#gentle touch from Frank is very rare

[katich-pigeon]

Lifeless children of sorrow

[frvnkcastles]

SET MY WORLD ON FIRE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You struggle with sex because of pain but want to give it a try with Frank.

Warnings: Female reader, feminine nicknames, light smut

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: Soooo I’m back with another PTSD related fic. I rarely write smut anymore but I wanted to do something like this because surprise surprise, it’s something I deal with. I suffer from chronic pain called vulvodynia, which is kinda similar to vaginismus I guess, and it makes having sex very painful or even impossible. There isn’t a lot of information about it available but I’m pretty sure it can be connected to (C-)PTSD or trauma in general (also other anxiety disorders). And I just think Frank would be so understanding and a safe person to try new things with. That’s all, thank you for reading <3

Your breathing was heavy as you rested on your back, your eyes locked with Frank’s as he hovered above you on the bed, and your fingers running through the coarse hairs on the back of his head. The air was tense and there was a ball of nerves in the pit of your stomach, but deep down, you were excited, too. And most importantly, you trusted Frank. You knew that the moment would be over with your say-so, and he’d be off of your body within seconds, but so far, you were willing to push your limits.

”Gorgeous girl”, he muttered while caressing your cheek and traveling down to grip your jaw softly, just enough to tilt your head up so he could lean down to kiss your neck. His lips left a trail of goosebumps and you closed your eyes to fully revel in the feeling, your arms hanging around his neck and your legs around his hips.

His name escaped your lips and you could feel his mouth curling up into a smile against your skin. ”Yeah, sweetheart?” he rasped, lifting his head from the crook of your neck so he could look at you. He took in the sight of you, eyes squeezed shut and a mixture of pleasure and anxiety twisting your features. ”Hey, look at me”, he demanded gently, and licking your lips, you met his gaze only to feel even more vulnerable under the intensity of it.

”Y’know nothin’ happens without your permission, yeah? ’M just here to go at your pace. You got nothin’ to worry about, I promise”, he explained, tilting his head at you, and slowly, you managed a nod.

You had wanted this for a long time. You had wanted him for a long time. But no matter how strong that desire in you grew, you knew that your body wasn’t on the same page with you, that regardless of your feelings, it would hurt. And when you had told Frank as much, he had sworn to be gentle with you, to proceed as slowly as you needed him to, with promises of being honored you’d trust him with it.

”Breathe for me, pretty girl”, he encouraged, and swallowing, you inhaled deeply through your nose, and following his example, you exhaled through your mouth. ”There ya go”, he smiled at you before biting his lip and deciding to dip a toe in the waters. ”Can I touch you?”

Your breath got stuck in your throat, but once again, you nodded. ”Yes, please”, you requested quietly, and satisfied, Frank let his hands venture across your body. You were already reduced to just your underwear, making it easy for his thick fingers to graze against your skin and glide down between your legs. He was careful, but you still tensed up, and he could immediately tell. You stared at the ceiling and tried to keep your breathing balanced, but you were scared.

”Want me to stop?” Frank asked, but despite the fear bubbling in your chest, you immediately shook your head.

”I want to feel you”, you admitted, and chuckling softly, Frank nodded.

He tried his best to be gentle, but you still gasped sharply at the feeling of his finger prodding, and Frank’s chest ached at the idea of causing you any pain. Nevertheless, when you didn’t tell him to stop, he pushed further, and somewhere within his movements, the initial pain melted into a warm, pleasant feeling.

”This okay?” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses as he moved his hand back and forth, and nodding rapidly, you clamped your hand over your mouth to stifle any stray moans about to slip out. Frank noticed in an instant and with his free hand wrangled your palm away from your face, wanting to hear everything.

”It’s good. It’s really good”, you breathed out, and with a crooked smile, Frank leaned his forehead against yours and kissed the air out of your lungs. His lips were like magic, just like his fingers, and the combined sensation of the two had you seeing stars, speechless as you writhed under the weight of his body.

Before you could reach your climax, though, Frank withdrew his hand from you, and when you whined at the loss, his grin widened. ”Shh, sh, it’s okay. Be patient f’me, baby”, he reassured before wetting his lips and looking down at where your bodies were about to connect.

”We’ll take it slow, yeah? I got you, sweetheart. Tell me to stop and I will”, he promised you, and with an impatient nod, you agreed to his words. It was a terrible mix to be both needy and scared, to want him more than anything in the world but dread that you wouldn’t be able to go through it. But Frank was endlessly patient with you, and like he had sworn, his movements were languid and careful.

The grunt that rose from his throat when he entered you made you want to keep going. You would have done anything for him in that moment. The exertion of being slow was obvious on his creased forehead, but he didn’t break his promise — he slid in slowly, pausing as soon as you sucked in a pained breath.

”Hurts”, you croaked out, wringing your eyes shut, and immediately jumping to action, Frank smoothed the lines in the corners of your eyes.

”Hey, hey, don’t worry. I ain’t movin’ ’til you tell me to, aight?” Frank whispered, and with a gulp, you nodded.

”Maybe… maybe if you… make small movements back and forth”, you proposed, and humming in response, Frank kissed your forehead.

”You know what to do if it ain’t feelin’ right”, he noted before inching his hips forward just the slightest, then pulling back and repeating the motion. It was an attempt to get you used to him, and it had you huffing and puffing with the hopes of remembering to breathe through it, but it didn’t seem like the pain was going anywhere.

”This would be a lot easier if you were… smaller”, you pointed out with a wry smile, earning a snort from Frank.

”Wanna stop?” he asked again, but you shook your head.

”I think I can take a little more”, you said hopefully, and with concern shining in his eyes, Frank nodded reluctantly and made a firmer thrust, only for you to immediately regret it.

Your hands flew to his chest to push him away, and reacting quickly, Frank pulled out and watched the ache bloom on your face. With a frustrated huff, you ran a palm across your features, and as Frank got off of you and knelt on the bed, you sat up, as well.

”You okay, sweetheart? Shit, I shoulda— I didn’t wanna hurt ya”, he stammered, hands hovering over you, not sure if it was okay to touch you.

Pursing your lips in a sad smile, you took his hand and squeezed. ”I’m okay. It’s not your fault”, you told him quietly. Nonetheless, regret blossomed in Frank’s chest as he watched you curl up and wrap your arms around your knees bashfully. But when he saw the look on your face, he knew you were feeling much worse than he was.

”Hey, it ain’t your fault either, ya know that, right?” he spoke up, tilting his head down to catch your gaze, which you expertly avoided. Frustrated tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you were quick to wipe them away.

”I guess”, you shrugged. ”It just doesn’t seem fair to you. To—to get you all worked up, and then I can’t even—I can’t—”, you tried to explain, but Frank hastily shot down your anxieties.

”You don’t owe me anythin’. Just ’cause you make me turned on, and trust me, you really do, I don’t expect you to do anythin’ ’bout it. It ain’t fun for me if it ain’t fun for you”, he stated matter-of-factly, his fingertips caressing your arm as he sat closer to you.

”I guess we can always do other stuff”, you tried to see the positive in the situation, and with an encouraging smile, Frank opened his arms for you, and you didn’t hesitate to crawl into the welcoming embrace.

”That’s right, sweetheart. I’m happy to use my fingers if that felt good. Would love to get my mouth on you”, he whispered into your ear, and with blush creeping to your cheeks, you covered your face with both hands and giggled. ”And if you ever wanna do the same for me, that’s more than enough. Or if you want to try this again some other time, I’m okay with exploring. There’s no pressure”, Frank went on, and with a genuine smile, you gave him a grateful look.

”Sorry for ruining the mood. I really do want you, you know”, you wanted him to know, and with half a smile, Frank kissed you.

”Don’t be sorry, sweet girl. I know”, he sighed, his hand caressing your hair tenderly. ”How ’bout we order some food and maybe you’ll feel better?” he proposed then, and full of adoration for the man and all his patience and understanding.

”Thank you, Frankie.”

The guilt in you began to dissipate eventually, and underneath all the frustration, you felt lucky to have someone like Frank. Someone who you could trust to take care of you, someone who was okay with taking things slow. It hadn’t always been the case with other men, but with Frank, you felt safe. You felt like it would be okay, regardless of the outcome.

[llokii]

I have Frank brain rot and it’s all Taylor Swifts fault:

(‼️ very brief and mild mentions of smut ‼️)

• Secretly living with Frank and being in soft domestic bliss (when he’s not out beating people up)

• Finally telling someone you’re his girl just for them to shake their head in disappointment.

• “I can’t believe you’re with someone like Frank” and “you’re too good for a criminal like him” are just a couple of the nicer things people have said about you and your love

• Staying confidently by his side despite the whispers and slander from ignorant bystanders sitting high on their barstools

• They could never understand. You can handle him. Yes, he’s dangerous. He could kill everybody in this bar if he wanted to but he wouldn’t put you in a situation like that.

• You know the power he holds and you love him for it. He’s your protector, your lover, your beautiful gorgeous man. All yours.

• The contrast between his large, calloused hands and your soft gentle ones being too much for others to comprehend

• How could you be so gentle with such a monster?

• More importantly, how could Frank Castle, The Punisher, the person who’s managed to strike fear into the souls of anyone who’s met him, become so soft for you?

• Everything about him is rough and rugged. Dirty and aggressive. And yet, there’s something about him when he’s with you. Is it a glimmer in his eyes? A shift in his tone of voice? The way he gently leads you to your seat with his hand on your lower back?

• He has a habit of calmly whispering tender secrets and the occasional snide joke about the rare passerby.

• Laughing and sharing drinks with you for hours on end. Surprising everyone around with how loose and alive he seems when he normally appears to be so emotionless and empty.

• You go home together and he gives you a look you’ve come to love. You’ll never get sick of this look. The one that means “I want you” and “you’re so gorgeous” and “I love you” and “please, please kiss me” all at once.

• When you’re alone together like this, between cotton sheets in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, he’s so beautiful and raw. So so unabashedly…. Frank.

• He is surprisingly submissive at times. Being so gentle with you and occasionally even begging “please touch me” or “oh god, please kiss me” and it’s impossible to deny these requests.

• You try not to think about how nobody approves of your love. In the end, their opinions don’t matter anyways. You know you love him and he lets you know time and time again that he loves you the same.

• But when you do think of these judgmental people, you’re often overcome with thoughts of lashing out. How dare they try to tell you who you can and can’t love?

• You would burn the whole world to the ground before giving in to their ignorance.

• You know this is the man you’ll marry some day. He’s ruined you for anybody else. There’s nobody else who could love you like he does, and there’s nobody else who could love Frank like you.

[mothsbrightflame]

holding hands with them!

synopsis! — what would holding hands with them be like? are the soft or calloused? warm or cold? accepting or begrudged?

✧ various!ada x gn!reader

warnings — these can be taken as either romantic or

platonic (but probably mostly romantic) ,

strictly platonic for both kenji & kyōka ,

fluff , brief mention of alcohol but nothing

crazy , fluff fluff tooth rotting fluff !!

words— 1,343 ( total ) , roughly 200 ( each )

note ; just an idea that hit me some time ago, idk why it took so long to write this lol. also some of these guys are def ooc so please ignore that, this was definitely self-indulgent

holding hands with atsushi is like having an awkward encounter with your crush in middle school.

don’t get me wrong, holding hands with atsushi is nothing short of sweet and endearing— he just lacks experience

palms sweaty, the weretiger exhibits hesitancy when he feels your own palm glide across his own

your hand is very warm, and inviting— which almost intimidates him. because of this, he settles for locking his fingers with your own ( maybe he’ll work up the courage to fully hold hands with you , one day )

sometimes, after a job well done, and the sun is settling behind the sky scrapers of yokohama city, he’s daring enough to intertwine pinkies with you as you traverse the sidewalks back to the office

oddly enough, whenever evening walks like this happen, you two always take the long way back

however, holding hands with dazai is like the burn of alcohol— you shouldn’t have it, but god does it feel so good.

whenever you hold hands with dazai, he doesn’t shy from it— normally

if he feels the slight twitch of your hand against his, a pinky brushing across his knuckles, he wastes no time in lacing his hand with yours. a cheeky grin plastered across his features

sometimes, he’ll put on a facade of being flustered, or shy, at your “bold gesture”— typical antics of osamu dazai

sometimes, when the sun is low and the office is quiet, and your hand just so happens to be resting upon the desk top; not occupied by a pen— you’ll feel dazai’s slightly chilled, and oddly soft, hand glide across the top of your hand and lace his fingers within your own

holding hands with dazai isn’t an action you can frequent with him often, however— he’s selective. however, the brush of his thumb across you cracked knuckles, or the way he seems to linger just a moment longer when it comes to you, doesn’t go unnoticed

holding hands with kunikida is fleeting. hardly ever lingering when it comes to him.

holding hands with kunikida is few and far between, rarely doing it for selfish desires

it could be a large palm splayed across your back, to push or pull you away from something. the gentle grace of his fingers across your knuckles to gain your attention

kunikida touches you, let alone holds your hand, to protect you. never to express gratitude or affection towards you

however, when the sun has dipped, and the office has become barren, you two will traverse down to cafe downstairs— which is shockingly still open

you’ll take a place beside him, beverages before you two, as he takes your hand in his underneath the table. dragging his nails along your palm to draw shapes into it, tracing the lines

holding hands with yosano is a chore, to put it frank. it leaves your head spinning and wanting more

yosano will hold your hand when she wants something, delicately grasping it as she places feather light kisses along your finger tips

you also can’t help but notice that her hands are oddly calloused, however you don’t expect less from the doctor

yosano surprisingly has lots of time on her hands, evident in the way she wrap her fingers around your wrist and demand you join her on one of her many shopping trips

and, over time, you’ve become her main partner in crime

normally, she would have whomever has joined her hold all her bags, but you noticed she’s started to hold more of her own stuff. taking your hand in hers and shoving it into the pocket of her uniform

holding hands with ranpo is… sticky? in feeling, but childish in nature

to be clear, yes; you do have to hold his hand like a child whenever you venture out in public with him— he’s very prone to getting lost or wandering

he swears up and down he washed his hands after chowing away at whatever sweets he provided for himself, however, when he reaches across his desk, fingers grabbing for yours— you highly doubt it

with ranpo’s complex, he definitely viewed himself on a different plane, and didn’t think he would succumb to the need of having or wanting to hold your hand

he’s oddly giddy, maybe even sheepish or curious when he feels you hesitantly meet his own hand. tapping his fingers along your knuckles

however, his favorite time to hold your hand is when a light drizzle overtakes yokohama on your way home from a job well done. and despite the chill from the rain, and being sopping wet when you get back, he’s at his happiest (and therefore warmest) when your hand is locked with his— swinging your arms ever so slightly

if holding hands with atsushi is like being in middle school, than holding hands with jun’ichirō is like a high school romance

honestly, nervous is an understatement whenever he feels your hand gesturing to him, or the slight grace of your fingertips across his knuckles— he knows you want to hold his hand, and honestly he’s petrified

being a member of the ADA doesn’t exactly leave room open for exploration of romantic relationships, to when’s he presented with this opportunity (you) he wants to seize it, and go by right by it

if the office isn’t busy, than he’ll link pinkies with you under the desk— you’ve convinced him it helps you work better

much like kunikida, he’ll use his hands to gain your attention on something. giving a tug at your sleeve to bring your attention to something, or maybe even wrap a hand around your wrist

however, his favorite time to hold your hand is when you come over to his place to hang out with him. seated before the little box TV, playing some stupid rom-com, his hand is completely wrapped around yours, tucked underneath the blanket as you lay your head against his shoulder

holding hands with kenji is like a whirlwind— honestly, who knew he was so excitable?

kenji was like the little brother you never got to have, and so you relished in moments like this

you let him snag hold of your shirt sleeve, or index finger, to drag you along the mall court. and sure, he was damn near pulling your finger out of its socket, but the stars in his eyes made it forgivable

he also likes to compare your guy’s hands— like a lot. he’s younger than you, so the fact that his hands are only slight larger than yours, and more calloused, fascinates him

kenji will never not pass up the opportunity to hold hands with you, he adores the security and platonic love you give him whenever you do— ruffling his hair affectionately, older sibling-like teasing

in a way, kenji feels like he’s always protecting everyone else— because of his inhumane super strength. so the reverse in roles, to be protected by you, is a nice change in pace

holding hands with kyōka is, interesting, to say the least. but never uncomfortable

one could argue that kyōka has only known violence all her life, a fear that was only concocted more in her instincts within her time spent in the port mafia

so when your hand around hers is gentle, soft, and warm— she doesn’t know what to do with herself

the first time you held her hand was when she tried to cross the street and you held her back. leaving her stunned as you scolded her for being so reckless (I guess gentle touches and being worried over were two new things she learned that day)

after that, she made it a mission of sorts to feel your hand hold hers in such a gentle manner, but was unsure of how to go about it

kyōka doesn’t exactly hold your hand, mostly cling to your clothes or your sleeves or pant-leg whenever you’re talking to someone, or standing around. it’s not exactly hand holding, but you find it endearing nonetheless. you’ll work up to it one day.

© 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙨𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 , 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 , 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱��𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 !

[nimhrudd]

Welcome Home A.R.G Crackcanons

Wally definitely feigns innocence because he’s the main character who has to “learn” with the audience

It’s canon that he thinks he’s handsome and enjoys admiring himself in the mirror, so he 100% knows about the simps and is super smug about it

With his soft voice and gentle demeanor, he really fits the “darling” reputation

Despite this, I do genuinely believe he’s a good person and means the best. My personal theory is that Home is manipulating Wally in some way to do their bidding.

(I picture Wally being manipulated by Home is a euphemism for paternal manipulation and depression. But that’s just a theory. A GAME THEORY-)

He strikes me as someone that everyone WANTS to be submissive, but is actually a very dominant

Barnaby and Frank have a SpongeBob-Squidward relationship

Barnaby goes out of his way to annoy Frank

Frank can respect the effort, but would never admit it

Barnaby calls Frank “Frankfurter” much to Frank’s dismay

Barnaby is Sans from UnderTale I don’t make the rules

A very easy-going, morally grey kinda guy. Super chill person who’s always down to have a good time.

He rarely gets embarrassed or flustered. Nothing really catches him off guard

Except anything having to do with romance. If someone flirts with him his brain short-circuits

Which is funny considering he’s definitely one to flirt with someone jokingly

He gives everyone in town unique nicknames

Barnaby has a lovely singing voice. He mostly enjoys singing jazz. But mostly he sticks to stand-up comedy

Howdy is Barnaby’s biggest fan

Howdy has control over the store radio and whenever there are no customers, he turns on hardcore rock. But you’d never know because he wears the same smile no matter the situation

You’d think that with all those legs that Howdy would be a klutz. On the contrary, he’s quite elegant and light-footed

Julie isn’t a klutz either, but she’s super forgetful. Head-in-the-clouds kinda person

Despite this, she always remembers the tiniest details about the most random things (ADHD lookin’ ah)

She’s definitely someone to collect rocks that she thinks are cool or feel nice on her hands

Her love language is touch but she hates being touched without permission

This leads to a few disputes between herself and Frank

Frank is the opposite tho. He acts like he hates being touched but he’s touchstarved

The only people allowed to touch him are Eddie and Julie

Sometimes Barnaby tries to touch Frank in subtle ways just to annoy him. (Such as noogying his head or poking his sides)

Frank LOVES bouncy, squishy stuff. It just scratches his brain just right

On the other hand, he HATES stuff that sticks to him.

For example, I imagine he’d be head over heels at the discovery of oobleck but would steer clear of glitter or anything that clings with static electricity

Because of the mentioned above, Frank has a VERY specific taste in clothing. He just hates the feel of certain fabrics

Knew he was in love with Eddie when the mailman was running to him happily, mail in hand, only to trip and face plant in the mud. Despite this, Eddie didn’t stop smiling

Himbo makes tsundere heart go brrrr

Neither one confessed to each other for AGES so Julie took it upon herself to put them into awkward situations

Cue Poppy “intervening”

Speaking of Poppy, she’s the resident mom-friend. Makes sure everyone’s taking care of themselves physically and emotionally

Despite this she always forgets to take care of herself

Poppy is SUCH a proud LGBT+ mom. Her house is a safe haven for the gays. I don’t make the rules

She’s a tall, elegant, lady, so she swoons at gentle ladies trying to sweep her off her feet

Literally such a sweetheart I love Poppy

Whereas Frank knows all the technical and sensical facts, Poppy is more worldly and wise. She’s been around the coop, so to speak

Im convinced Poppy knows everything about EVERYONE and spreads gossip just for the benefit of her neighbors

(For example she spread rumors that Frank was going to her house to get an engagement ring for Eddie. This wasn’t true, but it lead to both Frank AND Eddie barging into her house for an explanation. She simply placed two cups of tea and a tray of cookies and left them alone in the living room)

Barnaby likes to call her “Cupid” because of this

Poppy always shows up to one of her Neighbor’s events, whether it’s a show for Barnaby or a casting call for Sally

Sally loves the support of peacock mom

Sally writes all her own plays, but makes money by sending in her own transcripts under a pen name

She’s actually very famous under her pen name and is torn between revealing herself to the world and staying mysterious

Sally decides to remain anon so that she can focus on her acting

Spent years in the night sky, watching all the people in town and all their shenanigans. Many years passed before she could work up the courage to come down to introduce herself

Incredible actress, but she has social anxiety and is much calmer outside of a play

Adversely, once she’s got an idea, she’s ALL IN. All her brain cells go into that ONE project or idea, and she ends up dragging everyone along with her. A one track mind, if you will

Sally always casts herself as the lead, but if there are any other main characters or main antagonists she ALWAYS casts Wally to play the part

This low-key offends Barnaby, because he loves a good villain and always wants to play the part of antagonist

Sally always asks Julie to help her make the backdrops

All of the neighbors have fears of some sort, except for Wally

It’s kind of freaky that he never seems to give people the reaction their looking for

But ye Wally has emotions, he’s just INCREDIBLE at masking them

Wally loves eye contact because he believes that eyes are the window to the soul

It’s also an assertiveness thing but no one would ever guess cuz of his cutesy face

Wally def has a staring problem but smooth-talks his way out of any awkward situation that could come from it

Wally is demisexual. Though he loves people easily in the friendly sense, it takes a LONG time for him to fall for someone romantically. But once he does, it’s over for his love interest cuz he’ll become clingy AF

Barnaby is the opposite. He’s very in tune with his emotions and knows immediately when he likes someone. He just chooses to avoid the crap out of them as soon as he realizes. He just gets too embarrassed. I personally headcanon him as asexual

Julie is genderfluid and very similar to Wally. Though she isn’t demi, she loves all kinds of people equally. So it just takes a minute for her to decipher whether or not she loves someone NORMALLY or MORE than a friend.

Poppy is a classy lady who’s looking for a fellow lady to spend her life with. Since she’s got some experience, she’d probably take pride in playing the waiting game. Some subtle touches here, some lingering eye contact there… it’s a slow burn ladies and gents.

Frank is someone who prefers men (specifically Eddie. Good thing the feelings mutual.) likes his men dumb and well meaning.

Eddie prefers men as well. Specifically men who are serious and well read.

Howdy is pansexual, but isn’t really looking for a relationship due to his business.

Sally feels kinda like another asexual to me. But she’d like to be in a relationship with a friend. Like get married and share a life together without all the romancey stuff

Julie and Frank both have the same love language - physical touch. But in different ways as said earlier

Frank also prefers Acts of Service, like Howdy

Poppy enjoys gift giving

Sally and Barnaby enjoy words of affirmation

Wally is a casual Quality Time enjoyer

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Who wants this little drabble about two dumb guys?

(I love this gifset so hard 😂 thank you @sugar-ann !)

|| Losing the Battle, Winning the War ||

Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

It takes some effort to push himself up off the bed, trying not to groan as he shifts to sit on the edge of it. Gingerly, he raises his arm, sucking air through his teeth with a hiss as the dull pain blooms outward with a renewed vigour. The bruising on his side hasn't gone down that much but then he supposes he shouldn't be surprised, it's only been a few hours.

After he's been to the bathroom he shuffles into the living room. Frank's still asleep, he can hear the long, slow breaths from the couch. He's resting on his front, one arm folded underneath his head and the other trailing on the floor. The blanket has half slipped off. Matt carefully pulls it up over him as he passes on his way to get a glass of water and some painkillers.

He stands there as he takes a deep drink, just allowing himself to enjoy this rare moment with Frank when he's not on edge, when there's nothing but simple peace between them. He idly wonders if that could be a real, regular thing. Where they can just exist and function without throwing each other's juxtaposed ethos back in the other one's face in the middle of a fistfight.

There were constant fights, battles, wars in the Kitchen almost every night. Ones that they were trying their damnedest to stop with their own stubborn methodology. That's how Matt had ended up with a Punisher on his couch after all, he was being stubborn, they both were. Both convinced their way was the right one and too fucking proud to concede. And of course, when you're too busy fighting between yourselves, that's how the very assholes you are supposed to be fighting get the upper hand. So Matt had a busted rib and Frank suffered a concerning slash to his back. The stubbornness continued after they had dealt with the lowlifes. Trying to convince Frank to come home with him so he could patch him up was a war in itself, but one that laid them both bare as Matt's gentle fingers ran over the torn skin of Frank's back.

There was a moment then, after the wound had been cleaned, closed, and the soft white gauze placed over it, after Matt's hands had smoothed down the adhesive and were still touching him, lingering just this side of too long.

Frank didn't move, but he wasn't frozen either. Matt steeled himself for the comeback.

You finished playin' nurse, Red? He'd probably say. But he didn't, heartbeat steady, his body moving a little under Matt's fingers as he inhaled. And if he felt Frank almost lean back into him as he lifted his hands away he didn't say anything either.

"You can um, stay. Sleep on the couch, if you want."

Frank slowly turned around as Matt stood up, not missing the wince that the action produced. "What about you?"

"I'll live." Matt replies, not wanting to push anything that might burst this bubble. "Get some rest."

Matt laid awake for hours that night, partly because of the pain, but mostly because he was trying not to think of the man in the next room that was sleeping soundly on his couch, trying not to think about the mass murderer that he was now having complicated feelings about.

He senses Frank start to stir as he fills the kettle and puts it on to boil.

"Want some coffee?" Matt asks, still conflicted if he actually wanted Frank to stay or go.

Frank stands, stretches, trying not to rip his stitches in the process. "Yeah, yeah. Your bathroom this way?" Frank gestures towards the bedroom knowing that Matt can 'see' him.

"Yeah. I've left a shirt in there, as yours is currently in the trash."

"Thanks. You're makin' me feel like one of your one night stands, you gonna make me breakfast, call a cab for me too, Murdock?" He jabs but there's a smile present in that graveled voice of his.

Matt just smirks as Frank wanders stiffly towards the bathroom. Even although it's all a joke to them both, the fleeting thought of cooking breakfast for Frank, of just… having him around, stirs something that's worrying at the back of Matt's mind.

"S'a little tight…" Frank's voice hits his ears as he returns, smelling of Matt's soap, his laundry detergent. "Not that I'm not grateful or anythin'. 'Cos uh, I am. And thanks again for stitching me up last night. Woulda been a bitch to try'n do on my own."

Matt just hums, he can't trust what might come out of his mouth if he opens it now. His senses are ablaze. He hands Frank a mug, ignoring the brief brush of his fingers over his own as he takes it from him gratefully.

"Just the stuff." He says before necking the black contents of the mug.

"Well unless you're actually gonna to cook me breakfast, I'll get out of your hair, Red."

Matt runs a hand through his bedhead. "I mean, I don't have a lot of stuff in the fridge just now but I could-"

He stops as Frank chuckles at him. "M'just messing with you man. But next time for real, huh?" He throws as he picks his jacket up from the arm of one of the chairs and heads towards the door. "Seeya around, Red."

"Yeah, next time." Matt says quietly to the empty apartment as the front door clicks shut.

[astarab1aze]

Sometimes the most crucial part of survival was... to wait. Patiently, for hours on end, for the danger to pass. Not the worst of fates, until your own thoughts turn against you. There was precious little to do, and they were too tired, hungry and underslept to carry a conversation. And so the time passed, mostly in silence, mostly in the mid-spring, gentle sunlight. The silence makes him think he's the only one left awake and he doesn't mind, not really. Only when he turns he realises it's not so. Eyes meet, but they let the silence linger for a while. With hand outstretched, he clears a throat, handing her white-and-purple flower crown.

"...Asuka taught me." (from Geralt, for Vita)

It wasn't something she'd expected, upon stepping away from Tali and settling herself in on a stump nearby the fire set the night before - certainly not after too long a ride and not nearly enough rest. For Geralt to present her a string of flowers tied together by their stems, craftsmanship of larger hands evident in the looseness of some, but there was a warmth that'd taken her by surprise, blooming in her chest despite the ache of her hips and agonizing throb of her head. Not even a gods-given headache from the hells could hold that very warmth at bay, that Geralt and Asuka's relationship should be improved on so long and arduous a journey across the continent. Perhaps Asuka had grown some along the way, just as Geralt had softened in kind. She wondered what that'd meant, here, in a forested clearing unlike any other in Chimeria, Askarra, Zuri, or Scarburn - No, this was...where he was from, Vago, where the convergence of the very worst the continent had to offer came to be.

Daisies, daffodils, gingeng, flax, peace flower, and all manners of rare flowers could be found just beyond the rim of their camp, in the brush, fern, and tree of the Dragon's Tail, where cool mountain air tempered the late heat of spring and the beginnings of summer. Where dragons roosted and the not-quite-so-sentient gryphons, too, among other things. Speckled with crumbling ruins, remnants of ancient past only a man of Vago would be able to recount or properly navigate.

She looked at him, pursing unmade lips, considering the ring of flowers, taken so by his mitely awkward frankness and the fruits of so gentle a labor. Yes, quite, scars and all, he never ceased to amaze her, in all things. He had not brought her nor Asuka to harm, hadn't abandoned them to whatever their fate, and their journey thus far had seemed only to strengthen his commitment - she wondered how, then, if there was anything she could do to ease the burden, as he had done so now. Whether he knew it or not, he had given her cause to smile, made it easier for her to set aside her worries and ills in the moment, even in the quiet between them now.

Wordlessly, she reached for his hand and allowed her fingertips to linger, ease along the lines of his palms, before at last she leaned forward and took the flower crown, turned it just that the stems wouldn't stick out, and properly - with all the drama a perpetually exhausted woman could muster - crowned him. Tenderly plucked a few strands of greasy white hair from his face, an adoring glint in her eyes. Soft lilac petals looked quite nice on him, though she'd have preferred yellow or orange if she were honest, but even so. Sweet of him to offer, she couldn't take a few hours' effort with Asuka from him, assuming much as she might. Even so, the tips of her fingers hovered over a scar and the cheekbone beneath, and for a time, she rubbed her thumb along it.

It was enough that he should try, small affections in earnest when all was calm and quiet and rest could finally come to them. That he'd thought of her kindly was enough. The rapid flutter in her chest when she touched him, then - she wondered if he could hear it. It didn't matter, she supposed, as she'd decided to peel herself from the stump and settle down into the dirt and grass beside him. He would hear it, perhaps feel it, and she would lean her head against his shoulder, curl her arm around his, and breathe a sigh. It'd been slow, but it'd happened nonetheless, that she should offer in kind affections of her own in the midday quietude between them.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Hello!! Can we have an couple of HCs of the safehouse bois (COD: Cold War) loving their curvy fem s/o? (and maybe trying to make her feel happy in her body if she's insecure of feels weird?)

Thankie and sorry for the oddly specific request 😅

Djsjsjsj ok ik you have like two other requests, and they'll be coming!!! But this struck such a mood I had to skip the line lol.

Honestly, like the way I tried to treat myself to some ✨ s p i c e y ✨ lingerie that just arrived and it fits literally everywhere else except that, ofc the cup size is an absolute JOKE, i-

Anyway, I digress lmao. Thank you for the request(s) btw, and enjoy!!!

---

Adler

Personally, he doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to have a particularly strong preference for any one "type"

But in the era where the super tall, super slim, super models reign supreme, he understands that sometimes it's hard to feel pretty if you're built like anything else

After all, I don't think any of the guys know how it feels to see yourself as "unattractive" more then he does

I mean, if he'd been cut a little deeper or on a different angle, he could've needed whole skin grafts, or even physical therapy for his jaw

And who wants a guy as messed up and broken down as that, right?

But you... Oh, you're gorgeous

Adler is very soft and gentle when it comes to his appreciation for you and your body

While he does know how to express himself, he's not really the grand gesture type, like some of the others are

He is the biggest self love hypocrite, always quick to get down on himself and his facial scars, but absolutely cannot STAND to see you upset over you body

You chide him for this now and then, but he usually jokes it away

I know I said Adler doesn't really have a type, but don't think for a second that he'd pass up on a great thing when he gets it

I don't want to say "handsy" but he definitely likes to just... Touch you, when you're alone together

Not even necissarily in a sexual way, he just likes to appreciate the shape of you, you know?

Very into hugs from behind, or really at any angle, as long as he gets to feel his arms around your waist

Also, you can catch him absent mindedly caressing your hips with his knuckles or a lone finger whenever he's standing around with you

Hudson

Oh y'all ain't ready for this one lmao

I am 99% certain that behind that steely facade, is a man who loves nothing more then a THICC juicy Queen™

I'm so serious, like the curvier the better for this dirty dog lmao

The best part is, that the fun isn't in that he just goes feral when you two are alone (although he certainly could, in a rare mood)

He's actually really shy about it, and he doesn't want you to feel like that's the only reason he loves you

And while you do appreciate the respect he has for you, you'd be lying if you said you didn't like to tease him

A favorite of yours is to walk into his home office half or fully naked and watch him, very obviously, struggle to stay focused on his paper work

He knows he's weak, but damn it he can never last long before giving in and handing over whatever kind of attention you're seeking

You know, whatever that may be 😏

When you're feeling insecure however, he can sense it immediately and always seeks to get to the bottom of whatever is causing you to feel that way

Although he's rather direct, he's tactful and tries his best to know the right thing to say

He's a great listener, and will never hesitate to tell you how beautiful and special you are to him

Lazar

Lmao, I don't think there is any universe in which Lazar would not be in full support of being with a curvy woman

Especially as a big guy himself, you two are an absolute power couple

He is both literally and metaphorically your biggest hype man when it comes to your appearance

Also, 10/10 likes to give you gifts of clothes and the like that he thinks you might appreciate/look pretty darn good in

Honestly, it is rare to feel down about your body when in a relationship with him, but everyone gets insecure sometimes, and he gets that

Thankfully, he's a master comforter, and is always at the ready to give you the treatment you need to feel better

Typically you can expect snacks and cuddles if you're just feeling sad, and stuff like a massage or body kisses and so forth if you need a reminder that you're literally the most gorgeous woman on earth

Oh, and he's very protective of you and defensive of your looks

I kind of hate to use this terminology lmao, but Lazar is the Alpha™ everywhere he goes, and he has no problem reminding other guys of it

So if he sees someome else checking you out, he'll be sure to block their view and do something like make direct eye contact until they leave you be

Have you ever had a 6'4, powerlifter looking, tank of a man sneer directly at you before?

Not a good feeling, I assure you

Needless to say, you don't have to put up with much, if any harassment or other stupidity on Lazar's watch

Mason

Alex strikes me as the type who doesn't buy into the paper thin beauty standard that society like to push

Obviously that's great if you're just naturally thin and all! But mostly he's totally down for the curvy, "built like a brick house" type of woman

He appreciates the way that you can keep up with him when he has to do physical things around or outside the house

Alaska is a rather unforgiving place after all, so he finds great comfort in the support and companionship you have to offer him

You're like his little amazonian goddess, and he's always in awe of not only how unbelievably beautiful you are, but also how hardy and tough you can be

In fact, you and your body are so normalized and loved by him in his mind that it genuinely catches him off guard when you say you're feeling insecure about it

But in times like that, he loves to tell you how beautiful your body is, not just for the way it looks but for the things it can do

You're built so strong and tough, but also soft and feminine... he can't even think about being with anyone else

He's very into body worship, like Lazar is, but Alex is a lot more gentle and is extremely conscious of making sure you're alright as he goes along kissing and caressing

If he could only show you how beautiful you are to him, he would in a heartbeat, but for now he just hopes his words and actions are enough

Sims

Oh, you already know Sims loves a thicc, curvy snack of a woman lmao

Skinny guys always love the curvy ladies

He doesn't really go feral when you two are alone, but he's not exactly shy about having this hands all over you either

For sure he always greets you with a compliment, whether it be a look, a whistle, or words... he's prepared

Also, he's very vocal in having you understand that there is not a single outfit you look "bad" or "unflattering" in, even if it's just sweats and a t-shirt

In fact, he is so confident in you, that he loves to show you off when he can and if you're comfortable

Always introduces you as "his girl" and is never afraid to point out your new outfit, hair-do, nails, ect

I feel that Lawrence would be another case where it's quite rare indeed to feel insecure about your body, and so when such times do arise he takes it seriously

He's basically a gentler, more emotional version of Hudson

By that I mean, he's the type to want to talk it out (if you're up to it) and ask what's wrong or if someone said something to you

You'll always have a reliable listener and food advice giver in him, and somehow that seems to always do the trick

Woods

Honestly, Woods is Hudson part 2, except that he has all the vocalized pride of loving curvy women as Sims and Lazar

He's still careful to make sure he doesn't come off as a creep or something, mind you, but complimenting and loving on your body just comes naturally to him

Extremely handsy in private, and you've definitely swatted his hands away from your hips, waist, back, ect more then once

In public, I wouldn't exactly say "handsy" but he's determined to make sure everyone knows you're with him

He usually escorts you places with a hand gently placed either just above your tailbone or protectively wrapped around your waist

As independent as you may be, you must admit, it's nice to feel like a princess everywhere you go, escorted around by your knight in shining flannel

He'll even offer you his arm if he's feeling particularly gentlemanly, because yes, miracles can happen

Unfortunately, Frank is probably the worst wordsmith of all the gang, and is next to clueless on what to say if you're feeling down and insecure

At least to his credit he'll usually start off by admitting to that fact before giving it a try

"Well, you know I'm shit with words, but... I hope you also know that I love you the way you are"

Thankfully what he lacks in words, he makes up for in physical affection

Even if you're really only comfortable with some cuddling, he's gonna cuddle you so good!!! He's determined and will stop at nothing

After all, whatever it takes to make you feel every bit as amazing as he knows you are

[fjsj]

fake dating

Frank Morrison x Reader

wordcount: 900

warnings: blood, threats of violence

A/N: This is going to be a multiparter, not sure how many but one more at the very least. Any following parts to this will have background!Julie/Susie - so if that’s not your thing, I’m very sorry :(

Next

--

You were so close. You could hear the rhythmic pulse of the hatch nearby, and you stumbled towards it. This trial had been brutal and short, and you held your side trying to stop the blood from gushing out and leaving a visible trail. The four of you had started all grouped up together, something that was usually a blessing especially with the gentle hum of generators oh so close. But the confidence you initially felt was quickly ripped to sheds, as the lithe shape of the Legion darted between you and your team leaving blood in their wake. How they could move so fast and yet still hit so deep was beyond you. Between rescuing teammates off the hook and healing, you'd only gotten...maybe half of a generator done.

Staggering into the small clearing, you spotted the hatch and its gaping maw. Your relief was dashed as quickly as your teammates lives had been, as you recognized Frank standing in front of it. Arms crossed and guarding it. Your eyes darted between your ticket to freedom and the murderer beside it. Maybe, if you were fast enough, you could make it. The deep piercing pain in your side would certainly hinder your speed and what if he had brought a mori? Before you could further contemplate your options, he spread his arms open in a somewhat friendly gesture, "Heyy y/n."

You squinted at him and took a hesitant step back. Outside of trials, you hung out around Mount Ormond most of the time. Preferring the chaotic nature of the Legion to the somber air that settled around the camp. But you were quick to learn that friendships outside of the trials meant fuck all inside of them. "Oh come on, I'm not going to bite." He said, exasperated, but making a show of putting his knife into his waistband. You glanced back at the hatch. If he didn't want you going through it, he would have closed it already.

"What do you want for it, Frank?" You asked, straightening up slightly as your gaze leveled with him. Stories of killers wanting something in exchange for the hatch weren't all that rare at the campfire, but you'd never experienced it yourself. Usually it was a favor or an item that the killer wanted. Sometimes they wanted the survivor to betray their own the next trial, and in rare cases they wanted something far more vulgar. And to be honest, you weren't sure you could even guess as to what it was that Frank wanted. You two weren't exactly close and he always seemed irritated when you entered the room so you had avoided him for the most part.

He looked up, as if contemplating. "I need a simple favor, is all." It was vague and you frowned. Your vision was beginning to get hazy around the edges, and you pushed harder against the bleeding wound.

"Which is?"

"I kind of...told Julie I was dating someone."

"And that's my problem why?"

"When she asked who, I panicked and said your name."

You dragged your free palm across your face, before settling to pinch the bridge of your nose. "So what exactly are you asking me to do?"

"Just next time you come out, pretend we're madly in love so I can get her off my back. And then I can make up some bullshit reason as to why we 'broke up'."

You couldn't help the laugh that burst out of you, instantly recoiling as the slash in your side yawned wider. You'd be lying if you said you'd never thought about it. You weren't blind and Frank was attractive, no matter how much of an asshole he was. Though...you supposed that was part of the appeal. But this? For a hatch? When watching Julie bitch at him for lying would be so much more entertaining? "I'll pass."

You took another wobbly step back when he made to go for his knife. His hand stopping just short before clenching into a fist, obviously struggling to restrain from just planting the weapon into your chest in frustration. "Can I sweeten the pot somehow?" But as he asked, he looped around to the other side of the hatch. His boot came up to rest under the hatch's...well...hatch, threatening to kick it closed.

"Hm...how about, for the next three trials you can't touch a hair on my head. No attacks, no hooks, no moris."

"Hell no, do you know what the Entity would do to me if I started playing favorites?"

"Then I'll pass."

There was something fun about riling a killer up so much, knowing they weren't going to do a damn thing about it. He threw his hands up in the air, partially in irritation, partially in surrender. "Fine, fucking fine. But I swear to the Entity, if you don't play it up and make it convincing I'll mori you outside of the trials." His voice dropped an octave with the threat. That was impossible but...something about his tone left fear prickling up your spine. As if he'd find a way, if it was the last thing he did.

Your vision was really starting to go now, as you walked forward to the hatch. A sweet smile on your lips as you blew him a sarcastic little kiss. "Sure thing babe." The smile spread into a grin, and you jumped into the hatch.

[piningbuddies]

4, 9, & 23!! (MWAH also your mobile theme is gorgeous ily)

hello chelsea i'm in love with you actually so, jot that down!

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you're really proud of (explain why, if you like).

so i really like this, from my current wip (speak now au my beloved) because i feel like it does a good job of summing up eddie's relationship with his identity:

As much as that moment in Frank’s office feels like somewhat of a triumph, the instant he steps outside into the warm summer air, the bubble bursts. He definitely didn’t go into therapy today with the expectation of any life-altering realisations. Except, if he’s completely honest with himself, it’s not that much of a surprise, not really. Looking back at his and Buck’s friendship, they’ve always danced on the precarious line that lies between friends and not quite something more. It’s been there since the beginning, he thinks. In tension filled stares and bumping shoulders and gentle touches and in knowing one another sometimes better than they know themselves. It didn’t feel like this with Ana — that was all plastic smiles and robotic movements and counterfeit words. He always felt like he was playing a part in a play he didn’t remember signing up to, and that’s —

He’s never had to pretend with Buck.

9. Are you more of a drabble or longfic writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

OOP okay so, when i first started writing again back in november, i was definitely more of a drabble writer. my fics have gotten progressively longer now though, and i actually like writing slightly longer fics because it feels like i can put much more depth into them. (for context my shortest fic is around 400 words, and my longest is over 11k. i'm definitely a pantser, i very rarely plan anything in my fics tbh.

23. What's the story idea you've had in your head for the longest?

that's my alternate meeting au. buddie meet on a dating app post season one and pre season two. i was gonna write that as my buddie version fic but it was going to turn out to be a lot longer than i expected so i've shelved it...for now.

writer's asks

[quizzyisdone]

Black Ops Cold War Headcanons: Crying and Comforting

A/N: Some headcanons relating to how the safehouse crew show pain and sorrow, what upsets them, what comforts them, as well as how they comfort others! I hope you enjoy <3

Russell Alder

🚬 Very rarely cries, not because he doesn’t want to, but because his body won’t physically let him. No matter how much his brain is screaming for some kind of release, his body will just be like “No.”.

🚬 When he does, only a few tears fall. He has only ever been so overcome with emotions to actually sob uncontrollably a few times in his life, and that was when he was younger. If he’s at that point, literally nothing can comfort him. That’s how you also know the situation is baaaaaad.

🚬 The first time he properly cried, the sobbing and the full works of it, was when his mother died. He hadn’t shed a single tear over his father’s death, but his mother, oh man. She had meant so much to him.

🚬 Not much can evoke an emotional response, whether that'd be sorrow or anger. However, being lied to and betrayed is the thing that really gets under his skin the most, which Adler finds to be rather ironic given what he does for a living. 

🚬 If someone he thought he cared for and was close to (which isn't a lot of people) has betrayed him, he'd shed a few tears before getting back to business.

🚬 He loved his ex-wife a lot, thought she was the love of his life, so when she cheated on him, that struck him deep. Adler will never say it out loud, but it still hurts him, and a part of him will always be broken because of her.

🚬 The only other things that can provoke emotional responses from him are things he finds to be morally abhorrent, which truthfully, isn't much given his Adler's line of work. One surefire way to upset him, however, is to abuse society's most vulnerable, especially children. Despite his stormy, gruff nature, he’s got a soft spot.

🚬 As for comforting a crying person, he’s weirdly good at it. Everyone but Sims has always been baffled by his ability to calm people down, to even be gentle if the situation calls for it. Sims knows better though, they’ve been through a lot of shit together. 

🚬 The very presence of Adler is calming and will ground you. He knows exactly what to say and do in almost every situation to calm you down.

🚬 His ex-wife suffered from panic attacks a lot as well, he always knew exactly what to do to ground her and bring her back from that point.

🚬 He’s also really good at hugging and cuddles, but he’ll almost never give them. (Unless he’s actually in a committed relationship.)

Frank Woods

💥 Similar to Adler, he doesn’t cry very often. Woods is emotional and wears his heart on his sleeve, but due to his upbringing, he feels as if he can’t show any negative emotion other than anger.

💥 But, whenever he is safe and alone, that’s when the dam breaks. Woods feels every emotion so strongly, love, joy, pain, anger, and sorrow is no exception. This certainly doesn’t help the PTSD he developed after Vietnam.

💥 When he does cry, full on sobs wrack his body and he shakes violently. His voice gets higher and he has a hard time speaking. At that point, he doesn’t want to talk, he just wants his partner to hold him until it subsides.

💥 Woods finds that physical touch grounds him more than anything else. Trying to talk him out of that state will only ever make it worse. He needs to calm down before he tries to say anything.

💥 The easiest way to get to Woods is by hurting the ones he loves, such as Mason, David, or his S/O in a way that Woods is helpless to respond to. It kills him knowing that someone he cares for is suffering and there's nothing he can do about it. He’ll want to maim whoever hurt them and get super protective over them. 

💥 But when it comes time to actually comfort his partner, he’ll always try to do what he finds to be calming, which is holding them in complete silence. But that doesn’t always work, especially if touch might overstimulate the person and make matters worse.

💥 He’ll get visibly frustrated if hugs and cuddles do not work. Woods needs verbal communication as to what he needs to do to make everything better. He’ll try his best, whether that’d be through talking it out (Although, Woods isn’t much of a talk-it-out kinda guy) or just sitting across the room from them, reminding them that he’s here and they’re safe with him.

💥 Man is even better at hugging than Adler, bonus points because he’s also more generous with them too. Just a giant ass teddy bear if he cares for you. He loves just being super close physically to the person he's romantically involved with. Mason always gives him grief for how much of a cuddle bug Woods is.

Alex Mason

💯 Before the Russians put his mind in a blender, he almost never cried or really felt upset at all. That still rings somewhat true to this day, but he’s more prone to emotional outbursts.

💯 When Mason is upset, he normally first resorts to anger that’ll eventually melt into tears. When he gets to that point, he needs somebody to talk to him, to distract him.

💯 Woods and Hudson are the best at grounding him, especially when he begins to see the numbers again. They’ll force him to answer personal questions (i.e., What’s his son’s name, What day was he born, What’s the best part about having a child.) in order to distract him. 

💯 Talking about David is the best medicine, because despite how distant he is as a father, Alex truly loves his child. Also, the presence of two familiar people, the people who have always been a constant in his life, is really comforting to him.

💯 The best way for someone to comfort him is to keep their distance, but keep talking. Touch will be too overstimulating and he'll accidentally lash out with violence. He needs to be distracted by the voices of someone who is real, who is present.

💯 What upsets him the most is when the numbers start coming back, of course. When he's reminded of the past he'd rather leave buried. Of course, being that his past is such an integral part of who he is, that'll never happen. Woods tries to help him live with that.

💯 On the flip side, Mason really shines in his ability to comfort others, especially his partner. After the whole brainwashing situation, he just innately knows exactly what someone needs in that moment.

💯 He’ll do what you need, not what you want. He’ll force you to do what you need to do in order to feel better, even if he’s harsh about it. (”Get up we’re going grocery shopping.” or “Get dressed we’re grabbing dinner.”)

💯 Mason will always apologize if he feels that he’s been too rough or crossed a line. He always has the best intentions.

Jason Hudson

🕶️ Hudson, while outwardly he appears calm, cool, collected, he’s secretly more emotional than he’d like to admit. He takes every failure personally and 100% will internalize it.

🕶️ When the weight of the work he does for the CIA begins to fall down on him, like Mason, Hudson will first lash out in anger at whoever is there to suffer his rage. Once he’s alone though, that anger turns into tears.

🕶️ He isn’t one for crying or showing emotion in general, it feels shameful to him. Hudson needs someone to tell him that what he’s feeling is okay and valid. That he’s not going crazy for sometimes cracking under pressure.

🕶️ Reassurance is key for him, Hudson doesn’t need to talk it out or a hug. Just needs to be told that he’s okay, that he’s not insane for feeling perfectly human emotions.

🕶️  It’s not easy to get to Hudson, but similar to Woods, the most surefire way to make him lose his shit is by hurting someone he loves, especially his kids. His vision will go red, and he will not be able to see reason. All rational thinking is thrown out the window when his children are involved.

🕶️ As for comforting someone, he’s awkward about it and doesn’t really know how to proceed in the situation. Mason is really the only one he knows how to deal with, strangely enough. Everyone else is an enigma to him.

🕶️ He’ll ask them what they need and go off on that. Hudson, however, is best at talking it out. Physical touch and reassurance is something he tries, but never feels like he gets right, even if the person he’s comforting begs to differ.

Eleazar “Lazar” Azoulay

🥡 Lazar is an optimist to a fault, a kind of happy-go-lucky type of dude. He doesn’t like to feel nor show any negative emotion, regardless of what it is. So, he’ll push those feelings down, keep up a front of unbothered happiness.

🥡 The problem with this is that he is so easily hurt. After a while, after so long of pushing it all away, he’ll explode. Lazar is a ticking time bomb of emotions, one that is impossible to defuse.

🥡 When it all comes boiling over, he’s genuinely scary. The first thing to come out is rage, complete and utter anger at no one in particular. Thoughts become irrational, he doesn’t know what he’s even doing. At that point, Lazar needs to be handled delicately, and from a distance. Once he gets over that initial outburst, however, he’s a lot easier to deal with.

🥡 After that outburst of anger, Lazar needs to be held while he talks about everything. At this point, he’s a blubbering mess that goes on an incoherent rant about everything that has happened leading up to this point.

🥡 Since his outbursts are just a culmination of little things over a long period of time, it’s the little things that set it off. Somebody looks at him funny, says something a bit off. Lazar is such a coolheaded guy so it baffles everyone who doesn’t know him when he gets like that.

🥡 On the other side, I can see Lazar not being so sure as how to comfort others. He doesn’t like any negative type of emotion and will always try to distract the person, rather than actually let them be in their feelings. 

🥡 If that doesn’t work, he’ll resort to taking action against whoever hurt you, or try to do whatever he can to fix what’s bothering you. If someone hurt your feelings or betrayed you, he’ll pop a cap in their ass. (I mean, he literally did murder some lady that betrayed Park)

🥡 But sometimes, problems don’t have practical solutions. If that’s the case, Lazar will be lost. At that point, the only thing he’ll have left in his bag of tricks is food and hugs. Those make him feel better, so maybe it’ll help you.

🥡 At the end of the day, him just holding you is the biggest comfort. He’s a 6′4 hunk of man who gives the best cuddles and hugs. He’s so physically big that it’s just so easy to be completely engulfed by him.

Helen Park

🔪 When she was younger, Park used to be super emotional all the time. Every little thing would hurt her. As she’s grown up and worked with MI6, however, that’s changed. She’s been desensitized, but not to the point where she completely lacks empathy or emotion in general.

🔪 When Park is finally broken, the dam will burst. When she cries, she sobs. The tears flow like there’s no tomorrow, she’ll be shaking, blubbering, not really knowing what to say. 

🔪 Of course, she’ll keep these outbursts incredibly private, especially from Adler. She’s terrified of letting him see her this way.

🔪 Similar to Hudson, what upsets her the most is when the weight of her work begins to come down. She realizes the heinous, heartless things she does on a daily basis, and it makes her feel like a such a bitch.

🔪 While Park would help Adler maintain Bell’s conditioning, sometimes she would just...break. She helped develop this science, she’s inflicting the pain it causes on others. 

🔪 Park feels like a monster for doing this to Bell, and after the tears are done, will try and make up for it in little ways. She’ll be nicer than everyone else is to the new member of the team, she’ll indulge them stupid little secrets to make them laugh. It’s her way of comforting herself, to make her feel as if she’s not wholly a monster.

🔪 Sometimes, the good things she does to outweigh the bad ones aren’t enough to comfort herself. In that case, she’ll need reassurance. Not just from anyone, however, but someone she cares about.

🔪 Park will need a simple hug and just be told that just because she does bad things, does not mean she’s a bad person. Reassurance from someone she loves or admires, more than anything, is the key to making her feel better.

🔪 As for comforting others, she’s really good at it, not in the same way Adler or Mason is, though. Park innately knows exactly what to say to calm someone down. Something about her demeanor, how friendly she is, is so comforting.

🔪 Little physical bits of affection is also something she’ll utilize, such as grabbing your hand or a hand on your shoulder. Park is well aware that too much touch is overstimulating, while too little is underwhelming, and leaves people prone to feeling unloved. Her kind words are always backed with something.

🔪 She’s a good hugger, too. I can imagine her giving the “mom hugs”. Y’know, those types of hugs where you feel understood, protected, and cared for in that person’s arms. (Mason has mom hugs too, not dad hugs)

Lawrence Sims

🔧 In case you didn’t notice, this list was going in order from least well-adjusted to most well-adjusted. Sims is the most emotionally balanced person on that emotionally dysfunctional team. (Probably because he’s the only one who actually goes to therapy.)

🔧 He can handle his emotions pretty well on his own. The only time where he’ll ever be on the edge is in extremely stressful situations that force him to relive his past.

🔧 This happened when Sims found out about Adler brainwashing Bell to believe they were in Vietnam. That pissed him off to no end. Not only did he himself have to relive that shit, but he had to witness someone who wasn’t even there relive it. The PTSD and all those memories are something he wouldn’t even wish on his worst enemy, let alone Bell.

🔧 He’ll react in anger, he’ll be distant. But for the love of God, Sims won’t want to be alone in his thoughts. Sims needs someone in there with him, to let him talk it out and rant while lending an ear. 

🔧 Sims will shed a few tears, but he learned some tricks in therapy to calm himself down, so he won’t be blubbering and snotty and the like. If he has someone who won’t judge him to talk to, Sims is golden.

🔧 Comforting is something that he isn’t necessarily amazing at, especially if you need physical touch and genuine advice. Sims will be distant, and instead employ tactics he learned from his shrink, which is sit there and listen. Don’t comment on anything unless asked. Maybe he’ll give a pat on the back if you’re lucky. 

🔧 Physical touch is too much for him if you’re not literally dating him. Sims prefers to keep a healthy distance. But if you’re in a relationship, he’ll try. Hugging and cuddling to comfort isn’t his strong suit, but what matters is that he’ll try, albeit awkwardly.

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Señorita

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: S.M.U.T., language.

Synopsis: You finally get out of the city to spend a week in a beachside paradise - you’re entitled to a little getaway, you think, with your birthday coming up. When a handsome stranger hits on you at the bar, along with your birthday, some other things might come as well.   A/N: This was random? Came out of nowhere. Enjoy & let me know what you think x

Gif not mine

Timid waves crushed softly against the shoreline, white sand turning concrete gray at their touch. The warm breeze carried around a song you thought you recognised, but couldn’t remember from where. The beach-side bar basked in a gentle blush glow, so typical for the evenings here at Mallorca… You’d only arrived a couple of days ago, but already you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else - just sitting here, at the bar by the turquoise sea, sipping on your Pina Colada in the shadow of the palm-branched roof. The wind brushed through your salt-stained hair from the entire day spent rolling around on the beach; mindful sun caressing your thighs, peaking from behind the slit in your deep emerald dress.

Tonight was relatively calm, you thought, twirling the straw in your cocktail absentmindedly. Ever since the English rugby team packed up their balls and other attributes and set out to sea, the place became peaceful.

You were glad. The entire point of this trip was to get out of the busy city for a while, enjoy the calm. If you wanted a testosterone-filled party for your birthday, you would have stayed in New York - Karen would throw a rave that would make Coachella look like a kindergarten gathering.

But that is exactly what drove you out of America and into this seaside paradise. If there was one thing you had trouble doing, it was working a crowd of people you barely saw in your everyday life, who only came for booze and dancing. Karen said she understood, and that the party would have been a small yet tasteful affair… you still fled.

Here’s to hoping that Karen wasn’t pissed at you for bailing, you silently prayed, throwing the straw on the bar and taking a gulp directly from the glass. Judging from the text Karen sent you earlier today, saying something about getting together for a celebratory meal when you got back to the city, you figured she wasn’t mad. She did say something about introducing her to a friend of Frank’s again, and having thrown the Karen plan for the party out of the window, you had to budge.

It’d been so long it had become a running joke between you two - Karen wanting to introduce you to that “handsome hunk”, with whom Frank had served. She was especially lyrical about his manners, his big heart and his beautiful smile.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Karen was head over heels for the guy.

Every time Karen made plans for a Sunday brunch or Saturday night drinks at Castle’s place with the sole purpose of introducing you to the Hunk, you always found an excuse to ditch. Sometimes it was an urgency at work, sometimes it was about something funny you ate the night before… You must have been dodging these “introductory date” attempts for at least five months now - and it all looked like after this get-away vacation, you’d have to face the music.

Well, it was worth it. A week of doing nothing, reading sappy novels and drinking high-end cocktails, that was what you craved for, and if you had to pretend to be interested in some nonsense a guy was trying to charm you with for a couple of hours, it was a small price to pay. With that thought, you finished off your Pina Colada and motioned for the sunburnt brown bartender to get you another one.

“Hola señorita.”

The voice was unexpected. Low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of power.

“Disculpe, ¿este asiento está ocupado?”

Slightly frowning, you turned your head to the right.  

Ever since the English rugby team settled in one of the villas, the women in the hotel found themselves outnumbered. It just so happened - what a coincidence - that you turned out to be their neighbour, your villa closest to theirs. Everytime you’d walk out of your temporary home to hit the bar or the beach, you’d spot at least three young men hanging outside of their quarters, their faces illuminating the minute they saw you. You’d give them a cursory smile back - you weren’t that cruel - but everytime one of them tried to approach you, you shot him down - often with a look, rarely with a verbal warning. Ever since they left, you was relishing the feeling of tranquillity - until he decided to burst your happy little bubble.

The first thing you noticed about him is that he wasn’t Spanish, despite the lack of accent. He had beautiful dark, almost black eyes, the colour of a freshly brewed espresso, that myriad of black and chocolate tones swirling in a whirlpool of tender curiosity. They held your depreciating stare well. The sun obviously loved him - those razor-sharp cheekbones glowed bronze as he tilted his head to the side a little bit. The wind caressed his dark hair, playing with the longer strands at the top.

Something about him was so familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on the beach before? You did stay at the same hotel after all…

Not in a slightest bit confused at your lack of answer, the man smiled.

His smile held a sort of a gentle surprise in it, like a summer day in a middle of October.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Je suis désolée,” you finally uttered, forcing your eyes to focus on his eyes again instead of his lips. “Je ne parle pas espagnol”.

His smile grew wider, much to your surprise. Instead of getting red in the face, stammering out some random apology as you expected him to, he nodded and motioned to the chair next to you with one hand, sliding the other one across the surface of the bar.

Despite your better judgement and against your utter dislike of aimless flirting, you found herself shrugging as you accepted her second drink from the bartender.

“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”

Ah-ha. He’s from New York.

You sipped on your cocktail directly from the glass, ignoring the brand-new straw the bartender supplied you with in order to hide your smirk. As the man held two aristocratic, impossibly long fingers in the air, making his order, you took the time to study him.

He was tall, much taller than you. The plain white t-shirt that he wore betrayed the solid stomach muscles hidden under the cotton - the short sleeves strained as he gripped the back of the chair and slowly lowered himself onto it.

“Thank you,” he finally said to the bartender with a nod, gripping his glass with those downright pornographic fingers. Slightly pursuing his lips, the man turned his full attention back to you. When you arched an eyebrow at his antics, he flashed you a mischievous yet understanding look. “Ça tombe bien. Je me sens plus à l’aise en parlant français”.

That cheeky bastard.

Your first reaction was that of a sincere surprise. You were pretty sure that for a second there, your eyebrows almost reached your hairline. Upon catching the satisfied glint in these already all too familiar eyes, you wanted to feel irritated at the nerve of him, at the fact that he just happened to beat you at your own game. But you didn’t.

Biting hard on your bottom lip in order not to laugh, you took your glass and sipped, hard.

“While I’d love to know how many more languages the lady speaks, I would much rather learn her name”, he dropped nonchalantly, whirling his whiskey gently, the ice cubes cluttering against the glass.

The first comeback that crossed your mind was so filthy you couldn’t possibly go with it. The second one, however, was efficient and succinct.

“Diana, here’s a lady’s name.”

With a low chuckle, he let his head drop down for a moment. When he raised his eyes to face you again, your chest felt a little too tight and a little too fragile under his poignant stare - that of amusement, want and a clean cut awe.

His eyes had told you that this was more than a drifting attraction, that he was interested in so much more than your name…

You saw it, and for some nonsensical reason, chose to believe it.

“I don’t care about names,” there was such a determination to your voice that it surprised you. It didn’t startle him, though - he caught your every word as his eyes travelled from your fluttering eyelashes to the soft curve of your lips. “When there are so many more interesting things to talk about. Don’t you agree?”

As you turned away from him and took another sip of your drink, you heard him chuckle yet again, and saw him press a hesitant finger against his lips.

This was obviously new to him. This small treacherous gesture led you to believe that maybe he wasn’t one to pick women at bars, that, just like you, he felt that thrill of surrendering to the strange sort of attraction encircling you both.

“In fact, enough talking. Let’s focus on doing.”

What was it so special about him that made you decide? It’s not like there’s been no men before him, very much willing to break through your iron-clad facade, wanting you to take a leap of faith. Some of them had the potential to make you feel good, you were aware of that. Still, you didn’t want them.

What made him so different? A certain familiarity of his voice, his features, maybe? Or maybe you should just slow down, cut down on the alcohol, drink a glass of water and go back to your villa, alone.

The way his eyes skimmed your naked shoulders, a barely there sigh leaving his half-open lips sealed the deal.

You didn’t want to slow down.

Not with him.

“Here’s to doing then”, his Adam apple bobbed as he gulped down, his eyes darkening. He raised his glass towards you - a figurative shake of hands on the deal they just made.

“Here’s to doing”, you agreed, clinking your glass to his.

His villa was located at the outskirts of the hotel beach, backed by the rocks. It was a ten-minute walk from the bar, feet in the warm sand, the star-sprangled night sky over your heads.

Despite the silence surrounding you, save for the occasional gust of breeze carrying on the sound of music from the bar you just left, you didn’t feel awkward. A soft smile ghosted over your lips as you felt his careful touch at the small of your back - those fingers sliding down to the base of your spine, feather-like. He strode forward, adapting his pace so you could keep up - you weren’t even sure he was aware of that, the change in him so spontaneous, as if it were a force of habit. Like this wasn’t the first time you walked side by side.

You would blame it on the booze, but you drank a total of two cocktails.

He only had one whiskey before they took off.

The villa he chose to stay in was slightly more spacious than yours, and provided a lot more privacy - this told you a lot about the man you were about to sleep with. He was most certainly well off, for starters. He also came here to get his share of peace and quiet, much like yourself.

Guiding you through the doors, he turned the lights on behind you, his other hand never leaving your back.

The best way to describe the interior would be neat or crisp, with a large, perfectly made bed in the center of the space, surrounded by a bar, a hanging chair, a shuttered armoire, and a desk, that could be used both as a kitchen table and a bureau. It smelled faintly of vanilla and musk, with a sea-salt aftertaste.

“Make yourself at home”, he murmured into your ear, still standing behind you, his hand gripping your hip hard for a fleeting second. When the realization of his touch had settled in, and you were finally able to react, he was already at the bar, serving himself a whiskey.

“Would you like something to drink?”

He busied himself with the bottle for a moment; then he produced another glass from behind the bar, waiting on your answer. When you didn’t speak, he turned to face you again.

You did as you were told - kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft wool rug. With your back to him, you slowly made your way to his bed. One you reached it, you couldn’t resist trailing your fingertips along its surface - the sheets were creamy and silk, smooth to the touch.

You stopped short of the head of the bed, throwing a look over your shoulder. He caught your gaze, frozen in place, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.  

“Why don’t you choose for me?” you offered, slowly lowering yourself on the bed, crossing your legs. “What do you usually serve them?”

The way his eyes narrowed at you ever so slightly almost made you smile. It looked like you’d struck a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t know how to answer that question”, he said, his voice levelled, his stare unblinking. “I’ve never had an urge like that before”.

Well, fuck.

How many more times this man was going to run counter to your expectations?

And on top of everything, damn, he was good. A quick-thinker or a natural good-talker? Would you remain clear-headed for long enough to find out?

“What else would you like to know?” his voice grew huskier as he pushed the glass away from himself. He left it at the bar as he started your way, his pupils blown to hell.

“That all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw you at the bar is how soft your breasts would feel pressed against my chest? That I’ve been hard ever since you opened that sassy mouth of yours? Or that I would have jerked off to the memory of you for weeks if you hadn’t come here with me?”

God.

The tightness that had long since made home in your chest moved lower, lower, lower, until it sank into the pit of your stomach. At his words, involuntary, your thighs clenched together, restless energy buzzing in between your legs, your toes curling.

“Stand up”.

When your eyes focused back on your surroundings, you saw him standing a couple of steps away, his strong jaw clenching as he gazed at you, his arms folded on his chest. Breath catching in your throat, you pushed off the bed. Feeling dizzy all of the sudden, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, beautiful.”

Again, you did as you were told - you met his gaze head-on, and almost instantly regretted it. He was staring down at you with those black bottomless eyes, raw emotion flowing through him, filling the air around them, charging it to the brim. His hands fell down his sides now - so tense, the veins budged on his forearms.

It’s like he was pacing himself, keeping himself from touching you.

“Take off your dress,” he requested after a moment, watching you like a hawk.

Slowly, squeezing your thighs harder, harder still, you brought your hands to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, before pushing them off completely.

The dress landed in a heap on the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy panties - almost utterly naked under his stare.

You heard the softest groan escape his mouth as his hand snaked across his thighs and up to that bulge in his pants. When he squeezed his hand around it, his abdominal muscles flexing as he exhaled, you felt the moisture spread down your inner thighs.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you made a step towards him with your hand stretched out. Almost immediately you heard a low strangled noise, and saw the nah shining bright in his dark eyes.

“Not yet, beautiful,” he growled, taking his t-shirt off in one elegant motion. He then undid the belt on his pants, his eyes savouring every inch of your naked skin. “Play with your tits for me. With both hands.”

Your own touch burned as you carefully squeezed your nipples with your fingers. Throwing your head back, you moaned loud, unwillingly pushing your hips forward.

“That’s it, beautiful, just like that.”

His words seemed to lift some sort of barrier, as you started to tug and pull harder at the nipples, alternating the movements with firm grasps around the swell of your breasts.

You were going to come.

You were going to come and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Now slide one of those hands down those panties. Rub that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are”.

You made peace with the fact that he was a talker - but now he had surely sat out to break her. His voice washed all over your body, sending goosebumps down your spine as you slid one of your hands under the underwear.

“I’m so fucking wet”, you gasped, staring at him. “Fucking dripping”.

His moan made your thighs tremble, your fingers slowly circling around your clit. Before you let your eyes roll to the back of your head, you saw him with one of his hands hidden in his pants, slowly jerking himself off, with slow, aborted motions.

“That’s it, caress that pussy for me. But go slow - tease it”.

You nearly growled at that. You knew you were close - there was a bundle of sensation, like a ball of electricity, building inside of you - two quick flicks of your index finger, and you’d be done for.  

“Jesus, please”, you stuttered out before you could realize you were actually begging. “I’m so fucking close, please…”

You rubbed slowly over the nerves, your fingers wet and slippery. Panting, you realized his name would have come in handy just now - if he had some sort of a praise kink, you could maybe easily get the release you yearned for.

“You are so beautiful, fucking yourself like that. Wish those were my hands. Or my mouth”.

Something flared at the very end of your clit, softly spreading all over her pussy. You moaned loud and unapologetic, your fingers moving faster as you tried to chase that sensation. You needed to grasp it, to ride it out, you fucking needed it!…

“Put a finger inside, beautiful”.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Pumping fast and hard, you could feel your knees bending, your flesh begging for release.

“Come for me. Now.”

As if by command, the orgasm finally hit you - everywhere at once. It made your entire body shake as you screamed out, pussy clenching around your fingers. You barely registered you were falling down on your knees, when strong hands caught you at your hipbones, pushing you upright.

He was on you before you could come down from your high. His mouth hot and bruising against yours, you moaned, instinctively jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his feverish body.

His scent assaulted you - a clean, musky scent made your inside muscles clench, so you wiggled against him, wanting more.

He was so painfully hard against your core, you whimpered, pushing your hips against his, needing more friction, like an addict craving for a dose.

Sensing your need, feeling you, he grabbed your ass with his large hands and stepped onto the bed, setting you down on that same wooden headboard of the bed you’d almost stroke with your fingers.

Pushing your legs apart, he settled in between them. Before you knew it, his tongue lapped at your wetness, sliding up the length of your slit. Whimpering and moaning, you arched your back, burying your fingers in his hair, tugging hard. That made him growl, adding a slight vibration as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He slammed his fingers - those fucking fingers - into you, and it took exactly two pumps for your second orgasm to roll over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you moaned into the ceiling with everything you had.

Helping you slide down onto the bed with his hands guiding your hips, he gave you a piercing stare. The one that made you whimper, even though your eye-side was still fuzzy at the edges.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before he distanced himself from you - to take off his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you now - I’ll be gentle next time, right now… Right now I just need to bury myself in that pretty pussy of yours”.

“Fuck”, you moaned, propping yourself on the elbows, closing your eyes as you threw your head back. You didn’t know if you could handle more, but Jesus, did you want it. His cock stretching you wide.

You would not have been able to tell where he took a condom from - you didn’t even have time to contemplate on it. All you registered was a slight discomfort in between your legs before his huge cock pushed inside of you, inch by glorious inch. The stretch was almost too much, and you coughed out half a breath, half a moan as you tried to adjust to his size. Whatever sound you were about to let out next, as he slid out of you and pushed back in, to the hilt this time, it got lost in between your lips, as he captured your mouth in a bruising kiss.

Your nails scratched on his ripped back as he fucked into you shallowly, your teeth biting into the skin on his neck. As if not getting enough of you, he grabbed one of your thighs, flexing it, so he could thrust deeper.

The change of the angle had you swearing under your breath, and his mouth was there to silence you again, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

The third orgasm snuck up on you out of nowhere - there was no gradual built, no buzzing feeling in your lower stomach - it crashed on you like a bucket full of ice, having you arching your back, clenching around his cock so fiercely, it snatched an orgasm out of him, as well.

“Fuuuuuck”, he breathed out, his hips slamming sloppily into yours. “So fucking good, fucking…”

Before he could continue, you rolled forward and put your mouth on him, swallowing his words. With his palm cupping your cheek, he deepened the kiss as his cock drained itself into the latex.

The kiss grew soft, your noses touching ever so slightly as you both slowed down, a mess of tangled limbs. Smearing his wet mouth against your nipples, he pushed up from you, sliding his cock out.

“I’d take that drink now if you don’t mind”, you told him, a lazy smile illuminating your features.

A low chuckle he let out echoed in your lower stomach.

“Sure, beautiful. How does a whiskey sound?” he offered, standing up in all his naked glory.

You hummed in approval as you leaned higher against the headboard. Biting your lip, you checked out his ass unashamedly, as he made his way to the bar, throwing the used condom into the garbage bin.

“I know there are some things that we’ve agreed on, but I’d much appreciate calling you by your name instead of beautiful when going down on you next time. What do you say?”

You heard whiskey splash against the walls of your soon-to-be glass. Your inner muscles clenched at the sight of him, naked, serving you a drink.

“It’s Y/N”, you said with a small smile.

“Billy”, he responded, making his way to you. As you reached out to take your glass of whiskey from him, he pulled his hands backwards, using your position to land his lips on yours in a stinging kiss instead. You responded hungrily, grabbing his head with both of your hands.

The night was still young, after all.

“Okay, so would you rather spent your life partying with rich assholes you barely know, still seeing your family and friends, or get stuck on a desert island with no opportunity to see anyone at all?”

You turned your head ever so slightly, feeling his muscles clench as Billy huffed out a breath.

You both laid naked on his bed, him propped against the headboard, you - with your head settled comfortably on his stomach. A half empty bottle of whiskey was getting warm against your bare thigh, both of your glasses laying empty next to it.

You had lost count of the times you came with his name a word of ecstasy on your lips. You were surely going to sport some hickeys on your neck tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

You had never felt so at ease with a man before. Granted, no man had ever managed to make you come three times in a row, but that wasn’t the point. Billy made you question your “no dating” rule, and not just because he fucked like his life depended on it. He just got you - whether it was your discomfort in big crowds, fear of subway, weird addiction to macarons or love-hate relationship with Paris. You just clicked - it was hard to believe you met mere hours ago.

Or maybe the fact that you only just met was the reason why you clicked. It certainly wouldn’t be the same in the long run. The rose-goggles period only lasted so long. When routine kicked in, it tended to crash everything in its wake.

“That’s a tough one”, he said, biting on the inside of his cheeks. “If I could invite people on my desert island, I’d definitely go with the second option.”

“Well, you can’t”, you smirked at him, and then stared back into the ceiling. “It’s either being constantly surrounded, or seeing no one at all”.

He hummed, considering the options.

“I can’t imagine being alone 24/7, even though you might have guessed already, I love being alone sometimes”, his fingers slowly caressed the soft skin under your breasts, as he voiced his thoughts out loud. “It’s funny how your mind works though”, you could hear a smile in his tone now. “With you, it’s either all or nothing.”

You thought for a moment, interlacing your fingers with his. Then you shrugged:

“Sometimes, I just want to get away, you know? See no one, speak to no one… I sometimes push people away, thinking it would do me good. But it doesn’t always have that desirable effect.”

When you stole a glance at Billy again, you saw him nod.

“I know what you mean”, he spoke quietly. “And I’m glad you didn’t push me away tonight”.

“Oh, I tried,” you assured him with a smirk. “You’re hard to shake off”, you let go of his fingers and pushed yourself up on your hands, so that your eyes were on the same level.

Billy chuckled, his lips stretching in that warm and wonderful smile.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll be hard. Again. Point blank.”

You laughed quietly, dropping your gaze, your eyes traveling down his stomach and to that massive cock between his legs.

He was getting hard again alright.  

“What time is it?” you suddenly remembered, snapping your gaze around, searching for a clock.

“Quarter to four, why would you ask?” he told you, after checking his wristwatch.

You closed her eyes.

“It’s my birthday”, you said before you blinked at him in surprise.

In between all that dirty sex and orgasms, you lost track of time and completely forgot. Were you coming when the clock struck midnight? The thought made you giggle.

“Really?” Billy stared at you in disbelief before his dark cocoa eyes softened, and his voice dropped an octave. “Come here”.

Warmth spread all over your body at his words, your core the center of the growing tingling sensation. Billy used his hot hands to pull you closer, help you settle in his lap, your legs on each side of his hips. With his left hand he reached for the bedside table, pulling out yet another condom out.

“Would you like to put it on?” He whispered against the skin behind your ear, making your pussy tense. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, taking the foil packet from his hand. Tearing it up with your teeth, you slid the latex onto his throbbing cock, pumping him a couple of times for a good mesure. The noises Billy made were downright pornographic. You licked your lips.

With both of your hands on his naked shoulders, you slowly lowered yourself all the way down onto him, the sensation making you both moan this time.

“Just like that, beautiful”, he whispered softly in your ear, thrusting up into you.

You rode him slowly, arching your back, leveraging yourself on his shoulders. The position was so damn intense, and not only because that way Billy could thrust deeper, up to his balls. There was a strange sort of intimacy as he gripped your hips, helping you bounce slowly on his rock-hard cock - his cocoa eyes held a sort of intensity as he fucked into you. It made your heart ache.

“I fucking can’t get enough of you”, he confessed hoarsely. “Of that tight, wet, perfect pussy. Of your beautiful, smart mouth. All of you. Every fucking inch of you.”

His revelation combined with his soft, yet methodic thrusts was what toppled you over the edge. You came hard, your body protesting against all those orgasms Billy’s cock had already wrestled out of it. Speaking of him, he wasn’t too far behind either, gripping your hips and holding you down as he came.

His lips seemed to hold some kind of a promise as he kissed you gently.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful”, he whispered against your lips, his hot and ragged breath fanning over your skin.

You managed a tired smile, surging up to kiss him again, relishing the feeling of him inside of you still….

Surprisingly, New York welcomed you back with cloudless sky. It was still as busy as you remembered it, but something had changed. People seemed friendlier, streets - sunnier, summer - hotter. You caught yourself enjoying the city again now that you had come back well-rested from your week-long vacation.

Well-rested might have been a wrong word for it. More like satisfied. And taken care of.

After that night, you spent the two remaining days of her getaway at Billy’s villa - no strings attached. You two barely left the place. Never had you enjoyed a man’s company this much. You cooked together, swam together, made love together… Until it was over and done, and you had to go back to the real life again, tiptoeing on your way out so he wouldn’t wake up.

You stopped cold for a moment, a plat of appetisers freezing in your hands.

Did you just think made love? Well that was a slip of epic proportions…

“Daydreaming about your boy-toy again?” Karen teased her with a smirk, walking into the kitchen. “He must have been quite something”.

Oh that, he was. You couldn’t help but sigh as you put the plate on the table.

How many people Karen was expecting for the dinner exactly? It looked like Frank and her had cooked enough for the entire goddamn naval infantry.

“It’s been a week,” you said, shaking your head as if trying to make the thoughts about him fall out. “I guess I need some time to turn that page”.

“Who said that page needs turning?” Karen reasoned, putting two bottles of champagne on the table. “Didn’t you say he was from New York? You could keep on seeing each other?”

You didn’t even take a moment to think it over.

“Nah,” you shook your head, tugging at your silk top. “We didn’t talk much about our respective jobs, but he made it obvious he travels a lot, so…”

Catching Karen’s sceptic stare, you threw both of your hands into the air, waving them.

“I’ll see him when I’ll see him, and if I don’t…” you shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be then”.

You turned to face Karen again only to find out that her expression hadn’t changed.

“Uh huh,” the noise she made was her other way of saying bullshit. “Well, you do what you gotta do, but please play nice with Russo. I swear he is a perfect guy for you”.

You let out a chuckle.

“You know, I heard it so many times I’m actually starting to believe it”, you said.

As if on cue, you heard men’s voices in the corridor.

“So how was your getaway, then?” Frank asked casually, stepping first into the kitchen. “Wow, that looks amazing, ladies,” he commented on the table, winking at Karen.

Page blushed in response, making you roll your eyes.

You was about to make a side comment to your best friend, when your mind suddenly went blank upon hearing the stranger’s voice.

“It was great, perfect actually…”

A designer-shoes-clad foot appeared in the room.

“I just feel like I left a part of me there, I’m going to need some time to rea…”

…djust, your mind supplied as you stared at Billy, her Billy, standing across the room from you - fully dressed this time.

“Oh my God,” you barely whispered, your eyes big in your face, your chest feeling like it was going to collapse on itself.

Billy’s lips slowly parted in the widest smile you’d ever seen - he just stood there, like a man on whom the greatest happiness had been bestowed, and it rendered him speechless.

Karen looked at them both in confusion, until…

Until realisation dawned on her, and she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her mouth.

“What’s… What’s going on?” Frank frowned, looking back and forth between Billy and you. “You guys know each other?”

“Hell yeah,” Billy finally spoke, his eyes never quitting yours as he closed the distance between you in four decisive strides.

Before you could even speak, he gripped your cheeks and dropped his lips on yours, as hot and burning as the sun back in Mallorca.

You moaned like you didn’t have a care in the world, pushing onto your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

“I missed you, beautiful”, Billy uttered between the kisses, his forehead pressed to yours. “You ain’t getting away so easily this time”.

You let out a soft laugh, inhaling his scent, and moved to kiss his lips again. 

[aerialsquid]

FFXIVWrite: Day 11

Day 11: Transcend (Extra Credit)

Warnings: Consensual drug use, including bad reactions to psychedelics.

----

For all that Urianger had appeared to lead a sheltered existence, hooded and goggled in the basement of the Waking Sands, his experiences at the Studium had been hardly cowardly. Alcohol held no appeal for him, but to be quite frank alcohol's effects were boring. 

Especially at the Studium, actually, where someone with polite manners and enough favors built up with the gleaners could get just about anything they needed as long as they claimed it was for a class project. (In retrospect, Urianger suspected that the wink they'd give him when wishing him good luck on his 'studies' indicated they believed him to be using their gatherings purely recreationally. Ironically, they were quite incorrect!) 

As a student of prophecy, Urianger was well aware of the utility of psychoactive substances. They formed a great part of the history of oracular visions, after all. And to be a true student of their arts, he would need to undergo at least some fragment of the same journey, no? Stillglade Fane saw messages left in the leaves after ingesting shriekshroom cap spurs, while dreamtoads got their very name from the visions caused by ingesting their secretions.

Results had been…mixed.

He of course had no interest in the crueler substances, the ones that promised to take away pain but brought even greater suffering when you wished not to rely on them. Somnus was right out, for example, as were any of the more extreme opioids.

Milkroot, too, had not been a great time. Moenbryda had found him huddled in their dormitory's water closet, sweating and shaking, and in her great kindness had tucked him back into bed and sat with him until the invisible spiders ceased to crawl upon his flesh. 

Shriekshroom Cap spores were fun. Trips that seemed to span centuries of soaring through the heavens, leaving him with a feeling of peace and euphoria as the effects wore of. Yes, he could see how people might claim to have touched the divine after such an experience, and why their spores held usage in several Gridanian religious rituals. No regrets on Shriekshroom caps.

But these days he saw enough strange and bizarre things during his sober hours that he had little interest in hallucinogenics. If anything, he'd appreciate…fewer visions. Fewer horrors behind his eyes when he closed them. Fewer moments when a scent or a sound made his pulse race or his throat clench.

A quiet moment of peace in the midst of the tempest would be just what the chirurgeon  ordered, and by chirurgeon he meant Urianger.

—-----

The cool morning air soaked into Urianger's skin as he stepped out into the marketplace of Revenant's Toll. At the back of his tongue he felt the familiar Mor Dhona tang of corrupted aether, sending waves of gentle nostalgia over him for the months long past.

"Eyyy!" cried Fafabine from his stall, his thick golden hair swaying as he waved. Urianger raised a hand in a return greeting to the small, chunky Lalafell man. 

Fafabine Fabin was a traveling botanist who Urianger often purchased alchemical supplies from, and who supplemented his meager supply of alchemist customers by selling void parsley on the side. To Urianger's understanding the sales of Fafabine's gleanings were being used to fund his way through the botanist's guild, where he planned to eventually become a healer. Urianger found him courteous, reliable, and most of all prompt, a trait that was somewhat rare in most void parsley purveyors. Their business was not one that catered to those obsessed with being on time.

Urianger made the appropriate several minutes of small talk with the man before accepting his invitation to step around the back of the stall and out of sight of the street. 

"What can I get for you, Master Scion?"

"I wouldst have a half-onze of your more potent astral strain, for I am sure the tranquility of sleep is in short supply in these strange times. "

"Oh, I got you, for sure."

"And also a quarter-onze of something for more frivolity, perhaps? A gentler umbral type, for those who wish to relieve tension but not take leave of their senses."

"You having a party, then?" Fababine's small fingers sorted through the small sealed jars within his coat, dosing out dried buds into small paper packages. Men as experienced as he did not need to stop to use scales to measure their product out, in Urianger's experience.

"Ah yes, of a sort! My comrades have a great need to relieve their tension, and I wouldst relieve them of their burdens in the only way I can."

"Relieve tension, you say." Fafabine's pale eyebrows waggled for reasons Urianger was slightly unclear on. He winked, agan for unclear reasons, and tucked another small package into Urianger's belt pouch. "This one's on the house for my favorite world-saver, for relieving that special friend's tension."

"I…thank you for your generosity, Master Fafabine."

[dreamylyfe-x]

I always enjoy your takes on Shameless episodes, they're so spot on every time. I agree with you that Ian's handling of Mickey's grief in the beginning of the episode makes sense from a character stand point (Mickey might not be emotionally ready to be comforted, Ian didn't want Mickey to stray too far from the fact that Terry was a terrible father and person, etc) but I gotta say that it was a pretty bad choice from just a storytelling perspective. The fact that Mickey's crying didn't have much of an emotional impact on Ian made it so that it didn't have much of an emotional impact on me as a viewer. It was sad and I felt bad, but I think that the scene could have been made so much better by showing Ian as being hurt because his husband was hurt (we got this later in the episode which is why I think that scene worked better), instead of Ian giving Mickey weirded out looks and side-eyes. Idk I think that scene should have been more of a gut punch than it was (not helped by the background music, either). Ian could have set an emotional "example" for the viewer by being less stoic in the face of his husband sobbing. That would have made more sense to me just as a way to tell the story to us. I feel like Shameless still has good stories to tell but the WAY they're being told just falls so short, sometimes.

First of all, thank you for your kind words, anon. I truly do love talking about this show. 

I get your reaction, and it’s made me think a little more about what the show is going for. Like... It’s definitely not the traditional response to a grieving partner, as depicted on television. But neither is Mickey’s. 

I cannot tel you how little I EVER would have guessed that the next time we saw Mickey after his father’s death he’d be sitting on their bed ugly crying and I honestly love that choice so much. SO much. It’s so unusual that a show would let a male character -- particularly an alpha tough guy like Mickey -- be THIS emotional. This isn’t the red eyes while he holds Ian at the police station. It’s not him wiping tears away after Ian tells him he’s going into the army. I find the fact that Mickey is crying so openly and continuously to be as fascinating as it is to have Ian essentially giving him reasons not to cry like this. 

I think a lot of people read it as Ian giving MIckey what he needs and @pathoftheranger and @damngcoffee both made compelling posts about why Ian meets Mickey where he’s at. I am particularly moved by @damngcoffee point that the degree to which Mickey is crying is proof of how safe he feels. (Also shout out to @doodlevich and this post, which I DEEPLY relate to.) 

Looking at it the way you frame it -- where you had the experience of it lessening the scenes impact -- I can completely see what you mean about how it pulls you out of really empathizing with Mickey (which the music arguably wants to do, too) because Ian isn’t comforting him in a way we’re used to. Like beyond the actual characters and story, Ian’s comments are discordant. This isn’t how we usually see this dynamic presented. 

The scene reminded me of a very different scene from Ronan Farrow’s book Catch and Kill where he calls his partner from the back of a cab in despair, pours his heart out, and his partner responds with impatience and says “the only thing that has changed is that you haven’t slept in 24 hours.” -- that kind of brutal logic is absolutely something people do to each other, but it’s SO RARE we see that in fiction, from a character in Ian’s position. What we see is something more gentle and I think it’s so interesting that they didn’t do that. I also think it’s interesting that Cam doesn’t play the hard edge in the dialogue. He keeps his voice soft, even as he’s openly confused by this open display of emotion. Ian reaches out, touches Mickey, and stays in the conversation even after Mickey blames Terry’s murder on Ian. But this is not your normal depiction of grieving. 

Buuuuut. Ian and MIckey don’t do normal. So. 

I do think there’s value in seeing something that is so different from the average and maybe closer to the way couples would talk four days after the death of a nightmare parent (who has tried to murder both of them) but you are absolutely right that this scene isn’t a gut-punch in the way we might expect. We don’t get the moment of raw shock where Ian comforts Mickey -- but from a storytelling POV I think that scene belonged in 11x08. This episode is about grieving the underserving. And if we had more time, I’d want to see so much more of this particular dynamic, which I imagine is rooted in Ian’s concern about Mickey’s mental health. There is of course the echo of what happened to Ian after his mother died and how that undid him so totally, even though she was very much not a great mother to him. It makes sense to me that Ian would have an outsized concern about Mickey getting lost in his grief and wants to help him draw those lines -- Terry was awful. He doesn’t deserve your tears. I don’t want you to be in pain like this. 

None of that is text and this will always be where I get low-key frustrated, because I could watch a whole hour just about Mickey reacting to Terry’s death. Happily. But the show has a bunch of other characters and Frank’s an art thief now, so we aren’t going to get the detail I want. It’s also just very true that Ian isn’t the sort of person to deeply examine his motives. He just feels the discomfort of watching Mickey in pain and reacts. 

I love that he doesn’t back off. I love that Mickey doesn’t tell him to go to hell -- because he sure as hell would if that’s what he wanted. I love Mickey’s weepy “I know!” moments of agreement. I love that Mickey is completely baffled by how upset he is. Mostly I love that, at the end of the episode, when Mickey looks completely drained, Ian has his arm around him while he says his final goodbye to his bad dad. 

But we never, ever get enough Gallavich in these episodes for my taste. And I do wish we’d gotten just one more moment with them in 11x08.  

[vinylhazza]

I just want a cuddly Ethan concept. I’m so lonely and just want to be wrapped up in his arms. He just seems like the softest right now.

honestly what i imagine him looking like in this

i want that too 🥺

walk with me on this journey, yeah?

the nights you read together are the best. those nights are few and far between these days, so you cherish them when they come.

most of your reading nights consists of a mountainous pile of blankets, the infamous Frank Sinatra record Nothing But The Best playing through on the record player (your grandmothers reading habit you’ve taken up yourself), lamps off and fairy lights turned on, each of you on your respective pillows.

some nights you listen to Ethan read. you close your eyes and dive into the richness of his voice when he loses himself in a world far away. often times he can read for an hour or two, enough to lull you close to sleep and make his own eyes droopy.

mostly you listen, sometimes you give him a laugh or two, and sometimes, when he’s showing off just how much he can tap into your emotions, he can make you cry. those are the times you don’t talk about later, when you lay awake next to him and cry from him reading to you. but it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful to you and it’s real.

not that anyone could blame you for it. he was pretty convincing.

the times that you do cry, he let’s you feel that strong emotion move you, let’s it sink through you and hold you there just long enough for him to dog-ear the page and pull your tear stained face close to leave a lingering kiss.

his kiss does the trick most of the time, or distracts you just enough so you stop thinking about whatever sorrowful event took place within the pages of the book.

he pressed his lips over the rivers of tears, wipes his thumbs across the soft expanse of your cheeks, tells you “i’m here”, “just breathe i know it’s sad”, “i’m not going anywhere”

his reassurance is calming, your racing heart fluttering at his promises and whispering hushed tone. his hazel eyes watch you in your vulnerable state, knowing these moments are rare and scary for you. you are not one to favor vulnerability, even in front of ethan. but when you do, mostly on reading nights and days that are hard to work through, he’s there with his soft eyes and gentle hands. he combs his fingers through your hair with one hand, the other holding your face just to take you in.

his beautiful girl that sees the beauty in a fictional world but not in herself.

you gaze at him through your tears, blushing and sniffling in embarrassment. you know it must be foolish to be this upset over something that’s not real. but it is for you in the moment…the characters, the action scenes, honesty and bravery…even the hardships and loss. it’s so real and engrossing. you can’t help it.

you’ve never met anyone so in tune with your emotions, not even your family. ethan knew each and every moment what you were feeling and what you needed. when words fail you, his arms were there to take their place.

he pulls you in close-close enough to have you laying on his chest, your face flat and turned to the side, legs on either side of him, his hand tracing patterns on the skin of your back peeking out beneath your shirt. cuddles always help you calm down even when you aren’t to the point of tears.

“tell me what you’re thinking,” he usually mumbled, knowing your body language better than your intricate thoughts. he loves to hear what you have to say.

“i wish good people didn’t get the cruelest of punishments…and i wish you weren’t so convincing.” your muffled giggle in the fabric of his white hoodie makes him smile, a soft tug at his lips. it was his favorite sound.

“hmm…” he acknowledges, eyes focused on the blank slate ceiling above him, “i think you might be the only person to ever call me convincing.”

“what a shame that is. you give the words their magic.”

for a stretch of at least ten minutes there is silence. silence and soft touching, tracing, and slow breathing. he’s honestly stunned at your admission, enthralled by the way you lift your head until your chin is resting against him, giving you the right angle to watch him stare up.

“thank you for not calling me dramatic,” you pathetically whimper, remembering the many times your friends and family would say that very thing when you would get a little too emotional over a piece of writing. you were moved, and you didn’t see a problem with it until they pointed it out.

“your mind is powerful. there is nothing dramatic about that, sweets.” you know he’s being honest. for once you feel understood, taken care of, loved.

the grin that lights up your face is honest and pure. without thinking twice you reach around to grab the hand tracing your back and bring them forward to your lips, kissing each knuckle with closed eyes.

you weren’t normally the most touchy or physically affectionate person, but at times you let that go. it’s worth it to have his eyes watching your lips press to his skin innocently, in the most nonsexual way but still just as breathtaking.

“you’re my favorite boy,” you whisper between kisses, turning his hand over to kiss at his palm tattoo, “i’ll never let you forget it. you are my Riden…”

Riden was the love interest in the book you’d been working through together for over a week now. it was a shock how much you loved the characters and their chemistry, feeling as if you lived within the pages.

But ethan was it, he was your kiss in the rain, the rollercoaster rush, wish in the well, the rush through an airport before a flight takes off and your love is gone forever. he’s one of the good ones, and you’re planning on showing him every day for as long as time allows.

[onf-headcanons]

200 followers special

ONF'S PERSONALITY IN BED (Gap version + More Rei's Writing Notes)

HYOJIN

Hyojin super gentle and attentive during foreplay but when he is at it, i am thinking should have the outburst emotion of "shit you are cute" , he might sometimes lose it and be a rough but it was with your consent. He will be hesitant to go intense at first. His rough was not BDSM type of rough, more of a light tugging on your arms so that you have no control and he will initiate forceful rams towards you. The type of thinking immersed intense = rough. Both praiser and will do dirty talks if his devil mode kicks in.

SEUNGJUN

Seungjun teasing you during foreplay with dirty talks and a bit of corruption hints using words but when real deal he is gentle and attentive worrying that he is hurting you even if its not first time anymore. His tendency to lose his cool is way lesser compared to the other 2 in hyung line. He could go intense but that was him wanting to see you lose your cool. And the more you lose your cool, it riles his up more. Both praiser and also dirty talker. To mention, he is very skillful at utilising both, (carrot and stick) he can make you go beet red by his dirty talks and then later praise you for doing a good job.

CHANGYOON

I established Changyoon that he is expressive about his love by kissing you all over intensely because he is very easy to getoverwhelmed by his emotions. It will happen during foreplay and both the action. To be frank I think he is the one who is the same throughout but during real deal it gets even intense because he goes into the mode of "OMG what do I do to deserve you" and the only expressing action he can do on that moment was instinctly moving his hips. For him the act of intimacy is a way of expressive love (elaborate can be found at leaving hickey/mark headcanon). Praiser.

JAEYOUNG

Jaeyoung is the in between of Hyojin and Changyoon. He is also expressive type but I do see he will hold back not to lose his cool because worried to hurt/burden you. Does not meant he never, its just rarely. His insight was the act was not supposed to be only fulfilling 1 side's desires. Its unless both feel good or neither anyone is touching anyone. Attentively gentle (but not overly expressive) during foreplay and also when initiating physical intimacy with you. The gap is not that jumpy either, rather than dirty talks, more of a praiser

MINKYUN

For Minkyun sometimes people will see him as wild card? But actually he also a simple person. He is the in between of Jaeyoung mixed with a bit of Seungjun. Gentle but then sometimes unconsciously being a tease during foreplay while having the innocent face. (Happens on when he wanna confirm if you are feeling good and he will confirm it until he sees your physical reaction says yes).I think he actually realise that himself but since you did not blow his cover you two just let it slide. During real deal he a gentle one while giving a lot of assuring words.

YUTO

Yuto is like the 2nd Changyoon? Same personality throughout being attentive but slightly less intense compared to Changyoon when he is the zone of "OMG i love you so much you are freaking adorable what do I do to deserve you?" . Also his gap trait is a bit different from his hyungs. Is not that extreme, but based on his astrology chart, he need time to open up and comfortably showing his desires. So its the gap of him being comfortable later on and him being careful at the beginning. Main reason because he is learning to know you better,he doesn't want to jump to conclusions (even if he has tendency to do that). But as he learns while tally with his instincts, he gets more courage/comfortable to have more freedom on having his way towards you.