#just want to look at pictures of frank

[kira-light0]

Ferret Face

[lesbiheon]

not mx related but I’m still filled w adrenaline after seeing Deftones & Fleshwater this past Saturday ahhhh!!!!! if you ever get a chance to see either one it’s highly highly worth it their performances are incredible

[amtrak12]

Goddamn that Duggar documentary (which was actually a Bill Gothard/IBLP documentary) was hard to watch. Way harder than the Ruby Franke doc... which I decided to watch back-to-back within a week of each other for some reason 🤨 #mistakesweremade

[simple-persica]

I'm sure other horse girls can understand.

[yasministration]

Love, Mum and Dad - Harry, James x reader

summary: Harry gets the memory book you and James made for him to open on his 17th birthday, but he gets it a little sooner, and discovers things about the family he could have had. (angst/fluff) wc: 2.8k

Sirius didn’t know if it was the time to give Harry the memory book. The gift you’d planned on building until Harry was 17, when you’d finally give it to him. At James’s bachelor party — a small gathering between him, Sirius, Frank Longbottom and the Prewett twins (You had claimed Remus for your bachelorette), James had excitedly revealed what you’d told him. “She said, I want to start collecting all our memories from when we started dating to make a memory book. A memory book that we can keep making until our future baby is an adult, and then we’ll give it to him.” The boys had all cheered, giving James a few pats on the back. “So apparently she wants us to have a son, and I know exactly what I want to name him.” He had joyfully laughed along with the others, refusing to reveal the name of his future boy, claiming that it’s somehow bad luck.

Now that Harry was actually here at Grimmauld Place, even at the age of 15, Sirius knew he had to give him the book. Sirius knew Harry was insecure, doubting that anyone loved him at all, and especially facing such dark times, he knew Harry could use the love of his parents, a love that had saved his life once before.

Harry was a wanderer, he couldn’t sleep at night, so Sirius was not surprised to find him in his family’s make shift library, scanning through all the outdated titles. Sirius made himself known by clearing his throat from where he stood in the doorway. Harry jumped, spinning around to look at Sirius, who held the memory book in his right hand. Harry’s godfather told him to follow him to a private room, one with a pensieve he hadn’t seen before. “This is from your parents. They wanted to give it to you when you became an adult, but given the circumstances…” Sirius averted his teary gaze as Harry took the book in his hands, flicking through the pages, his breath becoming heavier as he caught glimpses of moving images in the book.

“Each and every memory… Just don’t forget to put them back.” And with that, a teary eyed Sirius left Harry alone. When Harry properly opened the first page of the photo book, he found small tubes with glimmering memories next to each photo. His breath shook. He looked at the first picture.

The first image of you and James had been taken from afar, as though someone had been spying on you. When he released the memory into the pensieve below, he quickly learned that Sirius and Remus had been the ones spying on you, on your first date. Harry had laughed, listening to Sirius constantly narrating everything to a muggle camera he held, watching as he and Remus quickly ran behind people to avoid being seen by you. Harry quickly learned through these memories that not every memory would make him laugh, and that he would actually shed a few more tears than intended.

This next memory was different than all the other celebrations — the anniversaries, the weddings — Harry realised, as he watched you nervously tuck your hair behind your ear. You were in the kitchen of the house you and James had just moved into. It wasn’t decorated yet, with the exception of a single image of you and James on your wedding day. Your entire house was barely furnished, with James taking on all the building due to the growing baby in your belly. Harry jumped up on the counter to watch the scene in front of him unfold. You had a worried crease between your eyebrows, and you leaned back on the counter, staring at the warm batch of cookies you had baked. James walked in front of you with a smile, his arms sliding under your sweater to rest on your small bump — one Harry hadn’t realised was present until James brought it to his attention. Harry hopped off the counter, taking slow steps towards you to admire your baby bump. He tried reaching out to touch it, but his hand went right through you.

“What if they say no James, what if they don’t want to?” You asked worriedly, looking up at James. “Baby,” James started with a chuckle, “They’re going to be the most excited people on earth.” You huffed doubtfully, a small pout on your lips that James happily pressed his lips to. “James.” You muttered, but before your new husband could reply, the front door slammed open. “Honey, I’m home!” Sirius loudly called, causing you and James to laugh, though you had clear distress laced in your voice. “I really don’t know why we keep apparating outside your front door when we just end up barging in anyway.” Sirius announced as he walked into the kitchen. “Oh hey, cookies!”“I for one, suggested to knock.” Clarified Remus as he followed his boyfriend into the room. James moved from where he stood in front of you so that your best friends could see you.

James tutted, snatching the plate of freshly bakes cookies from the table just as Sirius reached out to take one, causing the boy to frown. “In the living room.” The two boys went silent, Sirius running a hand through his hair as Remus nervously tugged on the sleeves of his sweater. James gestured to the door, letting the boys wander out so that he could wrap his free arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side to kiss your cheek.

Harry eagerly followed you all into the living room, which he noticed looked painfully bare. It looked like something that was becoming a family’s first home, though it wasn't quite there yet. There were so many pictures laid out on the coffee table, empty picture frames stacked beside them. In a corner of the room, tools were scattered on the floor, wooden parts and instructions beside them. Harry theorised that it might be a crib in the making.

“Okay, sit down, have a cookie.” You said, hands clasped in front of you. You took in a deep breath as Remus and Sirius both cautiously reached for a cookie, watching as James hugged you from behind, his hands snaking around your waist to rest on your stomach. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and decided to take initiative when you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times. “So you guys know we’re having a baby.” The two boys nodded, and Harry watched closely as Sirius put a hand on Remus’s thigh. “We want you guys to be the godparents!” You squeaked loudly, physically cringing as you revealed the information.

“Shut up!” Sirius screamed, immediately jumping up on his feet with a giant smile on his face as he ran up to hug you. James threw his hands up in the air jealously, watching his best friend hug his wife, and accepting the hug Remus offered him. “This is what you baked cookies for?” Remus asked with a smile when he let go of James to wrap his arms around you tightly. You nodded, tears filling your eyes, and Remus pulled you close to his chest as you sniffled. “So is that a yes?” Your question was immediately answered by the two boys, with Sirius saying “This calls for drinks!” before apologising profusely as he immediately realised that you could, in fact, not drink. This time when you laughed at his words, it was genuine.

Harry was smiling widely, desperate to join in on the shared hugs when he took notice of the lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. Not wanting to cry, the teenager left the memory, returning it to its glass tube before putting the next one in the pensieve.

This time, Harry is somewhere new. Somewhere he’s never been before. A warm house, with a similar atmosphere to the Burrow. There’s bustling energy, and a special kind of joy in the air. The only person Harry recognises in the room is Sirius, who leads a woman into the living room of the house with an arm familiarly thrown over her shoulder. The woman looks like someone he knows, but he can’t tell who. It’s only when the mysterious woman is led towards an unknown man that it clicks for Harry. His father is the spitting image of the man in front of him, and therefore, so is he. “Oh Euphemia, I can’t believe we’re meeting our grandbaby.” The man says, hugging his wife tightly. The pair doesn’t look nearly old enough to have grandchildren, they barely look like they’re in their 40s. Someone comes in from the garden door, saying “I’ve picked the apples for you Mrs. Potter, is there anything else I can do?” But she only thanks Remus, who's wrapped in countless warm layers of clothing, asking him to put the apples in the kitchen.

There’s two soft knocks on the front door, and the entire room goes silent as James’s parents rush to open the door. James shyly smiles at them, his arm protectively wrapped around your side. Euphemia immediately bursts into tears when her eyes land on you and your newborn baby, only a few days old. Fleamont wraps his arms around his son, who instantly begins crying like his mother, and Remus ushers you into the house, closing the door behind you to protect you from the chilly weather. Euphemia wants to hug you, but she's too busy wiping her tears away as she asks questions about your health and delivery, making sure you’re okay. You nudge your husband’s side, and he happily takes Harry from your arms, showing him off to the other three men in the room.

Euphemia hugs you tightly before leading you to sit down and instantly handing you some tea. She lets the men rave over the little baby boy, but she’s concerned for the new mother's health. It doesn’t take long for James to come back to your side carrying Harry in his arms, and he takes his mother’s place next to you on the couch. He doesn’t let anyone hold Harry, too happy to finally be able to hold him himself after you've spent nine months doing so. Present Harry walks across the room, between Sirius and his grandfather, over the gifts on the floor and past his beautiful grandmother to sit on the arm of the couch next to you. He looks at his young sleeping figure, only born days ago, and knows how much he is loved. By his parents, grandparents, godparents, and all your friends and family.

And he knows it’s too much. All Harry ever wanted was for his parents to be alive, and the thought of the life he could be living with them right now makes him feel as though his heart has been ripped out of his chest. He would do anything to be back in that position again: in his parents’ arms, a joyful family around him. He didn’t even need his grandparents there; you two would have been enough.

Harry needs to take a moment for himself when he finally breaks away from his memory. He leans on a table for support, taking in heaving breaths as he sobs and sobs, tears dripping on the ground. The small glass tube containing the memory rolls onto the floor and Harry dives to catch it, holding it close to his chest as pain runs through his entire body. These memories should have made him happy, he thinks, so why do they hurt so much? Harry gasps for oxygen, trying to urge his panic and sadness away, trying to turn it into happiness for the things he had, for the love he still has. Slowly, he pushes himself off the ground, moving all the way to the last page of your memory book and taking out the corresponding tube.

When Harry is sucked into the pensieve again, the atmosphere has completely changed. He’s located back at home again, in Godric’s Hollow, where you and James had built your forever home. The sole sight of the homey and safe atmosphere has tears clouding Harry’s vision again, but his feet bring him further down the entryway and into the living room of your house. The first thing Harry does is take in the sight of the decorated house, made to look like his very own heaven. The lighting is warm, photos of family and friends hung up on the wall next to the fireplace. The room is filled with plants, and a small crib was placed next to an armchair. And here you are: sat there with James on the couch, sharing a passionate kiss. The moment is intimate, with your legs tangled up and James’s hand cupping your jaw, but Harry can’t bring himself to look away from you. “James.” He hears you mumble in the kiss, eyes fluttering open as you let James’s familiarity envelop you. “My sweetheart.” James echoes, his eyes still shut as he immerses himself in the moment.

Harry gulps loudly, harshly wiping a tear off his cheek as he watches his dad’s eyes slowly open, a wide smile forming on his face when he finds your eyes already on him. You laugh softly as your husband kisses you again, but you instantly pull away from him, eyes going wide with alert. Harry frowns, his expression matching his father’s, and that’s he he hears it: the soft padding of feet on the floor, and a quiet call of “Mama?” Harry’s eyes are instantly glued to his younger self, appearing around the corner on wobbly feet.

Your body runs past him in a flash, travelling across the living room on quick feet to kneel in front of your son. Young Harry makes grabby hands at you, and you immediately scoop him up in your arms, speaking to him in a soft whisper. “What’s wrong sweetheart? You hungry?” You ask, cradling him in your arms. Young Harry makes an incomprehensible noise, and Harry laughs in adoration. He has to be a year or two in this memory. Harry glances back to where James now stands up, walking over to his family, where he wraps his arms around both of you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Think he’s hungry.” You tell your husband, who hums, leading you to the couch to sit down. James helps you pull your jumper up just enough for baby Harry to latch on to your breast, humming in innocent satisfaction. You smile down at him, running a hand through his soft short hair. James carefully wraps an arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you blink tiredly. Harry stares at the perfect image of the family in front of him, and soon enough, realises he’s not the only one crying. James is sniffling next to you, taking in shaky breaths in a poor attempt not to disturb you or baby Harry. You lift your head off your husband’s shoulder to look up at him, and smile lovingly at him, a hand lifting off the back of Harry’s head to wipe at James’s tears. “James.” You whisper, and he instantly opens his mouth, voice breaking as he says “I love you both so, so much.” And his words have a sob wracking out of present Harry’s chest.

He floats out of the memory just as you bring James into a short kiss, the sight of him being loved by his parents the last thing he sees before finding himself standing at the foot of the pensieve again. Harry shuts the memory book, closing his eyes tightly — it’s enough for one lonesome night. But something catches his attention as his hand rests on the back of the book. An odd texture under his fingertips, forming crevices into the leather. Harry’s eyes flutter open, and he notices a gold engraving into the book. Engravings that form letters, words. A note.

Dear Harry,

You’re finally an adult!!! You can do anything you ever wanted, even without our permission. And move out if we’re too annoying sometimes, though that feels wrong to write with you sitting in front of us as a little baby boy. We just wanted you to know that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, we’ll always support you and be here for you. And not just us, everyone in this book, everyone who forms your family.

We love you so much Harry, and even though you’re all grown now, you’ll always be our baby, just like in these first memories.

Love,

Mum and Dad

To say the least, Harry doesn't sleep that night.

[nithica]

i need them to have a play date together asap (they probably wouldn’t know how to have a chat if they tried but a girl can dream)

on the parallels between mina and narumi as captains - putting their faith in ostracised troop members for the sake of the defense force

spoilers under cut

mina putting her faith in hoshina, recruiting him into her division despite all that’s been about him and his swordsmanship; how he’s doomed to fail with the changing times and inability to utilise firearms well

and it’s very evident with the latest arc that his growth is incredible, how he’s taken his captain’s words to heart and used the one chance nobody else thought to give him and proving his worth

her faith in him surely has only gotten stronger the moment he rose to vice-captain, and when she’s moments from getting attacked - hoshina is there to cut down attack like he swore to

similarly with narumi and kafka, he puts his trust in him (albeit on the condition that if kafka were to lose control, narumi will kill him) very similar to how isao put his faith in narumi despite everybody’s opinions

they carry the regret of isao’s death on their shoulders and narumi trains kafka, helping him get stronger when asked

and of course - as the person who’s been training with him, narumi too has faith in kafka and whilst on the verge of death knew he wouldn’t give up so easily

i love my captains so much … they couldn’t be more different yet so alike in their values

[warlockslovetomeow]

pairing: caleb x female reader description: caleb’s obsession with your underwear doesn’t seem to stop at just sniffing…. warnings: explicit sexual content, slight pwp, mdni, mention of male masturbation, needy!caleb, clothed sex, unprotected sex, cumming on underwear, caleb’s a freak, this is messyyyyy wc: 2.4k (was supposed to be a short drabble.. don’t EVER put me in a room alone with this man dude im salivating everywhere) a/n: lazily proofread [shame]. continuation of my ask here. (read vic's blog she is goated!!!)

caleb swears it's not an obsession. he really means it, it's not.

it just so happens that every time he goes over to your place your underwear ends up in his possession. but it's not his fault! you have a bad habit of leaving your drawers open when you're getting ready in the morning. so caleb, being the amazing guy that he is, shuts them for you when he comes over to your place.

at least, that's how it started.

it eventually progressed into him snooping and taking a pair. then him snooping and taking a used pair. then him pocketing the ones off of your body after you've both had a time. okay, pocketing them off you every time. but he’s got it under control! he promises himself that it won't be happening again.

it’s just that he hasn’t been able to see you in a while due to both of your schedules being packed with work, so of course he’s going to sift through his growing collection to get as close to you as possible in every nonphysical way he can. the thought of u infects his mind, a dirty little parasite crawling around and making a mess throughout each private sector of his brain. the want for you to be close to him, to touch your body, to hear you, it intensifies as the minutes without you ticked by. 

so, when he hears his phone go off in the middle of rubbing one out to the thought of you while using the panties he stole most recently, he stops dead in his tracks and gives his deepest appreciations to all divine things that must be looking out for him in this world. 

it's not often that you get the opportunity to stay with caleb at his apartment in skyhaven for an extended period of time. said extended time being only three days makes no difference to him, to be frank the mere thought of you being in his presence at all already has his mind working and blood rushing in ways he can’t avoid. wouldn’t dream of avoiding. after reading the text you sent him stating that you got the upcoming weekend off and are planning to visit him, his brain truly fused out.  

caleb knows what self-control is.

he went through intense military training for heaven’s sake. plus he grew up with you and managed to not act on his intense and deep-rooted feelings that consistently threatened to devour him whole. so yeah, he’d say controlling himself is second nature. pshh. light work.

he picks you up from the train station, helps you with your things, gets you settled into his apartment for the weekend, and everything is going swimmingly. he positively can hold himself back until the time is right. totally not nearly bursting at the seams with the need to pounce on you. definitely not already picturing the mess he wants to make of you. this is easy.

then you stride into his living room after changing clothes. you’re beaming at him, so excited to be with your favorite person once more. you’re also, he notices, wearing the smallest sleep shorts possible. shorts that happen to hike up ever so slightly when you take a step. shorts that reveal a sliver of your underwear as you walk around the living room searching for the tv remote.

suddenly, caleb isn’t too sure he can even spell “self-control”.

his eyes track your movements like a radar system locking onto a target. your underwear of choice today isn’t even anything special, a neutral shade of pink that could be found anywhere, at any store, but it doesn’t matter. it shapes your ass perfectly and he groans inwardly at the sight.

or maybe outwardly. he’s already so far gone that he doesn’t know anymore.

caleb’s legs are moving before his mind fully gives them permission to do so and makes his way over to where you stand in the living room. his hands find purchase on your waist, spinning you to face him before leaning in and kissing you.  

the kiss is desperate, hungry, and by no means slow. weeks of longing and desire so evident in the way his lips capture yours, all traces of self-control gone. his tongue pleads for access into your mouth while his hands simultaneously pull your hips against his own, and he’s impossibly hard already. the quickness of it all surprises you, so you pull away to address him, slightly out of breath and confused. which is all to his complete and utter dismay.

“caleb?”

the look on his face is so unimaginably needy, so desperate in a way you've never seen before. he looks as though you've wounded him for even having the thought of pulling away, how dare you create space between us, and it makes you want to indulge him in everything he could possibly ask for right then and there.

“want you”

his voice is breathy and low, completely meddled with lust, and those words are all he manages to get out before immediately leaning in to kiss you again. you kiss him back, the forwardness and obvious want turning you on. the kiss intensifies, caleb doing as he pleases with you, tongue overlapping yours, hands squeezing your body, hips grinding into you so desperately you'd think him a dog. that thought alone has hot, molten desire shooting through your body.

you spread your legs ever so slightly to have his thrusts hit home and moan into his mouth the second they do. the clothed friction arousing you more than you'd like to admit. he picks up on your movements, naturally, he's memorized everything about you, and spins you around so that your back is against his chest.

“been waitin to feel you for so long”

he nearly whines directly into your ear, the truth of his words pressing directly into your backside and causing your mind to go hazy with lust. he trails kisses down your neck and you bite your lip in anticipation, the tone of his voice and hard length touching you getting you beyond worked up.

caleb tugs at your shorts, a silent command to take them off, and you do so with no hesitation. the second your standing straight up again he pulls you against his chest once more and slides his knee in between one of your legs, effectively spreading them apart for easier access.

he then grabs your chin to open your mouth and slips two of fingers inside. not needing to be told what to do, you start sucking on them, twirling your tongue around them in a way that makes him grunt and stiffen behind you. you smile inwardly to yourself, your affect on him palpable.

pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he snakes an arm around your waist and mixes your spit with the wetness already pooling in your underwear. he smirks to himself and chuckles, your need for him clear as day, and does you no favors by trailing his fingers to spread it to your clit.

“so wet and I haven’t even properly touched you yet..”

you whine in response, a needy sound that only spurs him on further. he draws circles around your clothed clit, adding to the arousal already collecting in your underwear to near uncomfortable levels. its sloppy and messy and quickly spreading to your thighs, just how he likes it.

you grind your ass into him, wanting- no, needing- him to touch you skin to skin, and he lets out a sharp hiss at the movement.

“don’t tease, caleb”

your voice is pleading, borderline begging him to give you what you want. unfortunately for you, hearing you beg and get more and more desperate for him is his only true goal in this life. he speeds up his movements and sucks onto your neck in response, surely leaving a mark by the intensity.

“c'mon, you can handle a little bit more. i know you can”

he's thankful you aren't able to see his face currently, because to be honest, he’s barely keeping himself in check. every move you make, every sound that comes from you, god even the way you smell, has each individual nerve in his body screaming at him to rip off your clothes and show you exactly how desperately he’s been missing you in every sense of the word.

yet it’s the almost there, not quite there action of pleasure that’s driving him absolutely wild.

caleb decides to take it a step further, really make things messy the way he gets so hard for, by slipping his dick out and rubbing it against your newly dampened underwear. his pre cum mixes with your wetness and absolutely drenches the seat of your panties.

he lets out a gravelly moan at the feeling, right into your ear, and you have to hold yourself back from finishing right then and there at the sound. you spread your legs wider for him, accepting the pleasure despite the fullness you're craving.

“talk to me pips, wanna hear that pretty voice”

his pace is mind numbing, not too slow, not too fast. the pressure against your core almost enough, but caleb knows better than to give it all to you. on top of that, his dick being so close but not directly touching you is making your brain go haywire.

“please cal, no more. need you inside.”

“uh huh. what else?”

you whine at his demand for more, and you're burning with the delicious friction due the mess between the both of you right now. you rack your brain, fighting the urge to give in to him and just full on beg for more. he wants to see it so badly, wants to hear the pitch change in your voice and feel your thighs squirm once you do. he can clearly feel the want u have for him, its currently staining his pants, but he needs to hear it as well.

“can't take it. need you so bad, need more. you feel so good, always feel so good. im yours, only yours. please”

you're a rambling mess at this point, only caring about the desire that's building inside you and caleb’s prenatural ability to get you there faster. curses flow from his mouth freely at your words, and he walks you towards the arm of the living room couch, tapping twice on your back to bend over for him.

the second you're bent in front of him, he moves your panties to the side and sinks in between your drenched folds. you moan his name lewdly as his tip hits directly on your clit and tears almost spring to your eyes at the long desired sensation.

caleb’s knees nearly buckle, the teasing doing a number on you both, and he digs his hand into your waist to steady himself. he grinds between your folds once, twice, and right before you're about to get onto him again for his incessant build up, he thrusts inside you like a dog gone rabid. a cry rips from your throat and your vision almost blurs, the pace brutal and the feeling somehow impossibly too much and too little.

“couldn’t stop thinkin about you-fuck- thinkin about how tight you always are for me”

it's his turn to ramble now, his words accompanied by each pointed thrust inside you. he drinks in the sight of his dick slipping in and out of you, with no resistance whatsoever, sliding right past the ruined underwear that still clings to your body, and has to mentally stop himself from cumming just at the sight.

“hate when you're not here, hate that i have to fuck my fist to the thought of you”

you moan at his confession, his dirty words combined with the slight friction of your panties against your clit building the pressure inside you and causing your leaking arousal to spread from the mess that is your core to his thighs.

“shit! love making a mess on this pussy. you like it too, huh pip? wanna hear you say it”

you’re so close, him talking to you so conversationally while fucking you in doggy and hitting that deep spot inside you has your mind spinning.

“yes yes i love making a mess for you!! gonna cum-”

your quick confession has his dick straining, fighting to not empty his load without warning. he needs you to finish first, he’s got one more thing in the back of his mind that needs completing.

caleb shifts your hips closer to him so he can pull your sopping underwear further to the side and rub your clit. perfect circles have you clawing at the couch and clenching around him so tightly that he's not too sure he’ll last.

“such a dirty girl, you're drippin everywhere. need you to be good and cum on me yeah?”

his flithy mix of degradation and need send you hurtling off the edge as white, hot pleasure courses through you. you cum with a newfound intensity that only caleb would be capable of pulling from you.

said man bites his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from finishing with you, everything about you cumming on his cock making him go mad. a couple more thrusts and he realizes he can’t take it any longer, the feeling of you spasming around him becoming too much.

caleb pulls out of you, readjusts your underwear the best he can with what little time he has while still pumping himself, and cums all over the fabric with a series of broken groans. at first he tries to aim and make the most effective mess he can, but he soon loses himself to how fucking good it feels. he's left reeling from the intensity, but he can't look away from you. he genuinely wishes he could burn this image into his mind forever. however, he finds himself saying this every time you have sex.

as you both catch your breath, he leans forward to kiss your back, shoulders, neck, jaw, all places of exposed skin. while doing so he makes sure to mix all the fluids together on the soaking wet article of clothing, his ministrations leaving you twitching in overstimulation.

once he's satisfied with his handiwork, he slips them off of you and picks up your spent body, carrying you to his bedroom and laying you down on his bed with the gentleness of a soft afternoon breeze.

"grabbin a towel, honey. don't go walking all around the apartment now"

you roll your eyes at his words, as you've already sunken into the mattress and couldn't be paid to leave this bed. he chuckles knowingly in response, but before he leaves the room he sneaks a final glance to make sure your eyes are closed.

its then that he opens the top drawer of his dresser and places your underwear inside, the newest member of his prized collection<3

a/n (2): first fic and naturally it’s my munch caleb. hope it doesn’t sound too clunky as this is also my first time writing out smut🫣 i will prevail and become a smut writing champion!!!

@tojicide this one is for you friend, hope u enjoy ^_^

[a-b-riddle]

Part 7

Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader

(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)

No harm done yet.

You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.

You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.

But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.

You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.

Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?

Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?

You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.

It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.

The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.

Whatever.

Fuck him.

You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.

By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.

You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.

Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.

She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....

You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.

Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.

Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.

But they looked hot. Really hot.

"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."

"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."

A little over two years ago

"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."

"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.

"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."

"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.

"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."

"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.

"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.

"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.

"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.

What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.

Dead. Perfect.

The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.

He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.

It wasn't always great to be right.

When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.

You fucking bolted.

Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.

You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.

"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.

You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.

He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.

It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.

The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.

Fear.

You were afraid.

You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.

Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.

"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."

"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"

"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.

"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.

"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.

"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.

Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.

"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."

"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.

"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.

"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."

"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.

Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.

You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.

You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.

Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.

No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.

"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"

You felt your cheeks flush with heat.

"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.

There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.

You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.

Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.

You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.

"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.

"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."

"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.

Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.

You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.

Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.

Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.

"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.

"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.

Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.

"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."

"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.

They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.

And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.

You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.

Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?

You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.

You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.

Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.

John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.

Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?

Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.

Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.

John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.

Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.

So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.

"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.

Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.

"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.

You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.

The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.

Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.

Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-

"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.

"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.

"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'

"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.

"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.

Jesus, when did you become so harsh.

I blame Simon.

"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....

Little bitch.

"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?

"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.

"There's no need for that-"

"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.

"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."

"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"

And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.

You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"

"My friends call me-"

"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."

His expression fell.

"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.

"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."

You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.

"What did you do?" Mere asked.

"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.

"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.

"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.

"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."

"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.

"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."

"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.

"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.

"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.

"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."

"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.

"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."

"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.

"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."

"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."

"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"

"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.

"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.

Unfortunately, it did not.

You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.

Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.

"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.

You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.

"You mean like they did you?"

And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.

"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.

"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.

Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.

Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?

It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.

What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.

"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.

"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.

"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"

You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?

"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."

"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.

"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.

And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.

But you didn't need to do any of that.

In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.

"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.

You could handle you own against Percy.

But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.

You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.

"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.

You knew that all too well.

Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"

It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.

Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.

"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.

He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.

Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.

It was a promise.

"We're over." You reminded.

"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"

"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."

"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."

The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.

"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.

"I know you did."

"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.

"Just did." Was his only answer.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.

"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.

"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."

He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.

His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.

He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?

He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.

You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.

But you didn't.

You were tired.

So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."

"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"

There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.

With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.

Only this time, it was directed at you.

One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'

"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."

[witchywithwhiskey]

to save me from tears

pairing: DARK!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure. 

It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.

Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea. 

He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.

Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.

It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.

You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin. 

Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.  

Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you. 

“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.

That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.

The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement. 

The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him. 

The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.

But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm. 

Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.

In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow. 

The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.

Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace. 

Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.

Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”

That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching. 

The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock. 

Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.

Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.

The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written. 

All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.

You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.

“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt. 

You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests. 

Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact. 

But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.

You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…

“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”

The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.

You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you. 

But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.

“Has it been a year already?”

The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together. 

Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams. 

The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages. 

His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.

A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank. 

That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.

Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”

It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.

Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying. 

It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.

“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh. 

His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.

“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.” 

Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you. 

In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…

 “I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself. 

Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.

He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.

You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.

“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.

You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.

While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.

Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.

“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”

When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped. 

A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo. 

The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.

Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.

Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.

“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.” 

He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.

“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”

Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock. 

The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock. 

He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him. 

That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.

No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance. 

More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.

“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”

Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.

The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take. 

Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake. 

“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”

Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so… 

You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.

The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.

His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.

On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned. 

Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.

“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”

He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.

Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.

Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.

It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.

There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.

Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes. 

He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass. 

Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.

It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.

God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you. 

Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.

Bucky Barnes had officially broken you. 

That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch. 

But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.

The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.

Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.

“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”

You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.

You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self. 

“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”

Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.

“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”

Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.

When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train. 

Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.

To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.

“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.” 

Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera. 

Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.

The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.” 

Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…

As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.

december daze challenge masterlist

[mysterymachine67]

PAIRING -> Frank Castle x M!reader

SUMMARY -> You can’t get enough of his puppy eyes.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

I blame @godjustkys. I couldn’t find a third picture, so we’re going with two 🤲🏼

The first time you saw that look, you were ready to drop everything and give him all you had. You’ve known him for a while, yes, but never payed attention that closely. When it happened, Frank had just gotten back to your shared apartment. All bloody, dirty, and nearly filled with gashes and other wounds that looked nasty. You had him sat down while you cleaned him up—patting at the small cuts with a wet washcloth. Then going in and stitching up all the bad ones. As you pierced the needle into his skin, you looked up at him—a quick glance to make sure he was okay. And when he looked at you? Ohhhhh, your heart ached. You swallowed then looked back down. Taking a few breaths to get your breathing right before continuing to patch him up.

Ever since then you’ve been thinking about it. Not being able to get it off your mind no matter what. Only soon finding yourself looking at him more closely every so often, itching to see that look again.

Luckily, with how you had him right now, you were sure you were gonna see that same exact face you saw the other night.

𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

You held a tight grip on Frank’s thighs. Holding onto them as if your life depended on it. His legs were hooked over your shoulders, tensing when you hit that spot within him. “Relax, Frank,” you cooed. And he tried. With how the night had went for him, you wanted to help him wind down, relax. And was it working? Barley. Only because no matter what you did, or what you said he couldn’t seem to just let himself go. But when you leaned down, forcing his knees to touch his shoulders, and whispered into his ear, he was gone. Hole clenching around you, and legs attempting to kick. Which was useless. “Fuck!” He groaned. Jaw clenched tightly. Frank’s eyes were shut until they weren’t. First looking up at the ceiling—trying to get himself right before making eye contact with you. Because he knew the moment he did, mercy wouldn’t be in your heart anymore.

The longer your cock hit against his sweet spot, the more noises tend to flee from his mouth. Which you absolutely loved. Then finally, Frank turned his head to look at you. Eyes locking onto yours while yours locked onto his. All the thoughts that hurried to your head, all soon went down to your cock. You leaned in to kiss him. At first soft and passionate before getting more hungry and heated. Your thrusts went from slow and deep, to quick paced and rough. His hands shakily made their way to his thighs, holding himself up for you. Which made it a lot more easier for you. With every snap of your hips Frank let out a moan. Keeping eye contact with you as long as he could before he had to pull away. He’d press his lips shut, only letting out hums and low groans. Deciding to shut his eyes and move his head to the side. Why become to difficult all of a sudden?

You noticed, but you also noticed how his back was arched perfectly, and how he struggled to keep up this act. His cock leaked and dripped, pulsing, and twitching at how close he’d gotten within just a few minutes. “Lemme hear you. Hear how good ‘m making you feel.” Frank shook his head, tried to. When you noticed you scoffed. Switching your angle so that all that your cock hit was his prostate. That got a few sounds out of him.

His hands began to ache. The sheen of sweat all over his body making it difficult to keep holding his thighs for you. Frank huffed, a small whimper sneaking its way past. Without a thought his hips moved up slightly. A quick buck. You haven’t been paying attention to his cock, yes, you knew that. But would the added pleasure help him? Of course it would. Plus, your hands were free. So, you moved a hand from somewhere on Frank’s body, and placed it on his cock instead. In response, Frank let out a drawn out, loud groan. Which you smiled to yourself.

He squirmed, his hips not knowing whether to buck up or move away. The sounds he let out were like a beautiful melody that you wanted to keep hearing over and over again. You knew the moment he let go of himself and grabbed onto you, he was cumming. He tried to move himself down onto your cock even more, but at the same time thrust into your hand. Wanting, no, needing more. But all you could give him was harsh, deep thrusts till you came. And when you did it was with a moan, filling him up with your cum. After a few long seconds, you pulled out and looked down; getting met with the sight of your cum leaking from his hole.

You cursed under your breath, picking your head up to look at Frank. Who laid there, breathing heavily with his eyes shut. You leaned back over him—running your hands along his body once more. And when you got close enough you kissed him on the lips then mumbled:

“Did you really think we were done?”

[bumblebecc]

mel knows that she and frank are friends. Best friends, even. She accompanies him on walks with Dopey, his silly goldendoodle he kept in the divorce. he comes over to her place for movie nights with Becca. and they call every Saturday morning, competing on who finishes the crossword first in the Post-Gazette (mel is very competitive, frank is not).

but she’s still surprised when he shows up in her life.

A to-go cup of her favorite black tea handed to her before day shifts at the hospital. him silently handing her a hair tie when hers breaks one day in the grocery store. a special gift of the crochet yarn she’s been eyeing on etsy for ages. Him coming over on a night she’s bone tired and just wants to sleep and cooking for her and Becca without comment.

And then one day, she’s held way past her shift and she can’t pick up Becca and she knows she won’t be able to for at least two more hours. But she told Frank, her hands shaking as she texted, that today sucked and she was going to be late to get her and she hoped at least that his day is nice. He doesn’t respond for thirty or so minutes, but she figured he wouldn’t, it’s his day with the kids. But when he does, it’s a picture of him and Becca getting ice cream with Tanner and Millie—Tanner and Becca got chocolate, Millie has a mint chocolate chip cone, and she knows without looking Frank got boring old vanilla.

Frank: sorry we couldn’t wait for you

Her mouth drops open.

Mel: you didn’t have to do that

Frank: i wanted to

And there’s a strange feeling twisting around in her chest, and her eyes aren’t tearing up, but she feels fuzzy all over, like there are bubbles inside her

she’s texting him back

Mel: thank you

and maybe that’s the day she realizes they might be something a little more than just friends

[astraljedi]

Fresh Out The Slammer (Frank Castle Imagine)

Summary: Frank Castle has been the only consistent man in your life and even though there were certain times he wasn’t in the picture, his presence somehow lingered into all of your relationships. There wasn’t a cure for a man like him, and you didn’t need one. 

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of harassment (not to reader), some violence, curse words, SMUT, Oral (M recieving), P in V. Use protection my loves

Word Count: 2.6k

Song: Fresh Out The Slammer by Taylor Swift

A/N: This will be officially my first published work for Frank Castle that was requested. Let me know what you think and some feedback would be appreciated.

-

Fresh out the slammer I know who my first call will be to

“Did he ever really know you?” Karen asks, handing me a glass of wine.

I shrug, grasping the chilled glass. “It was always his place, his friends, his favorite restaurants. He never made the effort to be in my life.”

Devin was my ex—a trust fund, high-maintenance brat who didn’t have “struggle” or “debt” in his vocabulary. We were an odd pair, but somehow, we lasted long enough to make it miserable. I cared for him but didn’t love him like I thought.

“I’m sorry I neglected our friendship. I shouldn’t have put up with someone like that just for those rare sweet moments,” I say, grabbing her hand. “You guys told me countless times. I just couldn’t see it until recently.”

“I never stopped being in your corner. I never will.” Karen smiles, squeezing my hand in reassurance.

“Thank you.” I try to keep my tears at bay as I sip my wine.

“If you want to change the subject, I get it. But you never told me about the night at the restaurant."

I throw my head back with a groan, sinking deeper into Karen’s comfy couch. “You should’ve seen Frank’s face when he realized it was me in that alley.”

A few months ago

I stormed through the restaurant’s back door, slipping into a horrid-smelling alley. “Fuck.” I swore, running my hands through my hair, ruining its perfectly styled state.

“Why do you always act so absurd around my friends? That was uncalled for.” Devin shouted as he followed me out.

“Uncalled for? He was harassing the waitress, Devin. She looked uncomfortable.”

“It’s none of our business.” He stepped closer, his body hovering over my small, shivering frame.

“I’m not going to stay quiet when I see him—or your friends—harassing a girl who clearly didn’t want to be touched or spoken to like that.” I stared straight into his angry eyes.

He grabbed my arm, yanking me forward. I gasped, his sudden, bruising grip catching me off guard.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut. Sit there and look pretty—that’s all you’re good for. You might’ve just ruined one of my biggest deals because you can’t look away for once.”

“Fuc—”

My words were cut off as I was ripped from Devin’s grasp, and he was slammed against the brick wall.

“You don’t talk to a woman like that.” A rough, familiar voice growled.

Frank.

Frank fucking Castle.

“Let him go, Frank. Please.” It was not like I didn’t want Devin to get what he deserved, because I didn’t want to add more to the growing and already heated argument.

Devin wasn’t worth it—not anymore.

Frank glanced over his shoulder, his forearm pinning Devin against the filthy wall. “Sweetheart?” The moment his eyes landed on mine, his face completely shifted. His eyes scanned me, making sure I wasn’t hurt.

“He’s not worth it.”

Devin struggled to push Frank away, but his strength was nothing compared to Frank’s. Frank rolled his eyes and shoved him back aggressively. “I suggest you learn how to treat a woman.”

“Devin, don’t—”

But Devin was already swinging.

Frank caught his fist in midair. Devin was slammed to the ground in seconds, his suit jacket tearing on impact. Like the coward he was, he scrambled to his feet and scurried back into the restaurant.

“That better not be your boyfriend.” Frank huffed, his eyes raking over me. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t look at him. If I did, I’d melt.

“Sweetheart.” He reached for me. 

I stepped back.

It was always the same with us. A never-ending cycle. We’d find each other, crash into one another, then fall apart. Again and again.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” I whispered. “You made sure of that, Frank.”

I turned my back on him and walked away.

He didn’t stop me. 

He never did.

Karen’s voice pulled me back to reality. “Has he called you?”

I blinked a few times, trying to catch my breath. He wasn’t even here, but the thought of him set my body on fire.

“You know he won’t. Frank doesn’t call anyone.” I drained the last drop of wine, setting the glass down.

Karen smirked. “He calls you.”

I rolled my eyes and nudged her arm.

“I have to go. I’ve got inventory in the morning—something I can’t keep ignoring.”

“You’re your own boss. Can’t you do it later?”

“I wish. But it’ll take all day, and I must start before sunrise.” I grabbed my things, and Karen walked me to the door. “If you stop by before work, I’ll make your coffee. And a treat—for listening.”

“I won’t say no to a treat.” She chuckled. “Text me when you’re home.”

I waved and made my way down her apartment stairs. The chilly New York air slapped me in the face as soon as I stepped outside.

He calls you. 

Karen’s voice echoes in my thoughts.

I shouldn’t call; the train stop to Frank Castle Town had its final stop a year ago. I couldn’t fall back into him, not when he wasn’t going to settle down, not when he couldn’t say I love you, even though the words lingered on his tongue.

I shouldn’t risk it; the wine in my system has hacked and taken over my will. 

Fuck it.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number that wasn’t saved, but I had it memorized.

“Sweetheart?” It only rang twice. His low, warm, familiar voice rang through my ear, and my brain shut off instantly. “Are you okay?” he asks. I hear him shuffling in a hurry when I don’t answer quickly. 

“I’m good.” I smiled. “I wanted to hear your voice.”

Even though I couldn’t see him, that rare, child-like smile was there. The one smile I have the pleasure of witnessing a couple of times tangled in sheets or early in the morning while making breakfast. 

“Darling, what do you need?”

The walk home was short, but adrenaline ran through my veins. “I need you. I always need you.”

There was a moment of silence. He was debating whether it was a good idea. Even though I debated it myself, it was too late for us to return from the rekindled flame. 

“Where are you?”

“A block from my place.” It was only half past eleven. A few people were returning from their commute, and some were getting ready for the night. 

“It’s late for you to be walking alone.”

“I can handle myself.” 

“I know. Still.” Back then, Frank would always try to walk me home whenever he wasn’t caught up in something. Always saying that the streets weren’t safe and that I shouldn’t risk my safety recklessly. 

“Why should I be scared? You’re already on your way, aren’t you?”

The sound of his low chuckle making me lose my footing. “Something like that.”

I reached my door. “You hear me typing in the code?”

“I do.”

“You still remember it?”

“You know I do, sweetheart.” Impossible for him to forget the countless of nights he spent over or slipped in when he needed patching up. 

I walk up the few stairs to my door and unlock it. “I’ll be waiting.”

I hung up.

I locked the door behind me, tossed my bag onto the table, and kicked my shoes off. My hair fell loose as I shrugged off my jeans, leaving only my oversized white dress shirt.

Anticipation hummed through my body as I dimmed the lights. I can’t remember when my body felt like this, not even with Devin. 

Nothing compared to Frank, the way his hands fit perfectly on my hips, how his warm breath sent chills to my core while he was between my legs, torturing me before the pleasure. 

He could taunt me, mark me with his teeth, and use me however he liked, and I never got tired of it. I would beg for more like it wasn’t enough. 

The sound of light knocking made me jump, but I settled back to reality. I barely opened the door before Frank was inside, with one hand on my waist and the other shielding my head as he pressed me against the closed door.

We didn’t move or talk. Our lips hovered, his clothed, warm body pressed against mine. He had me pinned, his knee settled between my legs. It felt like a lifetime since the last time he had me like this. 

Frank closed his eyes, taking in my scent. Like I could vanish any second from his tight grasp. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, my lips brushing his cheek and down to his jawline. “Please,” I beg. 

I didn’t have to tell him twice. His lips caught mine in a desperate kiss. His hand on my hip traveled up my body and landed on my neck, his thumb caressing my jaw. 

I needed this. I needed him. 

The moment his lips crash into mine, there is no world outside. It’s just him and I. I tug at his hair, and he moans. I slip my tongue past his lips and grind my hips into his. He lets me have this moment of control; he enjoys letting me think I’m in control, but he will slip and take charge any second. 

I savor this moment between us. With him, life is unpredictable. One moment I can have him kissing and praising me. The next, he's pushing me away because he can't fathom losing me even though I'm full in with him.

It always comes to this, because no one compares to him. There isn’t a moment I don’t compare his desperate kisses while in other relationships. How his lips moved against mine in sync. There was no fighting or figuring out our movements when our lips moved independently. 

Frank Castle is complicated, hard to read. But moments like these with Frank weren't complicated. They were easy.

He was my Frank.

Nobody was bold enough to push me to my limits like he did. He was rough, just like I wanted it. I didn’t need to ask; he knew what I needed and could take. And I could take anything he would give me. 

Frank let me push him towards my couch, lips never pulling away. Sitting on his lap, I traveled my lips to his jaw and down to his neck, biting and kissing. I unzipped his jacket, pulled his shirt off, and tossed it to the floor. 

His palms rested on my hips, grinding me against his growing erection. I sigh, throwing my head back at the friction against his jeans. My hands land on his hard chest, moving my hips as his palms land on my ass, squeezing the flesh. 

I needed his jeans off now. My hand landed on his waist and undid his jeans with ease. I kneeled to the floor, pulling off his jeans and boxers with me, freeing his erection. “Sweetheart,” Frank mumbles, reaching for me, but I stop him. 

“Let me take care of you, baby.” He groans in response. I wrap my lips around his tip, my hand on the base as I suck the precum already leaking. I take him halfway into my mouth and pull away, spreading my saliva to the rest of his length with my tongue.

“Shit,” Frank swears as our eyes meet, and I take him back into my mouth and trace the veins underneath his cock. I wrapped my hands on the length I couldn’t fit as I sucked and licked, the tip hitting the back of my throat. His hand massages my shoulder before he runs from my neck to fist my hair in his hands. I moan, my free hand landing on his thigh for support. I grip his thigh as he pushes himself deeper into my mouth, making me gag from his size. 

I breathe through my nose, hollowing my cheeks. I feel him loosen his grip on my hair, and his hands land on my elbows, pulling me gently away from him. “Not yet, darling.” He spins me around, and I stand between his legs. He slowly grips the material from my underwear on my hips and slides them down my legs slowly. 

He pulls me down onto his lap, my ass hard on his erection. I whimpered, throwing my head back as it landed on his shoulder. Frank kisses my cheek and spreads my legs wide, letting them hang from his legs. My breath hitched as his other hand landed on my stomach, slowly making its way to my soaked heat. 

“You’re already wet.” Frank doesn’t need to guess; he already knows it. “From when you called me, I bet you were squeezing your legs shut, looking for friction by just hearing my voice.” He purrs against my ear. His fingers slip downwards, his fingers getting coated by my juices instantly. “My poor thing, no one knows how to please you like I do.” 

“Frank,” I whimper as his fingers circled my clit. My hand lands on his thigh, my nails digging into his skin. His other hand joins the other, slipping two fingers inside me. “That’s it, sweetheart. Does that feel good?” 

I moan, closing my eyes from all the sensations going through my body at once. “I’m not going to last, Frank.” I barely get the words out, squirming against his chest. 

My heated body shivers, my walls gripping tightly to Franks’s girthy fingers. He brings his lips to mine, slipping his tongue between my lips as his fingers curl inside of me. 

My body shakes as the apartment is filled with my loud moans and whimpers. “That’s it, sweetheart.” 

I try to catch my breath, but Frank doesn’t let me see a breath before he has me lying on the couch. “I’m not done with you, darling,” he says, nibbling on the skin of my shoulder. He aligns himself, only pushing the tip first. I grip his biceps, my shaking legs still not recovered from my last orgasm. 

“I know you can take it. You were made for me.” Frank mumbles against my skin, pushing himself deeper. I press my forehead on his shoulder, my walls squeezing him, and he hasn’t even moved. I hear him swear, trying to keep himself from losing it.

“Baby, I need you to move,” I beg, a moan caught in my throat.

“I got you, sweetheart.” Frank’s hand lands on my hips, picking up the pace. It wasn’t gentle; I didn’t want him to be gentle with me. My eyes rolled back into my head as he fucked me harder into the couch.

Frank lifts my leg over his shoulder, letting himself get deeper. Both our moans fill the small apartment from the change of position. He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as his hips pounded harder into me. 

“F-frank, baby, cum with me.” 

Frank opens his eyes, and they land on mine; I wrap my hand on the back of his neck and bring his lips into mine as my climax shatters. Frank groans, filling me up with his warm cum as my walls clenched, milking him until the last drop.

He gently removed my leg from his shoulder as we both panted, trying to catch our breaths. I press my small hand on his cheek, and he melts to my touch. “I missed you,” I admit, too high on the man I can’t seem to push away. 

Frank doesn’t reply. He presses a kiss to my forehead and slips out slowly. I ignore the ache in my chest from the lack of answer. I know he missed me, but I needed him to say it.

My body felt like jelly, too worn out to even move. “I got you.” This is my favorite version of Frank Castle, the gentle and affectionate Frank. He slips his boxers on and heads to the bathroom. He comes out with a wet towel and sits between my legs. 

Frank is the only man who cares about aftercare and is the first to do it for me. Once he’s finished, he pulls his shirt over my naked torso and picks me up in his arms to take me to my bed.

“Stay,” I whispered, my eyes fighting to shut, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I wanted to take him in, the sight of the man I could never move on from. 

“Wasn’t planning to, Sweetheart.” He quickly kisses my lips and covers our bodies with my cooled comforter. His chest press against my back, his arms lazily over my waist keeping me close to him.

I relax into his touch, inhaling his scent. The last time he was here, the smell of Frank Castle lingered around my apartment for months. Making me miserable from the lack of his presence, heart aching but I never dared to do something about it. It kept me feeling safe and maybe in the back of my head, I knew we would end up finding each other, like we always did. We could never stay away for that long.

Here we go again.

[monicfever]

How you think the punisher and DD characters would be with their s/o asking to move in with them

asking to move in 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / james wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

MATT pauses for a moment, trying to process it fully, because his brain short-circuits a little at the idea of someone wanting to share that much of their life with him.

“you really want to?” like he’s trying not to sound too hopeful but failing. you can hear the smile in his voice before you see it on his face. he probably acts cool about it but is internally spiraling in nervousness.

immediately starts thinking about how to make the apartment more comfortable for you, even if it means giving up some of his own habits or routines. asks if you want a drawer… and then the next day clears out half his closet without saying anything. lets your things blend into his space like they’ve always belonged.

listens to your footsteps echo in the apartment and thinks it already feels more like home.

has a brief moment of worry about you finding out how bad his insomnia really is, or how often he gets hurt, but ultimately decides you're worth the risk. starts sleeping a little better just knowing you're there.

makes you coffee in the morning even when he’s half-dead from a night out as daredevil.

listens to the sound of your key turning in the lock like it’s his favuorite song. gets irrationally proud when you call it “home” for the first time

the first time you fall asleep on his chest on the couch, he doesn’t move for hours, even if he’s stiff and sore, because it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. lets you steal all the blankets because he runs warm anyway.

hears your heartbeat when you're unpacking and notices the slight tremor of nerves — whispers, “me too”.

finds one of your socks in his drawer weeks later and smiles like an idiot all over again.

if you're out late, he pretends he's not listening for you on the street but he's absolutely tracking your every step once you’re a block away.

lets you put up art on the walls, even if he can’t see it, just because he knows it makes you happy. touches the wall near where you hung a photo and quietly asks, “what’s this one of?” with a smile that says he’s already memorizing where everything is, even if he can’t see it.

gets really self-conscious about how sparse and impersonal his place is — starts asking things like, “do you want to paint? get some real curtains?”

the first time you leave clothes on the floor, he trips over them and mutters a sarcastic, “great, love this part.” but you can hear the affection behind it.

the first time he comes back injured after you’ve moved in, he panics — not because he’s hurt, but because he doesn’t want you to see him like that. lets you patch him up anyway, quiet and vulnerable, murmuring “i’m sorry” over and over.

learns how to move around the apartment a little differently now, more careful, more attuned to your presence — even asleep, he always knows where you are.

the first time you kiss him goodbye on your way out in the morning, he stands there for a full minute afterward, grounding himself.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

FRANK goes completely still. like statue-still. doesn’t say anything right away because he’s not sure he heard you right. finally mutters something like, “you sure?” but his voice is rough and low, like he’s fighting back something big.

part of him wants to say no — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s scared he’ll ruin it. the other part of him, the part that remembers what peace used to feel like, is already picturing what your toothbrush would look like next to his.

doesn’t know how to ask what kind of stuff you’d need space for, so he just clears out an entire drawer and half the closet and pretends it was always like that. fixes the creaky step by the door before you even move in.

sharpens every knife in the kitchen. installs better locks. reinforces the windows. doesn’t tell you. just does it. the first time you fall asleep in his bed after moving in, he stays awake all night listening to your breathing like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

lets you put your books and blankets and candles around, even if it feels like too much softness at first — it grows on him. catches himself smiling when he sees your coffee mug in the sink. still sleeps with one eye open but it’s less about paranoia now and more about making sure you’re okay.

the first time he has a nightmare after you move in, he almost leaves in the middle of the night, but you hold onto him and he stays.

says “this place is yours too” and means it, even if it terrifies him doesn’t call it home out loud, but he feels it in his chest every time he walks through the door and you’re there.

starts cooking more, not just heating up canned stuff — actual meals, because you’re there and you deserve better. doesn’t say much when you rearrange the furniture a little, sits in the new spot on the couch without complaint like it was always meant to be that way.

silently memorizes the sound of your footsteps, your breathing, the way you hum when you’re making tea — tiny details he tucks away.

buys an extra blanket for the bed but claims it was “just lying around” — it’s new, and soft, and clearly for you. one day you catch him fixing the busted sink cabinet, muttering to himself like “can’t have you hurtin’ your damn knee on this thing” and it’s the most tender thing in the world.

gets weirdly possessive over your safety now that you're sharing a space — triple-checks locks, glances out the window every time he hears something.

he doesn’t say “i love you” easily — if at all — but you hear it in the way he says “you good?” every night before bed.

thinks about his old life sometimes, but now when he does, there’s less pain in the remembering and more hope in the now.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

FOGGY says “really??” with wide eyes and a grin before you even finish the sentence. immediately starts talking about how you can redecorate — “i was gonna get new pillows anyway. those old ones are criminal, and not in a cool-lawyer way.”

gets way too excited about sharing a grocery list, like “now we can buy milk together like adults!”

plays it cool but absolutely calls matt the second you leave the room like “guess who’s shacking up with someone way out of his league?”

genuinely proud when you bring over a toothbrush, like it’s a milestone. insists on cooking dinner the first night you officially move in. burns something. orders takeout. swears it was the plan all along

excited to show you every little part of the apartment like “and this — is the cabinet where i keep old soy sauce packets, but we can throw them out now.”

buys a “his & theirs” or “ours” type of mug even though you didn't ask for one. starts referring to things as “ours” before you do — our couch, our kitchen, our mess, our bed.

gives you a key and then immediately worries he made it too big a deal, so he plays it off like “no pressure, just... y'know. if you wanna come and go like a cool roommate who kisses me sometimes”

absolutely cries the first time you call it “home,” but tries to hide it by pretending there’s something in his eye. kisses your forehead while mumbling “can’t believe you’re stuck with me now” and means it.

starts labeling leftovers in the fridge with cute notes like ‘for you (but i’ll fight you for it).’

if you move even one thing slightly, he notices immediately but rolls with it — “did you move the couch a little? i love it. feng shui, baby.”

offers to build ikea furniture with you and somehow turns it into a romantic bonding experience instead of a war. brings home takeout with your favourite sides just because it’s thursday. starts referring to weekends as ‘us days.’

you catch him watching you with this stupidly soft look when you’re folding laundry or doing something completely ordinary. 100% keeps a mental inventory of your snacks and restocks them without being asked.

your first mini-argument about something dumb (like which way the toilet paper goes) ends with him making a dramatic legal defense for his side — complete with opening statements.

finds excuses to say “our place” as often as possible — “our place could use a plant, don’t you think? we’re plant people now.”

if you leave town even for a day, he immediately texts “this apartment is haunted by your absence” and sends sad selfies with your pillow.

you once casually mention you like soft lighting and the next day there are like three new lamps and he’s pretending it was totally normal behavior.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

KAREN goes quiet for a second, her heart stutters at the idea of being chosen like this. looks at you with this wide, soft gaze and says “are you sure?” but you can already see the yes blooming behind her eyes.

she smiles right away but her eyes flicker, like she’s flipping through every time she’s let someone in and gotten hurt. she says yes gently, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud it’ll scare the moment away.

later that night, when she’s alone, she stares at the corner of her apartment and starts mentally rearranging furniture just to make room for you.

the first night you bring a few things over, she’s buzzing with nervous energy — lighting candles, fluffing pillows, asking “do you want this side of the bed or that one?” three times.

she overthinks everything — are you comfortable? is it too soon? does it smell weird in here? what if you hate how she folds towels?

she insists on doing a “tour” even though it’s a small apartment — shows you the squeaky kitchen drawer, the window that fogs up in the morning, her favourite mug. the first time you brush teeth side by side, she watches your reflection in the mirror and feels this quiet little thrill in her chest.

she’s careful about letting you into her routines, but once you’re in, you’re in — she brings you coffee with exactly the right amount of sugar and leaves notes on the mirror in the morning.

gets a little nervous about being “too much”—too messy, too intense, too late-night-working— but when you reassure her, she melts.

lights candles at night to make it cozy, and always puts on soft music while you’re both unwinding. loves grocery shopping with you. makes it a whole date. argues playfully over which pasta is best.

if you have a rough day, she’ll cook something simple and grounding, even if she’s tired, and sit cross-legged on the floor with you to eat.

tells foggy immediately and with so much joy in her voice that he tears up a little.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

ELEKTRA laughs at first — not unkindly, but like you’ve caught her off guard, like you just suggested something absurd. “you want to live with me?” she says, smiling with a raised brow, but there's a flicker of something behind it — fear, maybe. or wonder.

“you’re either very brave… or very stupid.” but her voice is gentler than her words. doesn’t say yes right away. needs time to sit with it. she’s not used to people wanting to stay, let alone being allowed to stay.

the first time she sees you carrying a bag into her place, her heart jumps like a startled bird — but she keeps her face calm, cool, unreadable acts like it’s not a big deal. like your toothbrush beside hers is just “convenient.” like your jacket on her chair doesn’t make her chest ache in a good way.

rearranges nothing. if you want space, you have to carve it out yourself — but once you do, she never touches it. it’s yours.

the first time you bring her coffee in the morning, she stares at it like it’s a weapon she doesn’t know how to disarm.

tries to hide her affection in sarcasm — “what, planning to redecorate now?” — but her fingers brush against yours a little too long when you hand her something.

she lets you see her vulnerabilities in small fleeting moments. when she comes back after a mission, her expression softens when she sees you sitting on the couch waiting for her, and she doesn’t hide the relief that hits her. when you catch her staring at you across the room, she looks away quickly, but the warmth in her eyes is undeniable — like she’s finally allowed herself to belong somewhere.

if you ever say “i love you,” she’ll freeze for a moment, then give you that sharp, half-smile that means she’s feeling things she can’t put into words. she never says it back in those moments — not because she doesn’t feel it, but because she’s not sure how to show it without breaking.

the quiet is important to her. too much noise and she’ll retreat — go for a walk, meditate, or just sit in silence until she can breathe again. intimacy is still new to her. she doesn’t always know how to be tender when things are calm. she’s used to chaos, violence.

in the evenings, after a long day, she’s still a little restless. she’ll either pace around or dive into her training — anything to keep the adrenaline in check — but she never minds when you join her, even if it’s just sitting in the same room, offering quiet support.

she’s always late to bed, lingering in the quiet of the night with thoughts that won’t settle, but you’ve learned to meet her halfway. you stay up just a little longer, keeping her company, offering the presence she craves but never asks for.

she doesn’t ask you to stay. she dares you to. and when you do, she looks at you like you’re the first person in the world who’s ever passed her test.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

DEX, at first, would freeze. completely caught off guard. it’s not something he’s ever really considered. he’s used to being alone, isolated, and the idea of someone sharing his space would set off alarms in his head. part of him is thrilled by the idea, but another part feels like he's being asked to open a door he’s been desperately trying to keep closed.

he’d try to play it cool, maybe give a half-hearted smile, and act like it’s not a big deal, but you’d see the tension in his posture, the slight shift in his eyes, betraying his nerves. he wouldn’t be used to sharing space, and while he’d agree (hesitantly), he’d quickly start obsessing over everything — every little thing you might change or touch.

moving in with him would require adjustments for you. his place is sparse, cold, slightly clinical — some things are arranged in odd, very specific ways. any changes you make, even small ones, would throw him off, and he is not going to be the type to adapt.

he tries so hard to be easy to live with. washes dishes right after eating. folds your laundry just the way you like. buys the same brand of everything you use because he doesn’t want to mess it up. but when things go out of rhythm — when you go out of rhythm — his chest tightens. the world tilts. and he doesn’t know how to ask, “did i do something wrong?” so he just hovers, waiting for the routine to return

he'd ask for boundaries almost immediately, perhaps too early, like he’s putting walls up before they’ve even begun to come down.

he never outright says “i need you to stay on schedule,” but you can feel it. the way his body goes tight when you skip breakfast, the way his voice flattens when you cancel plans last minute. like you’ve disrupted something crucial to his sense of control. when you do stay consistent — when you fall into routine naturally — he relaxes. he’s all quiet humming, fingers brushing yours while passing a mug, lingering in the doorway just to watch you exist.

there’s an underlying unease to everything he does: the way he watches you unpack, the way he hovers when you move something slightly out of place, like he’s hyper-aware of every decision being made. he’d definitely have moments of intensity when you both adjust to this new dynamic. any accidental miscommunication or small thing would make him tense up, on edge because it feels like he’s walking on thin ice.

he’d have a very hard time with the idea of you being “permanent,” and may subconsciously sabotage the idea out of fear of getting too close. he might withdraw without explanation, acting distant to see if you’ll leave, just to test how much you’re willing to stay. eventually, he’d start letting down the walls in small ways: leaving his phone unlocked for you to use if you need it, letting you use his bathroom products, giving you a drawer for your things.

he notices every single thing you do. how you fold your socks. what side of the bed you take. the sound of your toothbrush against the sink. it becomes part of his routine. part of the structure he builds around himself to stay okay. he starts checking if the stove is off twice instead of three times because your voice in the kitchen grounds him faster than his rituals ever could.

incredibly routine-oriented. if you mess with the order of things — dishes, towels, what shelf the mugs go on — he doesn’t say anything at first, but you’ll catch him quietly moving them back later. doesn’t like a lot of clutter. your stuff slowly migrating into his space freaks him out at first. not because he doesn’t want you there, but because change makes him feel like he’s losing control.

he has comfort habits; like lining up his keys just so, or triple-checking the locks. if you ask he’ll downplay it, but if you don’t ask and just let him do it, he relaxes around you faster.

he doesn’t just notice your routine — he memorizes it. down to the minute. how long your showers take, what time you usually eat, which sock you put on first. if anything changes, even slightly, he feels it in his body like a system glitch.

he builds his entire day around you without realizing it. he starts syncing his schedule to yours — when you wake up, when you brush your teeth, when you leave for work. if you're five minutes late one morning, he gets stuck staring at the door like it personally betrayed him. your habits become sacred. you like honey in your tea? he’ll keep three kinds in the cupboard just in case one runs out. you hum while folding laundry? he starts doing it too. not on purpose, it just imprints.

he keeps a mental archive of everything that soothes you. what music you put on when you’re sad. how you like your blankets folded. the exact temperature you set the thermostat to. and then starts applying it before you ask, like clockwork. if you ask how he knew you needed something, he just says, “i pay attention,” but he won’t tell you that he’s been tracking it for weeks.

if you act off routine — oversleep, cry out of nowhere, forget to eat — he goes into full quiet panic mode. he won’t bombard you with questions, but he’ll hover close, every muscle in his body tense, waiting for the threat he thinks he missed.

he starts sleeping better with you there. deeper. more still. but only if you’re facing him. if you turn away he wakes up every time. when you fall asleep on the couch, he sits nearby on the floor, just watching you breathe. hand resting on the edge of the cushion like he’s guarding you. like if he lets go, something bad will happen.

he'll try not to be clingy but the fact is, the closer you get, the more obsessive his behavior can become. you’ll notice him lingering in rooms just to be near you, watching your every move, constantly ensuring that you’re comfortable and safe. If something’s off he can go into a spiral. that gnawing fear of losing you.

and when you look at him with soft eyes and say, “i love being here with you,” his throat goes tight. “yeah?” like it’s fragile. like it might vanish.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

BILLY’S first reaction is a practiced, easy smile. cool, smooth. "you really want to?" he sounds confident — playful, even — but his heart stutters like it just got clipped by a bullet. there’s a flicker behind his eyes. one second of real vulnerability before it’s buried under charisma.

he says yes. of course he does. but internally? he’s spiraling. he’s spent his whole life building walls lined with silk and marble, and now you’re asking to step inside.

he makes it look effortless. he wants this to feel like it was always going to happen. “it’s your place too now, sweetheart.” he says with that soft, smirking charm — but deep down, he’s bracing for you to change your mind.

the penthouse is pristine. expensive. cold. and when you move in, he watches your stuff disrupt that carefully polished perfection—and he loves it more than he knows how to say. a mug you leave on the counter? he stares at it for a second longer than he should. your shoes by the door? he steps around them like they’re sacred.

he keeps acting cool — laughs when you accidentally drop a sock in the hallway, rolls his eyes when you leave a light on — but every time you do something domestic, his chest gets tighter in a way he’ll never admit out loud.

starts getting scared of loving it too much. of waking up next to you and thinking, this could be forever, and then remembering that forever’s never been kind to him.

he’s obsessive about protecting you now. starts double-checking locks, adding security, keeping a closer eye on who’s around you. he won’t call it paranoia, but you know what it is. his trauma simmers underneath it all. on nights he can’t sleep, he’ll go out onto the balcony, staring at the skyline like it owes him answers. when you come out and wrap your arms around him, he just leans into you silently. he’s still afraid you’ll leave. that you’ll see the cracks under the surface — the mess he hides under suits and soft lighting — and walk away.

so he starts giving you pieces of himself, slowly. a key. his favourite hoodie. his real laugh, unpolished and unguarded

“honey, im home.” in that frustratingly charming voice when he’s trying to be annoying.

mornings are quiet. not cold, just muted. he’s already been awake for a while, sipping espresso by the window in a robe that’s way too expensive, staring out like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only he can see. but the second he hears you stir, he softens. brings you coffee without asking, knows exactly how you take it. kisses the top of your head like he’s done it forever. never says good morning like a normal person. always some variation of “hey, gorgeous.” or “you sleep okay, baby?” — and it sounds like velvet every time.

he watches you move around the kitchen like it’s art. like it calms something in him. you’re the only chaos he allows inside his perfect little world.

when he’s had a bad day, he won’t say anything. just drops onto the couch beside you and pulls you onto him like you’re an anchor. you let him sit in the silence until he’s ready to breathe again.

he can’t cook. not well. but he insists on making you dinner at least once a week — usually ends with a half-burned something and him going, “okay, maybe i’m more of a reservation guy.”

he gets weirdly attached to your routines. like, if you skip a skincare step one night, he notices. “no moisturizer?” he asks, faux-casual, but he’s already reaching for the bottle.

he never says it directly, but being with you day to day makes him feel human. like maybe he’s more than the wreckage he came from. and when you say “i love living with you,” his whole body stills. like it’s too much. like it hurts. then he touches your face, gently, reverently, and says, “you have no idea how much that means to me.”

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

DINAH blinks. once. twice. like she didn’t hear you right the first time. “you serious?” half-laughing, half-deflecting, because that’s easier than letting her heart show on her face.

the truth is: she’s wanted you there. for a while. but she didn’t think she was allowed to want that kind of softness. she probably tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. “sure. yeah. we can try it.” but you can see the way her shoulders drop just a little. like a weight she didn’t know she was carrying slipped off.

she spends the next week obsessing over logistics. where your stuff will go. whether her place is “too small.” acts like she’s just being practical, but really, she’s panicking under the surface. she doesn’t share space easily. she’s used to her solitude. used to walking around guarded even in her own home. so with you she tries. she wants to let you in, even if her hands shake while doing it.

clears a drawer, then a second one. gives you the better side of the closet. buys you your own toothbrush holder without saying a word. still doesn’t let you see her cry. not yet. not even when you set a mug down beside her while she’s working late and kiss the top of her head.

every time she comes home and hears you moving around in the apartment, she exhales without realizing it. like her body’s been holding tension all day and finally gets to release it. she’s not great at domesticity, but she tries. starts making dinner with you, folds your laundry and pretends she’s not secretly proud of it all.

when you fall asleep on the couch, she puts a blanket over you and sits beside you in the dark, sipping wine and watching whatever you left on the tv. doesn’t even care what it is. she just wants to be near you.

still keeps parts of herself locked up tight, files and folders and grief she never talks about. but every now and then, she lets you see the cracks “i’m not .. easy to live with,” she says one night, eyes on the floor.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

WESLEY doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stutter. just tilts his head slightly like he’s calculating what this means, how it fits into the long-term picture he already started building with you months ago. “you want to?” he says it low, like he’s double-checking, not because he’s surprised, because he wants to be sure.

you nod, and he’s quiet for a second too long. then he smiles, small and private, like something just slotted perfectly into place. “okay.” simple. certain. like he’s already rearranging his entire life in his head and doesn’t see a single downside.

he’d already been making room for you before you asked. subtle shifts. an extra set of your preferred wine glasses. drawer space you hadn’t noticed yet. everything is done intentionally. he doesn’t rush anything, but by the time you bring over your first overnight bag, there’s already a place for every item.

he doesn’t just make room for your things — he blends them into the space like they’ve always belonged. a book you left out gets bookmarked and stacked next to his. your jacket ends up hanging beside his tailored coat. if you move something, even if it’s out of place, he leaves it there. memorizes the change. adjusts.

he notices everything. the way your keys sound when you drop them on the counter, your mood when you walk in, what kind of music means you had a long day. you come home once and he’s already poured your favourite drink, sat it on the table, like he’s been waiting for that exact version of you.

he doesn’t show affection with grand gestures, he shows it in consistency. in remembering. in placing himself exactly where you need him to be without being asked.

at night, he watches you read, or wash your face, or fold laundry like it’s a scene he wants to etch into stone. like it’s the first thing that’s ever felt like peace.

he keeps your schedule memorized. he knows when you’re home, when you’re late, when you’re off. if something’s wrong he’s already halfway to fixing it before you even mention it.

he lets you talk through your day at dinner while he listens, always with quiet focus. occasionally he’ll offer insight or dry commentary, but mostly he’s content to just hear you speak.

he doesn’t nag about tidiness, he just fixes things without a word. your charger’s always plugged in. the pantry stays stocked with what you love. if you leave something out — like a sweater on the back of a chair — he’ll leave it there until you wear it again. he’s waiting to see if that was part of your pattern.

when you’re sick, he takes time off without being asked. “don’t argue,” he’ll say, slipping a blanket over your legs. “you’d do the same.” when he’s sick, he pretends he’s fine. but the minute you touch his forehead and tell him to sit down, he obeys without a word. only for you.

he buys expensive soap you mentioned liking once. replaces your pillow when you say your neck’s been sore. upgrades the apartment’s security without telling you. at night, he reads next to you, one hand resting on your thigh.

when you call it “home,” he just gives you this look — soft, quiet, intense. like he’s storing the word away somewhere deep

★ a / n : i didn’t add muse to this one bc im sick asf and tired but if somebody wants me to add him just leave a comment and i can come up with smth no biggie

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.28.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[seokminfilm]

pink & white ── lee seokmin

🤍 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🤍 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, established relationship, boyfriend seokmin, soft seokmin, seokmin and reader are mentioned to have taken a shower together (not nsfw!!), reader calls seokmin by his nicknames (reader also calls him pretty RAHHH), seokmin calls reader beautiful, kissing, dokyeom is shirtless (....yes i'm giving that a warning shut up), just bucket loads of fluff & compliments

🤍 summary, your boyfriend had shown you a new level of intimacy tonight, and you were overflowing with love for him.

🤍 author's note, giggling rn bro i swear i will NEVER get over this set of seokmin pictures idc how long it's been🧍anyways enjoy this very fluffy intimate fic cause i know i need a bit of a break from everything!

🤍 now playing, pink + white (frank ocean)

🤍 word count, 648 | for @kstrucknet, @maestro-net

"feel clean?" seokmin chuckles, watching you shake your now damp hair as you smile up at him, hair obscuring your full face. "very."

seokmin had proposed something you never thought would happen in your relationship—he had asked you if you wanted to shower together. you were initially nervous, but once seokmin had reassured you he wasn't going to initiate anything you didn't want, you had loosened up and agreed to it.

seokmin treated you wonderfully while in the shower; he had played soft jazz music, taking time to love on you and your bare body as he pressed kisses to your face, back, and collarbone. he massaged your skin softly, washing you and your hair before helping you out of the tub and drying you off.

even now, you still smelled of lavender and vanilla, your body draped in seokmin's shirt as you watched him run a hand through his dark, damp hair.

seokmin quickly strips himself of his robe, leaving him in nothing but a pair of boxers. no matter how many times you saw your boyfriend naked, you would never be able to get over how beautiful he really was.

seokmin's tanned skin shadowed every muscle and vein on his lean body perfectly, and you could smell the fresh soap even from your vantage point on the bed.

seokmin happens to turn around slightly, catching your gaze as a small smile forms on his face. "hi, beautiful. am i a good view for you?"

"more than a good view," you whisper softly, standing up from the bed as you walk up to your boyfriend. seokmin's staring at you as you walk, giggling at your cold hands as you slip them around seokmin's bare waist. his muscles flex under your touch, rippling and moving as you smile up at him.

"are you gonna kiss me?" seokmin asks, eyes locked with yours as you reach your hand up to his face, fingers tracing his plump lips and sharp jawline as you shrug, a proud smile decorating your face.

"maybe. you'd like that though, wouldn't you, seok?" you tilt your head to the side in a teasing manner. your tone of voice causes seokmin to nod, lips parting just slightly to taste the scent of vanilla on your soft fingers as he chuckles.

"very much so, yes." seokmin whispers, and you nod, cupping his cheek in your palm as you bring your lips to his. seokmin lets out a soft sigh, smiling under your lips as you allow your hand to flutter across seokmin's waist.

he trembles again, visibly shaking this time as you burst into a fit of laughter. "you're so cute, min."

seokmin's flustered now, cheeks a slight red as he covers his face with his hands. his bare torso is on display, still a beautiful sight to see as he mumbles something into his hands.

"hey, i'll stop teasing you now. let me look at your pretty face," you say softly, reaching for seokmin's hands. he lets you take them away from his face, revealing his sparkling, dark brown eyes, reddened cheeks, sharp nose, tiny beauty mark, and plush lips.

if there was one thing you would forever know, it would be that your boyfriend was one of the prettiest boyfriends you think you've ever had.

"there's my pretty seokmin." you smile, and seokmin's expression softens after a few seconds. he's leaning into your touch with ease now, searching your eyes as he lets out a quiet yet content sigh.

"i love you, more than you could ever know." seokmin's voice is sincere, dark eyes holding nothing but love for you as you nod, interlocking your hands with seokmin's larger ones.

even though silence falls between you two, it's a comfortable one, one that's thick with the feeling of love. even if you don't reply to seokmin's confession, the both of you know it's mutual.

[halfway-happyyy]

soft frank things

(because as always, my brain only operates in two modes with this man)

the man loves a slow dance

will literally make time for it whenever he can, whether there is music playing or not

he loves to see you in his clothing

even going so far as to insist that when you guys have the odd day off together, you either spend it entirely nude, or in one of his oversized shirts or sweaters

carries a picture of you everywhere he goes. the one tucked on the inside of his wallet right now is so tattered and worn, you can hardly tell it's of you anymore. he still swears it's his favourite

is an avid cook. he'd gotten out of it the last couple of years, on account of having no one to do it for, but nothing makes him more content than figuring out what you're craving from one day to the next, and whipping it up for you

one of his favourite ways to cuddle with you (apart from naked spooning) is to put on an old movie, and settle in for the night. (covers are not usually needed because the man runs hot.)

we've discussed it a bit before, but he loves it when you ask him to read to you

stargazing is hard to come by in new york city because of the light pollution, so on nights when it's really clear, he'll drive the two hours to minnewaska park just to be able to catch a glimpse of some with you

feels comfortable sharing anecdotes of his past with you. it doesn't happen often, but you're really the only person he goes to when he wants to talk about maria and the kids

he loves to build you things. whether it's a shelf set from ikea ("kid- what on earth possessed you to buy this, and why, for the love of god, do the instructions read like ancient heiroglyphics?") or a bird house you've had your eye on, he's your guy, and he's always more than happy to help

thrifting. the man loves a good thrift session. your home is filled with trinkets, and artwork, and random vinyls you two have found over the years

the man does not tolerate any negative self-talk from you. all he has to do is give you a look when you get going, and the words fizzle in your throat. "cut that shit out, kid. no one talks about my best friend like that."

the man is very protective of you. like that one time you forgot to get a first aid kit for your new car, and when you assured him you didn't think it was necessary he "broke into" it to put one in the glove compartment, and one in the trunk

animals. they love frank. dogs, cats, you name it, they're going to cuddle with him

he detests going to bed angry. so even if you've spent the evening in separate rooms, he always comes to find you when it's time to go to bed. "c'mon kid, lets leave the bullshit out here, hm? come to bed."

sometimes he worries he's too protective of you, but at the end of the day, he just hopes that when he's around, you always feel safe. that you know you always have someone you can talk to, to vent to, and to love

[subrosasteath]

Making another post actually, because all of the symbolism in Win or Lose is amazing.

Having anxiety be a creature that just grows and grows, and eats away and crushes Laurie down until she can't speak or walk like she used to? Having Laurie's dad always be under the sun, or some kind of light to signify that while Laurie is religious, and looks up to god, what she's really looking to is her father?

The way armour is necessary for some jobs - Frank need to be able to take criticism, and still stick firm to what he knows is true, - and that relief of taking it off? And when it bleeds into personal life, what can he even do? When he's been heart, because he can't open up, doesn't that just make it harder to shed that in the first place?

And then Ira, whose perspective reminds me a lot of Captain Underpants, and is so, so sweet. He's just a little kid, and a little weird, and he just wants friends who like him for that! And he wants his big sister to like him, and spend time with him! And he's so imaginative, the scribbly, cartoon style of his little world he spies through? I was just in love. The fact that he kept picturing the teenagers as super heros and rebels and good guys- and just the fact that he sounds like a kid! Are you kidding, that autraulian joke? I laughed so hard because I've heard kids talk like that, that's what shy, caring little kids sound like when they've been shot down before!

Yuwen's mini me inside his heart screaming like me!!, the version of him he doesn't let out, because it's cardboard and flimsy and so easy to crush. I'm really amazed at the way they portrayed Yuwen and Taylor, because i remember being in middleschool, and while I never dated (cough cough aroace), the depiction of them "picking out curtains and moving in" feels so real, because I do believe that's what love will always feel like, no matter the age. Being in middleschool doesn't mean the love isn't true, or isn't there just because it's not likely to last. And the way they depicted kissing, not by showing them kiss, but by showing what it felt like? I was amazed. Baffled. I can't believe I haven't seen more things like that.

(It's actually incredibly interesting to me, that 2/3 main male characters shown so far, have gimmicks of protection. Protecting themselves, their emotions, and who they are as a person, because they feel they can't be open and honest, they feel they can't trust their emotions to guide them.)

I talked about Rochelle and her mom in a seperate post, but the gasp I let out when I realized Rochelle's gravity was weird because she didn't have the stable force of a mom? Oh my god. Rochelle feels like her family is upside down, that she has to be the adult, and because of that, every force in her life is turned upside. She has no one to rely on and nothing to ground her, until her mom is finally there for her, no phone in hand at the end of episode 4. Gravity rights itself because her mom is there, fully present, to help her.

The way they contrasted Rochelle's episode's mood with her mom's was fantastic, because her mom's felt like a performance. She's performing, always, because she doesn't know how to be otherwise! She performs being a good mom and performs being happy for her audience, and even performs at the party, wether she wants to or not! That was an audience! And everything about her performance has bleeded into the way she sees the world, how everything's pink and sparkling and upbeat. It's only when she finds Rochelle do we see her not performing, we get to see, for the first time, who Vanessa is for just Rochelle. For just her family.

I'm so invested, so obsessed, SO READY FOR THE NEXT TWO EPISODES!!

(As a sidenote, if you haven't seen the storyboards of the cut trans scene, here's a link to the internet archive of them. I can't find them anywhere else. But the Picasso style falling apart, the shattering and splitting of identity, because Kai is scared, and has to act both parts and it's confusing and hurting her and oh- it really just punches me in the gut.

Here's the link directly to the archive: https://archive.org/details/23fr-4r

and the link to the reddit post i got it from: https://www.reddit.com/r/lostmedia/comments/1hhj1zh/partially_lost_deleted_storyline_from_upcoming/

please go watch it if you like the show it's absolutely beautiful <3)