nasus." Yes, by his behavior, because being scared you'd get punched in the face after more than a year where they treated you like dirt is oh so very shameful mr. Azir Omah. "I misconstrued. I just... I saw your fist and..."

Nasus looks as if he's seen a ghost. "You thought I wanted to hit you?"

"...I saw something that wasn't there. My mind is playing games on me... Oh..."

Azir is shivering once again, even more than before. He doesn't call for help – you don't get that, Xerath hisses in his feverish mind, you don't get anything you don't deserve – but he's too weak and cold to keep Nasus from holding him into his arms, wrapping him back up in a cocoon of silk and wool and, this time, dabbing his face with the damp cloth, heaving in faint pleasure as the water trails between his feathers.

"Listen to me, my lord, my sweet little bird." Taliyah's face could freeze Hell itself. "If a time ever comes that I strike you, may I suffer like Renekton and twice over. I've failed you enough. I should have been there, but..."

"Just... hold me", Azir huffs. He doesn't have time for Nasus' self pity. He just wants everything to stop hurting for three seconds.

[talesofourworlds]

He noticed the way Flynn's hand hovered over his shoulder. It made sense, Guy thought. All Flynn knew was that Guy had reacted that way when he had been touched. It was easy to forget that he'd been able to take that punch from earlier without reacting that way, but Guy didn't think it wise to point it out. It wasn't really related to what had just happened anyway. So, Guy moved so that he wasn't standing in the doorway anymore.

"I'd be surprised if it didn't," he confessed. "It... startled my friends back home when I had a similar reaction once." Back at Choral Castle, when Anise had clung to him from behind. His phobia had been a lot worse back then.

It's still bad, Guy reminded himself with a small wince. Thankfully, he was able to shake himself away from that particular line of thought as Flynn continued to speak. There was a gratitude in his eyes and the way his posture relaxed a bit. At the very least, Flynn wasn't going to push him into going into every detail of what was going on. He followed Flynn's lead, moving even further from being in the inn's doorway.

"I appreciate that, Flynn. I do. This is actually pretty personal, so... I hope you don't mind if I don't go into as much detail about it as I could. But I feel like I at least owe you something about what just happened, so I don't mind sharing a little." It didn't look like anyone was paying attention to them. Still, Guy felt like he should speak a little softer.

"I wouldn't blame you if you think this sounds weird. The reason I reacted that way is... I have this phobia of being touched by women." He was prepared for any potential reaction to admitting to that much. Some people felt like they could poke fun at him for it. After all, how often did one come across someone with that specific of a fear? Even his own friends had teased him about it before they'd known the root cause. So how would Flynn react?

"Recently, I'd felt like I'd finally started making some strides in recovering since I was able to figure out what caused the fear in the first place. But..." Well, Flynn had just seen what happened. For a suave, cool, and collected as Guy was, he still had this problem.

"I guess it still really gets to me if it happens suddenly like that." Despite the smile he tried to put on, it was apparent this fear wasn't anything he felt like he could really laugh about. Even when he tried to play it off like he did sometimes at home. Not when the reaction had been as bad as it was.

Flynn could tell that Guy was attempting to push past whatever it was that had happened just now. To try and ignore his outburst? No, not quite… but it was clear that he wasn’t trying to put a lot of focus on his actions. Flynn understood, of course. A stranger freaking out in the middle of the street wasn’t exactly something that would seem ideal for most people. Still, Flynn still worked to piece together what exactly had scared Guy so badly. Just so it could be prevented in the future.

“It was… hard not to notice, to be quite honest.” There was no sugar coating it. Not really. Guy had successfully startled everyone in the surrounding area, Flynn included. “Not to make the situation worse than it already is but…”

There was no judgment in Flynn’s tone, thankfully, as his hand hovers over the other’s shoulder, not quite touching him but to offer some sort of comfort as he tilts his head questioningly. He had been relatively okay all the way to the tavern and for a moment, some defensive part of Flynn’s brain suggested that Guy may be on edge because, to him, the Lower Quarter may seem like the ‘Shady’ part of the capital.

He refused to give in to his own paranoia though, and instead took note of just how… upset Guy looked? This wasn’t the look of a man who was paranoid about the area surrounding him. No, there was definitely something deeper going on.

“If you need a minute… that’s fine. They’ll hold our table for us.” Flynn explained slowly, moving to step out of Guy’s space so the poor man could breathe.

“You’re right, though… I wasn’t really expecting such a reaction like that. It startled me, I won’t lie to you.” Trying to lie to Guy wouldn’t do anyone any good, after all. If anything, he’d just come off as if he were coddling the man. And it wouldn’t get Flynn any closer to finding out what had caused this to begin with.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable with the idea but…” Flynn stepped to the side, urging Guy to follow so they could at least get out of the way of the door to the inn. Just in case this happened again. “... I’d like to help make you more comfortable with your stay in Zaphias. If something is making you uneasy, I’d like to help remedy that, if it’s within my power. Or at least make things easier.”

[yandereloversblog]

Can I get a clingy s/o with fnaf crew (2)

{ like the last one with a fnaf 1 ?} :D

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐅𝐍𝐀𝐅 2

╰┈➤ . . . 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: 𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚢 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐

╰┈➤ . . . 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: 𝙵𝙽𝙰𝙵 2

╰┈➤ . . . 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝚃𝚘𝚢 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚢, 𝚃𝚘𝚢 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎, 𝚃𝚘𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚊, 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚝

╰┈➤ . . . 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝚃𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 , 𝚄𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚎𝚝, 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛.

╰┈➤ . . . 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

My dumbass might've realized a little too late you probably also meant the withered bots... But I only wrote these guys 💀 AZOAJAI I'm sorry-

-> 𝐓𝐨𝐲 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲

This man is the clingy one.

Handsy motherfu-

He's delusional so he definitely would expect you to love him back -if not he'd make you-

But when you actually started clinging to him on your own free will, it's like fireworks went off in his head.

"Huh? You... You love me right? Yup! You definitely do."

You hold his hand once on your own and he instantly decides that you must love him back just as much as he loves you-

Gives you lots of kisses and gets all delusional.

The type to punch or kill rivals with a smile cuz he's too happy that you love him back.

Thinks it's okay to get rid of everyone because you love him and you'd agree.

"Just knowing how they love me like that makes me so happy~"

-> 𝐓𝐨𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

If you are clingy to him when you're in the public he's gonna be so cocky.

Likes to show you off, especially show off how much you love him.

Gets a little embarrassed if you hang off him for too long but won't back down.

"Yeah that's right! They love me soooo much, don't you star?~"

In private he's a little softer, appreciating your touch more than just boasting about it after every little caress.

You being clingy = Toy Bonnie teasing and bullying you more since he believes you won't leave him.

The second someone gets close to you he has his sight on the person within 0.5 seconds and gets jealous.

Unknowingly because of the attention you give him you have him on the palm of your hand, Toy Bonnie doesn't want you to stop so he'll either end up threatening you to be even more affectionate or kill whoever he views as a threat.

"It's fine, it's fine, I can kill everyone and they'll only love me."

-> 𝐓𝐨𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚

Oh of course you are. Who wouldn't be?

Unlike Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie, who just melt onto your affection and cuddle, -With Bonne in private- Toy Chica just soaks it up and gives you praise for being good instead.

"Awww that's so adorable~ you're being such a good pet today [Y/N]~"

Usually she acts like it's nothing and let's you do whatever you want, but the way she returns her affection begins to change.

It's a lot more needy, a lot of time you'll be left with scratches and bruises all over you but Toy Chica looked just so happy when placing you on her lap and doing everything.

You can never give Toy Chica too much attention, so if you even just as much as look at another person for too long she'll notice. She's shooing everyone away when the two of you cuddle, it's your personal time after all.

Holding you even tighter and dragging you around, it's strange to watch her usual calm and sadistic composure break into something akin to need and jealousy.

Obviously whoever has gained your interest will be dead but you'll get a punishment too, how dare you get her so worked up!

"Looks like I need to tie you up whenever I leave so you don't go to someone else huh..."

-> 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞

Y'all they're tired- so do expect them to just come to you when they feel drained out, no matter if you're kidnapped or just doing your job.

Completely melts when you start clinging to them or doing anything at all, please just touch them -simp-

"Is it really alright?... Okay, I'll try not to hurt you then..."

They are scared to hurt you but as soon as they notice you don't really give a fuck and still cling to them they're about to do a 180

No you have bitemarks all over you, Mangle's a deranged bot if someone let's them loose, they'll cuddle you happily while scratching and biting.

Watch his insanity just go down the more you let go of the leash, the second someone approaches you he's biting their limbs off, whenever someone talks to you the person is dead the next morning.

"[Y/N]!~ Ah don't worry it's not my blood, give me a hug!"

-> 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭

Man's so tired, so when you go out of your way to hug or squeeze at him he lowkey metls.

Buts it's that soft melting where he doesn't say anything and just enjoys it.

His mood will go from "tired babysitter" to "happy tired babysitter", likes nuzzling your hair especially.

"Your touch is really soothing, [Y/N]... Don't stop, I like it."

Really sweet, probably likes humming softly while the two of you hug and maybe make you go to sleep.

For every hug or time you cling to him he gets you a present, some of it it's stolen and some he made himself but the puppet hopes you like them.

He's a really calculative bot though, don't go too long without giving him a hug or he's gonna start manipulating you...

You see- the thing is, the puppet wants you to be a certain way and if you're not to his liking he's going to break you down and build you up like how he prefers you to be.

"What's wrong darling, why do you look so scared? Ah- that person? Yeah I do wonder who left them for dead like that, but let's go back and cuddle."

So for you to be clinging to other people too? He really needs to do something about it.

[djbeatz]

Love Languages (Soukoku)

Chuuya’s love languages would probably be Physical affection and gift giving, while Dazai’s would be Physical affection and Words of affirmation. I think that these two sharing the physical affection love language is both really cute and oddly appropriate.

When they were both in the mafia, they always insulted and mocked each other and never genuinely admitted to even caring for each other, saying out loud was not something they were good at or likely even known how to do. So instead of speaking with words, they spoke with actions.

It was mostly the little things like how whenever Chuuya seems to be distant or looking distracted, Dazai would always know it’s Arahabaki and make frequent excuses to touch him; and when Dazai would disassociate or just look a little gloomier than usual, Chuuya may bump their shoulders a little more or punch him a little softer. If either of them knew about it, neither of them ever acknowledged it.

For the other two though? They struggle a little sometimes, but once they worked it out, it was very cute.

Chuuya definitely likes to give people gifts, he believes that the people he cares for deserve all the things he could give them, this also isn’t restricted to material things. He does seem like the kind of person who would enjoy giving more than receiving, but it’s actually the opposite, he just won’t admit because he doesn’t want to bother people like that or seem like something he isn’t because his image is very important to him. This probably explains why he sometimes spoils himself in quite a few different luxuries, it feels nice to have something for himself. If someone were to ever give him something? He’d remember it extremely vividly, it wouldn’t matter how much time would pass, it probably be one of his favorite memories.

For Dazai. I don’t even know how to begin to explain this but, words of affirmation. This is strongly inspired by the Wan actually; that scene where Dazai was completely knocked out by Atsushi just saying a few nice things, I imagined that Dazai had enjoyed it to a concerning amount, but he had never really experienced that feeling and never to that extent, so he had no idea how to react, he was mostly dazed by the situation. Also, in his mafia days, I’m sure he was praised by Mori for his skills and effective use, occasionally by other Executives and such as well, but he never truly cared for it. To him, he wasn’t doing anything really amazing or praiseworthy, he was simply doing his job and yes, he is aware of his own genius, but even if you’re aware that you are smart, it just feels normal to you does it not?

The way these two meet in the middle is actually a lot simpler than you’d think. Dazai knows Chuuya very well, so it wouldn’t take much for him to realize that Chuuya enjoys receiving gifts, the hard part to him was finding something to give to a man who could basically buy himself anything. The first gift he ever gave Chuuya was a lot simpler than he’d wanted it to be, it was a pair of ruby cufflinks (bought with Chuuya’s card of course). Chuuya was definitely shocked, and confused, but once he understood he was just...happy. He wore them every day, with every outfit, he’d always find a way to make them work. Eventually though, once Chuuya found out how much thought Dazai actually put into choosing them, he said (not directly) that it didn’t matter what he got him, anything would make him happy.

Chuuya also knows Dazai very well, he doesn’t go bragging about it, but he does. He’s seen the way that Dazai has no reaction to praise towards his skills and he knows why, so he also knows that Dazai can’t handle being praised or complimented for anything else because it’s both something he hasn’t experienced and something personal to him. Chuuya isn’t afraid to admit that Dazai is smart, it’s a fact that everyone knows; but you will never hear him say anything positive towards Dazai in public. In private though? He is even more blunt when it comes to just complimenting Dazai in general. Once he even wrote a short poem about Dazai for Dazai. The poor mackerel couldn’t function right for the whole rest of the week. (He even framed it in his room for himself only).

Also, the reason why Chuuya isn’t afraid to admit his affections now, is for 2 reasons. 1, He’s older now, he has more experience in life, and his mind has matured so eventually he had come clean to himself about his feelings for Dazai. 2. He’s aware of how Dazai feels about him. The mutual affection makes it easier for him to feel comfortable in showing it.

A combination of all three of these though? It’d probably look something like the two of them cuddling on the couch, bickering of course, but Chuuya would be asking Dazai what kind of headband he believes would look good with the brunette’s eyes and hair, this would obviously fluster Dazai, but he’d be doing his best to refrain from just throwing the new choker he got for Chuuya in his face and escaping.

Wow this is long.