#inhales deeply. starts hollering

[taughtdefense]

how do you need to be loved? like a child loves the rain.

you need to be loved in happiness & foolishness. a puppy love, a love so purely good, so full of happiness it makes your stomach ache. you need to be loved in a way that reminds you of the childhood you didn’t get to have. you need to be loved as if you’re feeling the rain fall upon your cheeks for the first time. refreshing, & clean.

how does it feel to be loved by you? it feels like home.

you're the kind of person that makes people feel safe. you probably couldn't be intimidating if you tried, but that doesn't matter. what matters is your kindness & compassion, your innate way of making people feel happy. you're so good at taking care of everybody else, but don't forget to take care of yourself, too! you deserve the same love you give so freely.

tagged by: taken from the dash ( @stcrgirl )

tagging: @taughtpain ( & all of ur blogs mads ) , @mecwmellc ( miguel ) , @maidmyth , @lovehungered , & whoever else wants to do this !

[sencrose]

— ENCORE!

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

tags: exhibitionism, established relationship, toys (vibrator), idol AU (reader's an idol), praise, multiple orgasms, overstim, dacryphilia, clothed/floor sex, pet names (angel/sweetheart/princess), satoru being a wee bit possessive/mean, reader’s kinda tsun

wc: 4.6k

summary: your boyfriend wants you to put on a special show for the night, and your audience is none the wiser.

a/n: happy holidays! let's completely ignore canon together <3 i'll be free from idol AU bs one day. today is not that day. i got a tag on my blog for any idol!reader stuff involving gojo at #iettoru! if it piques your interest! special thanks to @angelbunsx and @surpassing-morning for looking over this for me <3 dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

This was a horrible idea. Well, it still is a horrible idea, but you went along with it anyway. At the end of the day, you only really have yourself to blame, even though you would really like to split it with your boyfriend.

It took a bit of convincing, maybe a bit of guilt tripping, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a vibrator stuffed inside you as you walk onto the stage. Everything feels more intense than usual– the brightness of the stage lights, the stuffiness of the venue, the cheers of the crowd.

You inhale deeply but the words that follow come out shaky, “T-thanks for coming, everyone!” It catches you off guard, but not enough to stop talking. Your group members, however, give you a worried glance. You can’t afford to make them worry about you, not when there’s nothing worth worrying about other than your boyfriend’s perverted fantasies. So you continue, yelling into the mic as a way to hide your unsteady breathing, “We have a great show planned for tonight, so we hope you enjoy it!”

The crowd cheers, as per usual. Though this time it rumbles through you, intensifying the already overwhelming vibrations stirring you up. You don’t have much time to think about it. The start of the backing track catches you off guard, as you rush to catch up with your members’ formation. Everything feels hot, and you’re not sure what it is, the embarrassment of a rare mistake, or the vibrations rushing through your body with each step.

And though you’re struggling to keep up with the routines you’ve practiced dozens of times over, Satoru doesn’t seem to be phased. He’s business as usual, a sun bright smile plastered on his face as he yells and waves his penlight in the air. He might even be cheering louder than usual, the bastard.

Every move feels risky, like taking a block from an unsteady tower of jenga. The world’s worst game of flipping the coin. Either the vibrator will adjust inside you, press against somewhere that might make you moan, or maybe it’ll move around enough and slip out. Thinking about the latter is too much for you, so you surrender yourself to moving a bit less than usual. Focus on shining that dazzling smile to the crowd and hope they won’t see how it falters with every shift of your body.

And thankfully, it works for the first performance. You’ve never been so grateful to hear the crowd whoop and holler. Even more so that you’re not introducing the next song.

But that moment of relief is cut short. The vibrations pattern changes to something more intense, staccato pulses that make you wince with each throb. It catches you off guard, a soft moan escaping your lips before you try to cover it up with a cough, though you’re not sure it’s that convincing.

“You doing okay over there?” Your member’s voice barely registers in your ears as you rush to put on a fake smile.

“S-Sorry, I’m doing okay! Just recovering from a cold,” you reply with a shaky chuckle. Everyone seems to be content with your answer, though Satoru seems exceptionally proud of himself. It takes every bit of self control to keep your breathing steady, as your members banter amongst themselves before introducing the next song. Their speech feels like it’s going on for ages until they finally get themselves in position.

Thankfully, you’re not caught off guard this time, though the choreo’s a lot more complicated for this song. You don’t have the safety of being hidden in the back, being front and center for a good chunk of the performance. Though the audience cheers, you can see some concerned faces interspersed between the sea of penlights, some murmurs and whispers beyond what you can hear. It’s not hard to imagine what the conversation would consist of.

Even on a good day this routine would leave you breathless, but it’s on a whole other level now. It’s hard to keep your muscles clenched, terrified of having the toy slip out of you from your frenzied movements. And seriously, who thought adding this many jumps was a good idea?

But with each hit of a drum, you jump anyways, though a little less enthused than your members. Then, as if it’s a punishment for not giving enough effort, the speed of the vibrator increases. Your eyes dart to find Satoru in the audience, but he’s cheering innocently as usual, though one of his hands is dug deep in his pocket.

You’re going to kill him later.

With each move, it’s getting harder to ignore the tension building in your core. But you just have to get through this song and another before the buppan period. It’s only another ten minutes max, you can keep it together till then, you think.

Satoru plays more with the settings and you can feel him pushing the buttons for each one, carefully watching your reaction to see which is the most effective. Unfortunately for you, it’s written clearly on your face when your smile breaks and your eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment, just enough for Satoru to hone in on it.

You’ve vastly overestimated your ability to stay calm and collected. The buzzing inside you is erratic now, each pulse getting you closer to the edge. But the song is so close to being over, maybe if you just move a little less, catch a small break where you can focus on standing still, you can make it through. Though, it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel a pool forming in your underwear, the wet cotton sticking to your skin wherever you go.

It’s as if you can feel yourself developing a fever in real-time, heat boiling beneath the surface of your skin as you struggle to keep up with your members. It doesn’t help that Satoru keeps changing the vibrations to a pattern that doesn’t match the rhythm of the music, yet another added distraction. It demands your attention as if it’s a living, breathing being, gnaws and claws at your core until you finally give it what it wants.

The vibrator wins over your self-determination.

You at least have the self control to fake a cough over it, but not before your knees give out on you, trembling as you try to hold yourself back up. With every pulse, ecstasy courses through your body, small choked moans escaping your lips.

Your group members, sweet as they are, immediately come to your side to help you up, and you’re rushing back to coughing to hide the truth.

“H-Hey, you really don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she whispers to ensure the audience doesn’t hear.

You do your best to swat her away without actually hitting her, afraid she’ll be able to feel the toy vibrating through your skin and discover your dirty little secret.

“N-No, I’m fine, I can do one last song,” you get out, enunciating each syllable carefully to not spur any suspicion.

“You sure?”

“Y-Yeah, it’s just one more,” you assure her.

“Okay…” Hesitantly, she lets you recollect yourself, watching over you until you stand, give her a smile and a thumbs up.

“Sorry about that everyone, I’m okay! But this will be our last song of the night,” you announce into the mic, swiping the dust off your skirt.

You get a bit of your spirit back now that you got that out of your system. That doesn’t make the vibrations any less incessant.

Unbeknownst to the audience, it’s not a performance anymore–it’s a competition. To show Satoru you can hold it out till the end.

And with the start of the instrumental, you’re off to the races.

A thread of melodic synths weaves its way through the room, and the crowd fires off their usual chants during the introduction. It’s a nice distraction to hold you over until it’s your turn in the center. When it’s your time, you beam and sing sweetly into the mic, like it’s just your average performance. Satoru doesn’t let you go that easily, adjusting the attack pattern to diminish and swell in a way that catches you off guard.

And though it’s hard, it’s not the worst of the night. You hiccup on a note for a split second, but it seems to go unnoticed by the audience, considering how hard they’re waving their penlights. That’s one third of the song out of the way.

Even when you’re out of the spotlight, Satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, nor does he take his fingers off the remote. Every move is an opportunity to see you break, even if it’s just a little. He does his best to find a rhythm, one that pulses with the beat of the music, and you feel it reverberating through you with each step. It’s not quite enough to make you break, but it’s enough that you’re hyper aware of it.

A frenzied mix of bass and synths meld together for the bridge, and the crowd takes it as their cue to do the appropriate chants, their yells rattling your chest almost as intensely as the vibrator. It’s bad timing to feel the heat in your core swell as you take your spot center stage for your solo with the instrumental toned down. The crowd quiets down too, a rush of soft claps pattering like butterflies filling the room. On a regular night, this display would be cute, heartwarming even. But now it only serves as a reminder that all eyes are on you, and only you.

Don’t mess up.

So you take a deep breath, gripping onto the mic like a vice. All of your focus is on the lyrics, singing them as softly and sweetly as you can. Even though the night was off to a rough start, you think you’ve redeemed yourself with this, hitting every note just right, even with the vibrator doing its best to pull your attention back to it. Back to Satoru.

You can take it easy now. It’s almost over. Just repeat the dance you've already done twice over from the other choruses.

And for once, it’s just as simple as that. The vibrating is incessant, but you’ve gotten used to it at this point, even with the occasional change in pattern. Your chest rises and falls harder than usual as you hold your finishing pose, your skin covered in beads of sweat you aren’t accustomed to.

Despite everything Satoru attempted to throw at you, you made it, and that’s all that matters. The performance is over.

For now. —

The buppan period is worse than you thought it was going to be. To your surprise, Satoru didn’t do his usual frenzied ticket buying spree and now you’re left to face the masses he usually doesn’t let you see. You don’t recognize the fan in front of you, can’t even determine if he’s a first time fan or if you’ve met him so long ago the passage of time has done your memory in.

“H-Hi, thanks for coming!” you exclaim, taking his ticket and placing it on the table.

“Thanks for the performance! I really hope you’ll feel better soon,” he remarks. The way he scratches his neck tips you off that he’s nervous.

“Aw thank you! I’m already feeling better for the most part, I’m just coughing a little here and there,” you do your best to assure him, lying through your teeth.

“Despite it all, you still did great today,” he says, whispering towards the end of his sentence.

“Thanks,” you smile, and you don’t want to admit it but you are a bit touched by his words. Quickly, you shake the thought away. Maybe you understand why Satoru monopolizes your time now. “So, did you have a pose in mind?”

“Yeah, just a hand heart, if that’s okay,” he offers, a bit hesitant, shakily playing with his hands to show you the gesture he’s thinking of.

“Sounds good!” You give him a thumbs up before leaning in a bit closer to him, just enough that your fingertips are touching. Look into the camera with your usual smile, and count down from three.

As soon as the flash of the camera dissipates, you’re hit with a rush of pulses to your core. It’s almost enough to make you keel over, a sliver of a groan escaping you as you bend over to grab your stomach.

“A-Are you okay?” he asks, his hands hovering over you wanting to help, but unsure if he should touch.

You don’t think you deserve his kindness.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, just,” you sigh, barely able to keep it together. Each pulse takes the wind out of you, gets you closer on that precipice you don’t want to experience here, not this close to a stranger, much less a fan. So, you wave the white flag for now, gritting your teeth to get the words out between deep breaths, “I think I gotta go. I’ll be back in a bit.”

–

Your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. If anything, this is probably what he had in mind, push you to your limits until you just can’t take it anymore. By the time you barely have a moment to collect yourself, he’s already found you on the floor of the green room. It’s pathetic, letting him see you like this–breathless, panting, and desperate for relief.

The way he hovers over you paints him in a surreal, hazy light, as if he’s an angel coming down to save you from your strife, when he’s really the demon who put you in this scenario to begin with.

“My angel loves the attention, doesn’t she?” he asks, sickly sweet.

“Fuck off, Satoru,” you bite back, but you don’t stop him when he bends down to shuts you up with a kiss. It’s impossible to keep your voice back when he splits your legs apart with his knee, pressing up against your soaked panties while the vibrator continues to hum inside you. It’s more overwhelming than you thought, finally getting what you want and letting yourself melt into his touch. Satoru doesn’t let you savor it for too long, pulling away with a shit-eating grin.

“Feisty. Did I make you wait too long?” he sneers, pressing his forehead against yours.

You don’t give him a response, too embarrassed at the mess he’s made of you, at the way your wet underwear clings to your sticky folds.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the attention you need,” he coos, sliding his hand up your thigh to pull down your shorts and underwear.

Satoru takes his sweet time because he always enjoys seeing how restless you get over him. The way you look up at him, the hint of tears forming on your waterline while pawing at him as you silently beg for him to take care of you. He could never get sick of it. So, he gently massages your inner thigh, fingers creeping up closer to your pussy until you’re nearly crying, pleading for him to do something.

“P-Please, take it out ‘Toru,” you whine, sniffling a bit because you’re so close to being overstimulated.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers soft and low, “since you asked so nicely…” he trails off, lithe fingers pressing into your soaked cunt, but not before he has some more fun with you. Satoru takes his sweet time, letting out a little “oops” to pretend the toy is slipping from his grasp, only for his fingers to go deeper than the vibrator.

The moment you part your lips to ask him to stop is the moment he finally shows mercy and slowly pulls out the vibrator. The sudden loss of sensation is a contradiction, both welcome and not. It’s strange to have nothing inside you, it almost makes you wish something else was in there to take its place.

One thing that catches you both off guard is just how wet it is, nearly dripping with your arousal.

“Wonder if any fans noticed you’re practically leaking,” he says before licking a long stripe off the vibrator, “not that it matters, you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“It’s just sweat,” you retort, looking off to the side because you can’t stand to inflate his ego when he gets like this.

“Sure it is. Were you thinking of me up there?” he asks, following your gaze.

“Maybe,” you mumble.

“Huh? What was that?” he perks up, bringing a hand to his ear for dramatic effect.

“Toru, just put it inside already,” you huff with a soft pout.

“Wooooow,” he comments, drawing out the vowel for dramatic effect, “needy today aren’t we?”

“It’s your fault anyways,” you say, an attempt to throw the blame back at him. Still, you wrap your fingers in his shirt before pulling his body closer.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the blame as always. For what it’s worth, you’re just as bad as me,” he comments. His fingers slide against your slick folds and you bite your lip to hold your voice back.

Satoru savors every moment he has with you, drinking in the sight of your cunt practically dripping arousal onto the floor. The more he stares, the more your face burns. No matter how many times you’ve done this, you can’t get over how attentive he is.

He sinks in a single finger, and it’s already enough to have you groaning at the sensation, to have your hips bucking into him.

“What kinda idol runs off to the green room in the middle of an event to get fucked?” Satoru teases, his finger pressing into you harder.

“Y-You’re being mean, ‘Toru,” you whine.

“You like when I’m mean,” he quips back before pressing in another finger with little resistance.

Satoru does what he always does–starts slowly, listens carefully to the way your breath hitches as he curls his fingers to find that special spot. When he gets there it’s hard not to relinquish control, as you lean back and let him take care of you. As much as he loves to listen to your moans, he likes swallowing them up too, feverishly kissing you without letting a single one slip from your lips. Satoru only pulls away from a moment to tease you.

“C’mon angel, you gotta let me know if it feels good,” he coos before picking up the pace. It’s too much, embarrassing to hear the wet squelches leaving your pussy the more he fingers you.

Every part of you runs hot as the tension that’s been simmering in your core builds to a roaring boil. Desperation overrides any rational thought as you find a rhythm and ride his fingers, nearly drooling as you feel your muscles tensing up. You’re so close, and he knows it too, because Satoru’s kisses always get messier when you get close to cumming.

“T-Toru, please,” you whine between moans, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“I know, I know,” he coos before giving you a soft peck on the cheek, “let it all out for me, sweetheart.”

It’s as if he knows your body better than you as the tension in your core finally snaps as you cum on his fingers. Satoru being the fiend he is, continues fucking you through it, pushing his fingers in harder when you inevitably clench around him.

“Too much, too much, ‘Toru,” you cry, attempting to grab his wrist but he simply pushes himself deeper into your cunt.

“One more? I know my princess wants another,” he teases before kissing you to cut off of any chance of a response. It’s not like you would be able to give him an answer anyways, not when his fingers play with you so easily, his lips greedily stealing every one of your breaths and moans for himself.

One thing about Satoru is that he likes to overindulge. Likes when you’re extra loud and needy for him, seeing the pleasure written plainly on your face when he fucks you, whether that’s with his fingers, his tongue, his dick, or anything else he can get his hands on. But that makes him insatiable in some aspects, when he makes you cum on his fingers multiple times before he’ll even entertain the prospect of fucking you properly.

Can you really blame him? He just wants to feel all your love for him dripping down his cock. Maybe even make you cry a little because you just look too cute when you do, and even cuter when you sniffle as he wipes your tears and kisses them. It sets off something in him.

But it’s also hard to keep up with him. When you grip onto his hand and try to pull his fingers out because it’s too much, he simply wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you from escaping. Satoru’s determination is a wild animal that can’t be tamed, especially when it comes to you.

It always pays off for him, but that means it pays off for you as well. Though, you’re in tears when he rips another orgasm out of you, your moans too deafening to quell with a kiss. Your legs involuntarily squeeze close as Satoru gets you near the edge of ache and overstimulation, but he uses his other hand to split them open, watching closely how your pussy convulses and flutters around his fingers as you come undone. Only when you finally come down from your high does he slow down, examining just how much you soaked his hand.

“You didn’t have to go so hard, Satoru,” you scoff when he finally gives you a break.

“Just gotta make sure you’re all prepped for me,” he mewls, pulling out his fingers from your messy cunt. They glisten under the fluorescent lighting, before Satoru shamelessly sucks on them before releasing it with a pop.

“Don’t have to go all above and beyond on me,” you mumble, a bit embarrassed at his shamelessness even though it’s just the two of you in the room.

“But my angel only deserves the best,” he says, voice low and sultry. Hastily, he’s stumbling over himself to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants before palming himself over the fabric. That doesn’t last long before he finally frees his cock, already hard and raring to go.

Satoru pulls up your skirt to your waist before slotting himself between your legs. Even still, he teases you, tapping his cockhead on your slick folds and letting out a whistle when a thread of your arousal sticks to him before thinning out and breaking.

“T-Toru, please,” your voice breaks with each tap of his cock against your cunt, the desire to be filled up driving you to the edge of tears.

“Please what?”

“Put it inside already,” you beg with a pout.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he coos before pressing the tip of his cock against your hole, and both of you moan when he bottoms out quicker than usual, thanks to all his hard work. Satoru holds your head in his hands as he pumps into you with a steady rhythm, each stroke punctuated with a hard snap of his hips.

“Fuck, you really are made just for me, aren’t you?” he pants breathily, before planting a wet kiss on your neck.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, not that he really needs one. With his mouth elsewhere, your lips are free to spill all the moans it wants, and they’re abundant. It’s music to Satoru’s ears, as he hums in delight while biting down on your shoulder.

“Can’t be so loud angel, the others’ll hear you,” he teases, as if that isn’t his dream come true. His lips press into yours, and you don’t hesitate to give him the opening he wants. Satoru kisses you sloppily, spit and drool mixing with yours before spilling from the sides of your mouth.

“Is that what you want? Want your fans to know what a pervert you are?”

“No, no, no,” you protest, shaking your head with a tinge of guilt in your chest. You can only imagine the shock your fans and members would have if they ever knew about this happening just a handful of meters away. But that concern disappears as fast as it came when Satoru turns on the vibrator again and plants it against your clit. Your body writhes from the simulation suddenly being introduced again, but Satoru is unrelenting, keeping it right against the sensitive bundle of nerves no matter how much you move.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep your secret,” he says softly, almost gentle, contrary to the position he currently has you in.

Satoru adjusts and presses your legs as far back as he can before he starts building a merciless pace. The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he hits your deepest parts from this angle.

“Fuck, you’re getting close, aren’t you? Can tell from the way you’re squeezing me,” he groans, his voice getting breathier with each word, “you wanna cum, sweetheart?”

“P-Please make me cum, ‘Toru,” you pant out.

Satoru answers by frantically thrusting his hips into you, hitting your deepest points at a pace that’s dizzying. Words are the last thing on your mind, too fucked out and crying from how good it feels. You don’t even protest when Satoru bites down on your neck, even harder than before. All you give him is a drawn out whine as he sucks on the skin and with how intense he’s being, it’s definitely going to leave a mark.

It doesn’t matter. All you can focus on is tightening your muscles, preparing yourself for your fourth climax of the night. Satoru is merciless, thrusting into you like an animal functioning on a base desire to breed. The sound of skin-to-skin slapping fills the room, nearly muffling your own babbled cries as you get close. The tension in your core builds and builds until it snaps and crashes into you like a tidal wave, deep and full-bodied.

Your nails dig into his chest when he continues to fuck you through it like he always does, thighs trembling as your walls convulse and flutter around his cock. Satoru curses under his breath as his pace slackens, your orgasm being a precursor to his own. Despite him making a mess of you, he’s just the same as you when he’s cumming, maybe even worse–desperately humping into you and repeatedly whispering “I love you” and moaning until his hips finally give out.

Satoru digs himself deeper into you as he cums, making sure you can feel all of his love for you in the hot ropes of white that paint your insides. After he’s emptied all that he can inside of you, he finally dismounts and gives your body the chance to recover.

You barely take a moment to recollect yourself, still panting and sweating from the intense orgasm when Satoru uncharacteristically rushes to get his clothes back on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, still out of breath.

“Going back out. I still have these to redeem,” he says matter-of-factly. Satoru rummages through his pockets before brandishing a handful of cheki tickets, all with your likeness smothered on them. Before you can even offer up a response, he gives you a peck on the cheek. “You’re not going to keep me waiting, are you?”

[fanaticsnail]

Little Sparrow

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,298

(Image Link)

Summary: Mihawk has been up with your daughter, soothing her as she experiences her leap weeks. You spend some moments with your husband as he holds her in his arms.

Warnings: husband!mihawk x wife!reader, father!mihawk x mother!reader, sweet domesticity, brief mention of birth trauma.

Notes: small drabble brought on by the ask of @hungrhay. Got the cogs turning in my mind. I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

Tag list: @sordidmusings, @writingmysanity, @gingernut1314, @feral-artistry

Soft melodic hums cascaded down the empty halls of Castle Kuraigana. No whisper of a word, nor fall of a footstep, broke your trance as you sought out the source of the melody. You silenced the drop of your slipper against the cool floor, in an attempt to not shatter the world Mihawk was crafting for himself so early in the morn.

You knew where you’d find him. He was where he always was at this time of night. The kitchen was his place where he’d find the most solace, resting his body in a chair with his feet slotted beneath the dining table. The cryptid hours where your daughter would be at her peak of restlessness, the purple crying she’d been producing during her leap weeks held you hostage to her woes. The first time you had experienced this leap had you both struggling and clasping at straws for solutions. 

He began calling on your household Den-Den-Mushi, all those who you both knew had experience with young children: starting with Vice-Admiral Garp. He proceeded to bark his laughter and give you hope of: “this too shall pass,” and sending you a small crate of rum in sympathy. 

The next point of contact you had sense to call was Shanks and his Red-Hair crew. Shanks was absolutely no help to you with any advice, the jovial hooting and hollering in their drunken stupor in the background having all cohesive words falling on deaf ears. The receiver Den-Den-Mushi was stolen from Shank’s hand, and into the mouthpiece barked the burly voice of the first mate.

“Mihawk. The nights are long, but the years are short. You’ll get through this,” his gruff voice informed him, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. Upon his exhale, he offered a soft word of advice, “You’re a swordsman, one of the warlords of the seas. You have been through worse, she has not. Be kind to your wife. Let her have the night to rest.” Mihawk offered no further conversation, but greatly appreciated the compassion the First-Mate of his oldest rival offered him.

As you stood in the threshold of the doorway, you witnessed your husband cradling your daughter into his chest and continuing to sooth her. His gentle hums and slow rock of his body had her eyes heavy and falling closed. It was an old tune, the native rasp of his mother tongue falling from his lips as he whispered the words with his hum. 

“You are going to have the world fall on their knees, my Little Sparrow,” he whispered down into her hair. His lips caressed her scalp, watching as he deeply inhaled the scent of her bundles of silken hair. His deep frown softened, his honeyed eyes closing as he leant back into his chair. As he lulled his head against the frame of the chair, you approached him and placed a hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes a small crack, sighing as he felt your lips press against his forehead. 

“She started early, didn’t she?” You asked him, his response being a small hum in confirmation falling from his nose. You brushed your nose with his before turning to place the kettle on the stove and lighting the flame. 

“Did you rest well, my love?” his lazy drawl called over to you, voice only harboring affection and adoration with his question. You sighed with your smile, grasping the handles of two mugs and beginning the routine of readying your morning dose of caffeine. Guilt wracked your heart, your brows upturning and lips pouting. Before you could utter a response, Mihawk’s reprimand called out to you.

“Don’t you dare,” His words sliced your worries like the fell swift of his blade, Yoru, “It has been eight weeks since she’s been with us, and you are still recovering from the trauma of her birth. Don’t you dare, my love.” 

You sighed, your shoulders slouching at his comments. It was true, your body was still recovering from bringing life’s first breath to your daughter; your routines shifting and adjusting to her each subtle moment, lives changed forever. He was nothing but supportive of your recovery, doting on his girls with his attention equally. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, turning with both his and your coffees prepared, placing his on the table in front of him and elevating yours to your lips. Your daughter began to stir in his arms, her lip quivering as the groggy girl opened her eyes once more. 

He immediately recommenced his humming and rocking of her, staring down into her own honeyed eyes as his lullaby soothed her once more. 

“My love,” you slowly called out to him, placing your coffee down on the table beside his and walking behind the chair, “I read that these leap weeks only occur when children are learning a new skill.” His humming ceased as you both stared down into her eyes. 

“I wonder what our Little Sparrow is learning to bring on such cries of grief,” he muttered, looking down into her eyes in curiosity. You drew your own eyes down to meet your daughter’s, her eyes darting between each of you as she lay on her stomach on Mihawk’s chest.

It was then you saw it: the small twinkle of recognition behind her gaze. The upturn of the corners of her eyes and her cheeks balling in two perfect rotund spheres. 

Your daughter was smiling. Truly smiling. The first smile not induced by wind, nor a grimace as she experienced pain in her belly. She was smiling at you both. 

An audible sigh fell from your husband, his lips circling and forming a soft “O” shape as his eyes softened. Your eyes pricked at the corners, witnessing such pure and unbridled happiness from your daughter as your husband became hypnotized by her radiancy.

“All the cries in the twilight hours are worth it to see your smile, Little Sparrow,” he whispered, taking her small cheek within his palm and smoothing over her skin with his thumb. You circled your arms over his shoulders, pressing your lips against his whiskered cheek before staring at your daughter. 

“She is going to accomplish such wonderful things,” you uttered down into her, your voice up-pitched and playful, “Aren’t you, little Sparrow?” Her toothless grin widened, an inhaled coo squeaked from her lips as drool began to glisten at the corner of her lips.

Mihawk turned his head to gaze at you, his eyes half-lidded as he witnessed such sweetness occurring between his wife and daughter. He slowly raked his eyes over your smiling expression, your prior slumber written on your face as you gazed lovingly at your daughter in his arms. He wanted to hold this moment close, committing every subtle change to memory to draw on when your daughter picked up on her inconsolable cries tomorrow night. 

It was all worth it: every cry, every disruption to his sleep schedule, every coffee bringing him life-sustaining energy. It was worth each and every night he soothed her cries and hummed his melodies, just to have this moment with you. 

Breaking himself away from his enraptured hypnosis, he quickly arched his head forwards and pressed his lips against your cheek. You broke your attention away from your daughter and hastily turned your head to claim his lips against your own. The swell of his heart was tangibly felt in each moment he held your lips beneath his. 

His appreciation, his adoration, his love for you felt with the soft hum of his voice against your lips: his eyes closed, brow furrowed and lips smooth against your own. Breaking away, he smiled lazily at you and held his twinkling gaze against your own. Elevating his voice, he allowed himself to ponder with you.

“I wonder if she will have your laugh, or she will have mine.”

[holylulusworld]

Big grumpy bear (1)

Summary: He’s grumpy. You are sweet. A match made in heaven.

Pairing: Alpha!Walter Marshall x OmegaReader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, grumpy alpha, scenting, fluff

Big grumpy bear masterlist

“Here’s your coffee, and I got you bagels and cookies too,” you smile sweetly at the new detective. “I thought you were hungry after interrogating the suspect for so long.”

“What?” Walter furrows his brows. He was engrossed in reading the pathology report again. “I didn’t ask you to bring me cookies.”

Your smile never falters. Walter is a big grumpy alpha, but you are not going to let him starve only because he’s too proud to accept your help and the food you got him.

“Your blood sugar is too low,” you tut and place the coffee on his desk. Walter knits his brows together. He huffs and grabs the coffee. “Let me unpack the bagels and cookies for you.”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” He questions while surveilling your every move. Walter shakes his head as you get a pink Hello Kitty plate out of your bag. “Why are you carrying plates in your bag?”

Walter grunts as his colleagues stop working and start watching you hover over him like a mother hen.

“For emergencies,” you shrug and continue. You place the plate in front of him. You open a food container and place two bagels, an apple, and a few cookies on his plate. “Eat up. You’ll need the energy for the interrogation. If you need more, just holler.”

“Do you want to brush my hair and change my sheets too?” He cocks his head to look you up and down before grabbing one of the bagels and taking a huge bite. Walter hums as the bagel is the best he ever had. “Not bad. Where did you buy it?”

“Uh-it’s homemade. Do you like it? It’s smoked salmon, cream cheese, and dill.” You grin as Walter wolfs down the first bagel. He munches loudly but acts as if he doesn’t enjoy your food. “I got more if you are still hungry. You’re a tall alpha and need enough food.”

“Enough…what?” He rolls his eyes. You hum and close the food container to carry it toward your office. “What are you up to?”

“I’m only taking care of you. You don’t take good care of yourself. So, I’ll do it for you,” you smile and pat his shoulder. “I’m at my office, to analyze the video surveillance.”

“Fuck,” Walter curses as you grab the food container to walk toward your office. “What has gotten into her?” He watches you close the door behind you. “She’s always so cheerful and annoyingly sweet.”

“Morning,” you chirp as Walter walks inside your office without knocking. He looks at your desk, rolling his eyes at all the nick-nacks you placed on your desk. “What can I do for you detective?”

“I-uh,” he glances at your pink mouse and keyboard. “I need you to check on the witness evidence for me. Here’s the paperwork.” Walter hands you the papers but doesn’t leave as usual. He takes his time to walk around your office and sniffs in all directions.

“You can have a seat if you want to,” You dip your head to watch him inhale deeply, he purrs and turns back around to look at you. “Or do you want a cookie or snack? I always got something in my secret dash.”

He sighs deeply as he plops down onto your desk, making the wood creek under his weight. “You have been courting me for weeks, didn’t you?”

Walter looks at you, fighting the smile wanting to creep onto his face as you nod slowly.

“I was worried about your eating habits at first, but then…” You trail off. “You looked so lost, and I knew you needed someone to take care of you.”

You get up from your swivel chair to pat his cheek. Walter huffs but allows you to stand between his legs. “Go ahead, tell me how you got the idea that I’m lost and in need of an omega taking care of me.”

You touch his chest, index finger pointing at the hole in his sweater.

“We should start with your sleeping habits, and then I’ll help you eat healthier. Oh, and no more running around in torn clothes. I’ll take care of you from now on.”

He smirks as you run your hand over his chest. “Fine, under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You let me take care of you from now on too,” he cups your face with his large hands. “In any way…”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

No Excuses

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Sri Lankan!Reader

WARNINGS: HEAVY FLUFF, Simons a fucking simp for the missus, good food :)

SOME INFO: 'Avurudda' means 'New Year', and Kottu and Appa are some famous Sri Lankan traditional food

WORD COUNT: 1,484

ENJOY!

"Yes, Amma. Yes, I cleaned the house like you told me to," you confess softly to your Sri Lankan mother, a tender smile gracing your lips as you recall the gentle encouragement she always provided.

Avurudda season has arrived, a time when the essence of your Sri Lankan heritage fills the air with warmth and nostalgia. In homage to your roots, you meticulously prepared your home, ensuring every corner gleamed with the promise of new beginnings. 

And with a sense of reverence, you sought out a traditional Sri Lankan lamp online, a beacon of light to guide you through the festivities of the new year

When you married Simon, Your parents hesitated, their reservations echoing the unspoken fears of marrying outside your culture lingered in your heart

Yet, can they really blame you?

You fell in love with the Lieutenant while you were a techie for one of the TF-141 missions. The mission was primarily automotive, so the team, especially Simon, heavily relied on you. You didn’t think that you had it in you to thaw the ice around the Lt’s heart, but to him, you were his solace, his light.

In the steady rhythm of time, Simon's heart quietly yielded to the gravity of your presence, each day etching deeper into the stone of his resolve, sculpting a silent monument to the unyielding strength of his love for you.

After a few tense debriefs, he finally had the courage.

From the tension of your first encounters to secret touches, which morphed into silent kisses behind closed doors. Your both grew needing the other, the love you have for him and him, you, just became heavier in the depths of your hearts.

Soon, you moved into his flat. And a year later, you’re sleeping next to the love of your life with a gold band on your finger and his last name after your first.

Your parents soon backed off when they realized how much Simon cared for you and you for him.

Your mother's voice breaks you out of your reverie.

"Have you seen the recipes I’ve sent you, the Kottu and the Appa ones?" Your Amma questions, and you tilt your head back and close your eyes. "Yes, Amma, I did. Haven’t I told you that already?"

-----

You hear the door open as you sauté some vegetables the way your mother said to, in her recipe.

"Love? Are you here?" you hear the gruff voice of your husband through the entrance hall of your home.

You holler that you’re in the kitchen.

With a gentle embrace, Simon enfolds you in his arms, his touch igniting a spark of warmth that spreads through your body like wildfire. You lean into his embrace, relishing the comfort of his touch as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin. "Hi, handsome," you whisper softly, your voice a tender caress that lingers in the air between you.

Simon grunts out a laugh and hugs you tighter, "missed you, love."

You both stand in silence, letting Simon take you in.

"Have you brought the things I asked you to?" you whisper gently, switching off the heat of the stove. Simon nods, "it was tricky to find them, but I managed to."

 Simon finally releases you and goes to grab the paper bags from the table near the door and places them on the kitchen counter.

You smile at him and give a little squeeze to his bicep and dig through the bag. "Great, everything is here, thanks babe," you lay out everything and start to cook your Kottu. You start chopping up the fresh thin, soft rotti until it's the right size.

You feel Simon peek over your shoulder and then go back to the pot and get a whiff of the food you made already. "Jesus, love. It smells incredible," he leans against the kitchen counter watching you chop the last of the rotti and throw the shredded fine bread into your pot.

You inhale deeply, "well, it's Avurudda. Sri Lankan new year." You say sheepishly, as you throw a glance at your husband over your shoulder.

Simon’s eyes go wide and he nods slowly, "I see." He rubs a hand over his chin and takes in the information you just gave him. He pieces everything together and scolds himself for not remembering, "love, I'm sorry I didn’t know."

You chuckle and shake your head, "honey, it’s fine, really." Simon shakes his head, "I should remember my wife’s cultural holidays. No excuses, love." You pout at Simon beating himself up, "hey, I know what can make you feel better."

He looks up at you confused and raises a brow. "I bought a Sinhala lamp, could you help me set it up?" you smile at him as he nods eagerly before you finish your sentence. You give him the instructions and show him the package that came in this afternoon. "Alright, I’ll get on with it," he whispers, rubbing a hand on your lower back and kissing your temple.

You smile and finish your work in the kitchen.

-----

Simon sets the table and you plate the food. 

Then you sit down to enjoy the meal you've prepared together, the flickering light of the candles casts a warm glow over the table, bathing you both in its gentle embrace. 

Now he sits in front of you and looks at the crispy Appas and delicious looking Kottu sitting between the both of you.

"Alright, so. This is Kottu, it's basically pieces of thick paratha or rotti, cooked with veggies and shredded chicken. It’s my ultimate favorite dish," you point at the plate of food, and talk animatedly.

You don’t see the subtle smile on your husband's face as he sees you talk passionately, and he opens a file in his mind and files in the information that Kottu is your favorite meal. You then point at the crispy upside-down domes.

“These are Appas, or Hoppers, they are amazing with chicken curry," you point at the curry you made a little while ago, "alright that’s it, dig in! And, Suba aluth avurudak weva, mage rattaran.” Simon has learned a little Sinhala for you since you first got married, and he translates your words in his mind.

Happy new year, my darling.

-----

As you and Simon delve into conversation about your respective days, you both begin to enjoy your meals. With each bite, you savor the taste of home, the flavors of your heritage filling your senses with a sense of belonging.

You take occasional sips from a glass of wine, Simon leisurely drinks from a bottle of beer.

“It’s absolutely delicious, love,” he says, reaching for your hand across the table. He rubs his thumb on the delicate skin of your hand. You smile and say your thanks.

You meet his gaze, your eyes locking in a silent exchange that speaks volumes without a single word. And in that moment, as you sit together in the soft glow of the candlelight, you know that you are exactly where you're meant to be, with the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your leg brushes against his ankle, the fabric of your sock gliding over his skin. Simon grins and gently clasps your limb, placing it tenderly on his lap. Your smile broadens as he begins to caress it, sending waves of comfort through you.

The atmosphere is filled to the brim with your love for each other, the only source of light is from the candles lit on the table and the traditional lamp next to your dining table.

Simon reflects on his fortune, marveling at the serendipity of finding a woman as remarkable as you. He finds solace in the thought of a love so deeply reciprocated, where every beat of his heart echoes with the resonance of your affection, intertwining your souls in a bittersweet symphony of devotion.

-----

You stir from slumber to the not-so-gentle melody of your phone's alarm.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you reach out to silence it, yearning for the familiar presence of your Simon beside you. 

Yet, as you turn, you find only the empty space where he once lay, his absence palpable in the morning light.

With a soft exhale, you sit up, the soft rays of dawn casting a warm glow around you. It's then that your gaze drifts to his bedside table, where a bouquet of delicate pink and white tulips awaits, their petals kissed by the soft light of dawn. 

Nestled among the blooms, a note written in his hand catches your eye.

It’s in his handwriting, the ink scratchy and blotchy. His sinhala words marking their spot on the hard paper.

A rush of emotion floods your senses as you read his words, each stroke of the pen a testament to his adoration. 

Happy New Year, my love.

🎀🎀🎀

OMG!

My first Simon Riley fic!!

And

My first Sri-Lankan!Reader fic!!!

One of the main reasons I wanted to start writing is because there is very minimal representation of brown girlies in the fanfic world. Especially, there is lack of rep for South Asian women. And even though I do associate myself with being a WOC, there is still a difference in between cultures.

I srsly keep in touch with my Sri Lankan heritage, and value that part of me.

It's why I try to make my Fics as inclusive as possible, but sometimes ya girl's got to represent her girlies back home.

(dw desi babes, I got a Diwali fic planned for y'all)

Sorry for the ramble and I'm sorry if this is not what most of you lovelies wanted😅😅.

But I've planned this for a while.

Suba Aluth Avurudak Weva, my loves!

(Also, please lemme know what you lovelies think about the fic!!)

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[mediumgayitalian]

At around half past one, Nico gets a Feeling.

He gets feelings a lot. Nothing he can quantify, just something telling him that something is up, somethings wrong. Or something’s about to be. At this point, he’s learned to trust his intuition, based purely on the number of times it has saved his life; a number he’s long since given up counting. (He’s only ignored his gut feelings three times in his life: when Bianca went on her quest, when his father promised not to hurt Percy before the Titan War, and when he went looking for the Doors. He has learned his lesson.)

So when something at the bottom of his stomach tells him to get up, to check things out — he does.

He knows it could be nothing. (The last time he had a Feeling, it turned out that he had placed a book precariously on the edge of his desk, and it had been about to fall. Not exactly world-saving stuff.) But regardless, he steps out of bed, shoves his feet into his shoes, and creeps out of his cabin.

Camp is kind of beautiful at night.

There’s an eerie calmness to it without so many human disasters running about, and the quiet reflects that. All Nico can really hear is the hooting of owls in the distance, the chittering of nocturnal animals and monsters alike, the distant screeches of curfew harpies, and the pleasant crashing of the waves. The air is clean, when he inhales, and he takes the time to hold it in his lungs for a bit, imagining the sweet breath is healing his burned lungs, turning the scar tissue back to something flexible and normal. Whether or not it actually works, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice.

Under the light of the brightly shining new moon and billions of stars, he starts his patrol. Around his own cabin first — there’s nothing, as he expected, the warning doesn’t seem overwhelming like threats tend to be — and then he makes his way around the circuit, checking behind gardens and shrines and inside braziers. He hums quietly as he walks, something preppy and bright the Apollo kids have been hollering for days, and waves to Lady Hestia, sword heavy at his waist.

“Come sit,” she calls, patting the seat next to her.

Nico does.

“Haven’t seen you out at night in a while.”

He hums, toneless this time, leaning back on his hands and mirroring her gaze at the sky.

“Been sleeping, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

He smiles, knowing that she means it. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she picks up his sword, sliding it from his belt loop, and uses it to stoke the flames. She doesn’t seem afraid of it, or wary. To her it’s just a stick of metal. It’s nice.

“You have you been, my Lady?”

She pokes at the embers a few more times, scooping a few to balance at the tip of the blade for a while. It glows with the heat, and he knows he’ll have to sharpen it tomorrow, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he can do it while Will is in the archery range. It’ll give him an excuse to be at the armoury at the same time, anyway.

“I’ve been well.” She breathes deeply, small smile pulling at her face. “It’s calmer, and more people wave to me. I like it.”

“Good.”

She dismisses him a few minutes later, sending him off with a promise to chat again soon. She doesn’t need to worry about him promising — he makes a point to sit with her at least once a week — but it’s nice to know someone wants his company, so he appreciates it. He leaves with a wave, walking towards the eastern half of the cabins.

Nothing’s amiss. He can hear campers snoring, and see the odd reading light. Malcolm catches his eye as he walks past the Athena cabin and winks, sending a cheeky salute when he sees the sword held loosely in his hands. So far, everything seems fine. He’s beginning to think the Feeling might have simply been about Lady Hestia, so he decides to do one last check around the Big House and then head back.

Of course, that’s where the issue is.

The infirmary lights are always on. They’re dimmer in the night, more of a glow than anything, but there’s an extra brightness streaming out from the windows, and when Nico peeks inside, he sees Will, standing with his back turned at the nurse’s station.

He takes a moment to check his strength, making sure he has the energy for it — dinner last night was pho and he had three bowls, he most definitely does — and sinks into the shadows by the door. He materializes back in the little alcove by the bandage & wraps cabinet, lurking silently while he blinks the dizziness away.

The first thing he registers is soft singing.

He’s facing Will, now, and can see the glow coming from his hands, enveloping a bowl of some kind. He has both hands coated in some dusky pink substance, massaging and gently pounding it against the sides of the bowl, working it through with great care. As his voice gets higher, the glow gets brighter, fading as he dips lower. He sings something about hills and meadows and the breeze, about wing-song, about the sound of flower stems bending in the wind. For a while Nico stands, listening to the melodious ancient Greek, swaying with every pitch and hold. It’s captivating.

Will is almost haunting when he heals.

There’s a divinity in him — in all of them — but he glows when he sings. Not just his hands, and sometimes his head if he puts enough power in his words, but there’s an almost shimmer to the air around him, a shining warp. His skin gets clearer, and his hair goes more metallic, almost, like spun gold rather than blonde. His freckles make his skin into an inverse replica of the night sky, dark specks surrounded by bright empty between them. His long fingers pluck through bright strands of light like a harpist strums their chords; lightly, carefully, skillfully; like a braider weaves their hair. There’s an undeniable age to his magic, a practice that’s visibly replicated millions of times over thousands of years, as if every healer who has come before him links their arms with his, breathes their strength in his lungs. Sometimes, when he does something truly unbelievable, amazingly beyond reason, he flickers — his orange camp shirt fades into a white chiton, or long robes, or a white coat, or a blue tunic. Watching him heal is like watching the sunrise — breathtaking and unique, every time, but powerful in its cyclic archaism.

It takes Nico a long time to realise Will is swaying.

Snapped out of his trance, he begins to notice Will’s long, slow blinks, the unsteady way he stands, the weight he has leaned on the counter. Even his face looks plainly exhausted under the glow, face pillow-creased and eyes bruised, hair mussed, limbs leaden. Footsteps as silent as he can manage, Nico creeps over to the schedule posted by the door, scanning through the scrawled pen ink.

He curses quietly. Will is not supposed to be awake.

There are really only three people who can work the infirmary to its fully capacity, barring Chiron. Kayla, Austin, and Will are the only ones who can magically heal, as much as the volunteers are imperative, so when the camp is in full swing one of them must be stationed at all times. That’s how Will sets it up. A bit of a waste of time, he acknowledges, but Nico knows he has memorized every time a camper who should have been saved. He carries far too much guilt to ever let it happen again, as inconvenient as his rules may be.

Night shift, though, is a need-be basis. If the infirmary is as empty as it is right now, then there truly is no need to keep one of the three of them awake outside their circadian rhythm, staring at nothing. Instead, they take shifts in the on-call room — asleep, but prepared should anything go wrong, should a monster chase a new camper at an odd hour. It’s Will’s turn for on-call. It’s two in the morning. He should be asleep.

And, yet.

Nico recognizes the look in his eyes. There’s a — frailty, to them, a deep-seated, animalistic fear, one he recognises from the hours after his own night terrors. A single-minded panic that cannot be unseated in any logical way, cannot be comforted with any gentle hands.

Nico handles his fear with slashing swords and bruised knuckles. Will, he knows, handles his fear with obsessive, endless preparation.

Knowing full well nothing is going to drag him away from his focus bar actual cardiac arrest, Nico walks right by him. Will doesn’t move. He settles behind him in the old, creaky leather office chair, curling his legs under him and resting his head on the soft arm. He watches Will, watches the almost machine-like movement to his kneading arms, and falls back asleep to his humming.

———

“…Nico?”

He wakes up warm and a little cramped, in the same position he fell asleep. Sun is streaming on from the many issues, blocked from burning his eyes by Will’s hunched frame, facing towards him now, hands and shoulders shaking with equal violence.

“What time is it?”

His voice is croaky and wrecked from hours of singing. Nico is willing to bet his throat is burned as badly as his hands, cooked from non-stop, sun-borne glowing. The divinity that had emanated from him before has abandoned him and he looks young, lost.

“Early,” Nico says softly. He unfolds himself from the chair, stretching slightly — gods, he is going to ache today — and wraps a slow, careful hand around Will’s wrists. “Probably around six, if I have to guess.”

“I don’t remember waking up.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.”

His breathing is heavy, laboured.

“I don’t —”

Nico squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Will.”

Will swallows and says nothing.

“Come on.”

Carefully, letting Will’s stiff joints set the pace, Nico guides him out of the infirmary. The sun shines brighter as soon as he steps outside, but he doesn’t seem to notice bar a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch at the change in lighting. Nico switches from holding his wrists to laying a hand on the small of his back, half-worried he’s going to fall over.

Luckily, he makes it to the Apollo Cabin upright, although the stairs take them a while. The hinges of the old screen door creak as Nico pushes it open, and he sees both Kayla and Austin, up and dressed, jump.

“…Will?” Kayla asks softly, eyebrows creased in concern. She walks over to him when he doesn’t answer, frozen still, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Will leans — almost hesitantly — into the touch. The same blankness from before clouds his eyes, although this time there’s less of the fear.

“Hey.” Nico walks over to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to meet his eyes. In the minutes it takes, he hears Austin pad over, standing opposite to Kayla, hands clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide what to do with them. “You think you can sleep?”

Will doesn’t answer verbally, but drifts after a moment to his bed. Nico follows, helping him out of his shoes and shirt. After a beat of hesitation, Austin hurries over, turning down Will’s sheets and helping him crawl in. Soft guitar music begins to play, and when Nico looks over Kayla is fiddling with the CD player, turning the dials carefully. Without much fanfare, Will’s eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows to something deep and even. His twitching fingers still.

“I don’t think today���s an activity day,” Nico murmurs. “I checked up on him a while after midnight; he’d been at it for hours. He didn’t stop ‘til sunrise.”

Kayla rubs harshly at her eyes. “Fuck.”

“He’ll be okay,” Austin whispers. He runs a gentle knuckle over Will’s forehead, then turns his careful, imploring gaze to Nico. “You kept an eye on him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Nico inclines his head. “Had a feeling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kayla admits. “He was —” She trails off, staring at something in the left half of the cabin — the empty half. “He was like this after the Titan War, too. I think he spoke maybe two words for the entirety of September.”

Nico almost can’t imagine it. The very thought of it makes something twinge in his chest, clench in his stomach.

“We’ll figure it out.” He nods, to convince himself as much as Kayla and Austin, who look to him with way more trust than he deserves. “We won’t let it — it won’t get that bad. We’ll help, and if we can’t figure it out we’ll get help. It won’t be as hard as last time.”

It won’t be as hard as last time because there won’t be twelve shrouds, Nico doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Both Kayla and Austin nod, looking at their sleeping brother with firm resolution.

“This time, we’ll be there.”

[fartenthusiastwriter]

Men's Health

You've been assigned a presentation on flatulence for your Men's Health class; what could possibly go wrong?

- - - - -

I took a few deep breaths in my car in the parking lot of the university. I had to do a presentation today in my men’s health class. I was in my last semester, and I had put off taking this course since it was easy. 

However, I made the mistake of taking it at the only time football players could take, so the rest of the class consisted of teammates. And the class was right after practice. Athletes like them didn’t care about their grades, and that always frustrated me, as someone who worked hard to make good grades. Class was always miserable. To make matters worse, one of the football coaches, Coach Brant, was the professor for the class. 

My presentation was on farts. Well “flatulence.” We all got different bodily functions and with a class of thirty, Coach Brant had to get creative. As gross as the topic was, it was an easy project to put together. But I didn’t look forward to doing the presentation in front of a bunch of immature men. 

I looked at the clock in my car and saw it was time to go inside. I grabbed my things and went into the university. I made my way to the classroom. I saw my spot open and Kyle, the football captain, sitting next to it. He was the worst of the bunch, but as I looked around the room, I realized there was nowhere else to sit. 

I walked to my seat without looking at Kyle. As I sat down, I felt a sharp stab in my butt. I rose up and saw a pin sticking up in my seat. I looked over at Kyle and found him smirking. 

“A prick for a prick.” Kyle spat. “You’ve been a pretentious asshole all semester, and now we’re gonna have some fun.” 

Before I could respond, Coach Brant entered the room and started the class. “Good afternoon. Let’s get going on the presentations. The first up today is flatulence.” 

I took a deep breath and walked to the front of the room. I felt my stomach turning from nerves. I turned to look at the classroom full of men. They varied in shapes and sizes but all reeked from their practice. 

I inhaled to begin my presentation, but before words could leave my mouth, a long fart erupted from my ass. My face turned pale as the classroom laughed and even Coach Brant chuckled. “That’s quite the creative introduction, but let’s get this going.” 

“Of course.” I replied sheepishly. “My presentation is on flatulence.” I clicked to change the slide and another fart came out of my ass. The class all laughed again, but Coach Brant wasn’t amused. 

“Cut out the jokes.” Brant scolded. 

“I’m sorry.” I defended myself. “I don’t know what’s happening.” But when I finished that word, a loud fart started from my ass lasting for ten seconds. The football players were out of control with laughter as Coach Brant was fuming. 

“It seems to me like he’s making a joke of your class, Coach Brant.” Kyle yelled over the laughter. Several teammates voiced agreement. “Maybe you should punish him like you do us when we’re late to practice, and we’ll see if he still thinks farts are so funny.” 

I shuttered at the thought as Coach Brant approached me. “I think you’re right, Kyle.” Brant placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me to my knees. I looked up at Coach Brant. He may have been in shape when he played in college but he let himself go as a coach. 

Coach Brant turned around to put his round, huge ass in my face. He grabbed my head and pushed my face between his cheeks. The class cheered as Brant lifted a leg in the air. 

PRRRRRRRT

 “Still think farts are funny?” He asked as he continued to hold my face in his ass. 

I wasn’t quite sure why but I felt like I never needed oxygen more. I sniffed deeply and loudly from his ass as the class continued to hoot and holler. 

PRRPRPRPRPRT

A second blast doused over my face as I continued sniffing it like my life depended on it. Despite the awful stench, a thirst inside me had awakened and Coach’s gas was quenching it. 

“I think you may need some help, Coach.” I heard Kyle say, who had walked up to the two of us. “My preworkout is tearing me up. And don’t we owe this class a presentation on flatulence?” The class cheered. 

“Go ahead, Kyle.” Coach Brant said, letting go of my head and letting Kyle step in front of me. Kyle had a muscular build with a bulging muscular ass. 

Without thinking, I shoved my face in Kyle’s ass. The class erupted at my reaction. Kyle ripped a long, wet fart onto my face. I sniffed and sniffed, unable to get enough. 

“I’m starting to think he may find farts more than funny.” Kyle teased, rustling my hair. “Who wants to help us find out?” 

The class exploded in celebration as several football players got up to come forward and take their turn. As I thought of all these men farting on me, I realized I had been hard all this time. But I’d never been into farts before?

Kyle unleashed a nasty, disgusting fart on my face and shimmied his ass against me before removing himself. With the help of another player, Kyle grabbed my shoulders and forced me on my back. 

“Let’s give it to him straight from the source, boys.” Kyle encouraged, removing his shorts to reveal only a jockstrap underneath. The men cheered and removed theirs as well. As I looked around, I saw countless hairy legs with jockstraps.

Kyle stepped over me, facing away and slowly crouching his ass down to my face. As he did so, three other players surrounded the rest of my head. Anywhere I looked, an ass eclipsed my view. The sweat from their practice and dried shit in their cracks wafted a terrible aroma that once again left me wanting more. But I wasn’t wanting for long. 

PRRRRRTRTRT

BSSSSSLSSLST

FRFRFRFRFRRRRRRT

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT 

Fart after fart attacked my face. When one ass was done, he was replaced by another. I sniffed and sniffed in a new euphoric bliss. I never wanted to be anywhere else. 

As the cloud of fumes seemed to be endless, my arousal was through the roof and my cock exploded into my pants. I gushed and gushed, leaving a visible puddle in my crotch. 

“No way, boys,” Kyle exclaimed “He came!”

“Are you kidding? That’s so gross!” “He should’ve been sniffing our farts ages ago!” “Wait until everyone hears about this!” 

The football players cheered and laughed as they unleashed the last of their farts on my face. Before class was over, videos had been sent across school. 

With my new reality, I dropped out. But I still made it to every Men’s Health class. Kyle invited me to serve as a fart sniffer for the team and to move into the football house. With no money and a new taste for gas, I couldn’t think of a better future.

[thesassypadawan]

The Jedi and The Waitress (Master Obi-Wan x FemReader)

Summary: It feels like forever since you’ve seen your “jedi boyfriend” and you’re missing Obi terribly. What started out as a sweet reunion, quickly turns into something just a tad more heated…better get back to your apartment fast for that week full of “fun” activities.

Warnings: A little bit of the fluff, and a bit of the smut.

“You, my dear, are the most ravishing creature in the whole galaxy,” he muttered, cupping your cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed like it had been forever since you last felt his soft lips on yours. His large, calloused hands caressing the curves of your body. His thick –

“All right, missy, you can head on out for the day.”

Your head shot up at the sound of Dex’s booming voice. “Oh!” You squeaked, trying to hide your very apparent blush. “Is it that time already?”

The besalisk gave you a knowing smile from the kitchen window. “Thinking about that jedi boyfriend again, weren’t ya?”

Your eyes went wide, and you began to stutter. “I, um – well, I -”

Dex shook his head and laughed. “Go punch out and round up your things. I’ll walk ya to the shuttle stop.”

“Yes, boss; thank you!” You awkwardly replied, before swiftly escaping to the back.

You had been waitressing at the diner for just over a year now. All your coworkers were absolutely wonderful. Dex, your boss, was the kindest soul you ever worked for. Plus, you got to encounter all sorts of very interesting individuals.

That’s how you met him. The jedi master was apparently one of the diner’s regulars and an old friend of Dex. He would pop in usually about once a week for a cup of caf and a slice of whatever cake you had on special. Sometimes he would even stay well after closing time, catching up with Dex and getting to know you better.

When your shifts had changed to the lunch rush, you were worried that you wouldn’t see him as often. Your concerns only lasted for a week or so.

He began showing up early afternoon and stopping by more frequently. He would still converse with Dex, but it was very clear that he came only for you. Your dear boss reserved a special seat at the counter just for him.

You found him to be very charming and he thought you were ‘absolutely delightful’. One thing quickly led to another and soon something beautiful had blossomed between the two of you.

It had been a difficult path to navigate at first. The jedi code was the biggest obstacle, it wasn’t easy going against centuries old rules. And now this whole war business had not helped either, taking him away for long periods of time. Despite all of this though, you both made it work.

Opening the door to your employee locker, you couldn’t help but smile at the oversized brown cloak that hung inside. He had given it to you before his most recent mission. Saying he hoped you would wear it and think ‘fondly’ of him.

You could feel your face heat up once more, as you hastily pulled it on. Instantly you were enveloped in his scent, wood with faint traces of leather and caf. Bringing a long sleeve to your nose, you inhaled deeply. A small sigh escaping you.

“Let’s go, missy! The shuttle is gonna be coming soon and this new driver doesn’t wait around long for stragglers!” Dex hollered, standing by the alley door. One set of hands on his hips, bemused look on his face.

“Coming!” Snatching your bag, you hurriedly ran to meet him. Silently cursing to yourself when you nearly tripped on the cloak’s hem. Hoping it went unnoticed.

“I think ya might want to consider dating a shorter jedi!” He laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder to help steady you.

You gave Dex an appreciative nod and mumbled a small thanks.

Dex just shook his head and laughed again in response.

A thought occurred to you as he began guiding you outside. “Hey, boss, how do you know this new driver so well?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“Suppose ya could say he’s a good friend of mine.”

“And you certainly have a lot of those,” you giggled. Turning your head back around, you suddenly stopped stunned in your tracks.

Standing before you… Leaning against a speeder bike… Looking as dashing as ever was… “Hello there.”

“Obi!” You cried out, running to him and throwing yourself into his open arms.

Holding you tightly, he smiled down at you warmly. “It’s good to see you, darling.”

Tilting your head up, you took a good look at Obi-Wan. Your heart ached as you noticed the still healing bruises and cuts on his handsome face. And fluttered when you saw the mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

You lifted your hand and gently cupped his cheek. “I missed you,” you whispered.

He happily leaned into your touch, nuzzling affectionately against your palm. “I missed you as well.”

Standing on your tiptoes, you boldly captured his lips in a searing kiss. One that you poured all your need and love into.

His lips moved passionately against yours. Hungry and desperate. Obi slipped a hand under your cloak, slowly sliding down –

“All right ya two, time for ya to be heading off!” Dex interrupted loudly.

Immediately breaking the kiss, you buried your face into Obi-Wan’s chest. So grateful to have your back turned to the besalisk.

Obi gave you a comforting squeeze. “Thanks, Dexy!” He laughed. “I’ll be sure to have her back to work in a week!”

“Yeah, yeah! Just don’t go too crazy!”

Hearing the door slam shut, you peeked up at Obi-Wan. “What do you mean in a week?” You asked meekly.

“Surprise!” He chuckled. Lifting you with ease and placing you on the bike. “I have some downtime between missions, and I am going to spend every minute of it with you.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?! I get you all to myself?!”

Slotting his much larger frame between your legs, he caged you in with his arms. “Yes, sweetheart, all yours,” he muttered huskily, his mouth inches away from yours. “To do whatever you want.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Just barely brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. “What are we waiting for, General Kenobi?”

He rolled his hips in response and pressed a quick, heated kiss to your lips. Obi then gave your butt a good squeeze and sat himself on the speeder in front of you.

“Shall we continue this at home?” He wickedly grinned, placing your helmet on your head.

Holding on to him tightly, your body firmly pushed up against his, you purred. “Yes, let’s.”

Not wanting to waste another moment, the two of you sped off into the evening sky…heading to your shared apartment for a week full of ‘fun’ activities.

[thatgirlstrawberry]

Sick Surprise pt. 14 — Something Old and New pt. 2

In which it’s finally the wedding day!

Warnings: fluffiness(literally so much), a tiny bit of angst, smut!!!,

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Waking up in a hotel without her fiancé was strange. Instead, Eloise was cuddled into her side with her mouth hanging open and small little snores leaving her mouth. Y/N inhaled deeply and turned over to shut off her alarm.

Penelope, JJ, Emily and Y/N’s mother had all gotten joining rooms in the hotel they stayed at so they would be ready to get going as soon as they all woke up.

Eloise was starting to stir in her sleep and Y/N knew exactly what that meant. It was time to get ready to marry Spencer Reid.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled, thinking about what it is she’d need to be doing first. “Mommy?” She heard Eloise’s quiet voice.

She turned her head to look at her with a big smile. “Yes, baby?”

Eloise squeezed her eyes shut and yawned before sitting up. “Is it time to get dressed up now?”

Y/N smiled and nodded her head into the pillow. She stretched and yawned just like Eloise had done. “Yep! We have to eat first!”

“And guess who just bought breakfast!” Garcia’s voice came through the joined door and Y/N laughed and got out of bed going to open the door.

When she did, García stood there with a bag of food, a box of more food and a jug of orange liquid that Y/N assumed was a very large portion of Mimosas.

“I brought breakfast mommy juice!” She squealed. Y/N raised her eyebrows asking her a silent question. “Yes, I’ve been up since four AM but never mind that!” She shouted, Emily groaned in the background. “It’s your wedding day! Let’s get this party started!”

She practically pushed passed Y/N and into the room. The woman smiled to herself and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. “It’s… my wedding day.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Meanwhile, at the apartment he was running around trying not to step on Eloise’s toys and listening to Derek and Rossi try to cook breakfast. Hotch was trying to get Jack dressed before they had to leave so it was one less body they had to worry about.

“Y/N wanted us at the venue to get dressed in the groom’s suite and we’re officially late!” Spencer called.

Derek groaned. “Come on, Reid! I’m burning pancakes here!” Spencer gasped.

“In Y/N’s favorite pan!? Please tell me not in her favorite pan!”

They spent the next fifteen minutes trying to scrape pancake batter into the trash can and trying to gather their suits and shoes and everything they needed so they could leave.

In the car, Spencer was silent but his eyes were speaking volumes. They were darting around the streets and the people in the cars that passed them by.

Rossi placed his hand on his shoulder. “Kid, everything is gonna be fine.”

Spencer sighed. “We were supposed to be at the venue 3 minutes and 42 seconds ago.” He blurted.

The older man huffed. “Reid, Y/N’s not even there yet. She’ll never know.” He shrugged. “Now, listen, I’ve been to enough weddings— we’ll I’ve been in enough weddings as the groom.” He cringed. “I’ve got this covered, okay?” Spencer let out a breath and nodded. “And look at that, we’re here.”

The car slowed to a stop right in front of the entrance of the wedding venue. Spencer paused before he reached for the handle of the door. “Guys, I’m getting married today!”

All of the men whooped and hollered, patting him on the back.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Hours passed and there was about forty five minutes until the ceremony. Y/N was in her dress and getting her hair done.

She licked her lips and watched Eloise play with a clean makeup brush through the mirror. “Mommy, when do I get to be marryin’ someone?” She asked, brushing her cheeks with the brush.

Y/N giggled and JJ who was doing her hair finished and stepped away. “When me and Spence tell you you can.”

There was a knock at the hotel door and García gasped, setting down the flowers she was arranging. “Reid, if that’s you, I’m going to strangle you with these bouquet ribbons!” She shouted.

“No, it’s just the mother of the bride!”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Ooh, let her in! Let her in!” She smiled widely. Garcia squealed and went to the door. She let the woman in and Y/N stood from the chair, her dress pooling at her feet.

Her mother paused in the doorway and covered her mouth with her hands. The room was silent.

“I know, grandma! Ithn’t she smokin’!?” Eloise giggled and clapped her hands.

“Darling,” Her mother gasped. She held her arms out and walked towards her. “You are beautiful.” She shook her head and carefully hugged her, avoiding the newly done hair and makeup.

Y/N smiled. “Thanks, mommy.” She whispered.

Her mother pulled away and looked her over. “He is a lucky man.” She laughed. “And I am a lucky mother. And I’m sorry for all of the years I’ve spent away from you.”

The bride let out a breath. “Mom, don’t make me cry. Please, where’s dad?”

She chuckled nervously. “Well, he’s downstairs looking for Spencer.”

Y/N gasped, shutting her eyes and laughing. “Oh God.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Spencer stood in front of the lit mirror straightening his tie.

“Okay, everyone! T-Minus 15 minutes!” Rossi clapped. “The guests are all in their seats, ready to watch the union of you and the love of your life!” He clapped his hand on Spencer’s back.

Spencer’s eyes widened and his chest inflated. He looked at Rossi through the mirror. “Oh God, I’m getting married.” He let out a breath.

Derek walked past, fixing the cuffs on his shirt. “That’s all he’s been able to say for the past six hours.” He chuckled. “Better fix the kid before it’s time to do vows.”

Hotch nodded. “It’s All right, Reid. Just breathe a bit.” He smiled.

There was a knock at the door. “Spencer? Spencer, it’s your father in law! I need to talk to you.”

He looked around. “I-I’m getting married!” He called back.

“Yes, I know, Spencer! I need to talk to you!”

Derek was close to dying from how hard he was laughing. Rossi sighed and rolled his eyes, going to get the door.

A few moments later, Y/N’s father stepped up next to him. And he gave him a father in law to son in law talk. The usual, you hurt her, I’ll kill you blah blah blah.

There was another knock and Hotch opened the door. “Okay men!” That was Penelope’s voice. “It’s time to move I to the ceremony room! I hope everyone has all their clothes on, if not you’re walking down the aisle naked!”

She walked into the room and looked around at all of them. “Oh, Boy Wonder, you look so handsome!” She squealed. “But no time for compliments, it’s time to get you married.”

Spencer looked around with a smile but then stopped. “Wait— me? Married?”

“Yes, you! Go! Go! Go!” Derek and Rossi pushed him out the door, Y/N’s father following close behind.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

This was it. The music was playing, the guests were buzzing, the venue was absolutely beautiful. It was perfect.

Except one thing, Y/N wasn’t walking down the aisle yet. She was supposed to five minutes ago and now Spencer was getting nervous.

The doors opened and in ran little Eloise in a lavender colored dress that matched the bridesmaids. Emily ran in after her, heels clicking hard on the floor. Spencer furrowed his brows.

“Uh, Spence, Y/N would like to speak with you…” She shrugged and looked around waving at the people who were confused as well.

“What?”

Emily cleared her throat. “I don’t know. She just got all nervous all of the sudden and said she needed to ask you something.”

Spencer swallowed and nodded, waving to his mom and assuring her that everything was fine before walking down the aisle.

He opened the doors and there she was, standing with her hands folded in front of her. He remembered that he wasn’t really supposed to be seeing her yet so her choked on air and covered his eyes. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.” He let out. “I— i mean not that i saw you or anything but I just think you’re beautiful anyway—“

“Spence,” She laughed.

“Sorry, what did you need to ask me?”

“You’re gonna say I do, right?” She asked quickly. “Because I thought you would but then I just kept thinking about the fact that you might not and then I just did all of this for nothing and you never—“

“Y/N, Can I look at you?” He asked.

She sighed. “Okay but you better save your tears for the aisle.” She joked.

Spencer chuckled and slowly peeled his hand away from over his eyes. “I love you.” He stated. “I practically need you and Eloisey to live, I’m gonna say I do. I swear.”

“I love you.” Y/N smiled. “Now get your ass back in there so I can marry you.”

Spencer smiled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you in there. I love you.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.

All of Spencer’s worries washed away when the doors finally opened after all of the wedding party walked in. Her smile was as big as ever. Her heart was beating two times as fast. Eloise insisted on standing right by Spencer, holding onto his leg.

The officiant said all of the boring stuff and then it was time for the vows. Y/N could already feel herself starting to get emotional from the way Spencer was looking at her as she pulled the piece of paper from Penelope’s hands.

“Sp-Spencer, I never thought I’d find anyone I love so much after I got pregnant and left high and dry.” She glanced up at him. “I didn’t think anyone could love me so much but, you’ve proved time and time again that you do. Not to mention, you’re really hot!” The guests laughed and so did Spencer. A tear rolled down her cheek and Spencer didn’t even think before he reached forward and wiped it away with his thumb. “I fell fast and hard and I’m so glad that you could be here with me. And I’m so glad that you and Eloise are so great together. I knew that I couldn’t be doing this with anyone who didn’t love Eloisey as much as they loved me.” She looked down at the girl who was smiling big and winked. “Long story short, the day I met you in the coffee shop was the day my life changed. And it was for the better. I love you Spencer Reid, forever and I love you, Spencer Reid always.”

His eyes pooled and he shook his head. The officiant smiled. “Spencer, your vows?”

“I know your competitive so, I’m gonna try to beat you at vows so here we go.” There were more laughs. “I kept a list of dates that I think were a significant point in our relationship.” Y/N but her lip. “April 1st, one year ago, the day I met you. That day, I wasn’t planning on meeting the love of my life. The second you asked me if I wanted to switch lids on our coffees I just knew that I had to see your beautiful face again.” She giggled. “April 17th, when you and I had our first real date. We ate cheese fries in a car on top of a cliff. That was an eventful evening but the way you looked at me and told me that you liked me— I just— I think I knew then that you were it for me.” He paused. “The first time we said I love you, May 23rd. I mean that speaks for Itself. I have so many more but today June 17th, I just— our wedding could be underneath a bridge and I’d still be the happiest man on earth. I love you, Y/N L/N and I’m so happy that you’re about to be a Reid.”

Y/N was fully crying now but tried to keep it together. “Oh my God, fuck you, you won!” She shook her head.

Then officiant began to speak again but Spencer stopped him. “Wait just one second.” He looked down at Eloise who was still hugging his leg and knelt in front of her. “Eloisey, I wanted to ask you something.” The girl tilted her head.

“I don have all day, Spenther…” She tapped her imaginary watch and the audience laughed.

“I love you and I wanted to ask if I could be your dad. And if you would be okay with me adopting you so you could be my daughter.”

Eloise’s eyes lit up. “You be my daddy forever!?” She gasped.

“Forever.”

“Okay, you got it! Adot me, baby!” She shouted.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Lips, teeth, tongue, hot heavy breaths. “Be— fuck! Be quick, baby we gotta be on time—“ Her hands gripped his back as her legs squeezed his waist. His hands squeezed her waist and his lips attacked her jaw and neck.

Now, they fully could’ve waited until after the reception but it was too hard (literally) to wait. “I can’t baby, gotta take my time, feel too good.” He sputtered.

“Don’t stop!”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Y/N and Spencer giggled as they entered the reception hall. She changed into a much shorter dress before their little detour to the bathroom. People were dancing and drinking and eating.

Everything was perfect.

She squeezed his hand as they walked through a crowd the guest. “We just got married.”

“We just got married!”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

HEYYYYYYYYYY THANKS FOR READING

The next two chapters are gonna be of the honeymoon!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Love ya bunches ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist:

@tuesday-yellowxx

@blue-willows

@montarella

@criminallymagic

@mermateyepmatewithte

@lipstixstain

@urlovelydarling

@dreatine

@f-me-reid

@fantastic-fans

@aleyda5

@thatsonezesty13

@creativeuser101

@d0ntfeedaftermidnight

@jacksonms31

@scorpiofangirl1109

@perseuswaves

@baseballmama35

@lilybarnesposts

@s-udaku-my-love

@melifluorei-d

@lavenderrway

@fairy-alix

@whompwhompbang

@callsignwidow

@regulus-black-223048

@mushy-mushroom04

@v-i-o-l-e-t

@livviex

@fudosl

@rintheemolion

@abbygraceasd

@buckyyyismahhlife

@yuulina-vre

@oatmealisweird

@steveharringtonssidepiece

@ameliaxcriminalminds

@miaxx03

@moyo5653

@stevenknightmarc

@honey-on-my-lips

@whenmypartysover

@sophiario

@cynbx

[highlady-sorcha]

I Can Be a Nurse (Cassian x Reader)

You'd broken your arm as a kid when you fell from a tree. The fall had seemed impossibly long, just watching the ground rush up to meet you, knowing it's going to hurt when you hit. At the same time, as a human, you hadn't had the flexibility or the knowledge to try and shift around so you didn't break anything- or try to not break anything. The jarring snap of bone as you hit the ground had stuck with you long into adulthood, even after you’d been made into one of the fae. 

  Nothing compared to the crunching of your leg shattering when you fell from the training ring of the House of Wind. 

   It had been a foggy morning. No one else had been there- Azriel off doing whatever it is he does in the shadows, and Cassian off to check on the Illyrian camps. There had been a report of a female having her wings clipped- something Cassian could not stand for. He’d wanted to shoot into the skies last night and hunt down the male that had done it right when he got the message, but you’d made him wait till dawn. The male wouldn’t have gone far if he really thought that what he’d done was right. He’d stick around to face down Cassian out of pure arrogance. 

And if he did run, there was no better tracker and hunter in Prythian than the High Lord’s General himself. 

It had been so long since you started training with Cassian up here, it seemed perfectly safe to venture out to the ring on your own- no matter the weather. You’d been out in the ring on your own plenty of times to stretch and mindstill when life became too much. 

You’d dragged a practice dummy into the ring, but still closer to the side than usual. Yesterday had been particularly brutal and you were sore, the practice dummies were particularly heavy. You’d pulled out a practice blade. A long, heavy great sword, and given the dummy several whacks as a warm up, before heading into practicing some of the maneuvers that you had just started to go over with Cassian. They involved incorporating gymnastics into swordplay, being able to nimbly move around the enemy in unpredictable ways to avoid their attacks and distract them from combat- giving you an easier way into their guard. 

A little over a half hour into the exercises, you’d launched over the dummy’s head, intending land on your knees and bring the sword into his groin. But, the moisture in the air had gathered on the grip of the sword, and it slipped. The butt of the hilt hit the ground just a split second before you did, leaving the point straight in the air, just below your navel. 

You kicked farther over, throwing your weight so that you’d land beyond the point of the sword and avoid disemboweling yourself on an early spring morning. 

It worked, you had not a knick on you and the blade clattered to the ground. Your weight shifted and you landed on your feet several yards behind the dummy, but couldn’t keep your footing and stumbled back- over the edge. 

You had screamed as you fell, grasping at the side of the mountain for any purchase- only managing to snag a rock and rip your fingernail off. You’d fallen and fallen. Down and down and down until you came to a stop at the bottom- landing with all your weight and strength and fear on one single knee. 

You’d passed out from the pain and shock- laid there for hours unconscious. Only when Cassian had returned that afternoon and not been able to find you did he go out to the ring and start looking around. 

“(y/n)?” He hollered, his voice echoing off the sheer faces of the mountains around him. “(Y/n)? We gotta go, we’re late for that meeting with Rhys!” He paused then, pricking his pointed ears, listening for any sound. 

He was just about to yell again when he picked up the sound of breathing, and bristled. His siphons glared, casting a red ring of light around him. Cassian opened his mouth and inhaled deeply. As the breeze blew around the edge of the house, he caught the faintest tinge of fear carried with it. Stale, hours old. 

Cassian clenched his jaw as he marched around the edge of the house, praying to the mother, the cauldron, anything out there that this not be related to not being able to find you. 

A stronger breeze blew in as he approached the edge of the ring you’d fallen over. The stink of fear was much stronger here, and for the first time he noticed the blade laying behind the practice dummy. The red light from his siphons flashed brighter, glaring off the shining blade. 

Panic gripped his gut as he jogged to the edge, noticing a scuff on the ground from your boot. When he looked over the edge and saw your body laying in a crumpled pile far below, he roared and leaped over the edge himself. Throwing himself into an almost vertical dive, he was at the bottom in a heartbeat. 

You laid at his feet, in a broken heap, just inches from the tips of his boots. He knelt as he screamed in his mind for help. 

Rhys, Rhys please help. Please, I’m at the House of Wind and- 

Before he could finish the thought, Rhys appeared out of nowhere, stepping onto the rock beside him. Cassian carefully scooped you into his arms, your limbs bent all the wrong ways, things shifting and cracking under your skin as he lifted you from the ground. Gut rolling, he cradled you close. 

Without a word, Rhysand had laid a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and winnowed you to the river house. 

Madja had visited. Spending hours setting bones to heal properly, doing what she could to minimize the lasting impacts. As night began to fall, you awoke in a haze of blinding pain.

“Cass..” You whispered. He was the first thing that came to mind for comfort. A gentle hand the size of a bear paw folded one of your hands into his. The palms were warm and covered in thick layers of callouses, earned from years of hard labor. 

“I’m here, kitten. I’m here,” he murmured before pressing his mouth softly to your temple. Pain raced up your neck into the back of your head as you turned towards him before prying your eyes open. Thick crust clung to your lashes, and your vision swam for a moment before focusing. 

You were in the room Feyre had given birth to Nyx in the year before. A room that you knew everyone generally avoided like it was cursed. Only when someone was sick and needed tending did they sleep in here. 

Cassian had pulled a velvet tufted chair up to the side of the bed. His eyes had dark circles under them, his mouth a taught line. He leaned close, on his elbows with your hand close to his lips. The intensity in his hazel eyes was too much. 

You groaned as your stomach flipped, nausea rolling over you in thick waves. In turn, clenching and unclenching your throat. For a few moments, you fought the sensation, a clammy sweat breaking out on your forehead before your eyes snapped open. 

“Trash-“ you got out, before vomit filled your mouth. 

Cassian lunged to the rescue. A dented bucket was in his hand. He braced a hand between the back of your shoulders and pulled you up to sitting just as you retched, the sick slapping into the bottom of the bucket. 

You coughed and gagged and choked, until there couldn’t possibly be anything left to come up, ever again. Finally, you sagged back against the pile of pillows, drenched in sweat, your nose running and eyes stinging. The muscles in your stomach ached from the force of throwing up. 

Unable to do anything else, you just groaned and shut your eyes, trying to think back through what happened and how you’d gotten there.

Once you’d laid back, Cassian pulled the bucket away and set it on the floor beside his chair. He looked at your face, pale, bruised and cut from the fall for a moment longer before standing up. 

Cassian carried the bucket to the hall, murmuring something to someone outside the door before gently shutting it again. The sink in the attached bathroom ran for a moment before turning off, and the sound of water draining was the only thing that filled the silence of the room. 

A moment later, a cool cloth was laid across your forehead, covering your eyes. Trailing drips of luxuriously cold water raced down your temples, and you nearly moaned at how fresh, how relieving it felt. 

Wood creaked and groaned as Cassian took his seat again, the chair protesting under his bulk. He took your hand back in his, kissing your knuckles before allowing the room to lapse into silence. 

A considerable amount of time had passed, and you’d dozed before you felt better. The pain was still a raging presence, but it had lessened in some places- namely your head. 

You pulled off the rag Cassian had placed on your forehead, now warm from your body and struggled to sit up. 

Warm hands cupped under your arms and pulled you upright, against the headboard. Your head spun, but stopped after a second. Weight bowed the mattress beside you, and although your leg screamed in pain at the shift, you swallowed it back. 

Cassian was still in his leathers- never settled in for the night. Mud still crusted his boots and you could see that his chin length locks were disheveled from flying. 

His intense eyes were focused on you and he took your hand in his again. 

“I fell,” you offered. Your voice barely more than a croak.

Cassian gave you a wry smile that didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Yea, I’d say you did. Do you remember what happened?” 

Dutifully, you relayed your morning. The fog, the practice, a tiny mistake that had almost cost you your immortal life. 

“But I’m ok Cass- really. I’ll heal.” You assured him. 

Before he said anything, Cass reached for a glass of water that sat on the bedside table. He held the cup and tipped it to your lips. You braced your own hands over his, expecting him to let go- but he didn’t.

The water was sweet and cool, and trickled down the back of your throat in a revitalizing way. Gently, you pushed his hands away when you’d had enough. 

His eyes were soft as he took in your face. As you watched, they began to rim with silver before they overflowed. 

Cassian brushed it away, but not before you saw it. A lump formed in your throat and your own eyes began to sting. 

“What’s wrong Cass? Why are you crying?” You choked out. 

He scooted the chair forward so his knees were smashed against the side of the mattress and took your hand in both of his. Slowly,  he bowed his head and laid it on his hands. His long locks fell toward and tickled the inside of your wrist. 

“I got to the mountain a while after you fell. I don’t want to think about how long you were laying there,” he finally said. “I didn’t know what had happened, I just had this feeling I couldn’t shake and kept looking for you instead of just assuming you’d gone somewhere. Like, down in the city. When I finally looked over the edge of the ring and saw you laying there at the bottom…” He was silent for a long moment, his breathing evened out as he paced each breath to try and calm himself down. “You looked like a doll someone had thrown away. Like trash. I thought you were dead.” He sobbed. 

Your heart constricted. As much as your ribs screamed in protest at the movement, you twisted just enough to run your hand over his scalp, through his hair while murmuring that it was ok. 

He looked up finally, with tears in his eyes, his nose starting to run. “I know you’re in pain. I’ve had shattered bones and there’s not much that hurts that bad. I felt terrible when Madja said that was the biggest issue, because of how relieved I was.” He swallowed hard. “I just can’t lose you. Maybe I haven’t said it often enough- I probably haven’t. But there is no me, without you.” 

You laid back against the pillows and stared back at him, willing warmth and love to him. Praying that he could feel half the love you felt for him. 

“It’s a good thing I’m going to heal then,” you finally said. 

Cassian laughed, before sniffing and wiping his nose down his arm. He grinned then and fixed you with a mischievous smile. “It is, and good thing I can be a nurse.” 

**Thanks for Reading! This is one posted on my Wattpad account, but thought I would share it here. See if anybody was interested! Feel free to tell me what you think

[deathmetalunicorn1]

I was just watching a video on s YouTube channel called World Friends about word differences between how Americans and British use the same words and OMG! This made me think of a hilarious scenario lol.

I would like to request an American gets transported to ror in Hlokk’s and Jacks waiting room,she was gonna go visit a relative a few states away or maybe go camping in her RV or something so she already has all her necessities like clothes,meds,pads,phone,iPod,iPad,movies,portable DVD player,tea,books,all the good stuff. She’s allowed to stay with Hlokk and Jack and she shares her tea collection with Jack offering some of her Twinnings Lady Grey tea. She spills something on her pant leg at some point be it food or tea I’ll let you pick, so she says she has to go wash it off, while in the bathroom she realizes it’s stained so she hollers to jack, “Hey Jack my pants are stained! I have a spare pare in my bag could you get them out and bring ‘em to me please?!”

https://youtu.be/n3lgSobnvSw

-When Jack told you that he and Glokk wanted to give camping a try, he knew that he wanted to come to you, since you were always camping and knew all the ins and outs of camping.

-Plus you had an RV that meant they didn’t have to sleep outside if they didn’t want to.

-You were a new addition to Valhalla, having been transported there by accident, RV and all, but you were welcomed warmly and found good friends in the Valkyries.

-That’s why you were surprised that Hlokk asked you to take her and Jack camping, as she was one of the more ‘indoor’ type of Valkyrie, but you welcomed them warmly and told them what to pack.

-Riding in the RV was definitely an adventure, it was like a house on wheels, and since you were a good driver, the ride was very smooth and Hlokk was able to explore, seeing all of the snacks and goods you had stocked while Jack sat next to you up front, enjoying the journey.

-Once at your camping spot you set up a large tent and started the battery powered electric pump for the inflatable mattresses, since the weather was nice and warm, perfect for camping.

-Jack enjoyed being outdoors, inhaling deeply as he was relaxing in one of your lounge chairs while you and Hlokk were gathering good to make a campfire with.

-Jack was concerned when Hlokk screeched loudly and ran back to the camp, running immediately into the RV and shutting the door.

-Your laughter was heard next as you came into the campground with the sticks you collected, “It wasn’t going to hurt you! Chipmunks are skittish with humans.” Hlokk was bright red when she peaked out, pouting that you were teasing her.

-Jack found fishing to be very…eventful, as he had slipped after walking into the river after you, wearing a spare set of waders, drenching himself, but since it was warm he wasn’t overly bothered and he caught the biggest fish of the three of you.

-Hlokk gagged when you prepped the fish for dinner, gutting them and removing the bones and scales, something Jack teased her lightly for. However, you were able to appease her afterwards when you pulled out the goodies to make s’mores.

-Jack was only able to eat one, finding it too sweet and offered to make tea, which you and Hlokk both agreed for and he went into your RV to get your electric kettle and tea bags.

-Jack prepared the tea and when he stood to hand you your mug, he slipped and dumped the hot tea onto your lap.

-You instantly squealed in pain as he panicked and you quickly headed into your RV to your bathroom to deal with it and change.

-Jack felt terrible, apologizing through the door while the two sat inside the RV on the sofa, wanting to make sure that you were alright.

-You assured them you were okay, just a little hot now, as you were able to deal with it before it burned you too badly before you called out, “Jack, in my bag is a spare pair of pants, can you grab those for me?”

-You heard no response before Hlokk was laughing loudly and you popped your head out, seeing Jack bright red, holding his cheeks, “Y/N that’s- that’s not proper! I’m a gentlemen and shouldn’t be handling a lady’s unmentionables!!”

-You were confused, “My unmentionables? What are you talking about?” you held out the dirty pants, showing him, “I just wanted my other pair of pants I packed.”

-He immediately exhaled in relief, still red but did as you asked.

-Once back outside you inquired with him why he got so flustered, “Why would pants be unmentionables?” Jack flushed again, trying not to look at you before Hlokk giggled, “I forgot! Y/N you’re from America right, well Jack is from England. Pants are what we call panties in England!”

-Your eyes went wide before you sent a sheepish grin over to Jack, immediately apologizing for putting him in a situation like that, but he was quick to brush it off, as he didn’t know that Americans called them something different.

-Your evening was spent around the fire, discussing the difference in words on either side of the pond, “Wait you call fries chips? Then what do you call chips?” as you held up a bag of potato chips, “Oh those are crisps, now going back to these sausages- is that what you called them? We call them bangers.”

-Hlokk was enjoying seeing the difference as you roasted her another marshmallow, wanting just the marshmallow this time as the three of you had fun, enjoying your mini camping trip.

[taughtdefense]

you perk up slightly when you hear the familiar sounds of robby’s footsteps nearing the dojo. you shake your hands out. if this was happening a while back, you’d be incredibly comforted by the sound, maybe even unintentionally matching his breathing, but now? it only makes your nerves only increase by the tenfold. unfortunately, you can’t see him because you’re inside the actual dojo itself, but you’re thrilled your dad successfully convinced him to come to the dojo via the group chat under the guise of learning a few new moves.

he’ll wind up leaving you again. the silver voice murmurs. you wince at that, head jerking a little to the side like he’d just landed a punch to your skull. you can almost see the look in his eyes, the slight, subtle curve of his mouth. you want to scream out loud, but you force it down. you don’t know you’d be able to control your powers if you feed into him. you don’t know if you’d ever stop screaming if you start.

shut up the fuck up. he loves me. he told me so. you snap back. the silver voice doesn’t reply, for now at least.

you can’t imagine how exhausted johnny, miguel & robby have been since their trip. they only got back the valley from mexico a few hours ago. you, on the other hand, are pretty well-rested. you’d even gone to sleep last night with only one nightmare, something you never want to repeat ever again—that was the first time since the unfortunate incident with silver you’ve ever gotten more than four hours of sleep. maybe it was helped by your excitement of being discharged from the hospital. it’ll be nice to see sam, emma, chase, & all the others face-to-face—& not from your hospital bed or a livestream. you’re excited to see robby, most of all. you feel like you haven’t seen him in forever. you missed him so much. you were so worried about him.

you haven’t seen johnny yet. he’s most definitely avoiding you—understandably so. you’re fucking furious with him. as soon as you see him, you'll tear into him. as far as you're concerned, johnny deserves it.

your pounding heart jumps into your throat once you see robby's silhouette near the doors, & you inhale sharply. you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts—chase had given you an odd look once you’d asked him if there was anything of robby’s you could wear that was just hanging around in the brown household. you told him you’d feel more at ease just being in your boyfriend’s clothes. he’d seemed to understand that. ( he understands it very well—calla does the same with him. ) he’d went into the laundry room & handed you one of robby’s sweatshirts he had left there at some point, which chase had mostly kept in his room with the intention of giving it back to robby upon his return to the states. it’s something that you think is definitely going to catch on: you wearing your boyfriend’s clothes.

you’re so nervous. you’re unsure of what to do with your hands, so your fingers flex gently.

@taughtpain slides open the doors, & your expression immediately softens. it goes from pure nerves to a look that can only be described as pure fondness. your eyes land on him, & your whole face breaks out into a soft, non-chaotic grin that reaches your eyes, lights up your entire face. a white-hot lump forms in your throat, & words seem to fail you momentarily.

you love him so much. you think you could drown in the amount of love you feel for him. he’s the only person on this earth that’s ever made you feel anything this deeply, this intensely. that feeling, that devotion, will never change. if anything, with all of the past/recent drama, it’s gotten stronger.

❝ hi. ❞ you physically can’t get your voice above a whisper. despite your semi-joking texts earlier, you don't have handcuffs for him, so you can’t handcuff yourself to him. you take a step forward, both of your arms reaching out to wrap around his waist, pull you into him. you slot against him perfectly, your shoulders slumping in relief. all of your instincts immediately being soothed. the silver voice even goes away, which feels like a salve to a burn. touching him seems to melt you, every nerve ending melting like wax. ❝ i got discharged from the hospital a few hours ago. surprise! ❞ you continue in a fond whisper, tears welling up into the corner of your eyes. you stubbornly blink them back. your eldritch instincts are instantly soothed just by being in his presence. it feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

you missed him so fucking much. you couldn’t stand being another second apart from him. you think you would have lost your mind. your heart skips a beat as you pull him in close to you, his body pressing against yours tightly. you want need him to be as physically close to you as possible. your hands never leave his body. one arm remains around your boyfriend’s waist. the other slides up his side slowly, taking in every inch of his skin you can touch before it gently settles on his cheek, thumb brushing the apple of his cheek. your brown eyes search his green ones a little frantically, eyes taking in his face, every single detail you can. it’s almost like you’re a little worried that he’ll evaporate into smoke if you stop gazing at him.

you waste no time in leaning down, pressing your lips against his gently. as soon as your lips touch his, heady warmth instantly sings through every cell in your body, & for a moment nothing else matters. an asteroid could hit the planet & wipe out all other life in one go, & you wouldn’t care. the only thing that matters right now is robby. your eyes flutter shut. he’s mine. you think to yourself giddily, wholly content & secure with that knowledge. after a few seconds, you deepen the kiss. this is only the second time you’ve kissed him—the first was when you were in the back room of the cobra kai dojo, blood in your mouth & the threat of death present. this kiss is already a million times better than that one.

you’re never letting him go. never again.

[bearr02]

The Mockingbirds song |KTH ~ Teaser/Intro|

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Hybrid!F!Reader

Summary: You had fled from your old home, your old owner, your old life in hopes you’ll find a better one. You ran as far as you could, as much as you could, until you couldn’t. Left for dead, you have no hopes you’ll make it to see the light of the morning.

Genre: fluff, angst…

Teaser warnings: slight smut (I’m sorry if it’s weird, I’m new to smut writing), blowjob.

Word count: 1.3k

Released on September 16, 2023. Read it here

You hesitantly open your master's door, being enveloped by the smell of musk and cigars as soon as the door is cracked. You fight the urge to wince, stepping in and closing the door behind you, standing in front of it with your head down, hands intertwined behind you. “Come here, Y/n.” You slowly make your way to your master’s bed, standing by him, eyes focused solely on the carpet under your feet.

“You called, Master?” You ask, light and soft, just like he’d taught you. “I did. I have friends coming over today, and I expect you to assist them.” You purse your lips and nod, earning a coo from your master. “Good girl.” You watch the blanket shift on the bed before his feet appear by your own. You feel his fingers slide under your chin, grasping it and tilting your head to look at him.

“There. Now I can see your pretty face.” You hold eye contact, fighting the urge to cower under his intense gaze. “My friends will be here soon, go get ready. Be downstairs in 15 minutes, no sooner, no later, got it?” His grip tightens on your chin, keeping you from nodding. “Yes, Master.” You mumble, earning a smile from him. “Good girl.” He gently shakes your head side to side before letting you go.

— 15 minutes later —

You slowly walk down the stairs, dreading what’s to come. Your skirt barely reaches the middle of your thighs, your top hardly covers your boobs, the low v-neck showing off your cleavage. The shirts sleeves hang off your shoulder, running down to your hands, a thumb hole cut out of the side on each sleeve. You have white socks that match your shirt, they go just above your knees, and black heels that match your skirt. In your hair you have a black bow with white designs holding your hair out of your face.

You hear whoops and hollers coming from a door down further into the house, making your way down to the door. The clicks of your heels echo down the hallway, silencing the voices. You take a deep breath when you reach the door, reaching forward and twisting the knob, gently pushing open the door.

“There she is.” You hear your master speak. You shut the door behind you before standing in front of it, keeping your gaze locked on the ground, hands loosely intertwined in front of you. “Come here, Y/n.” You slowly make your way to the couch your master is sitting on, sitting down beside him. “Now, who’s going to have her first?” You wince at the yelling that immediately starts, the sounds bouncing off the walls doing wonders for your enhanced hearing.

The echoes of ‘Me!’s and ‘I want her!’s make You inwardly wince each time the words are yelled. Your master raises a hand, effectively bringing silence across the room. He doesn’t say anything, simply turns to you and harshly grabs your hair, pulling you to your knees in front of him. You whimper involuntarily, earning a harsher tug on your hair. You purse your lips, holding back any other sound that threatens to leave you.

“Good girl.” You sag slightly in relief when the hand in your hair disappears, instead trailing down your chin. He grips your chin tightly, lifting your head so you make eye contact with him. “You know what to do, Y/n.” He lets go of you, leaning back and intertwining his hands behind his head, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your gaze slowly drops down to his crotch, a slight bulge evident in his black slacks. You shakily reach out, undoing his belt slowly before moving down to unbutton and unzip his slacks. You inhale and exhale deeply before reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. You run a shaky hand up and down his shaft a few times before leaning forward.

You hold eye contact with your master as you run your tongue over his tip, earning a small sigh from him. You slowly sink down his length, keeping your eyes trained on your master. You sink down until your nose is snug with his groin, his pubic hairs tickling your nose. Your throat constricts around his length earning a throaty groan from your master.

He reaches a hand down, grabbing your hair and pulling you almost all the way off his length, holding you still as he thrusts up into your mouth. You gag as spit spills from the corner of your mouth, tears building up in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. You gag harshly when he pulls you down snug against his groin, his cum sliding down your throat. Your master lets out a throaty ‘fuck’ before he finally lets you go. You cough as soon as you remove his dick from your mouth, gasping for air when you’re pulled up. “My turn.” A voice says, pulling you to another couch.

When he sits down your master speaks up, “Now, I like to give my friends privacy when they have bought time with my hybrid.” He says, getting up from his spot on the couch. He walks over to you and his ‘friend’, gesturing for the both of you to follow.

He leads you out of the door and further down the hallway, to a room he keeps locked. He pulls a key out of his pocket, and unlocks the door just as you take a deep breath.

‘It’s now or never.’ You think to yourself.

You whip around to your masters ‘friend’, kneeing him in the crotch before turning toward your master. He’s already turned toward you, reaching for your neck, gripping it harshly. You wrap your hands around his arms, struggling to gasp for air. You mentally encourage yourself before reaching to his face, desperately clawing at him, making him release you almost immediately. “Fuck!” He screeches.

You stumble, gasping for air before turning and shifting, scrambling down the hall. Your claws skid against the floor as you run to the kitchen and out the doggy door. You run straight toward the fence, mentally gathering the courage before jumping as high as you can, leaping over the fence. You land on the floor harshly, pain coursing through you as you stumble. You whip your head back at the sound of the back door opening, scrambling to stand up before making a run for the forest.

“You fucking bitch!” You only run faster at the booming voice, your paws heavy on the forest floor as you run as fast as your legs can take you. You weave through trees, turning every which way, moving deeper and deeper into the trees. You jump at the faded sound of a gunshot ringing through the air, more following suit. You make the mistake of looking back, missing the root that curves out of the ground.

You trip.

You fall.

And you roll.

Whimpers fall from you as you tumble and tumble down a hill, roots and trees hitting you, pushing you further and further down. You shift to human, desperately clawing at the ground to no avail, the steep hill seems to never end, flat ground never reaching your feet as you fall, and fall, and fall.

Then you stop.

The world stops spinning.

Your back is finally touching the ground.

The cold, hard, wet ground.

You gasp, tears cloud your vision as you attempt to turn to your side. You let out broken whines, clawing at the ground in hope of moving yourself. To where? You’re not sure. Anywhere that isn’t near that man.

You barely manage a few inches before your body gives up on you, falling limp against the ground. Your eyelids grow heavy, your head throbs, your limbs burn. You mumble something not even you can understand, finally letting your eyes glide shut.

A/n: I hope you’ll like this fic (series? Still not sure yet.) I know I have three out there right now, but I need variety, it’s hard for me to focus on the same task 😅 (in this case fic.) if anyone would like to be on a taglist for this feel free to dm me, or comment!

⚠️BEAR WITH ME FOR THE GENRE ADD-ONS⚠️

[hiddenlittleoasis]

At last a new story has seen the light of day!

Here it is! Please enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s so many people here…” he paused as he leaned in close to her ear. “That must make you very nervous, young Willow.”

She kept her head down, focused on the list her father had given her of things to fetch from the market. Usually such a thing was her father’s job, but he had claimed to be too busy with the animals on their woodland farm that day. She whispered back, “I’m not supposed to talk with you in public.”

“And look at you already breaking that rule! Are you going to bring home a suitor for yourself or are you going to disappoint your old man further?”

“What? The list doesn’t-”

“Oh please! I’ve seen it countless times. The naive forest girl gets her first taste of the city and is swept off her feet by some handsome hunk, they run off to the forest, have babies, and so it repeats,” he dramatically twirled through the crowd as he spun his tale, not one of which spared him a passing glance. “Why else do you think your old man made up excuses for you to have your first trip into the city? You’re at that age to marry and further the family line..and you know what happens if you don’t!”

“He wouldn’t send me out alone if he didn't need to.”

“Well you’re hardly alone! You’ve got me with you!”

“For better or for worse…” Willow mumbled.

It seemed to be for neither better nor worse that Willow had company with her, as he spent most of his time teasing unresponsive strangers while she did the work.

Yet he could only spend so long before growing bored of teasing people who paid him no mind. With what physical force he could muster, he nudged an apple into Willow’s bag as she left one of the shops, and the stolen merchandise didn’t escape the eye of the storekeeper. The angry voice of the storekeeper as they started to yell at her was enough to startle Willow before she even could comprehend what was being said. He was already at her side, voice filled with urgency, “Run Willow! You know what they do when they think you’ve stolen something?”

“I didn’t!”

“They take your hands and chop them right off! They aren’t going to believe the strange forest girl, so get running!” Without another moment of hesitation, she did. Past all the wonders of the city, until he stopped her.

“Smell that Willow?”

“No.”

He carried on, ignoring her interjection, “So many wasted souls, all stored together in one place! You’ve never been to a graveyard before, let me show you around!”

“No!”

“It’ll keep that tasteless shopkeep away from you, people are scared of places like these. Oh look! There he comes now!”

“...fine!” His face twisted into an excited smile as she begrudgingly gave in and followed his lead.

“How sad for their dead,” he commented. “All these plants have grown over like weeds. Now young Willow, please tell me you do know what we’re walking through.”

“I’m not a child..”

“And?” Hollering of the frustrated shopkeep rushing past the entrance of the graveyard filled the silence as he awaited her response. After an awkwardly long pause he began to speak again, “A graveyard is where they store the dead. People are much more boring this way. If you take a deep breath..” He stopped in place to demonstrate, inhaling deeply and exhaling excitedly, “Oh one of these is still fresh! Come on Willow, I’ll be needing you!” As terrible as the idea was, she feared being lost alone in this place more than whatever he could need her for, so she followed.

“Ah! This one here! See how the dirt isn’t yet covered with grass and moss? The stone is clean and legible? This is a fresh grave, the body shouldn’t even be in that bad of condition! But the soul…” He inhaled deeply again, catching Willow’s concerned stare in his peripheral view. “Well? Get digging!”

“What? A dead body is in there! No way!”

“Willow.” He leaned in close, his obnoxious persona lost and replaced by something much more unsettling as he stared at her. “I said dig. You’ll be smart to listen.” Without giving her a moment to hesitate his hands blended into hers, and together they started digging. The closer they got to the body the more he became her. The more he controlled her movements and the more Willow’s consciousness dwindled. The more the frightened tears slowed and the world went quiet…

…then dark too.

“Well, this is quite the change of scenery!”

“It’s a prison cell!” Willow’s frightened voice sharply rose in pitch after having taken a moment to piece together her new environment. “What did you do?!”

He paused and watched her for a few moments before evenly speaking, “Well I would hardly start throwing around accusations, but since you don’t remember..” There was another moment of silence as he prepared for the oncoming scolding. “We may have been interrupted, and I am not one to share my food. So I just scared off the peanut gallery with a little fire.”

What came next wasn’t a loud reprimanding, but a quiet faltering voice, one too aware of the situation. This was somehow worse, “You…in public?”

“They think you’re a witch! Powerful, majestic, mystical…” He trailed off as Willow’s hands started to shake, the smell of smoke still clinging to her once borrowed form. “...yeah, they didn’t say it like a good thing.”

“They’ll kill me because of you!”

“Hey! Dying isn’t such a bad thing! There’s no more curses once you’re dead, unless someone-” the trembling hands around his wrist stopped him in his place.

“Please help me..”

“Oh dear young Willow, I would love to, but you know what that would take.”

“I’m not allowed to give you what you want! You made this mess for me so fix it!”

He pulled his arm away from her as her begging turned to demands, “Then my hands are tied.” He stepped back and slipped from her view, “Solve your own problems.”

Left alone for a crime she didn’t commit, the girl cried to herself over the destiny that had been given to her. The doings of ancestors long before her time had burdened their bloodline with this curse of containing something that was always doomed to break free. The people who this very burden was to protect now gathered the girl to kill her for it.

He didn’t return again until she was standing on the pyre.

“Forgive me..” his gaze strayed from her teary eyes as the strangers of the city tied her ropes. “I know you blame me for how things are turning out, but it was always going to come to something like this. Your family put in quite the noble effort and all…” There was no need to recount the history of the forest girl when her time left was so rapidly dwindling. His uncanny stare found her face again as he chose to get to the point. “They’re already lighting the matches Willow. Let me extend to you one last deal…a mercy before you go.” He reached to wipe away the tears on her cheek, phasing through her skin like a warm brush of a breeze. “Oh please, stop crying...”

His gentle request was almost lost against the roar of the spectating crowd as the match met the pyre, yet Willow’s gaze was fixed on him. She could blame him for every grievance of her short life, but he was the only one who was there with her through every moment. Perhaps there was no one better to stay with her as she died than he who, through some sick twist of fate, was her closest friend and her condemner. He finally spoke again once her cheeks were in his phantasmal hands and his body blocked her view of those in the crowd. “Renounce it.”

“Renounce what’s left of our curse. I can’t spare you from your ending, but I can take your life before the pain of what they’ve done reaches you. Come on Willow, make up your mind!”

She wasn’t given time to hesitate, the flames already reflecting in her weeping eyes. Her voice shook as she opened her parched and trembling lips, but her whisper was clear, and with her final breath, “I release you Salix.”

As the empty body of a cursed girl shriveled, from the roaring flames of the fire emerged an unnatural creature with a twisted smile and a devilish appetite for mortals.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

If I Kiss You Where It's Sore [a Jay & Frankie fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: Family life, mention of what happened in SA, mention of drug abuse/mental health problems.

Words: 1,530

Summary: Post South America, Frankie sometimes has bad days, but Jay knows how to handle it.

A/N: Title is from Better, a song by Regina Spektor.

Taglist: @amneris21 @apascalrascal @harriedandharassed @kikis-writing-world @lovesbiggerthanpride @miraclesabound @mswarriorbabe80 @pazizz @paulalikestuff @rambling-in-purple @trinkets01

Frankie does not complain. That's one of his things. He'll not only suffer in silence but also do his best to make sure Jay is well and comfortable when he himself isn't.

It's just like that tonight. Jay notices it as soon as she comes home from work. Frankie had already picked up Alma from daycare, dinner is on the table, Bianca is screaming on his arm, and Alma breaks loose from him only to attack Jay with complaints of her own. Jay immediately sees that Frankie is exhausted and struggling, so she takes the crying baby from him, and kisses his cheek.

"Go sit down," she tells him gently, but Frankie only shakes his head and turns to Alma, who is complaining loudly about Jay not listening.

"Almalita, let mommy sit down, she just got home."

"Bianca can't scream!" Alma hollers, and Jay kneels in front her eldest daughter, Bianca crying against her shoulder.

"Alma, please don't yell," she asks patiently. "Bianca is teething, that's why she's unhappy. She'll calm down soon, but it upsets her that you're yelling."

"She's yelling!"

"I know, honey, but that's because she's in pain, and she's too little to tell us with words."

"When will she start talking?" Alma complains. Jay rocks the baby against her shoulder and smiles comfortingly.

"She talks all the time, doesn't she? She babbles and laughs when she sees you. She's always happy to see you, she just can't say it in words yet."

Alma is looking suspicious but when Bianca takes a break to inhale deeply, preparing for another bout of crying, she startles, as if she just thought of something.

"I know where her keys are!"

"Do you?" Frankie asks, visibly relieved as he finishes laying the table. "Help us out and go get them."

Alma runs out of the kitchen on search of the ring with three teether toys in the shape of keys. Jay rises to her feet and pats the crying baby's back.

"There, there..."

She's tired after her day at work, but Frankie looks downright slaughtered. Still, he finds the energy to smile at her as she brushes up against him.

"You okay?" she asks quietly just as Bianca starts to wail again. Frankie makes a sympathetic grimace at the baby as he takes the lid off the salad bowl.

"Sure," he nods, sounding perfectly fine, just as Alma returns to the kitchen, the keys in her hand.

"Here! Bianca is quiet now!"

"Thank you so much, good job, Alma."

A little later, Bianca is strapped in the carrier against Jay's chest, and drooling all over the keys while still whining low. Frankie is helping Alma to cut up the vegetables on her plate while the girl starts to tell her parents about her escapades on the jungle gym at daycare - for the third time.

"I climbed high, all the way to the top, and I didn't fall," she excitedly waves her plastic spoon, "and I wasn't afraid!"

"Put your spoon down when you're not using it, mijita," Frankie admonishes her as Jay nods encouragingly.

"How did you get down?"

"Miss Jennie helped me. She said I'd fall." Alma spoons up a piece of broccoli and puts it in her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she looks at Jay.

"I wasn't gonna fall, mommy."

"You haven't fallen so far."

"Miss Jennie is always afraid."

"But you are not, are you, Alma?" Frankie asks, spooning up peas for her. Alma shakes her head vigorously.

"Alma is never afraid," she agrees.

"It's okay to be afraid though, you know that, right?" Jay points out as she cuts into her meatballs. "Everyone is afraid sometimes."

"Not me," the girl insists, and Jay chuckles. If it's in the girl's nature to just throw herself headfirst into any physical activity, or if it's just her age and perceived invincibility, Jay has no idea. It is, however, hard to encourage it while also trying to carefully remind the four-year-old that accidents can happen. And right now, Jay is wondering if she should have a talk with Miss Jennie, who is of a surprisingly nervous disposition for a daycare teacher, about unnecessarily angsting about Alma's climbing. She quickly forgets about it, though, when Bianca's whining rises to a cry, and Alma starts to protest about the noise again.

Somehow, the evening passes somewhat calmly. Bianca has a slight temperature and is given Tylenol, after which she passes out, and once Alma understands that her baby sister really is sick her attitude adjusts, and she helps out by dabbing the baby's forehead with a cool, wet towel. When both kids are tucked in and asleep, Jay finds Frankie in the living-room, plopped down on the couch, leaning his head back and rubbing his forehead. She sees from how he carries himself that his shoulders are tense and knows that he's had a rough day. It's not as much taking care of his children - Frankie loves being a stay-at-home dad - but he's clearly having a bad mental health day today. He's staying clean and she loves him even more for that, for his commitment, but he so easily forgets about himself in his endeavor to prove to his family that he deserves them. The South American excursion that he and the guys undertook only a couple of weeks ago, and the casualties suffered during it, didn’t make things easier.

"Come to bed," she tells him quietly. Frankie hums but doesn't open his eyes.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm not up for it tonight."

"Not that," she shakes her head as she comes up to the couch and finds his hand on his thigh. "Your shoulders are jammed. I'll loosen them up for you."

He opens his eyes then, those beautiful, warm brown eyes that he shares with their daughters, and for a moment Jay thinks they look a little shiny. He nods slowly and lets Jay pull him up and lead him to the bedroom. Bianca's crib is in the same room, so Jay navigates him quietly to the edge of the bed and sits him down. Fetching a towel and the massage oil from the bathroom, she returns to take his t-shirt off, then his jeans. Frankie then climbs into bed and makes himself comfortable on his stomach, and Jay sets to work.

When she was in school and learning massage techniques, Frankie would often complain about her rough touch, but she has had a few years of practice now. Carefully adjusting the intensity according to the rigidness of Frankie's muscles, she makes him relax into her touch, earning only a few low huffs when hitting a particularly sore spot. Mostly, though, Frankie stays quiet, and Jay doesn't speak either. It's enough to just do this for him, to touch him, love him with her hands, make him feel good. He sighs a couple of times, and hums low when she works through smaller knots, and it makes her smile to hear him so content.

When Jay's done, she wipes excess oil off his back with the towel, then wipes her hands before laying down next to him. His eyes are closed, his lips separated to emit a light snore. A curl falls down his forehead and Jay can't stop herself from gently combing it into his hair with her fingers. His eyelids twitch, he takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes.

"Sorry," she apologizes in a low voice, letting her fingers trail down his cheek. He smiles, and she drags her thumb along his lower lip.

"'S okay."

"How do you feel?"

"Battered. But good. Better."

"Good."

He yawns widely before turning slowly, a little clumsily, onto his back, then pulls Jay to him. She fits herself snugly against his side, hugging one arm over his chest. She doesn't say anything but waits for him to speak.

"You're so good with the kids," he eventually murmurs. Jay's eyebrows rise up in surprise. This wasn't what she expected.

"I'm no better than you are."

"I'm not good enough."

"Yes, you are." The finality is her tone is so Jay-like that Frankie has to chuckle.

"Okay. I don't feel good enough."

"That's another thing entirely," she allows, passing her hand over his heart. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Me too," he sighs, " but some days are just... harder."

"I know. But you're doing so well, Frankie, I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He smiles, finding her hand on his chest, and brings it up to his lips for a sweet kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you."

They stay like that, silent in the darkening room, Frankie breathing evenly next to her. Just as she thinks that he’s asleep, he yawns, then turns his face to her.

“Jay?”

“Mhm?”

“Would a quick fuck be totally out of the question right now?”

Jay chuckles as she props herself up on one elbow.

“You up for it now?”

“Only if you’re on top,” he admits with a cheeky grin. “I’d really want you to ride my dick.”

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely…”

He pulls her in for a kiss, and she stops running her mouth.

[thezeninclan]

fever

it was wrong, it was so wrong. it was seedy, and sleazy, and gritty, and it wasn’t you— and maybe that’s what made it so exciting, so utterly intoxicating that even when the others started to notice you, started to holler up at you and wolf whistle and howl like they were wild animals and you among them, you couldn’t bear to pull away from him, no matter the startling antitheses of your actions.

“you taste good.” hakari grunted, lips breaking away from your for the briefest of moments, just long enough to suck in a breath of hot, thick air. you were out of breath, red faced, swollen lipped, chests heaving as though you had just returned from a run, and you might as well have for the breathlessness you feel. “you feel good.”

his eyes moved over your head for a moment, scanning down and around the recesses of his club. he was like a god up here, on his platform above the crowd, eyes moving appraisingly over every fighter, every participant and every better, silent as he analyzed their chances, their worth, their luck. you nosed at the column of his neck, tongue laving over the pronounced adam’s apple you loved so much, and felt him smile.

he couldn’t resist claiming your lips again, and you surged forward to bridge the chasm that had formed between you. the force of your eagerness pushed his head back against the sofa and he laughed, tipping his head back to look at you. he had been happy to manhandle you, and you had been happy to let him, lavishing in the feel of his big, warm hands adjusting your body, tucking you against him so that your breast was pressed to his, your legs draped over his lap so that you could feel just how much he was enjoying the way you felt against him.

“you feel it, huh?” kinji asked. “that fever.”

his hips ground up against you, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip like he wanted to devour you whole, and you responded only by clutching his jacket tighter, pulling yourself closer against him. you nosed against his chest, pillowing your face against his firm breast and inhaling deeply. he always smelled the same, his cologne a plume of arousal and confidence, and you were happy to breathe it in like oxygen.

hakari’s right hand squeezed at your ass, so large compared to you that it covered nearly the entire globe of your ass. it was his favourite thing to do, no matter where you were and when, was slide his hand into your back pocket as you walked. a moment later his free hand smoothed down your thighs, fingering the material of your pants, distaste marking his handsome face.

“wear a skirt, next time.” hakari said. his eyes were glowing, the same way they always did right before he was about to lay down a winning hand, and you were already nodding, even before he had finished. “i’d be inside you already if you were wearing a skirt.”