#mans like ello there :]

[m0rninglatte]

Violet (C!Centross) turned into the mole from whac-a-mole during 'Taking it down'

[He's just being a silly lil guy checking up on one of his best friend aka the traumatised depressed sleep deprived birb]

[cupiare]

nice

[rapunziedameron]

The Resistance base maintains two primary X-Wing squadrons, code-named Red and Blue. Blue Squadron is the primary line of defense for the base, with Red Squadron flying as support. Commander Poe Dameron leads both squadrons, under the callsign Black Leader - not as an indication of a separate squadron, but to denote his specialized fighter, Black One. (The Force Awakens Visual Dictionary)

so obviously, Soule straight up ignored this when crafting the Poe comics and I think it's simultaneously a shame because it fits in more with the overall vibe of the Resistance and because it feels wildly counter intuitive to the reason that Soule says he likes Poe: that Poe feels like he's everyone's best friend.

But in the same breath, Soule decided to make the very specific decision to ignore a very interesting bit of worldbuilding and character building (Poe being a dork and loving his ship so much he names himself after it, yeah I know that's right) to make a Super Special Squadron of Poe's Closest Friends and then we never see any of the rest of the Resistance in the entire series with the exception of one small cameo from Statura in an issue feels like a very odd choice, especially when you consider how neglected Poe's friendships even with Black Squadron is: if anyone who read those comics hadn't read Before the Awakening, they surely wouldn't know Karé knew Poe all the way back in his New Republic days and that she flew in his squadron and followed him to the Resistance; I don't even think she and Poe hold (1) conversation at all in the entire series. Poe and Snap have a lot more moments, and there's the occasional reference to Poe and Jess talking offscreen, but, yeah - the comics feel oddly isolated in a way that feels very contradictory to the reason that Soule claims to like Poe.

A better writer might have done something interesting with the way Poe feels increasingly closed off/isolated from his squadron of his allegedly closest friends, in the fallout of having spent so long being uncertain if he could trust them. But instead, if the intent to explore that was there, it seems incidental to Soule's desire for fun Mission Impossible style adventures and gets swept under the rug; and it's certainly a recurring pattern. The current comic run wants us to believe so badly that Lando is adored by the masses in the Rebellion, to the point that his betrayal and command's subsequent desire to execute him, has to be kept secret because it would be a colossal blow to morale - but we never actually see any of the "everyone in the Rebellion loves Lando", it all happens offscreen and falls flat. Unless Holdo fucking him counts.

Truly, the more I sit and ponder on the comics, the less I like the choices Soule made, and wish someone else had written them, and the funniest thing is I think the only reason I've started turning a critical eye on them is because of how poorly the current Star Wars run is being written by him.

[bi-writes]

Does MOB ever just like.. walk up to Simon and like... Grab his ass?? Fondle his tibbies a lil bit?? Give a good squeeze to his cheeks or his milkers?? Cause if he was my husband and he was okay w it I would do that shit literally on sight every day

mail-order bride

you've been staring since he walked into the room.

he's wearing a shirt two times too small. it must be laundry day. either way, your husband looks...bigger than normal. he's cooking, standing at the kitchen counter as he sears off a few pieces of something in a pot, and when he drops a few dashes of soy sauce into the pot, you think a man has never looked so sexy sauteing onions.

he turns finally to the cutting board behind him, and he winks when he meets your eyes. you giggle involuntarily, a shrill sound leaving you because you have the biggest fucking crush on this man.

can men have tits? they can. they do. simon does. and you can see them in this tiny fucking shirt, and now you understand sometimes why your dresses end up torn on the floor of your living room--because you just want it.

"simon--"

"'ello, luv," he hums, licking some sauce off his finger before going back to chopping some herbs that lay on the cutting board. you pad further into the kitchen, coming close, and he looks up finally when you're standing right beside him. "somethin' wrong?"

"you're so hot," you whisper, and simon continues chopping, big arm moving as he leans over into your space a little.

"wot's tha'?"

"you're so hot, simon."

he chuckles lowly, moving the knife under the pile to place into a bowl. he sets down the knife and turns to face you, crossing his arms over his chest. fuck, it's making his chest look bigger, ughhh...

"somethin' the matter? ya sick?"

"no," you whine, reaching over, and he drops his arms when you forcibly move them away, pushing your hands up his stomach, over his pecs, squeezing the firm muscle there. "oh my god..." you lean in, getting on your toes, and he gives in quite easily, kissing you warmly. "i can't believe you're mine--"

simon huffs as you throw your arms around his neck, lifting your leg around his waist, and he bends to hoist you into his arms as you start trying to climb him like your very own tree (which even then might be impossible, with the huge trunk of a man that he is). you sigh when he drops your weight onto the counter, and with less distance between you, you take full advantage--licking into his mouth, feeling and squeezing up his chest, whispering between kisses i love you and is it hot in here or is it just you? and i want this, i want you, please, simon.

"wot's gotten into ya, baby?" simon murmurs, holding you at a distance. you're eager to get back to him, to kiss him again, and you whimper when he holds you firm, making you look at him. "hmm?"

"i don't know," you breathe, panting. you squeeze the back of his neck, whining, and you try and scoot closer. "i don't know, i just...you look so good...i just..."

the smile that spreads across his face takes your breath away. he's not pretty, but he's pretty. his face tells a thousand stories. a missing tooth or two, a cut lip that never healed right, the slashes that have closed over unevenly across his eyes and along his cheek--but why is he so gorgeous? what makes you so feral for this one man, more than you've ever been for anyone else in your entire life?

there's just something about him. something about simon makes him so beautiful. there's a soft heart underneath that solid chest, there's a full belly and warm body under your hands as you explore the ridges and dips of the rest of his body. he's got the stature of a protector, the eyes of a killer, but fuck, he loves like no one else.

he loves you. he loves like no one else does, ever will, ever has, and he loves you.

you giggle as you cup his cheeks, tracing his lips with your thumb, admiring him.

"sorry, it's hard to be serious," you sigh, shaking your head. "just wanna jump your bones, simon."

"me, too, luv."

"then what are we waiting for, simon?"

he tsks, drawing you closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

"no idea, baby. no fucking clue."

[radiance1]

"Danny!" Danny turned around to find Plasmius, gunning straight for him on his motorbike, and came to a quick stop as if he wasn't about to run him over. "You need to keep your alternative self on a leash. You hear me?"

Danny took one long sip of his tea, staring Plasmius straight in the eyes, savored the taste for a moment before swallowing. "Nuh uh."

"What do you mean 'Nuh uh'!?"

"Nuh uh."

Plasmius straight up hissed, red eyes glowing from beyond his pair of sunglasses as he stared the teenager down. "Do you know how many times he's woken me up, before the sun itself is up, just to annoy me into spending valuable hours of my time with him!?"

Danny took another sip of his tea, reaching a hand under his shirt to scratch his stomach. "That sounds like a you problem, really."

"Da-"

"You know he's also made from you right? If I had to fight him, you're going to be annoyed by him." Danny stated plainly, making a gesture with his thermos. "Also, it's a bonus for me since you're too busy to do your frootloop things-"

Plasmius grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt and wrinkled his nose. "You really need to get better pajamas than a simple shirt and oversized pants." He placed the boy under his arm and took the sky. Danny idly shifted to Phantom as he took another sip. "So like, where're you taking me?"

"To go and put stop to that imbecile."

"You know I had plans today."

"Ice cream for a month, all from my card."

Phantom humed. "Make it two."

"Deal."

Phantom flexed his fingers. "...Three..."

"Doable."

"Oh, you're actually serious about this."

A drive later

You see, Dan was having the time of his life. Strongarming that old man at the asscrack of dawn, driving to Metroplis and causing mass amounts of property damage with the crown jewel being that he got to chase around Superman in an attempt to run him over.

He should've expected something to go wrong.

One moment, he was casually minding his business, trying to trample one of the Earth's greatest heroes under his motorbike. The next he was nearly knocked off of it when something slammed into him.

"Ello." Phantom said calmly, as if he wasn't just thrown by Plasmius right into his alternative self from a future that no longer exists. "Twerp." Dan also said 'calmly' as he grabbed onto Phantom and lifted him off of him.

Then dropped him.

Superman was very quick to catch the boy. "Thanks." Phantom said, and Superman smiled. "You're welcome! Are you here to pick him up now, or are you just waiting?"

"I'm getting three months worth of ice cream if I stop him now so like, pick him up I guess."

Superman help him up under the armpits and faced him towards Dan. "He's here to pick you up, by the way!"

"I fucking heard that!" Dan shouted at Superman before turning his attention to Phantom. "Also, what the fuck! You can't just do that! Did that old fuck put you up to this!?"

"Whaaaat? Noooo, he would neveeer..." Phantom glanced around, looking for Plasmius before clicking his tongue. There was an unfortunate lack of said halfa to throw under the bus. "If you stop for like, now, I'll share some of my ice cream with you."

Dan genuinely considered this proposal. "Know what, fine." He yanked Phantom from Superman's hold and dropped him onto the seat beside him before driving away.

"Enjoy your ice cream!" Superman shouted.

"Shut the fuck up boy scout!" Dan shouted back.

[darkacua]

The Cain instinct

I demand canon moments where Silver and Malleus treat each other like siblings whenever they're alone, especially if Lilia or Sebek aren't around them. Where they show that outside of their typical treatment of respect is the fact that they were raised by the same man whom they both consider their father. They love each other eternally, they would kill, they would die and they are capable of destroying the entire world for each other, one to a greater extent than the other.

Especially since I'm sure they both have ridiculously strong Cain instincts.

One day you are a prince taking care of your caregiver's adopted son and the next a being who lives in an eternal circle of revenge and destruction towards the cruelty of humanity (Silver bit his finger when he was 8 years old and Malleus pecked his eye in Consequently, they continue to blame each other whenever they can)

Imagine a Silver who fell asleep in the forest and Malleus just finds him. If Lilia, Sebek or anyone was near him he would feign complete concern and take him to his bedroom. But he's alone, so he's going to wake up the young man he considers his brother with a loving kick in the ribs (nothing too hard, he wants to bother him, not kill him).

Or a malleus who is simply reading and out of nowhere feels a wet finger in his ear, a finger that belongs to a 17-year-old with a smile too kind for someone who has just drooled in the ear of the next king of the Briar Valley , and someone who is also a coward since he runs away the moment the older man gets up from his seat.

It is better if neither of them knows what is happening, they just know that there are days when they have to be mean to the other or they will go crazy, they have accepted it as a royal decree and will continue it until the end of their days. .

Imagine that no one knows about this kind of treatment, until someone enters Diasomnia only to find the all-powerful Malleus Draconia screaming like a dying child because Silver has him in a wrestling hold (which it is very obvious he can get out of, but… Where's the fun in that?)

Anyway, I need an irrational Malleus and Silver being a shitty little brother. I leave my delusions here.

a small second part

Español bajo el corte

Exigo momentos canónicos donde Silver y Malleus se tratan como hermanos cada vez que están solos, sobre todo si no están Lilia o Sebek a su alrededor. Donde muestren que por fuera de su típico trato de respeto está el hecho de que fueron criados por el mismo hombre al que ambos consideran su padre. Se aman eternamente, matarían, morirían y son capaces de destruir el mundo entero el uno por el otro, uno en mayor medida que el otro.

Sobre todo porque estoy segura que los dos tienen un instinto de Cain ridículamente fuerte.

Un dia eres un príncipe cuidando al hijo adoptivo de tu cuidador y al siguiente un ser que vive en un círculo eterno de venganza y destrucción hacia la crueldad de la humanidad (Silver le mordió un dedo cuando tenía 8 años y Malleus le pico un ojo en consecuencia, se lo siguen echando en cara cada que pueden entre ellos)

Imaginen a un Silver que se quedó dormido en el bosque y Malleus simplemente lo encuentra. Si Lilia, Sebek o cualquiera estuviera cerca fingiría completa preocupación y lo llevaría a su dormitorio. Pero esta solo, así que va a despertar a él joven que considera su hermano con una amorosa patada en las costillas (nada demasiado fuerte, quiere molestarlo no matarlo)

O a un malleus que simplemente está leyendo y de la nada siente un dedo húmedo en su oreja, un dedo que pertenece a un joven de 17 años con una sonrisa demasiado amable para alguien que acaba de babear el oído del próximo rey del Valle de Briar, y alguien que también es un cobarde ya que sale corriendo en el momento que él mayor se levante de su asiento.

Es mejor si ninguno de los dos sabe que es lo que pasa, solo saben que hay días en los que tienen que ser malos con el otro o se volverán locos, lo han aceptado como un decreto real y lo continuarán hasta el final de sus días.

Imaginen que nadie sabe de este tipo de trato, hasta que alguien entra a Diasomnia sólo para encontrar al todopoderoso Malleus Draconia gritando como un niña moribunda porque Silver lo tiene en una llave de lucha (de la cual es muy obvio que se puede zafar ¿pero dónde está lo divertido en eso?).

En fin, necesito un Malleus irracional y un Silver siendo un hermano menor de mierda. Hasta aquí dejo mis delirios.

[laurashapiro-noreally]

So on my last rewatch I noticed how Aziraphale is gently amused (though never condescending) to Muriel and their "I'm a human police officer" routine.

But then, in the very same episode, without a trace of irony or self-awareness, our sweet angel dons his very best 1949 journalist cosplay and announces "I'm what's known as a newspaper man!"

He is just as excited, and almost as naive, as Muriel here -- down to not reading the big THE RESURRECTIONIST sign on the wall of the pub. "Gimme the facts!" He quips giddily. Might as well be saying "Wot's all this then?"

He's been here six thousand years but he is still an Eldritch being in a human suit and a giant goofball with no interest in keeping up with the times and it is fascinating and lovable that he can recognize Muriel's ridiculousness and not see his own.

How very like all of us.

[ Image Description: Two GIFs, the first of Muriel in a solid white old-fashioned British police officer uniform gleefully saying, "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello. What's all this then?" at Aziraphale's door. The other of Aziraphale dressed as a stereotypical old-fashioned journalist excitedly asking, "Is this the Resurrectionist public house?" End ID. ]

(update to add image captions)

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Pussydrunk!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Cockdrunk!Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Simon comes home from deployment, hungry to have his pretty girl all to himself. Things get heated quick and before long you are both drunk off the feeling of the other. From this ask here.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

The moment those heavy boots hit the threshold of the apartment, brown eyes are searching for you as Simon’s heart pounds in his ears the same as it had the entire drive over. He’s been gnawing at the bit since even before he returned to base a day ago, aching to get back to the gorgeous being living in his flat. The last month of his deployment he’s been on edge, counting down the days in agonizing fashion as the craving growing in the pit of his stomach gets worse and worse. Fuck, he’s missing you - all of you - something fierce. 

Simon has missed those sweet moans of yours, the way you make his name sound so perfect through the stuttered gasps as you reach that level of incoherence that renders you completely useless; he has missed all the ways your body moves against and underneath him, writhing and back arching as his larger form overwhelms you; he has missed the way you fuck him, body begging for more even as you struggle to fit him all in and how beautiful it is to be inside you. 

It is enough to drive the man insane.

From the bedroom you can hear the door opening and closing and rush to the living room as quick as your legs can move, carried by giddy nerves to see your lover again after so long. You knew he was meant to be in today, but not the time and so you’ve been on edge waiting and listening; as soon as you see him a deepening ache situates itself in your chest. 

Simon clocks you as you come into the living room and he can’t find enough air to fill his lungs; by the way your cheeks instantly glow with warmth and your eyes sparkle he’s sure you are feeling the same tension fill the air around you the moment you two are in sight of one another. You are the one to close the distance as Simon’s limbs feel too heavy to move at first, blood being drawn to other places along his body that need it more now that he is near to the object of his desire. 

“Hey there stranger,” you smile up into those familiar balaclava- clad features as your heartbeat steadily becomes more erratic from your body flooding with that desperate longing to be against him once again. It is always the same: when you two are apart for long periods when he has to be away the moment you are in front of one another again it is like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline. “Long time no see.” 

He stares back down at you, light chocolate eyes taking in the face he hasn’t seen properly in too damn long. “Well ‘ello there yerself, pretty girl,” he returns, gravely tone sending chills down your spine as he drops the gear on his shoulder to the floor so that he has free range of motion to cup his calloused hand along your soft, delicate cheek. “It’s been a hot fuckin’ minute. Did ya miss me, luv?”

Before his brain can register what’s happening he senses something brush up against him in the small space still between your bodies and as his eyes travel down he sees that your hand is grabbing at his belt buckle, silky digits lacing themselves around the metal clasp. His eyes jump back up to yours instantly.

You aren’t wasting any time, are you? Fucking hell.

“Missed you a whole fucking lot, Simon,” you say under your breath as you give his belt a firm tug forward so that he has to take a step into you. Your thighs are already being rubbed together where you stand; it’s instant the way he can turn you on just by his presence alone. “Didn’t know when you’d be in; been waiting as patiently as I could, but I gotta say it hasn’t been easy. Got my nerves all flustered. How about you? Are you flustered, baby?”

You just have to do it, don’t you? That one damned gesture that always sends him reeling.

It isn’t a secret how the time apart makes him pine for you as if he is a man dying of thirst: for those hot, breathless moments spent between your thighs, for the way your bodies seem created only for the other, for the intense sensations of euphoria that only you can give him. So when your fingers hook into his belt to pull him in closer, you know what effect it will have on making him crumble, don’t you? 

Eight months is far too fucking long not to have any piece of you and any little touch would have done the trick to do him in, but you know the exact combination that will have him throwing you on your back in a heartbeat. He is a man starved of his addiction and it’s about goddamn time he had another hit. As you tug at the leather with a smirk across your lips, doe-eyed stare not so innocent anymore, all that yearning that had been bubbling right under the calm surface of those autumn-colored eyes for eight long, agonizing months explodes with force. 

No words, not a goddamn sound as that skull mask is ripped up off of Simon’s face in a flash quicker than your eyes can catch. Your body is moved by two strong arms more than capable of manhandling those curves with ease and find yourself slammed into the wall while he clasps your chin securely in his grip so that hungry lips can scramble to aggressively capture your own. While your lips dance, his free hand roams up under your clothes to grab ahold of any piece of available flesh as all that pent up desire surges through his veins like liquid fire. His fingertips tremble as they brush across all that soft, balmy skin along your abdomen and around your hips, making him produce a guttural moan into your open mouth that you are forced to swallow down. 

That huge, hulking body of his with its prominent muscles bulging everywhere even through his clothing overwhelms your own as he pins you harder against the wall while his grip descends to around your ass so that he can bring your hips forward, clothed pelvis rutting into you to catch any extra bit of friction he can as that tenting at the crotch of his pants swells the longer he grinds against you. His mouth is insatiable, stealing sloppy, frantic kisses one after another until your lips burn from the abrasion… and yet you still aren’t satisfied. 

Simon feels your nipples through your t-shirt stiffening as his chest rubs against them, a reminder to his numbing brain that there is even more of a feast for him waiting just beneath your clothes if he can just get them off you; the couple of nudes he keeps in his phone that you send him while he’s away are only a pale comparison to the real fucking thing and he’s been dying see it in person.

You’re close to one another, but not fucking close enough. 

He needs skin on skin, curves molded into curves, cock buried in you deep. That’s the crux of it all - he needs to be reminded of what you feel like wrapped around him, lose his mind as your cunt gives him the sensation he can get nowhere else from no one else. It consumes him in that moment until his thoughts are filled with nothing but the oncoming ecstasy that will soon be his. 

Feverish fingers slip themselves into the waistband at the back of your pants as he continues to rut against you, the few layers of fabric between you about to be reduced as he shoves down taking your pants over the arch of your ass until they fall around your ankles and you can step out of them. Your own fingers are already undoing the buckle of his belt before your clothes can hit the floor; thank fuck that Simon likes to keep his wardrobe uncomplicated when on leave. 

“Christ, I’m so fuckin’ hard for ya, sweetheart,” he breathes the heated, desperate words against your raw lips as hips continue to grind on you and make your work that much more difficult, “it’s been hell being away for so long. I’ve been fuckin’ starved, baby. That sweet little pussy of yours is callin’ my fuckin’ name. I need it, I need ya…fuckin’ can’t wait another goddamn second.” 

The muscles along his abdomen tense through his shirt as you brush against them until finally his belt comes loose and you can move onto the button securing his pants. You finish undoing everything just in time for him to tear that fucking shirt clean off your top half before doing exactly the same to his own. 

The middle of his chest is flushed pink and hastily you lean in to press your lips to it, through the tingle against your mouth from tiny hairs brushing over the delicate skin you can feel he is so warm it’s like he’s heated from the inside out. That broad chest heaves up and down heavily with the weight of his lust-filled breaths as you dot tender pecks along the center before he can’t take anymore and picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and hurriedly drags you off to the bedroom hungry and ready to indulge.  

“That’s it,” Simon says in that brash tone that lets you know he’s reached his limit. “Can’t take this ache ‘nother goddamn second. You and that sweet thing between your legs are mine now.”  

He’s able to make it across the apartment in no time and throws open the bedroom door so that it hits the wall behind it with a booming thud as he stalks to the bed and sets you down on the surface, making sure to remove the pants hanging loosely around his hips as quick as he can along with his boxers. The moment he’s free of the clothing binding him that thick, meaty appendage springs to life, bobbing at attention as the vein along it pulses, and your breath hitches as your eyes are drawn to it; he’s not the only one who’s hungry and its been a hot fucking minute since you’ve laid eyes on all he has to offer.

You barely have time to scramble up towards the pillows at the head of the bed before he is crawling up towards you, a predator’s gaze making his iris’ flash and sparkle with an internal fire in the scant bit of light from the bedside lamp that illuminates the room. 

Simon’s shoulder muscles tense as he moves on all fours until he’s over you, his cock dangling down as he gets between your legs so that it drags over the petals of your pussy. You can feel it throb as it becomes even more engorged with blood at the stimulation and it makes your mouth salivate. A strained grunt echoes through his closed lips as the tip grazes over that silky, heated skin between your thighs; he’s already vibrating with pleasure… what the fuck is gonna happen when he gets inside?

Only one way to find out…

Simon pulls your legs up high around his waist, wide torso keeping you nice and spread for him. You claw at his shoulder blades with your nails as you shove your hips into him, body practically begging for him to get inside already. Screw any foreplay, you can’t afford to wait and let this frantic moment slip by. There is only one thing you want in you and it is already throbbing at its destination. 

“Fuck, please Simon, just get inside me,” your plea sends a shiver down his spine. “I don’t want to fucking wait…waited long enough.”

Spitting into his hand he applies the moisture to your entrance, lubricating the opening with hard presses of his fingertips along your cunt to help get things moving in the right direction. “Been a while, baby,” he returns as he aligns the tip and presses it against you while trying not to fall apart at the seams, “ya sure ya can still fuckin’ take it all?”

You nod aggressively, the need to be filled out by him overwhelming your every sense. You’ve waited patiently all this time, chomping at the bit for him to get back to you and now that he is here between your legs it’s all you can think about. “Give it to me,” you demand. “I need it baby, please, I’m aching something terrible. I need to feel you inside me again.”

How could he ever deny a request like that from you? 

The world falls away as the tip slips through the threshold of your body and inside and he has to stop as just the head alone stretching you wide sends him spiraling. Your back arches off of the bed as you squirm under him, mouth falling open with half-formed moans that get caught in the back of your throat as the tight space is beginning to fill. Simon shudders with ecstasy, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth to bite down in hopes that the sharp pain will force him to stay sane.  

Another thrust shoves him in a bit more so that now he’s more than halfway there, but still has just a bit to go. Your body doesn’t stand a chance as you lay under him at his mercy. His fingernails graze your waist as his hands hold on tight; he has to fit it in, get to the base, completely surround himself within you. Taking a deep breath he gathers another burst of energy to thrust all the way until he bottoms out and you release a cry into the silence of the room. 

“Goddamn ya feel so fuckin’ good princess, like a goddamn dream,” he gasps out as his head snaps down against your chest. “Pretty girl, my pretty fuckin’ girl, wanna keep ya fuckin’ full ‘a me all the time.”

Simon’s brain is quickly becoming mush as the warmness and growing wetness of your pussy makes his large form quiver at the bliss. You are no better, sanity slipping away as his hefty cock practically molds your walls to his specific shape as it rests inside. Hips begin to rock and are immediately punctuated by a deep-throated groan with each snap as he settles into a steady rhythm.   

Thrust after thrust each one harder than the last pushes your body until it is shoved up and your head hits the wall behind the bed. Simon’s nose nuzzles into your neck as feeble whimpers leave the confines of your mouth and pack his head full. “Missed your sounds too,” he says, amidst another thrust. “Keep this up and it’s gonna be my fuckin’ end, sweetheart.” Another strong thrust follows and then another.  

A yearning need to see himself fuck your gorgeous body suddenly engulfs his mind and so he slow sits himself up on his knees, making sure to keep himself inside you, so that he can get the perfect birdseye view of the beautiful way your body takes him in. It’s perfection and he cannot help but become absorbed in watching as each thrust in and out makes his cock disappear inside that narrow passage only to slip back out covered in more of your juices with each pass. 

Over and over his hips rock into you, the muscles along his abdomen clenching, fingertips digging into your sides to hold you still as his speed steadily increases the longer he goes. Your music fills his head, whimpers of pleasure as he strikes against your g-spot from the angle he’s positioned in, and that is the only thing that is floating in there now as everything else becomes a blur. 

The stoic and collected military officer is reduced to a glorious mess the longer he thrusts, drooling over you, going blind and delirious at the feeling of those tight, silky walls sucking him all in as they flutter around his cock. It’s been too long, too many nights spent alone without your company stuck half-way across the world with only his hand to keep him occupied when he can get a free moment, which those were few and far between. But nothing, nothing ever could compare to the feeling of you.

“Can’t get enough,” he stammers with a groan, so wrapped up in the moment that speech is near impossible to produce. “Fuckin’ desperate for ya, need more…need fuckin’ more…”

Simon is deep inside you and yet that ache is still monstrous, eating him alive so that anything outside of the ecstasy of your flesh is just fucking gone. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he’s obsessed with your body. It isn’t enough though, never enough. You have completely consumed him; he is under your spell and nothing can break the charm.

His head is spinning, thoughts vacant like he is wasted; fuck, he’s high off the sensation of your pussy clenching around him. Now that he is inside you, there is no way he can leave anytime soon. There’s no goddamn way he’s going to let either of you come yet, not after how long you two have gone without each other. 

That hot coil tensing in the pit of his stomach pulls tighter and tighter, but he will not let it snap… not yet. No, he needs this to last as long as he physically can keep it up and so he knows what he has to do and with all his strength he does it; that once intense pounding slows down until he stops amongst your whimpered mewling. 

“What’re you doing?” you stutter, hips desperately trying to buck against him, but he pins them down for a bit. 

“Uh, uh,” he shakes his head, “don’t ya fuckin’ dare think you’re gonna come yet. Ya feel too fuckin’ good to let go of.”

Oh shit… You were in for it now, but just how much you could have never guessed. 

“No…no, please… I need you to keep going,” you plead as your throat strains to release the words, water rimming the whites of your eyes. That consuming ache is so deep in your bones it threatens to devour you whole, causing you to rip at the very seams as it permeates every fiber of your being until your entire form is primed like an explosive ready to combust. You can’t breathe, you can’t fucking think; everything is focused on how much the feeling of him is consuming all of you like a fire burning through dry tinder.

A shuddering breath escapes his lips; even stopping doesn’t help much, your body just feels too good and so he has to at least rut carefully against it. “I know, baby, I know,” he groans as his fingers dig into your hip to now force you to grind your clit into the base of his shaft. “But ya want this to fuckin’ last, yeah? Ya don’t wanna be done with me just yet, do ya?”

That thick, veiny appendage lay inside you, its girth stretching out the walls of your cunt to capacity as it simply rests there throbbing with the beat of his rapid heart rate, stewing in the filthy mess of juices he’s already made between your legs. You choke on a whimper as the stimulation to your clit sends a shockwave through to your toes and you clench them together, gathering some of the sheets into their grip. 

“No,” you shake your head wildly. “You just feel so fucking good, I can’t help it… feels so good… I just wanna keep feeling good with you, Simon.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he praises as he leans forward and presses his burning lips to the skin on your stomach, knowing that no matter what you would have said he wasn’t going to let you tap out yet; he needs your pussy like he needs air to survive. “It’s been too fuckin’ long since we’ve been able ta do this…need ta make up for all the lost time.” 

Simon’s dreamt about this the entire time you’ve been apart; insatiable, desperate, carnal fantasies about fucking your tight hole to within an inch of your sanity, making you come so hard that you can’t move for hours after. His cock has been throbbing for months with nothing but his fucking hand to take the edge off as he pictures filling out every inch of your hole until there is nowhere left for his cock to go.

Another couple of minutes of simply breathing, grinding, and focusing on the way the skin of your torso is so soft against his lips and he’s far enough from that ledge that he wants to start thrusting full force again. He leans down and wraps his arms around your body and you take it as a sign that he’s going to start up again, only for him to roll you both until you are the one on top now. The movement is unexpected, but you are more than willing to go along with it if it means you can take control of your own pleasure. 

As he situates himself under you, his hands roam up and down your sides while he takes a second to enjoy how you look perched over him: full tits directly in his face, hair cascading around your cheeks as you peer down into his face, eyes rolling back in your head every time a sensitive point gets stimulated. You are his fucking fantasy when you get on top. 

“I wanna have ya ride me for a bit,” he breathes. “Show me how good ya ride it, pretty girl. Make my cock your toy.”

As long as he stays inside you, you’ll do whatever the hell he wants.    

Placing your hands on his hard chest for support while his hand moves back to your hips, Simon guides you up and down until you are bouncing in rhythm to match his racing heartbeat. Harder and harder he shoves you forcefully down to get as deep into you as possible until you can feel bruises rising where his hands have a hold of you, yet that doesn’t matter at all as you can only comprehend the way his cock is rendering you too fucking dumb to think of anything else.  

Pushing down against his chest you bob up and down on your knees as best as you can, trying to keep up with his relentless pace. He told you to use him, but all you want is for him to make you his living fleshlight as you are forced to take it all. Your movements start to get sloppy after a time as you can hardly keep yourself focused anymore with how good it feels and Simon takes notice, though he is ready with the solution.

His hips start to strike up into your pussy as even though he is beneath you he is more than capable of taking control, not wanting to move into a new position just yet. You whimper and whine with your mouth hung open as each percussive hit sends shockwaves of euphoria ripping through you just like you want. This is too much for anyone to handle: you being entirely ravaged by him until you are so desperately lost in the pleasure of it all that you are in a complete state of full body bliss. 

You can only sit and take every last delectable inch that he gives you as his massive girth stretches your walls with every thrust of his pelvis upward. The room fills with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as he works your hole as if this is the last chance he will ever get to fuck you and he needs to make it count.

Minute after minute, his full attention being focused solely on you, each stroke along that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside your core drives you increasingly closer to that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off at any point without notice. He must be feeling it too, for again his thrusting slows until he is simply grinding against you once again and that building pressure falls away. 

Over and over again this happens, Simon edging you both closer and closer before struggling to back off and changing positions in a constant rotation, each position just as mind-numbing as the last now that you are cockdrunk. You find yourself on your knees with your head shoved into the mattress  and then on your side with him pressed up against your back, bouncing on top with his hand desperately cupping at your tits and then returning to where it all started on your back, all the while the constant humping during the calmer moments keeps you primed and yet just far enough off the edge that each new round keeps building towards that desperate end. 

Goddamn his stamina is something of legend, but when he wants something bad enough he will make it work no matter how hard he must push himself. And right now he cannot get enough of you no matter how he tries. 

Fuck, your clit is throbbing so hard you think you might pass out, the room so warm your hair sticks to the sides of your face, the scent of sex pungent with each ragged breath shared between your close mouths; every single sense overstimulated to the point of barely being able to process it all. You are perched on his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, foreheads pressed together tight with eyes shut. 

Simon leans in to kiss your raw mouth, but even the contact from your lips makes him gasp from the sensitivity. Your legs are shaking violently now as he’s slowed once more, every muscle pushed to its limit as he rocks his hips into you just because it feels too good to ever stop completely. Both of you are sparkling from head to toe, coated with the speckled dew of perspiration to match the absolute mess Simon has made between your legs. 

Smooth thighs glisten with that warm, moist, natural lubrication of your cunt as it dribbles out of you and onto the sheets beneath to leave a noticeable dark spot on the bed that’s still warm to the touch. Simon’s mouth waters as the taste buds along his tongue prick to life at the sight, begging to savor all your sweet nectar, but he tells himself to not get ahead of things. 

The rest of the night you are going to be his and he will get everything he wants of it all before the end.

Just like you, Simon is out of his goddamn mind with pleasure. The sensation consumes everything inside him until there is nothing left; the only way he can communicate is through breathy groans and staggered grunts as if he is only an animal now. He craves to be the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, the only goddamn thing you need. And that is when he knows that he cannot hold off another second. 

Without warning he pulls out of you only briefly so that he can aggressively flip you over onto your back, getting into position by kneeling in front of you as he throws your legs onto his broad, sculpted shoulders before he grips your hips and instantly re-enters you. This is it, though he can’t barely speak, it’s gonna happen whether he is ready or not so he is going to be damned sure to make it go off with a fucking bang.

Again Simon picks up his desperate pace, his abs dripping with sweat as they contract and release after each desperate thrust. Those brown eyes close off to the rest of the world, just absorbing every last second of that mind-numbing goodness that he can before he blows.

“F-fuck, Simon...mmmm…” you whine your plea as you can feel that warmth rising harshly in the pit of your stomach, “p-please… d-d-don’t stop.”

Your mind is all static, so lost on Simon’s cock that you cannot stand it; it’s overwhelming in its intensity that you actually aren’t entirely sure you want to come yet. If you could just stay suspended in this moment forever, you’d die happy. All that edging has done its job just as intended though and with a few more strong thrusts of him deep in your core, that is it: like a hot flash of white light you squeal out in unsteady whimpers as your orgasm rips through you with such force you nearly bolt off the bed as your back arches and your hips buck harshly against him. 

A roar is released from within his chest, his body writhing as he holds on to your waist for dear life while he milks his cock inside you, coating your walls in his cum until he has no more left in him to give. He sounds like a wild animal and it makes your body vibrate with exhilaration; you are the one to make him come with such force he is reduced to more basic instincts. 

You fall back against the bed as your body shakes violently with the force of your orgasm. Never has such intense pleasure overwhelmed you so thoroughly that your limbs tremble uncontrollably before and though the exhaustion overtakes you, it is euphoric. Simon slowly slips himself out of your pussy as he sits back, his overstimulated cock twitching with sensitivity as he removes it from your tightness.

You whimper a little, instantly missing the feeling of him stretching you out and honestly wishing he would have just stayed inside even longer, but you know if you don’t have even a small break that you are not going to survive.

His strong hands hold your vibrating legs apart as he sits back on the mattress exhausted and a million miles away as he watches as his cum dribbles out of your pussy like honey; goddamn did he stuff you to the brim. All you can do is lay there with your eyes shut tight, heart thudding against your ribs as you focus all your remaining brain power on breathing. From your head to the tips of your toes you sparkle with perspiration as if you are decked out in diamonds that shimmer in the low light of the room.

“Christ Simon…gonna kill me,” you chuckle lightly as your mouth finally is able to do something other than hang open. 

Eyes still closed, the sensation of his lips brushing against your inner thigh catches your attention. “Not…yet,” his low, gruff voice hits your ears from between your legs, accent heavy with his fatigue. Why did that sound like a promise?

Your mouth is already forming the question when it instantly dies on your tongue as you become aware of a firm grip from those strong hands spreading your legs open even further as his body slides off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor to sit on his knees with his face at optimal level with your pussy.

“Simon?” you ask hastily as you struggle up to your elbow to see those dark eyes peer up at you just over the mound of your sex. 

The corner of his mouth is barely visible, but you can see it upturn. He may have come, but he is nowhere near finished yet. “Still fuckin’ hungry for ya,” he growls before descending down into the ecstasy of the space in between your thighs. 

Simon just needs to buy time until he can get it up again…good thing his tongue is always ready to go. Sharp features are instantly soaked as he dives in without hesitation, the scent of your arousal instantly clinging to his cheeks and making his cock begin to twitch. His mouth is filled with a combination of both of your flavors as his tongue does what it does best: find your clit like a pleasure-seeking missile. He is ready to get completely lost in you all over again, this time with his first favorite activity and all you can do is hold on as he straps you to his face.

Let the feast on your pussy continue…it’s gonna be a long fucking while until he’s done with you.

Tagging: @llelannie @thicksexxualtension @cheolsblkwife @cum-tea-and-towels @sillylittlereader @mesyakee

[enchantedflameandflower]

Billy Butcher x you! 18+

NSFW 18+ only for smut, piv, cockwarming, creampie, also a bit of angst and self-doubt

~~~

Thank you @karlurbanism for the request, I loved writing it so much. I hope you enjoy ❤️Thank you so much to @karlurbanism and @babyfri3dric3 for giving me the ideas of how to work Karl’s white t-shirt and black jacket into a Billy story ❤️

Request summary: Reader is working with the boys but the dangers of working for Vought while trying to bring them down are making old anxieties rise to the surface. Anytime reader wants to spend quality time w/Billy, they seem to be interrupted and reader is worried he isn’t attracted to her anymore. Billy decides enough is enough and takes reader to get away for a few days on a boat. Butcher prepares some blankets and a picnic on the boat and then shows reader what she really means to him. Passion ensues. Inspired my getaway boat drabbles on my masterlist

word count: 4.9k

*~*~*~*

What’s Mine ~

The old tv at the safe house filled the room with a low kind of buzzing noise as you flipped through the channels one more time from the even older couch. There wasn’t a thing worth watching. Sighing to yourself, you left it on an old sitcom you’d seen 100 times before but turned the volume down just letting it play in the background. 

You checked your phone once more and flicked your gaze toward the steps but still nothing. 

You had a good job at Vought but as soon as you had found out about the destruction and horror caused by Supes like Homelander you felt you had no choice but to do something to help. You met M.M. and since then you had been able to help the boys out with information and access quite a few times. But only when Butcher was sure you couldn’t be implicated.

Butcher. You had fallen for him almost immediately. And that wasn’t like you but he was something…something you couldn’t resist no matter how hard you tried.  

You’d fallen in his bed even easier.

You told yourself it was just a fling that helped you deal with the stress of this double life but deep down you knew it was more complicated than that. It always was with you. You wanted it to just be about fucking the hottest man you’d ever seen, but you never could keep your heart out of it. And it didn’t help when Butcher did ridiculous things like being thoughtful about your situation. 

He had told you more than once that you could quit anytime you wanted, it was always up to you, and you were thinking about it because this whole situation was becoming stressful as fuck but…

Doubt gnawed at your mind. Was Butcher only with you because of your job? Your own secret insecurities snuck up on you while you sat here in the dim room alone, making anxiety bloom in your chest. Why else would he be with you? You didn’t know. If you quit, would he drop you like trash, on to the next useful nobody?

But then you thought about all those moments you’d shared over the past year, the times he’d let you see all those emotions and thoughts he tried to hide, when he’d hold you and you felt safer than you’d ever had in your life…

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as your anxiety started to fully take over but then you heard those familiar boots stomping down the stairs.

“Hey,” you murmured, sitting up and meeting Butcher’s dark hazel eyes.

“‘ello, doll. Ya ‘ere alone?” he glanced around before looking back to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded standing up. “Hungry? I could make something…”

He came over to you sliding his big hand around your waist, tugging you closer and shaking his head but the lines around his eyes crinkled as he studied you. “How was work?” he asked.

Work. Of course. He wanted to know what you had for him. 

“Fine,” you answered shortly. “Nothing much happened.” You turned away from him, heading to the kitchen to grab a drink. 

But Butcher wasn’t having it. “Oi. What’s the problem, eh?”

You sighed to yourself. “Nothing, just tired,” you murmured, but when you turned back he was right behind you and he was sliding his hand over your waist again. “Let’s go to bed then, yeah?” 

You tilted your head to look into his dark hazel eyes and damn if they weren’t swirling with worry and…affection? Maybe all this doubt really was all in your head. You couldn’t deny it felt like the two of you had grown close, especially over the last six months. You stood up on your tip toes to brush your lips against his but just as he started to kiss you back three pairs of footsteps were thundering down the steps and you both pulled away from each other. 

Of course they all knew you were together but it wasn’t like either of you to be putting on any shows. And they were always around. 

“Got a bunch of new supes to find,” M.M. said, holding up a stack of files for Butcher to see as he came into the room. Frenchie and Kimiko both nodded in greeting, Kimiko heading to her room and Frenchie to the fridge.

M.M. took his coat off and sat down at the table, gesturing Butcher over. “I want to go over them and see what we can set up for the next week in tracking them down.”

Interrupted again. You sort of hoped Billy would protest, he usually protested everything, but he nodded in agreement immediately. “Aye, let’s get these cunts.” He squeezed your waist before he pulled away but any of the warmth you thought had been in his eyes before was replaced with the gleam of excitement in hunting down supes. “Go an’ rest, love. I’ll be there in a bit.”

You nodded but he was already on his way to the table so you went to the bedroom without another word. Of course you knew this work was important, you just…wanted him. 

You were so tired it wasn’t hard to fall asleep, but you missed Billy’s presence beside you. It seemed more often than not lately he was busy with the boys. At some point in the middle of the night, he came in the room and the bed moved as he slid in next to you. Sleepily you shifted closer to him to curl into his side craving his heat but you fell back asleep immediately and were too tired to notice if he pulled you against him or not. When you woke in the morning he was already gone and an annoying wave of sadness washed over you. Somehow you were even more tired now than you were the night before. 

Within a few minutes you decided you should just go home. Fuck it. It was ridiculous to think you really meant anything to him. Why would you?

You got dressed quickly and grabbed your bag, heading out, and luckily no one was there to notice.

Since it was Saturday, there was nowhere you needed to be and you took a shower as soon as soon as you got to your tiny apartment and changed into an old sweatshirt and leggings. 

Butcher texted you around noon asking where you were and you cleared the notification without opening it. He texted you again an hour later and then called when you still hadn’t answered him by 5.

Guilt washed through you as you looked at his name on the screen while the phone rang. You should have at least let him know you were okay, especially considering everything you’d been through together. You tapped the green ‘accept’ button and picked up the phone.

“Hi,” you murmured. “Sorry…”

“Fuck, love. I was ‘bout t’lose me mind. What the fuck is goin’ on? Where are ya?”

He was angry, but your heart still swelled at the bit of concern you thought you could sense in his tone and you felt even worse. “I’m at home. I’m sorry. I was - I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

You heard him sigh over the phone and you bit your lip as you waited. 

“Long as you ain’t hurt. But ya ‘ave to tell me what’s wrong. I ain’t dancin’ ‘round playin’ games anymore. If somethin’s gone pear shaped ya need to tell me, doll. Now.”

You swallowed, the command in his voice intimidating but also turning you on like crazy. Fuck. You shifted on the couch, rubbing your thighs together and trying not to think about his face between your thighs as he held your hips down with those huge hands. Get it together.

“Out wiv it.”

His accent deepened in his frustration. You took a breath trying to decide between denying it or telling him how you felt but in the end you knew he would know if you were lying and he’d just get angrier. “I just-“ you sighed. “I feel bad making you feel like you have to be with me. That you have to fuck me to get information.”

Billy scoffed. “What the fuck you on about? Who said that?”

“No one said it, I just - I mean I think it’s obvious.”

“That’s a load of fuckin’ bollocks, ain’t it. You think I would do that?”

“Well…” 

Actually no, now that you thought about it, he definitely seemed to enjoy violence as a way to get what he wanted more than seducing anyone, or even trying to get along with them at all…

“No I guess not,” you murmured, picking at a thread on the hem of your sweatshirt. 

“Tha’s right. I’m with ya ‘cuz I want to be.” His voice went a little softer, “Want all of you, love.”

He said it so matter-of-fact, you honestly didn’t know what to reply. You wanted to believe him…but it was hard when anxiety was still fluttering through your nerves. 

“I just…what’s the point really? We always get interrupted, there’s always someone around these days.”

“Don’t give a fuck who’s around. You’re mine. That’s all I care about.”

“Yeah…” you murmured.

“Ya gonna stop this rubbish and come back ‘ere?”

For a moment you didn’t answer, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to go back right now. 

“I’m just tired,” you finally said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Butcher was quiet for a moment before he answered. “Aye. If that’s what ya want. But I want ya t’remember what I said.” His voice was short but his possessive tone was clear, and it made your heart thud.

He hung up and you dropped the phone, letting your head fall back against the couch. For a second you had been pretty sure that was it for you and him but the possessiveness in his voice just now had said something very different. 

*~*~*~*

By the morning you had convinced yourself it��was over, but then somehow it wasn’t. Butcher texted you in the morning and you ended up texting back awhile later. You tried not to let yourself get your hopes up. Until he called again late in the afternoon.

“Pack a bag for a couple days. But pack light. Won’t need much.” 

You paused for a second. “W-what?” 

You could hear him take a soft breath over the phone. “We’re gettin’ away fer a couple days, love. Just you and me.”

Your heart was thudding in your chest. “What about work?”

“Call out. Tell ‘em yer sick or family emergency or whatever. It don’t matter much does it? Not a job you wannna keep.”

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking. “Don’t you want me to keep it?”

Billy was quiet for a second. “Been meanin’ to talk t’ya ‘bout that. I think it’s gettin’ too dangerous and I don’t want ya to ‘ave to deal with that. Yer safer with me.”

Your heart flipped. He wanted you with him.

“R-really?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m sure you can find some easier job if ya want. And we could use yer help on the team. Ya know yer just as good as the lad at that techy stuff, and lots o’ other things too. We’re gettin’ an office and fundin’ and all that.”

He still sounded a little frustrated but it seemed like he was trying to show you he wanted you, and fuck you wanted him.

“But we can talk about that later,” he said. “Be ready in an hour.”

He hung up before you could answer and you almost considered ignoring his invitation, if one could call it that, but ultimately you didn’t want to. 

Trying to push all of your worries out of your head, you took a shower and changed quickly then threw a few things in a bag. Billy was knocking a few minutes after you finished.

When you answered the door it was like a ton of bricks hit you, he was so fucking handsome. And he wasn’t angry, his expression very much said he wanted to be there.

“That’s the jacket I bought you for that undercover assignment,” you murmured quietly. Instead of his usual loud Hawaiian shirt and beat up old duster, he had on a white t-shirt and a trim fitted black coat over his black jeans. Lord, you felt like you were going to start drooling.

Butcher snorted. “Mallory told me not t’look so ‘flamboyant,’” he griped. “And I wanted to wear this for you.”

“You look good.” You couldn’t help yourself, giving him a soft smile. “But why would Mallory care what you were wearing. Are we working?” Your stomach sank.

“Nah. Just you and me. I’ll explain when we get there.”

He grabbed your bag and took you to his car without saying much. You wanted to ask him where you were going but decided you would just see what happened. 

In any case it wasn’t long before you were pulling up to a marina southeast of Flatbush. Butcher parked and nodded for you to follow him out onto the docks. At the end of one a huge boat was moored and Butcher stepped on to the back of it without hesitating, holding out his hand for you to join him. 

“What’s this?” you asked, unsure. It was a beautiful boat, obviously big enough for bedrooms and living space below, a beautiful seating area on the bow with thick cushions big enough to lay on and a two level deck. 

“Confiscated in a drug sting. Mallory’s lettin’ me borrow it.”

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

He grinned, his dimples showing but mischief dancing in his eyes. “Sure.”

“Just us?”

He nodded. “If ya need me t’show you how much I want ya, I will.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip and Butcher gave a devilish smirk as he watched it. “Let’s go.” He helped you step up onto the flat deck at the back of the boat then undid the mooring quickly. 

It only took a few minutes for him to show you the rooms below deck and drop your bags on the bed. You followed him as he went up to the flybridge and sat with him at the helm as he took the boat out of the bay. 

When he got comfortable at the controls he stripped his jacket off and your mouth went dry at the sight of him in the fitted white t-shirt. The cotton seemed molded across his broad chest, the shirt sleeves hugging his biceps and after a moment you had to remind yourself to breathe. Fuck, what had you ever done to deserve this gift…

The stress and tension that seemed to be a constant part of him on land melted away almost immediately as soon as he took the wheel and it filled you with a feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but it was good. The water was calm and as soon as you were on your way, he slid his hand to your thigh. The sun was setting to the west, casting a golden glow across the water. 

As far as you could tell he was just heading out to sea and you guessed he’d find a place beyond the port’s boundaries to anchor the boat and then you’d really have him all to yourself. Or he’d have you. 

*~*~*~*

As soon as the boat was anchored and everything was settled, Butcher made you go down to the bedroom until he called you back up. When he finally did, you climbed the narrow stairs a little bit nervous but very much looking forward to whatever it was he had in mind. 

The actual result though was more than a surprise. 

“Billy…” you murmured, taken aback.

There were some blankets and pillows set out and there was a bag of food, you were guessing, on the big cushions at the front of the boat. The sun was below the horizon now, the sky growing dark. Two small lights on the boat gave the setting a warm glow. 

“It ain’t much,” he said, reaching for your hand, “so don’t go gettin’ all worked up over nothin’.”

His eyes were serious, but you could see the emotion there even if he wasn’t saying it. How could you have ever doubted him?”

The two of you sat down next to each other on the cushions and he started pulling food out of the bag, little trays of cheese and meat, crackers and a few other things. They were all still in their plastic containers from the store, and you figured Frenchie must’ve helped him but it was more than enough to mean something to you. 

It was still warm enough that he was comfortable in his t-shirt and you thanked all that was good for it, stealing glances of his arms especially any chance you could. 

He pulled out a bottle of whiskey last and poured you each a bit into two small glasses. 

“Cheers,” he lifted his glass with a quirk of his mouth and you clinked it, letting a small smile curve your lips before taking a sip. 

“What’s all this for, then?” You asked after a few minutes of nibbling. 

He ran his hand over his beard. “To be ‘onest…M.M. suggested it. Gettin’ away and all. I can tell ya haven’t been feelin’ great. And I don’t want ya to feel like that.”

You looked down, slowly choosing another piece of cheese and a cracker, taking a bite and chewing. 

“I guess…” you finally said, “the stress of all of this is bringing up old insecurities.”

Billy looked at you, finishing his bite and taking a drink of whiskey. “Ya know I’m happy to prove to ya how much I want ya - with me hands as much as me words, love. Ya just have to tell me. I know there are a lot of interruptions, but that don’t mean I ain’t still thinkin’ about you naked and beggin’ beneath me.” He reached out to brush his fingers along your jaw. 

Heat flushed your cheeks but you couldn’t help smiling. He always had a way with words, confident and provocative, whether in the bedroom or out, but for all of his bravado, there was another side to him too. Maybe it was a cover for feelings he found easier to express through small, meaningful gestures instead of words. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, still smiling. He was right, and if this wasn’t enough to convince you then you were probably just insane. But you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Being away and out on the water seemed to have an effect on him too, and you were very much looking forward to what came next. 

You didn’t have to wait long. When you were both finished eating, Billy threw everything back in the bag and set it aside. He had a remote for the lights and turned them down to their lowest setting, lifting his arm for you to lay back with him against the pillows and you rested your head against his shoulder.  

The stars were bright away from the city. You weren’t sure you had ever seen them like this before and it was beautiful. A soft breeze fluttered across the bow of the boat and a little shiver rippled through your body. 

“Cold, love?” Billy asked, pulling a blanket up to cover you.

“Only a little. It’s so peaceful and beautiful out here…” You rubbed your hand lazily over his stomach then tilted your head up to look at him. The boat was rocking gently beneath you. 

“We can just lay here if ya want. Just want ya with me.”

His hazel eyes had gone very dark, and you knew he was sincere but the look on his face was smoldering.

“I want you,” you whispered back, your voice already going low with the effect he had on you. Out here alone, there was no need to rush or stay quiet. He looked so good, and you were already desperate for him.

He searched your eyes for a second, then pulled you against him and dipped his head to capture your mouth with his own. It had been more than two weeks since you’d been together and you wondered if he missed it as much as you had but your question was answered right away. 

He bit at your lower lip with a low growl and you opened for him immediately, letting his tongue stroke hotly into your mouth. He explored your mouth fervently and you purred from the back of your throat, sliding your hand beneath his shirt. His skin was hot and you rubbed your hand over his stomach, letting your fingers play with the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. 

Billy rumbled as you teased him. He pulled back to tug your sweater over your head and then the tank top beneath it right away. His hand smoothed up your back and unhooked your bra with a twist of his fingers before he rolled you beneath him. 

For a moment you looked up into his eyes, and your breath caught in your chest. They were brimming with heat and lust and more. 

You couldn’t wait another moment to slip your hands beneath his shirt and push it up his chest. He sat up suddenly and pulled it over his head then grabbed your bra as well, tossing it aside. Your jeans and underwear were stripped off next and it was only a minute before you were naked, spread out beneath him. 

Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ gorgeous ya are?” he rumbled, his tone rough with desire. 

You swallowed, unable to find your voice. How could you have ever thought he didn’t want you?  

“Bloody incredible,” he answered for you, shifting to settle between your legs.

He kissed you again, his mouth hot and insistent, his beard a soft scratch on your sensitive skin. You slid your fingers in his hair and he growled when you tugged on the dark strands, pushing his hips against you. His jeans were rough against your inner thighs, but you loved him rough. 

He slid one big hand up to knead at your breast, and swiped his thumb across your nipple until it stiffened to a tight peak. When you whimpered, he caught it between his thumb and finger and tugged hard. 

The sensation made your body buck beneath him, and the seam of the fly on his jeans over his still-covered cock rubbed harshly against your clit, making you shudder with pleasure. 

“Billy…” you gasped his name. He gave a low growl and thrust his cock and the rough material against you again. 

“Please…” you gasped, working your hands between the two of you, grasping for the button of his jeans. You needed all of him, needed to feel him hot and hard in your hands. 

“I’m comin’ love.” He sat up quickly, working to shed his jeans and his boxers, then laid down beside you. His cock was hot and leaking against your hip but then his fingers were sliding between your folds, distracting you. “Fuck,” he rasped, and the sound made you shiver. “So fuckin’ soaked fer me.” 

You moaned, shifting your thighs further apart. He rubbed his fingers along your sex for a moment the settled his fingertips right where you needed them. 

He played with your clit mercilessly as he watched your face, making you more and more desperate with each moment. Pleasure and need pooled low in your belly, and you moved restlessly to try to get more. 

“Stop squirmin’ princess,” he husked. You groaned impatiently but it only made him chuckle. 

Two thick fingers slid down to your tight entrance then, whether in punishment or reward you weren’t sure, and he pushed them in. For a second he left them there, stretching you, deep inside of you and then he drew them out and thrust back in slowly. He seemed intent on driving you insane. 

“Please, please, please…” you whimpered, gripping his arm, and trying to move your hips to get him to move again, faster, harder. 

“Begging’ so pretty,” he rumbled. 

“Billy…”

“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me what ya need.”

“Need…” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. “Need your cock…”

He hummed and kneeled between your thighs again, pressing your knees up and wide apart and lined up the tip of his cock to your entrance. 

“I ain’t letting ya go. Ya hear? My girl.”

You nodded quickly, and then he surged inside you, pushing as deep as he could in one thrust. 

A sharp cry left your lips, the sound dancing across the water and fading into the darkness. As thick and wonderful as his fingers were, his cock was even bigger, swollen and pulsing and stretching you open. 

“Fuck Billy,” you cried. Your hands scrambled frantically over his shoulders, needing some kind of purchase. He grabbed one, pinning your wrist above your head, giving you the anchor you needed. 

You cried out again and then he finally began to move. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze and there was so much emotion there, it made your heart swell. He groaned, and then dipped his head to nuzzle and bite at the curve of your neck, finding a steady, hard rhythm. 

You were already so primed for him, it only took a minute before you were on the edge of orgasm. Billy guided your other arm up holding both your wrists down with one hand and gripped your ass with his other hand, tilting your hips up for a new angle. When you gave a helpless cry, he must’ve known he had the right spot and he moved quicker, thrusting hard until he finally pushed you over the edge. Fiery, throbbing pleasure exploded inside you and you came so hard you almost blacked out at first, your cunt clenching around his thick cock as heat pulsed through your body, making you shudder and moan. 

Billy gave a low, deep groan then he was coming too, spilling himself inside you. He gripped your shoulder and buried his face against your throat as his cock continued to pulse, filling you with his seed. 

“Billy,” you moaned. You felt boneless, completely blissed out and mindless. “So good…” you whimpered. 

He groaned in reply, then rolled over, pulling you with him to lay across his chest. You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head and you cuddled closer to his body. 

“Feel better, love?” he asked after a few minutes, still holding you tight against him. 

“…feel better than I’ve ever felt before,” you mumbled against his warm skin, still panting a little. And you meant every word. 

As soon as you’d finally caught your breath, he carried you inside and below deck. When you were done in the bathroom, he settled you in bed, went in the bathroom himself for a minute then came back out. Even in the darkness you could see he was still hard, and you felt a brand new pulse of desire. “Billy…” you murmured as he slid into bed next to you. 

“Hmm?” his voice was soft and low, he turned you to your side so he could press up behind you and you felt yourself growing wet for him all over again. 

“Want you again…” you purred. 

But his answer was just a tsk and a pat on your ass. “You’re exhausted, love. You were about fallin’ asleep in me arms a few minutes ago.”

Mmm, you were tired but you could feel his cock pressing against you and you couldn’t help yourself, wriggling back against him. “Still want you…”  

“Needy girl...” His big hand slid down to grip your thigh, and then you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance again. You tilted your hips back and he started to push in, slow and steady. You moaned gratefully, but when he was all the way in he stopped. 

You moved, trying to rock your hips, but he caught your waist and you stilled obediently. 

“Good girl,” he rumbled, and pressed his cock in just a little bit deeper, making you gasp. “All stuffed full o’ me, ain’t ya? Now you can be sure to remember who ya belong to and how much I want ya.”

“Billy…” you pleaded softly even as sleep pulled longingly at your mind. He was stretching your cunt, swollen and hot and hard inside of you, but still he didn’t move. 

Suddenly you realized he intended to just stay like this. Fuck... You let out a desperate whine but he just hummed, contented, again. 

“Get some rest,” he commanded quietly, his breath warm across the back of your neck, “and we’ll see about givin’ you what ya want in a few hours. But only if ya do as you’re told.”

God, he felt good filling you up, so big inside you, but he’d moved his hand to stroke your hip and your stomach, and it was slowly working to relax your body. In the end you knew he was in control so you willed your mind to give in. Finally your body relaxed. Vaguely you thought you heard Billy whisper, “I’ll take care of ya,” just as you fell asleep, tucked in close to him, with his cock buried deep inside you.

*~*~*~* @kus-babygirl @jynx15 @cassiopeia-grimm @bohemianblasphemy @butchersboobs

@bluemerakis @ariadnerain @bobabilbil @deansaddiction @weallhaveadestiny

@imherefordeanandbones @str8-jack-it @butchers-girl @vavafaure1994 please let me know if you wanted a tag and I missed you! Thank you for reading 🥹

karl urban masterlist

[flowercrowngods]

Steve startles awake, disoriented and filled with a slight bout of panic — as always when he takes a nap that turns into five hours of deep sleep and catapults him right into the next dimension for a while there.

Heart racing, he blinks his dark bedroom into existence, and it takes him a while to realise where he is and what woke him up.

And then the landline phone on his nightstand rings again, and he exhales deeply before reaching for it with clumsy, sluggish movements.

“‘Ello?”

“Steve,” comes Eddie’s sing-song voice from the other end, washing over Steve in a soothing way that leaves him falling back into the pillows. He clutches the phone to his ear as he closes his eyes, the smile already forming at how happy Eddie sounds. He rarely sings Steve’s name like that. He should do it more often.

“Hi there.” His voice sounds like shit. Like he just took a — Jesus Christ, has it really been four hours? Well. He sounds exactly like someone who took a four-hour nap after a shit day at work would sound like.

There’s fumbling on the other end, but it stops suddenly. “Did I wake you? Shit man, I thought it was past nap time.”

“I don’t have nap time,” Steve grumbles, actually pouting at Eddie’s words and realising only a second too late how ridiculous he sounds.

“Sure, man, whatever you say. We all know you’re actually just a life-sized toddler.”

Steve sputters, sitting up against his headboard as he gradually wakes up. “Hey! Also, I don’t think you actually understand what life-sized means.”

“Yes, I do.”

Steve shakes his head at this ridiculous, ridiculous man. “What exactly do you think a non-life-sized toddler looks like, Eduardissimo?”

“Like Dustin.”

The answer is so quick and deadpan, Steve cannot contain the laugh that bursts out of him, waking him up quicker and gentler than anything else in the world could have, and he revels in the sound of Eddie joining him. He must look so smug right now, and so damn proud of himself. Steve wants to see him. Wants to kiss that smile right from his lips and replace it with something a lot more genuine.

“You’re an asshole,” he says instead, pulling his blanket further around him as he lifts his knees to sit more comfortably.

Eddie hums, still teasing somehow with just that noise, and Steve just can’t stop smiling. “You like me so much, Harrington.”

“Hmm,” he mirrors Eddie’s hum, but even he can hear the smile on his face. “Jury’s still out on that one, actually.”

“Any tendencies yet on the verdict?”

“Nope, they can’t decide.”

Eddie snorts at that, and Steve has no idea how that can sound so sweet. But it does. He buries his smile in his knees for a bit, the blanket hot around his burning cheeks. He’s hopeless.

“Well, let me know as soon as they do, yeah?”

“Will do,” he laughs, ruining all his attempts to sound solemn. “So what’s up? Why’d you call?”

“Oh!” And suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped and Eddie doesn’t sound teasing and smug anymore, but instead just fucking giddy! “I have a bed now!”

Steve smiles at it. At that voice, that tone, that infectious emotion. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” More fumbling on the other end, and Steve can only imagine that Eddie is rolling around in his newly acquired bed.

Who’s the life-sized toddler now, hm?

“No more sleeping on the floor for this Munson boy, nuh-uh, my good sir! We are in possession of a bed now. A wooden bed, no fancy headboard or anything, just…”

“Just a bed,” Steve says, feeling like he’s about to burst into a million little particles of fondness and affection and the never-ending need to kiss Eddie. To hold him. To touch him in any way he can. “That’s great, Edsie.”

“It is, Stevesie.”

“Man, I hate you so much,” Steve squints at the ceiling and laughs, actually kicking his feet, the minute breeze providing a little relief for the heat in his face.

And Eddie has no business to sound so smug when he says, “Yeah, you do.”

A pause then, and it feels loaded even through the phone. Steve clutches it closer to his face, hoping stupidly that Eddie can feel it.

“You should come hate me in my new bed.”

Steve’s breath hitches, and his brain shuts off for a hot second there. Before he can overthink this, he decides to just… play along. And listen to what his heart has been telling him for months now.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless still, but his whole body tingles with just these two words. With the possibility they bring. The offer that they are. The question. The everything that’s stored in them.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he sounds just as breathless. “I mean, if— If you want to?”

“I do.” Steve swallows. “Right, uh— Right now?”

“Whenever.” And it sounds more like an As soon as possible.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, scrambling out of bed as quickly as possible, pulling off his shirt with the phone still pressed to his ear, letting out an embarrassing noise as it gets tangled in a mess of cord and fabric. He scrambles to free it, almost dropping it in the process. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

“To come look at my new bed?”

“Sure.”

On the other end, Eddie laughs again, but he still sounds just as breathless as Steve does. Just as excited. As fragile. Just as many fucking things.

“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, though Steve can still hear the smile. “I’ll see you then.”

And then he hangs up before either of them can get lost in their own heads about this sudden certainty of change. Steve is grateful for the steady noise of the dial tone reminding him that this is happening. But that nothing has to happen.

It’s a nice bed, he finds hours later, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair who’s cuddling him half asleep. It’s the best fucking bed he’s ever seen, if only because it led to this.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 (lmk if you want on or off)

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine and Lemon learn more about the young woman they'd been hired to save and things become complicated. pt. 2 to Delicate

Genre: hurt and comfort

Warnings: protective!Tangerine, canon like violence, swearing, blood, guns, wounds, mentions of domestic violence/violence towards women, plot heavy

~ thank you @oh-starstarstar for giving me the inspiration to write this! It took a VERY different turn then what i originally intended but it's an interesting ride—hopefully! ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

Y/n. Tangerine mouths your name as he stares into the bathroom mirror, his toothbrush hanging from his lips. Y/n. The name suits you and warmth spreads inside his stomach as he spits into the sink and his mind is filled with memories of how sweetly you'd looked at him.

Fuck. 

"Oi," Lemon's hurried voice snaps him out of whatever was happening and Tangerine turns to him, leaning his hip against the counter. "Some weird fucker is on the phone," Lemon shows his brother his phone, an unknown number displayed clearly on the screen. "Says we have something of his."

Tangerine bristles and his jaw clenches involuntarily. He holds out his hand for Lemon to hand him the phone and when he does he puts it on speaker and holds it close to his ear, letting Lemon lean in and hear the conversation. 

"'Ello?"

"You have something of mine," a hoarse voice cuts the silence. The man behind the phone sounds older, like his voice has had time to become damaged from years of smoking, and he has a thick Irish accent.

"And what might that be?" Tangerine retorts, sending Lemon an unsure look but he keeps his tone steady.

"You have my wife."

Tangerine feels like all blood has been drained from his body and he's so close to losing it. His grip tightens on the phone as his eyes narrow.

"Fuckin' pardon me? Your wife?" he asks slowly, processing the words himself. Surely this man can't mean you.  

The man chuckles darkly. "Aye. You stole her. Took my girl. Wasted my fucking time. I want to know why?" 

Lemon looks at Tangerine, his eyes round with panic as he automatically crosses his arms. 

"I have no fuckin' clue what you're on about," Tangerine explains calmly, his voice strained. He grips the end of the counter with one hand, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He doesn't want to tell this rando he has you at home with him and Lemon. He doesn't trust this fucker.

The man laughs darkly. "Defiance isn't smart, boy," the man says vaguely, his tone the same as before; hard and rough. "I don't like smug fuckers who take my things. I want my wife returned to me."

Tangerine pauses as he waits for the word 'safely' or any indication that this man who claims to be your husband cares for you. None come and his frown deepens. "We don't have anyone with us," he lies easily. "Now, why don't ya fuckin' leave me–"

Another cruel laugh sounds from the phone. "You and your brother are really startin' to piss me off," the man pauses and then asks, "I shouldn't have to introduce myself, should I?"

Lemon and Tangerine's expression hardens when they hear a gunshot and then a muffled scream that's followed by a heavy, dramatic, sigh. "See, I really did like that bloke—good guy, loyal, had a family and shit—" Tangerine's jaw clenches as he realizes how truly fucked this man is. "Now, I don't like you—you don't really wanna find out what I'd do to you, do you?" he threatens. 

"Cut the bullshit," Tangerine snaps, "Who the fuck are ya?"

"Moore, Keiran Moore," the man introduces himself after a moment. Tangerine's skin pales slightly and he's almost too distracted by Lemon's curse-whispering and insistent punches into the air, to fully register what that means. You? Married to Keiran Moore? One of the more dangerous Irish crime lords in central London?

Tangerine has so many questions swarming around him but Kieran's voice interrupts his thoughts. "Tomorrow. 9am. I'll have my men send you the location. Cross me again and I'll make a fruit salad out of you both, you understand me?" he chuckles at his own shitty joke and then the line ends.

Lemon snatches the phone from Tangerine's hand.

"Irish mob?! Really?" he hisses. "I told ya we should'av brought her to the cops! She's fuckin' trouble and it's biting us back in the arse!" 

Tangerine narrows his eyes at his brother and drags a hand in his curls. "You believe him?"

"You don't?!" Lemon counters, sounding exasperated as he hits Tangerine on the back of the head. "Stop thinkin' with yer fuckin' dick and be smart. She's married. To some dangerous fucker!!" he scolds and Tangerine feels like this is karma for all the years he's been the one to scold Lemon for stupid shit. 

Still, he isn't convinced. 

"I didn't see a ring on her finger, Lemon."

"Ya, because the arseholes that kidnapped Kieran Moore's wife probably took her wedding ring, you wanker!!" Lemon throws his hand up in defeat and exhaustion, "I'm not havin' this conversation with you right now. Why don' ya ask her yourself, hm?" 

Tangerine looks down the hallway. "She's probably sleepin' by now," he starts, knowing damn well he needs to talk to you. He needs to understand more because he's so damn confused.

Lemon sends him an annoyed look that he understands immediately and he swallows. Lemon isn't in any clear state of mind to question you without freaking you out—plus Tangerine's specialty is nonchalance. He can handle this easily. 

His walk to the guest bedroom seems longer than usual as he plays every scenario in his head, his hand clenching and unclenching. He knocks on the door, hearing your small voice answer. It's late and he instantly feels like an arse when he opens the door and sees your figure sitting up in bed, reaching over and turning on the lamp on the nightstand as the curtains are drawn shut. You turn and stare at him.

"Hi, darlin'," he whispers calmly, approaching you. You send him a nod of permission before he sits next to you on your bed. You shift and Tangerine can clearly see that your eyes are red and tired from your lack of sleep and from crying. His heart breaks and he swallows down the irritating lump forming in his throat. 

"I have some questions, Y/n, and I'm gonna need ya to be honest with me, you think ya can do that?" he begins, his hand itching to touch your leg and reassure any nerves that may be arising but he holds himself back. He waits for a nod andthen he continues. "Do ya know some bloke named Keiran Moore?"

As soon as the question leaves his lips, he sees the change in your expression. You sink into yourself, hand clutching the sheets as your breathing becomes harsher again.

Tangerine's worry increases and he holds out his hands for you to show you he still doesn't mean you any harm. He understands this is a lot to take in. "Woah, hey, it's okay. Ya know him, don' ya?" 

You nod meekly and alarm bells ring in Tangerine's head.

Her husband my arse—he thinks. 

"I need ya to tell me everything now. I can't help ya if you aren't completely honest with me. I know it's scary but Lemon and I truly mean you no harm. Ya can trust us," Tangerine explains as relief washes over you when he sees you relax and focus on calming your breathing.

"O-okay," you say after a moment, your voice so soft and delicate that Tangerine feels all kinds of emotions stir inside him. He looks at you, his gaze reassuring so you can continue. He needs to know everything and he wants to know it from you. 

"My father, his name is—'' you tell Tangerine your father's name in a whisper and his eyes narrow. Everyone in his line of business knows that name, only he never knew someone so ruthless and supposedly cruel had a daughter. 

"He promised me to Mr. Moore—some business arrangement I'm not sure— and I'm supposed to marry him. It's all a blur. I just– I didn't tell you and your brother because I didn't want you to return me to Mr. Moore. He's a brute and he's mean a-and—I- I tried to run once and he beat me—and once we're married he'll want me to do things. Things I don't want to do with him," you finish your rambles, your voice low.

The words sink in and Tangerine's jaw clenches. He knows what you mean and the thought makes his stomach twist with disgust. He inhales, holding in his fury for your sake since he doesn't want to scare you any more than you already are. 

"What do ya mean ya ran? You were living with him when you were kidnapped?"

You frown now, staring at Tangerine with a sincerely confused expression. "Kidnapped? I wasn't kidnapped. I told you, Daddy sold me to him."

It's Tangerine's turn to frown. 

"What?" he pauses, "So, your fiancé isn't the one who paid us to save you from your kidnappers?"

"Paid you? Kidnappers?"

"That doesn't matter now, darlin', but you're telling me technically we are the ones who kidnapped you from your fiancé?!" 

You chew on your lip, thinking for a moment. "I suppose?" 

Tangerine pinches the bridge of his nose and then he looks up at you, his eyes raking over you. You look terrified and confused and he's also fucking confused. Still, he reaches forward and smoothes his hand down your cheek, hesitating but ultimately smiling as you, consciously or not, lean into the warmth of his hand. 

"Don't ya worry, luv, we'll keep ya away from him and your father. I promise you," he strokes his thumb across your skin in a gentle manner. Tangerine feels like he's been turned inside out. He's never been gentle with anyone—not even with Lemon and he loves Lemon. 

Once you've calmed down and he'd gotten all the information he needed, he shuts the door behind him and walks back into the living room. Lemon looks up at his brother, still looking freaked out by the entire situation. "She's not married," Tangerine huffs and sits next to his brother, rubbing his temples as his eyes shut. "It's fuckin' complicated–"

"So, what are we gonna do now? Ya still wanna keep 'er?"

Tangerine opens his eyes and rolls them as he drums his fingers on his knee for a moment.

"Yeah. I still wanna keep 'er," he looks at Lemon, scoffing at the way he'd said that, and then a dangerous glint in his eye appears, one that Lemon knows all too well, "and the plan is simple, Lem. We're gonna kill those bellends."

* * *

Tangerine's plan is anything but simple, especially because it involves you. Lemon told him this was fucked up and a mistake but he didn't care. His plan was the only way to kill that bastard. 

You were dressed in your clothes from that night with only Tangerine's suit jacket draped over your shoulders as you shiver. The air is still damp and cool from the morning fog.

Tangerine was on edge as he nervously tapped his shoe against the graveled ground, checking his phone occasionally. Kieran Moore had been thirty minutes late to his rendez-vous andTangerine had only hoped he wasn't smart enough to only send him men—because otherwise, his plan is really truly fucked—

"This is so fucked!" Lemon suddenly shouts, blood splatter covering his face as he shoots at the group of men that had finally arrived, sweat trailing down from his hairline. "You fuckin' owe me, you wanker!" he screams at his brother, annoyed by the situation as he turns his head to see Tangerine take on three of Moore's men. It isn't exactly easy, but he's taken on worse than them. 

"Shit! Lem! Where's the bastard?!" Tangerine counters angrily, slamming the bud of his gun into a man's throat. He spins around, seeing bodies and smelling smoke but Kieran is nowhere to be seen anymore. Tangerine's blood runs cold when he sees that you're also missing from behind his car.

Where he'd made you promise you would hide when shit went down!

How could he have lost you?!

Lemon senses his brother's distress and grunts, looking towards the beaten-down and abandoned apartment complex. "He must have taken 'er in there since we blew up his cars. Couldn't have gone far on foot with a screaming bird in his arms— oh you motherfuckers, did he fuckin' send a cavalry?!" Lemon shoots another one of Moore's men. 

Screaming? Had you screamed and he didn't hear you?

Tangerine manages to break into a run, his eyes round and wild as he steadies his breathing so he can focus on finding you. When he enters the apartment building, he rounds the stairs and leaps up them. From a distance and because of an echo, he hears a shrill scream and he picks up his pace, spitting out blood from his mouth from a few hits he'd taken. 

"Shut up, ya stupid bitch!" Keiran's voice booms as he all but drags you up the stairs. The older man has a cigarette hung between his lips, cockily smirking as his hands gripping your arm as you kick and scream.

"Your fuckin' new boyfriends didn't think this through huh? Too busy with my men to realize I gotcha now?! You cheating whore— I'll have to beat some manners into ya again, huh? Huh?!" he snarls and smacks you across the cheek, causing another cry to tear from your throat.

Tangerine can see that your lip is bleeding. You look hurt and betrayed. He feels sick. Without thinking, he raises his gun and with a shaky exhale but a steady hand he pulls the trigger, hitting Kieran Moore through the head and killing him instantly. The man falls down the stairs, causing you to gasp. Your eyes follow him as he falls to Tangerine's feet at the bottom of the stairs. 

Tangerine wastes no time scrambling to where you are, guilt eating at him as he drops to his knees and without thinking, pulls you into his arms. His hold on you is hard and he's afraid he'll crush you so he loosens his hold.

However, you lean up, resting on your knees, as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him closer. You're shaking in his arms and his heart breaks when he hears you sniffle into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, stroking a hand in your hair. "I shouldn't 'ave brought you here. I shouldn't 'ave taken my eyes off him or ya for even a moment! I should'ave known this was too dangerous for ya. I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."

You hold him tighter, your mind racing and his words reach your ears but you don't comprehend them. "Is he dead? Tell me he's dead, Tangerine. Promise me he's gone," you say, pulling him close as if you want to mold your body against his.

"He's dead. He can't hurt ya anymore," he whispers, kissing your forehead as he holds you. He presses another quick kiss to your hairline and then stands, pulling you up with him. "Now, I want ya to stay right here. I need to help Lem finish off those fuckers and then I'll come for ya. Promise. Stay here and be quiet. This shouldn't take long."

And he's right, it didn't take long because soon you're back at their car, sitting on the hood as Tangerine looks at the handprint on your cheek.

Lemon is hunched over against the car, muttering curses as he bandages his hand. You clench your hand between your knees nervously, your eyes focusing on Tangerine's eyes as his thumb brushes away some of your hair and not the countless dead bodies all around the outside of the apartment complex. 

Lemon grunts, standing up straighter. His gaze suddenly lands on you and when it does, his eyes soften. As pissed as he was with the entire situation, he is happy you're safe. He sends you a weak smile. He walks over and pats your knee reassuringly. "'M glad you're okay, Percy," he teases, the nickname making you smile.

"We should go," Lemon tells his brother, rolling up his sleeves as he looks around. "Don't want some good for nothin' pricks callin' the coppers on us." Tangerine nods and helps you down the hood, still holding a hand on your waist. The hand on your waist tightens when three cars suddenly pull up next to theirs, the tires screeching on the pavement. 

Without hesitation, Tangerine pushes you behind him and keeps an arm around you. "It's okay," he whispers gruffly, "I won't let them hurt you."

You frown, pushing on his arm and you take a step forward as men exit the cars, including one you know very well andyour heart sinks. "Daddy?" you whisper, your eyes widened and you pause, shrinking back behind Tangerine when you remember how much pain your father was responsible for.

Your dad walks out, raising his arms in surrender to show Tangerine and Lemon that he's not a threat to them. A bunch of his men, men you know, start to clean up the bloody mess. Lemon and Tangerine look confused and on guard when another man comes out with a silver case. 

"Steady, gentlemen," your dad says calmly as he looks you over and then tilts his head as an indicator for the man with the case to come forward and open it, revealing a bunch of money. "Your reward, hm? I promised you some money, didn't I?"

Lemon's mouth hangs open and Tangerine stares at the case, his arm still around you as he keeps you shielded behind him. "Pardon me?!" he spits and looks at the money, "what's that for?"

You stare at your father, catching on quicker to his games than the Twins. "You paid them to rescue me," you say, raising your arm and clutching Tangerine's sleeve. It doesn't make sense to you. Your father was the one who'd given you up to Kieran Moore so he could save his business. Why did he hire Lemon and Tangerine to save you then?

"I did," your dad says and he sighs, explaining himself. "You think I wanted you in the hands of that bastard? Kieran Moore has been a thorn in my side for decades. I didn't have a choice in the matter, he was blackmailing me and the entire organization. Our organization. The family organization! So, I did let him take you for a while and I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. But, Y/n/n, I couldn't let him keep you and I knew if anyone could keep you safe without raising suspicions, it was them." He gestures to Tangerine and Lemon. "And they did. Now, they have their money and you can come home now, pumpkin."  

You stare at your father's extended arms and your hand tightens around Tangerine's sleeve. You shake your head, eyes narrowed. "No. I want to stay with them," you say. After all, you're an adult who can make her own decisions. 

Tangerine's heart leaps when he hears you say that and he has to force down a smug smile. You want to stay with him and Lemon. Lemon looks less smug as he crosses his arms and looks around at your father's men cleaning up the mess they'd made of Kieran Moore's men. 

"Sweetness, these gentlemen want their money and if you don't come home with me, I can't pay them. Wouldn't be fair now would it?" Your father sounds stern and also confused by the turn of events. 

"We don' need your money," Tangerine admits quickly, keeping you close to him. "You didn't even show up to claim 'er!"

Your father pinches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. "It was complicated. I couldn't pick her up then but I wasn't worried. I knew you wouldn't harm her. Listen, I can't just allow you to take my daughter—" 

Lemon interrupts him, "We just dealt with your lil' rivalry problem, huh, mate. Call it even?" he turns to look at you and how hard you're gripping Tangerine's sleeve. Lemon wasn't initially on board with this whole keeping-you-with-them-plan but when his gaze travels to his brother's expression, he chuckles and turns back to your father.

"Ya really think he'd hurt your daughter? Ya had no problem with someone who ya knew was gonna harm her taking 'er but this is too much?" 

"I want to stay," you repeat, your tone much firmer this time. "I'm not leaving with you."

Your father seems stumped for a moment but his shoulder sags and he glances around at his men. Lemon has a point, his problem has been mostly solved now or at least solved enough that he can easily take over from here.

He looks at you and inevitably the way you're still clinging to Tangerine and how he's standing next to you, his stance protective. Your father sighs. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he tried to force you to come home with him now.

So he doesn't and you find yourself back at the Twin's house, sitting on the sink in their bathroom, letting Tangerine press a cotton ball full of some homemade disinfectant to your split lip.

You look up at him. It feels wrong being the one he's caring for when he's very clearly more injured than you are.

"You should take a shower, darlin'," he whispers, bending down and throwing away the blood-stained cotton ball into the trash. He straightens up and rests his hand against your cheek as he runs his thumb around the bruise on your cheek, his thumb barely applying any pressure.

"Can I help clean you up?" you ask. You're starting to become more comfortable around him and it makes his heart flutter.  

Tangerine smiles and chuckles. "Nah. I'm okay. Promise. You should relax in a warm shower. You've been through a lot."

"So have you," you say and press your thumb next to a particularly gruesome-looking wound on his forehead. 

He flinches but gently lowers your wrist and holds your hand in his. "I'm used to this. Ya don't need to worry for me, luv." Tangerine looks at you with such care, that you can't help but mirror his expression. You lean up, bringing your hands up to his cheeks, and without a chance to question your actions, you lightly kiss his lips.

You pull away almost instantly, cringing at the sharp pain in your newly wounded lip from the pressure. Tangerine can taste the saltiness from your lips onto his but that's the least of his worries as his eyes widen and he holds your hips steady on the sink, looking you over as he's speechless from your kiss. "Ow," you mutter and touch your lip, "too soon," you joke with a small smile.

"What was that for?" Tangerine asks breathlessly, his focus still on the fact that you'd kissed him. Actually kissed him. 

You smile. "Just a small thank you. For saving me and for letting me stay with you and your brother—keeping me safe and all." You press your palm on his chest, looking up at him. "There's more where those came from after you let me clean you up," you tease in a tone Tangerine hadn't heard from you previously. You sound lighter, not at all afraid or nervous. He really likes this side of you. his lips curl into a smirk as he reaches over the sink and hands you a fresh cotton ball, his hand curling on top of yours as you clutch it. 

"Careful with me, darlin'," he returns the tease and presses a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

You laugh—that sound he loves so so much and he hopes with everything he has that he can hear that sound until the day he dies. 

He's never ever leaving your side again. 

[mapis-putellas]

𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

It started with a headache. A deep, pulsing one that had been building for weeks, maybe even months as the weight of your marriage slowly cracked under the pressure. You loved Alexia. Loved her more than anything in the world. But love wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the distance.

You’d thought, hoped, that retirement would mean more time together. More time as a family. More time with Harper and Valentina, who missed their mamá so much it physically hurt to watch. But instead, Alexia had thrown herself into coaching with the same relentless intensity she had as a player. Late nights, early mornings, barely there conversations. Your roles as wives had faded into co-parenting and logistical planning. And the worst part? You weren’t sure she even saw it.

So when your colleague invited you out for drinks, you said yes. Not because you wanted to be reckless, but because you wanted -needed- to feel like you still existed outside of being a mother and a wife to someone who barely looked at you anymore.

You weren’t even drinking. Just laughing, chatting, unwinding for the first time in what felt like forever. And then you felt it -the weight of eyes burning into you.

Alexia.

She was across the bar, surrounded by her coaching staff and some of the players, all celebrating a win. But she wasn’t focused on them. She was focused on you.

You saw the moment her expression shifted, the moment that carefully crafted wall of composure cracked just enough to let something dark and possessive slip through. She muttered something to someone at her table, stood, and crossed the room with the kind of determination that made your stomach drop.

Before you could even greet her, she was wrapping a hand around your wrist. “Vámonos.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Her jaw clenched. “Vamos. Ahora.”

Your colleague raised a brow. “Everything okay?”

Alexia barely spared her a glance. “She’s leaving.”

You scoffed, yanking your wrist from her grip. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t get to pull me out of a bar like I’m some teenager sneaking out past curfew.”

Her eyes flashed. “No actúes como si no supieras por qué estoy enojada.”

“I genuinely have no idea why you’re mad right now.”

Her nostrils flared, her voice dropping into something sharper. “Te ves tan feliz con ellos. Más feliz que conmigo.”

You gaped at her. “Are you serious right now? Alexia, it’s just a drink with a friend!”

“Un amigo que te está mirando como si quisiera algo más.”

You exhaled sharply. “You’re being ridiculous.”

She didn’t argue. She just grabbed your wrist again, firmer this time, and started pulling you towards the exit.

“Alexia-“

“Coche. Ahora.”

You sent her the most scathing glare possible as you once again yanked your wrist out of her grip, grabbing your things and storming out of the bar.

The car ride was a disaster.

Alexia gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, her jaw clenched hard enough to crack. You sat beside her, arms crossed, fury radiating off you in waves.

“You don’t get to be mad at me for having a life outside of waiting for you to come home,” you snapped.

Her fingers twitched on the wheel. “Eso no es justo.”

“No? Because it’s true?”

She inhaled sharply, but didn’t deny it.

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “God, I can’t believe you’re jealous. Do you even see yourself? You barely touch me anymore, Alexia. You barely look at me. And now you’re acting like I’m cheating on you?”

She didn’t respond.

“You know what? Fine. Since you’re so interested in my ‘friend,’ let me clear it up for you -she’s married. To a man. Happily.”

Alexia’s grip faltered. “Qué?”

“Oh, now you want to listen to me?” You scoffed. “Yeah. She has a husband. And two kids. And she invited me out tonight because she saw how miserable I looked this morning after you left before the girls even woke up. Again.”

Guilt flickered across her face, but she didn’t speak.

The house was dark when you pulled up. The only light came from the living room, where the nanny sat on the couch.

“They’re upstairs,” she said quietly. “Asleep.”

You forced a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. You can go.”

She nodded quickly, grabbing her things and slipping out without another word.

The second the door shut, you turned back to Alexia. “I hope you’re happy.”

Her brow furrowed. “No estoy feliz.”

“Good.” You kicked off your shoes, already heading for the stairs. “Because neither am I.”

You were halfway up when a small voice called out.

“Mamá?” You froze, turning just in time to see Valentina standing at the top of the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes. Harper peeked out from behind her, clutching her stuffed bear.

Alexia inhaled sharply. “Bebé, ¿por qué no estás en la cama?”

Valentina pouted. “Estaban gritando.”

Guilt stabbed through you.

Harper toddled forward, reaching for you. “No pelear.”

Your heart broke. You scooped her into your arms, kissing the top of her head. “We’re not fighting, baby. Just talking really loud.”

Valentina crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Parecía una pelea.”

You sighed, reaching for her hand. “It’s late, sweetheart. Let’s get you back to bed.”

She hesitated, looking between you and Alexia.

“We’re okay,” you promised. “Go on, I’ll tuck you in.”

With one last wary glance at her mamá, Valentina nodded and followed you upstairs.

By the time you settled them back into bed, exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones. You barely had the energy to change before collapsing into bed, and just a few minutes later, the door creaked open greeting you with the sight of Alexia stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, regret carved into every inch of her expression.

“Lo siento.”

You sighed. “We can’t keep doing this.”

She swallowed hard. “Lo sé.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and unyielding. Then, finally, she moved. Crawled into bed, curled into your side the way she always did when she needed you but didn’t know how to ask.

You exhaled, running a hand through her hair. You knew something had to change, because whilst love may not be the problem, if you kept going like this, it definitely wouldn’t be enough to save you.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[laaailuh]

-TROPHY WIFE🏀

-pairing: basketball player!e42 miles x fem!black!reader

-genre: fluff

-summary: What it’s like to date Visions Academy’s most prominent basketball player.

a/n: After I wrote my fic “He's got a whole fan club” this came into mind. Like cmon, earth 42 miles would totally be a hooper. Also, this is my first time doing headcannons, kinda scared.

a/n 2: For the people who have requested, I haven’t forgotten about you.

MILES MORALES who asks you to braid his hair for him, the day before a game.

MILES MORALES who sneaks you into the locker room just to get some extra time with you.

"I'm going to get in trouble." "Ma chill, the boys aren't even here." "But-" "No buts, I wanna spend some time with my girl before I whoop some niggas asses on the court."

MILES MORALES who gets upset if he sees other guys/players approach you at his game.

“What did he say to you baby?” “He just wanted his water bottle that was beside me.” “Nah, he was tryin’ start something with you.”

MILES MORALES who will go all out and play more aggressively if he knows you'll be there.

MILES MORALES who lets you know if he's at practice so you don't think he's ignoring your texts and calls.

MILES MORALES who makes a shot and says “this one’s for my girl” which most of the time goes in. However, if he misses, his whole team will clown/tease him for it.

“How you gon’ airball in front of y/n man? Straight embarrassing.” “Nigga shut up, I had that on lock.” “Clearly you didn't.”

MILES MORALES who wears a bracelet with your initials on it when he plays, claims it gives him good luck.

MILES MORALES who barely uses his social media but when he does, it's only to post you and his basketball highlights.

MILES MORALES who will reassure you that he is fully and utterly committed to you if you start to feel jealous or annoyed at the amount of female attention he was getting.

“No te preocupes por ellos princesa (don't worry about them princess), you know I only want you.”

Being MILES MORALES girlfriend wasn't easy, a lot of the girls envied or despised you, wishing it was them in your place.

MILES MORALES is never afraid of showing affection towards you in front of a large crowd. This involves kissing, hugging, exchanging small glances and pointing at you when he makes a shot. 

MILES MORALES who likes receiving massages to help him unwind and relax after an intense game. Nonetheless, it usually ends in a makeout session due to him not being able to resist you. 

“I thought you wanted a massage.” “I did but it aint' enough.” “So what is?” “Kissing you mami.”

MILES MORALES can be a sore loser if he doesn't win a game. If his team gets defeated, he will most likely go see you straight after because you're the only person that can properly comfort him.

MILES MORALES who likes to take you to the basketball court late at night. Instead of a traditional dinner or movie date, you often find yourselves shooting hoops or playing one-on-one games together. 

MILES MORALES who likes to talk/think about the future with you.

“When I make it pro, you don't gotta worry bout a thing anymore.” “What do you mean?” “I’m gonna take care of you baby. Anything you want, it's yours.”

[hobiebrownismygod]

Researching Characters so you don't have to Part 1: Hobie Brown & His Accent

Art above IS NOT MINE! Click for the link to the original art! Artist: @Jay19

A lot of people write Hobie Brown like Tom Holland, but this just isn't accurate if you want to write a good fan fiction. Hobie is a homeless black teen from the 70s, who was born in Cambridge, and is also a punk. He's not gonna sound like Aaron Warner or Tom Hiddleston. Just because he has a British accent doesn't mean he's going to sound like your average British movie star.

British English is a dialect, not technically an accent. An accent is how someone pronounces words, while a dialect includes pronunciations, but also includes general vocabulary and grammar. This means that despite Hobie speaking English, he won't use the same vocabulary that American-English speakers use, so if you write him that way it won't be accurate.

The British accent that most people are used to is called Received Pronunciation, which is considered the "upper-class" British Accent. However, Hobie does not have a a Received Pronunciation accent. He's cockney. They do not sound the same as upper-class British people, and have a completely different set of vocabulary.

How do you write a cockney accent?

Rule 1: Never pronounce the "H"

For example, house becomes 'ouse. Hat becomes 'at. Hello becomes 'Ello. By writing the words with an apostrophe in place of the "h", it would read more accurately.

Rule 2: -ing becomes -in

For example, running becomes runnin'. Helping becomes 'elpin' (because both the h and the g are silent). Walking becomes walkin'. Those speaking in a cockney accent don't pronounce the "g" part of the ending -ing.

Rule 3: Words starting with "th-" are usually replaced with "f-"

For example, thing becomes fing. This becomes fis. However, don't overdo it. If you write out every word starting with an f, it'll become difficult to read. Only do it if you're trying to enunciate some words over others. Even if you're trying to write an accent, it should still be comprehensible.

There's other rules as well, but these were the main three I saw during my research!

How do you write a cockney dialect?

Cockney rhyming slang

Hobie consistently uses Cockney rhyming slang in ATSV. For example, he calls Miles, "Peter Pan" which is Cockney rhyming slang for "Little man". Using Cockney rhyming slang can make your writing seem more authentic

Some other examples are "Apples and pears" for stairs. "bees and honey" for money, etc. You can google other ones for any words you want to use!

As always research is your best friend, so while writing Hobie, make sure to have another page open with lots of slang and other words available for you to use in your writing to make your character sound as authentic as possible!

Note: I'm not cockney nor British, so if you see any mistakes with my writing, please let me know <3

[bi-writes]

mercenary!ghost is dead inside. he wonders what it leaves behind on his pretty little bunny.

notes about reader: as always, reader is curvy and ghost knows exactly what he wants to do with all that ass

more mercenary!ghost (part 2/?)

word count: 5k

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, pet names (luv, pet, bunny + rabbit, puppy), dark!ghost, mean!ghost, toxic!ghost, ghost is thicc, mentions of violence and gore + murder and extortion, mw3 spoilers, mentions of ghost's canon trauma, tw smoking, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink (reader described as much smaller, manhandled easily), suggestive touching and oral (fem!receiving), cumplay, mentions of dubcon but relationship/dynamics are consensual, simon "i eat pussy like a god" riley

his phone is ringing. it surprises him, the sound of it. it's not familiar, to hear it ring, to see a name on the screen of it and recognize it.

there was no one left to call. not until now.

he adjusts his hold on his rifle, slipping an earbud into his ear.

"'ello?"

"almost back yet?" it's you. rattling your cage.

"'m busy."

"i know--" he clicks his tongue when you say this, annoyed. "but you're not back yet."

"i'll be back when i'm back."

"yeah, but when is that?"

brat.

"'s this how it's gonna be? botherin' me when 'm out?"

"uh huh. so when are you gonna be back?"

"when 'm back."

you huff at that, and ghost snarls a bit under the mask, adjusting the scope and peering through it. there is movement, and he focuses. then your soft voice sounds again, "are you with someone else?"

there's a grunt, and then a firm, "no." and it is the truth, and you know it is, because he doesn't care enough to lie to you. you sigh on the other end, staring up at the ceiling with a wobbly bottom lip.

"we done 'ere?" he asks after a long pause. you sniffle, closing your eyes.

"take me with you next time."

he hangs up before he answers. needy little puppy he has, he knows this. he isn't unfamiliar with this kind of dynamic. it wasn't unlike the job he used to have--a lieutenant, a man in charge, in command of other needy puppies that needed to be put in their place. he wonders often if johnny would have liked you, but you are enough trouble as it is on your own.

a pet dies and another is bought; whatever ghost is, he outlives them.

he attracts them, he thinks. the ones who ache to belong. from the first moment he met you, he knows that is why he felt his blood run a little warmer at the sight of you--it is something in your eyes, something he recognizes, something that he knows tastes so fucking good. there is predator, and there is prey, and then there is the in-between. the purgatory of those who have no idea who they are. they must be shown. they have to be taught, and if they fall into the wrong hands, they are mangled and chewed through.

he wonders for a moment if maybe his mother was one of them. then he remembers that it doesn't matter what she was, because his father had black running through his veins. the same black that simon thinks he sees in the mirror--and sometimes it bleeds onto his face, he swears it's there, hiding underneath the eye-black he paints on himself.

when he was younger, he used to hide from his reflection because of it. the rot of the other half that he was made of, it terrified him. he feared being consumed by it. he was afraid of letting it show, he was afraid of scaring other people.

but when he crawled himself out of his early grave and buried the good half of himself, he didn't flinch in the mirror any longer. he let himself linger there, and when he swiped the black against his pale skin for the first time, he remembers thinking that maybe it had always been there. that he doesn't recognize himself without it because this is what i am, something made of ash, something that shouldn't be here, the remnants of something that touched a flame too hot and swallowed something foul. rancid.

and maybe that is what he's been doing since then--maybe that is what the hollow place is that he feels inside, maybe it's the half that he buried that he wishes so fucking badly to hold onto because it's the only thing that distracted him from feeling like the thing that he truly is. and maybe that is why he died again when johnny did; it was too late to realize that the hollowness is back, and it is deeper, and it hurts now, fuck, take it back, take it away--

and maybe that is why he hates you in some way. because the space is gone. it is filled again; and you fit so perfectly there, and it will happen again, and he has no idea how many more times he can lose the redeemable half of him until there is nothing left to redeem.

but black still runs in his veins, and he is selfish, and he will hold onto it until it's gone. he doesn't care. he is a thing, he is not real, and it doesn't matter to him if he will die again when you do, because while he has you, he will drink what you give him. salvation, redemption, painting his blood red, whatever the fuck it is that you are meant to give him, he will take it, and he will devour it, and he doesn't care what he leaves behind.

he wants it. it's selfish, it's cruel, but he wants it. everything he touches fades away; if he was something real, he would cut you off. but he isn't, and he doesn't care, and he's curious to know what the stain of himself will look like on you.

beautiful you. such a pretty girl. soft like a bunny, glittering eyes--if he was a poet, he might say they are filled with starlight. but ghost is a predator; the shine of you only makes his mouth water.

you were his the moment he saw you for the very first time. he was not inclined to ask your permission, but it wouldn't have mattered--he knew as soon as your eyes met, really met, that he had you. hook, line, and sinker--there it is, there she is, what she really is inside. there is a light there inside of you, he could see it.

he is going to snuff it out. he doesn't know why, but he will, because he wants to. he has an urge to kill something, and he thinks whatever it is that swims in you will do just fine. he knows, somehow, that you will look beautiful covered in it--in the tears when he breaks, when he tears, when he destroys, you will look beautiful, and he won't stop until he takes all of it. he knows, too, he doesn't know how he knows but he knows, that you will let him.

he crossed another name off his list today. he watched them on a lonely rooftop all morning, and it rained. he watched them move back and forth, between doorways, answering phone calls. he doesn't ask questions, so he wonders occasionally what it is they did to warrant a visit from him.

they could've stolen. maybe they betrayed; that is a popular motivation. lovers' quarrels--he knows what it is to die for love, but dying for love at the wrong end of his rifle isn't in marriage vows. maybe they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; maybe they saw what they shouldn't have, and it was enough for a visit from their guardian angel.

sometimes he thinks that what he does is at their mercy; because if he didn't do it, if he didn't make it so quick, so easy, they would suffer. at least this way, by his hand, they would never know. he brings comfort. ease.

it is the same with you, it has to be. he closes his fist and bangs on the outside of your door. the wood rattles under the force, and when you open the door, the look that you give him only solidifies his assumption. if it wasn't him keeping you, then it would be someone else. someone else would look into those eyes, and they would take from you, but they wouldn't be like him. he takes, and he will take, but you won't know that you are empty until it's too late.

that is merciful, isn't it? this kind of love is forgiving, right? the kind that shields, the white lies that protect, that blindfold that hides--this is humane. he is a thing, a predator, yes, but he isn't like the others.

right?

you step aside, and he has to maneuver his shoulders to make it past the narrow doorway. as you close the door, your eyes linger. he wears a dark rain jacket over a long sleeve, dark cargo pants tucked into heavy boots. he wears a holster on one meaty thigh, but it only holds a small pack there. his balaclava is plain, hiding all but his dark eyes, and the hood of his jacket casts a long shadow over him. the gloves he wears are of a utility variety--he worked today. if you ask him, he will say yes, but he will not tell you anything else.

sometimes, you aren't sure if he just doesn't care or if he is trying to protect you from some ugly truth. but then you remember that there are no ugly truths with ghost; the truth is as it is, nothing more and nothing less, and if he hides it from you, it is because you simply don't need to know.

you lock the door behind you, leaning against it. he moves through your apartment with ease. he has been here before, but it feels as if he has always been here. he knows how to rattle the balcony door to get the lock to free, and you don't remember showing him how to unlatch it. you busy yourself with putting the kettle to boil as you see him light a match, a cigarette between two gloved fingers.

it's a nasty vice. it blackens the lungs, shrinks the organ, addicts the user. but it tastes good. and it feels good. and it isn't what will kill him, because this isn't real.

you come outside, a mug of tea in your hand, and you set it down beside him. he flicks ash off the cigarette, spreading his legs wide as he sits there, watching the street below. it's quiet because it's raining, and while the balcony is covered, it wets the toes of his boots.

he looks so good. he spreads himself out in the chair, taking up so much space, and his hand that doesn't hold the cigarette is spread out along his thigh, running absentmindedly down the material of his pants. it's hard to describe the breadth of him--ghost is just big. his hands, the height of him, the space that you can tuck yourself into his chest. he could curl you around his arm, wrap you up with both of them, trap you there. you don't hate the thought of that, the idea of him keeping you there like that. you think about the width of his hand, how it might look with the black of his glove spread out across your throat, holding you there, keeping you there.

you think about what it would be like to be under his mercy. his control. to feel the press of those fingers against the hollow of your throat, knowing he could crush your windpipe with just one perfectly placed squeeze. he would know where to touch. he would know where to tug just right to cut the air off.

it's too bad you didn't know you already belonged to him.

"can i have some?"

you nod to the cigarette burning in his hand. his eyes flicker up to look at you for a moment before he adjusts in the chair. he shrugs finally.

"'f you want."

you put a hand on his shoulder, lowering yourself to sit on his lap. you wear nothing except for a loose shirt, one that covers you to your thighs, but when you sit, it rides up. he takes the weight of you easily, not looking strained in the slightest, one arm supporting the thickness of your thighs with a firm grasp.

you lean forward a little, into him, and he brings the cigarette to your lips. you wrap your lips around it, taking a breath. you want to revel in that fact that you're putting your lips around something his own have touched, and then you start to cough.

the air burns. you turn your head to the side and wheeze; you hear a condescending chuckle, and you go warm with embarrassment. but his hand rubs small circles into your back, coaxing the smoke out of your lungs. you take in a few strong breaths to clear the smoke, and then you look away from him.

"not a smoker, eh?"

"that was...my first time."

when your head turns back to face him shyly, he tilts his head to the side. you cannot see any of his expression, but you imagine he's curious. the way his eyes look you up and down tell you that much.

"wot, you saw me do it, 'n ya think y'can take it?"

you don't respond, just keep your eyes on his. your fingers move, spreading across the solidity of his chest, and you rest them there. you lean in a little more, your face only a few mere inches from his own, and it gives you an opportunity to examine him so close.

his mask is weathered, the skull mouth painted along the mouth a little faded and messy with wear. he smells like cigarettes and earth, wet soil and ash and something warm. the eye-black that is smeared across his eyes fades out at the edges, and the paleness of his skin peeks out a little. you know the black covers the tiredness under his eyes, the lines that must be set in his face from how much he frowns. he has blonde lashes and dark eyes, and what intrigues you the most is that you can see the jagged edge of a healed scar peeking out from under the fabric that hides him.

he frowns, and you see the furrowing of the skin underneath. you meet his eyes again, and it feels surreal to see him in this much detail. you don't think this is a common occurrence; you have a feeling that anyone that has ever gotten this close to him did not live to talk about it the next day.

he has never told you, but you know death follows him. you have never seen what war has done to him, you can't see the rough skin and the patches where skin has been shredded or torn off, but you know, sitting so close to him, that he leaves bodies behind him and terrifies the ones that approach.

you wonder if you should be afraid, but then you remember that if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it by now. he does not want to kill you.

he wants to eat you.

you have asked him once what he does for work. he said he used to work for the military, but he didn't say anymore. when you asked what he did now, he said he was an independent contractor.

a contractor for what, you did not get the answer to. just that he was his own boss now, and no one told him what to do anymore.

"what did you do today?" you ask him finally, reaching up timidly and slipping a thumb down the line of his strong jaw.

"work."

"and how was it?"

he does not answer, and your eyes flicker back up to his, studying his reaction. he doesn't give one, just eyes the line of your throat as you swallow hard.

"a good pay day then?" you ask, and he hums at that. you smile a little, reaching up with both hands and cupping his masked cheeks gently. "must be good at what you do."

his face flickers a bit at that. he sniffs, looking to the side before back at you, shrugging those broad shoulders of his. one of his big hands comes up and slips up the shirt you wear, gripping your ass firm.

"good at other things, too," is all he says, and you smooth one of your thumbs down the row of painted teeth along the mouth of the mask. his breath comes out warm under your thumb.

"like killing people?"

his hand stiffens against you, and he glares up at you. a huff of a breath comes out, and you tense a little. he flicks the cigarette onto the ground, reaching up with that hand and gripping you around the jaw. your face fits nicely in his hand, and you might enjoy it if it wasn't so aggressive, the way he touched you. he shakes you a little, bringing you close enough that you can feel the wetness of his snarl against your lips.

"that wot y'think i am? some kind o'murderer?" he spits. "think 'm some kind o'fuckin' killer?"

a wave of tears prick the sides of your eyes, and you grip his wrist tight, trying to keep the pressure off of you.

"i know what you do," you whisper. "i know what you do, it's pretty obvious."

"yeah? 'n ya think it's a good idea to fuckin' talk t'me this way? ask me questions you don't want the answers to?"

you narrow your eyes, and you stare back at him, matching the intensity of his own. this makes him laugh; there is no humor in his laugh, but he laughs, and he rattles your whole head as he brings you close enough that your lips brush against the fabric of his mask.

"oh...you want me to tell ya...want me to spill all my bloody secrets..." he growls. you let out a whine when he brings you even closer, smashing your lips against the front of his mask. you choke out a whimper, and you swear you feel his tongue trying to find yours through the barrier. "think y'can handle the lot like me, bunny, and you can't. blood on m'ledger would fuckin' drown you."

and it is the truth, he knows it is, and he wouldn't lie to you because he just doesn't fucking care enough to think up a lie. he didn't serve so many years, he didn't give so much time to what he thought was righteous to come home and paint war as a pretty picture to civilians like you. war is blood, war is loss, war is what takes and takes and takes from a man, until they are things. until they come home and realize they have no idea what they were fighting for when they seem the same dirty streets they left behind.

when their brothers still get killed. when their families still come apart. when their lovers betray them, when they break their hearts--when they realize they are glorified weapons for the politicians that don't care about them, that send them away to die, that refuse to support them when they come home without the goodness that they left with.

he gave his entire life up for this. they took his family, they took the only half of him that mattered, and what was it for? nothing waits for him at home. there is no one in his bed, there is no one to call, there was no money in the bank.

there is only the memories that manifest into nightmares, and the blue sky that reminds him of blue eyes. the blue eyes that he could not save, the blue eyes that haunt him, that ask him, desperately--let the bonnie lass go, LT. you cannae save'er.

but he is a lieutenant, and he was a sergeant, and he didn't take fucking orders from anyone anymore anyways.

you are his, and you look so pretty in that cage. pretty enough to eat. pretty enough to take away. pretty enough to poison, because he thinks maybe this is the only way to make himself feel better.

he wants to see your blood run just as black as his own. misery loves company, they say, and it would please him, the selfish thing that he is, to see you just as ugly inside as he is.

"but you want it," he says, and your eyes flick back to meet his. you don't smile, but your gaze doesn't falter. you just stare back at him, and he laughs again, because he sees something he recognizes there. something inhuman, something a little feral. it is inside you.

and he wants it out.

he stands, leaning over you. you're forced to walk backwards, and he doesn't stop until you're back inside. he closes the balcony door behind him, putting a hand on your chest before forcing you backwards with a firm push. the back of your knees hit the couch, and you squeak as you fall back against it.

you almost think he's going to pounce on you. rip your panties to fabric shreds, spread you wide, and fuck you into the cushions. you think he's going to take from you, because that is what predators do, but you're almost taken back by the sight of him lowering to his knees.

he's kneeling. this behemoth of a thing kneels in front of you, and you yelp with a start when he grips you by the back of your knees and yanks you forward, manhandling you until he has your legs tossed over his shoulders. he grunts as he pushes the shirt up to expose your cotton panties, a soft red pair that you know he will ruin when he's done with you.

your back arches as he buries the front of his mask against your cunt, taking a deep breath through the mask. it's filthy, the way he takes in the scent of you, and if you were sane, you would push him away, the nasty thing he is. but you don't--the gesture floods your insides with need, and you squirm in his grip.

"stay still, little rabbit," he says, but it's a demand. he moves one hand further up your thighs, and you whimper softly when his thumb squishes the slit of you through your panties. his eyes brighten when he notices the fabric darkening as soon as he does this, a growing wet spot dampening your underwear. "look at 'er...drippin'...you hungry, luv?"

"uh...ngghhh..."

"oh, fer fuck's sake, haven't even got m'mouth on ya, and y'can't speak already?"

he laughs, because he is mean, because he is a thing that just wants and takes, and what he wants is between your thighs, and you are easy. you want to be more of a challenge; you want to make him work for it, but his eyes flicker up to meet your own, and there is nothing you can do. there is something said whenever your eyes are on each other--you have no idea what it is, but it tames him, and it keeps you.

"he woulda loved you," he says suddenly. you frown, opening your mouth to say something, to ask who he is, but his index finger pulls your panties aside, and he buries his masked face into the wet seam of your pretty pussy.

you cry out at the feeling, your thighs closing around his head instinctively. your back bows even further, a taut, imaginary string being pulled inside of you, and ghost laughs again, because you're so warm and cute and needy. he pushes his face further into you, nuzzling his nose into the place where he knows your clit is, and he draws the most delicious moans out of you. he smiles under the mask when one of your shaking hands grips the back of his head, pushing him deeper, his mask soaking with the slick of you.

he continues the torture for a time unknown. your brain isn't working; you have no concept of time. all you can think about is the way your legs shake and the grip your hands have on the back of his head as you grind your hips up into him. your eyes flutter open and closed, and you push your shirt up a little so he can see your nipples harden with how much everything aches for him.

it feels so good. he grunts, and then a low groan leaves him when you maneuver his head, shoving his nose up against your clit again and slanting your hips up and into him. you're getting off on this--fucking the front of his mask to feel something, to feel this thing you have been chasing for your entire life.

you saw it in him the first time you met him. the knowing when your eyes met for the first time--whatever it is that you have been chasing for your entire life, it is in him, and you need it.

the thing that poets chase. the rush that a high brings. the missing half of you, the warmth of a love you've never had, the shape of something in your cunt that you know he can fill.

you think you might faint when you feel his tongue finally. you can't see his face; he hides it with a wet mask, but his tongue is inside of you now, and you can't help the crying moans that leave you as he laps at your folds like a thirsty dog. maybe he is thirsty--you can hear the lewd, deep swallowing sounds he makes as he tightens his grip on your thighs and bobs his head in time with your stuttering, pleasure-chasing hips.

he drinks. he drinks you insane. his tongue suckles at your clit, then lets it go with a filthy pop to swirl inside your tightening cunt and eat the pretty bunny he has been thinking about far too much. when he works, before he sleeps, in the shower, in the mirror as he covers the scars of him that he never wants to share anymore. the taste of you is enough to distract him--here, between your thighs, your sweetness in his mouth and your moans filling his ears, he doesn't think about anything else. it's impossible. he has been chasing the void for a long time, and all he had to do was eat a pretty girl to get to it?

he knows it now, has decided it already. your cunt is redemption, and he will lose himself in it to make it reality.

"ghost! please!"

your cries shatter his resolve. he folds you in half as he leans over you now, his hands sliding up your soft stomach before he grips the weight of your breasts in his rough hands and squeezes firmly. you whine, cry, moan, beg--you beg for more, for him to please, please, please--! it feels so good, i want it! i want you, i want it all, i want--i want--what does she want?

me? the thing? what isn't real? because ghost knows that if he gives in, it is over. he signs something away, and he has done this before, and suddenly he is afraid.

when he did this before, he was left something else. he is afraid of what will happen the next time. what will happen to him, what might become of him, because what he is now terrifies his reflection, and he has no idea what it'll do.

"please! please! please!"

but you're crying, and you taste so good. and as he laves into the prettiest pussy he's ever had, the sweetest, he remembers why he is here. he isn't here because he loves you. he isn't here because he cares, he isn't here because it is good.

he is here because whatever he is needs a new host, and you are what it wants. soft, pretty, naïve--you have let it inside, and now he will eat and chew and bite until he sucks something out of you.

maybe the good. maybe blood. but it doesn't matter.

he slides his hands back down, using both thumbs to spread your folds apart, and he pulls back to look at you. you're a sloppy mess, your little hole puckering and pulsing, your clit a throbbing bud that begs him to stop teasing. he looks up at where you're a whimpering, crying thing, tears sliding down your puffy cheeks, and he snarls before he leans down and spits right on your clit, watching it drip into your cunt and swirl between what seeps from you.

"say it."

"nnh...huh?"

"say who you belong to."

when you take a moment to answer, he leans down and licks a fat stripe over your clit, making you sob. you reach down, cupping the underside of his jaw. it's bare, and your soft hands glide over the scarred skin there. it is the first time he doesn't flinch.

"you--you!"

"say it."

"b-belong to you..."

the moonlight is blue when he makes you come. his lips wrap around your clit and suckle soft, and when he knows you're coming, he opens his mouth, hinging a strong jaw so he can swallow what drips from you and take in mouthfuls of it. there is a glare over you, a blue light that shines over your sweaty, shivering body, and ghost nearly bites.

as if the blue eyes he can't keep out of his head, the blue eyes that follow him everywhere he goes, are mocking him for taking the thing he knows he shouldn't have. he's telling him to leave you. that there's still time to let you go. that what he has in his hands, what he has at his mercy, is too soft and too pretty and too gentle to be touched by what he will bring to her doorstep.

you sit up on your elbows, half-lidded, face wet with your tears. ghost almost believes the blue that washes over you, but then his eyes meet yours, and it is over. you're smiling.

this is acceptance. because you know what he is. you know what he does. the gun on him is real. the black in his eyes isn't a trick of the light. the poison spreading in his veins isn't just a sickness, it is a cancer, and this will kill him, and it is contagious.

you cup his face, bringing him up, letting him crowd the space between your legs as he leans over you.

he would care. he wants to care. and when he kisses you, sealing your fate, he remembers, suddenly. the blue moonlight is gone.

and this isn't real.

[cramathonn]

ello! are your requests open? if so id like to request lighter x reader headcannons, can be nsfw

tbh an nsfw alphabet would be awesome but it’s up to you if you wanna do that much

anyways take your time, dont forget to drink water, byee! 👋

Oho? An NSFW alphabet request? For the very first time in all of my years of request writing? Hell yeah sibling! Let's get this show on the road!

After finishing thoughts: I started this before he came out... I was right about so many things about him and ON ACCIDENT... Welp, had to edit very little, but enjoy! Sorry for the long wait thought, that's my bad 😞

Reader: meant for anyone to read! No body parts will be specified and no pronouns except "you/yours" will be used

TW: none (as far as I am aware)

Content type: headcanon

MDNI! THERE WILL BE NSFW AFTER THE CUT!

Lighter NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Butterfly kisses all over you and cleaning you up. Doesn't mind a quick after sex showers but they're not a must to him, so he'll only hop in if you insist he joins you. If you don't mind being a bit sweaty untill next morning, he'll gladly cuddle you and take a shower with you in the morning before going out to fulfill his duties as the Sons of Callydon's champion.

B = Body part (their favorite body part in themselves and their partner)

Listen, lighter's favorite body parts of his are his hands and face. He knows he's handsome, he knows he's a damned catch, yet your reactions are the ones that make his heart skip a beat. When you cup his face while making out? Oh, that man is putty now, congrats. Absolutely LOVES letting his hands explore your body, clothed or not, specially if your hands are smaller than his. I can imagine him getting even more turned on just by the fact that he's able to hold both of your hands above your head oh so easily, it's as if you were made for him and his hands to hold.

As for you, I'd say he also has a liking to your face, more specifically, your eyes. Lighter loves seing your different expressions, admiring how your eyes shine with the low blaze of the fireplace or how incredibly hot you look with them half-lifded, irises filled with desire as he touches you. Other favorite parts of his are your thighs and neck. Regardless if your thighs are built like sticks or squishy 'mallows, he will bite them, suck on them and mark them, because seeing them quiver at how good he's making you feel swells his heart with pride. And do I need to explain why the neck? Your scent is there, it's easy to see any marks he makes, if you don't wear high collared clothing, and it elicits such lovely reactions when he as much as touches it, so of course he loves your neck, let him bite it please.

C = Cum (anything cum related)

Lighter strikes me as the thick load type of guy. Doesn't release for long but it is thick. Prefers cumming inside of you, but won't argue if you'd prefer him to cum on your stomach. Oh but seeing your face coated in his relase? Immediate boner. He might have just came, but the moment he sees your face with ropes of his cum in it, it's joever, he's hard again and ready to go. Having you swallow his cum is also a big turn on for him, watching you loudly gulp it down just makes him all flustered inside.

However, if he's bottoming? Do whatever as long as it's not on his face, specifically his eyes. Like, he had to undergo surgery there for fuck's sake, so he's probably really finicky about things getting near them. Otherwise, go ham! Make him swallow you cum, coat his insides with it, cum on top of his pecks and/or stomach. Just keep it clean from his eyes and hair and you're Gucci.

D = Dirty Secrets (self explanatory)

He'd absolutely love to fuck you on his bike, I am not joking. The idea of you all beautiful, sweaty, naked on top of the seat of his bike while he fucks you, eats you or sucks you makes him so hard he has to excuse himself if he's around people.

Has an indescribable desire to masturbate together. Like, no sex, just the two of you masturbating in each other's presence or over a phone call. He wants to do it so bad but is INCREDIBLY anxious about asking it, so he'll leave it only for his imagination.

That and his wishes to be controled and degraded by you in bed. When Lucy degrades him? Nothing, nada, just another normal day. However, when you get angry and insult someone else? Gosh, he wishes that were him. You look so hot like that and he had no idea he liked that type of stuff... Also, pegging is involved in the "being controled by you" category. Please peg him. He'll never tell you he wants it, but god he's begging for it to happen mentally.

E = Experience (do they have experience and know what they're doing?)

My brain is split perfectly in the middle with this one. He either has a considerable amount of experience from his time in the underground ring or he has absolutely zero experience besides the few old movies he managed to fetch from the dumps. For the sake of making it more interesting for me, I'm going with the option that this motherfucker is a damned virgin before he meets you.

If you have more experience? Take the lead, show him what you like, how to pleasure you, help him explore himself and what makes his brain tick, what makes his throat tighten and his eyes glaze over. If neither of you have experience? Go slow together, explore each other and learn what each of you likes. He is absolutely embarrassed that he doesn't know what to do, so please be understanding and take it easy on your teasing for the first time.

Listen, I know he gives fuckboy vibes, the man with the rizz, people puller, the master of the dirty tango (kms for this one/j) but like, he only knows how to partially pleasure himself. Otherwise? Lighter has no idea where to touch or what to do. He would absolutely take the naughty tapes he found in the dumps and the few videos his poor internet allows him to acess as a guide, you'd have to slowly guide him through it.

F = Favorite position (self explanatory²)

In my eyes, Lighter doesn't really have a favorite position. He has preferred ones, yes, but he isn't against trying new ones. The ones he prefers more are Missionary and Cowgirl.

Why those two? Well, he can see your face and stare deep into your eyes in both and he also can grab your thighs during cowgirl to bring you down on him. Bonus, missionary can be varied in of itself! Arms around his neck, above your head, tied to the bed, heck it can even turn into a mating press if both of you are up for it. Its versatility and the fact he gets to see you sprawled beneath him or domineering above him makes it his most preferred position by far.

G = Goofy (Are they serious, goody, etc...)

He falls more on the serious side of the coin. Now, Lighter won't be against cracking a joke here and there, but he's not going to do it all the time. Considering we're going with the "Lighter has no sex experience" belief, he'd originally think he'd have to be hella serious during it, thanks to the videos he watched, but as things progress, he'd realize he could be a bit more goofy. It's not goofy all the time for obvious reasons, but he will tease you and strike a joke every now and then. After all, sex is also supposed to be an enjoyable and fun activity, and jokes are funny, right?

H = Hair (how well groomed? Do the color match?)

Listen, dude might live in the Outer ring, but I like to imagine he is partially groomed. He sees it getting too long and trims it, that's all he does, he doesn't want to yank it or fully shave it. As for color, yes, the carpet does match the drapes, albeit they're slightly more wavy down there at the very tip

I = Intimacy (are they romantic during it?)

Lighter is, to no one's surprise, very romantic during it (or tries to be). We already know that he is weak to romance, and I quote, would be willing to die for love. So, as someone who values you a LOT, he'd be romantic, trust. Kissing you while he fucks you, telling you how much he loves you, this man is pulling all the cards.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanons)

So, I mentioned it earlier, that sometimes he gets so hard he needs to jack off in order to get back to duty. Does it happen often? No, no it doesn't. Lighter is very well composed majority of the times and very respectful of you and your wishes. If you're not up for it, he'll understand and just go take care of his needs by himself. He doesn't see it as being neglected because, hey, not everything's about sex and his partner's wishes are just as important as his.

Now, if Lighter gets a hard on just as he's about to depart for a job with the Sons of Callydon, bro will be so frustrated (and embarrassed), get off his bike, excuse himself for five minutes (it's two), go at it as fast as he humanly can without hurting himself, clean as best as possible, go back like nothing happened and go to the mission. He has a reputation to keep, he can't be looking disheveled after a quick one or let anyone KNOW he beat a quick one, by that matter.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This is the part where my brain wrecks itself because "do I throw my own shit here or do I go crazy?", so I decided to do BOTH!

Lighter striked me as the type to be super into degradation and praise during it. Getting degraded by you, called a slut, a dirty whore and the likes? Oh gosh, he's whimpering, he's a mess, he needs more. After the one time Lighter heard you degrade someone, that kink woke up. And boy oh boy, he might look all cool and stuff, taking compliments from others relatively well, but the moment YOU compliment him? It's over, he's a flustered shy mess and he will deny it to his GRAVE. However, complimenting him during it, saying how good he's doing, will make him almost immediately cum. He is a SERVICE first and foremost, keep that in mind.

Another one he looks like he'd have would be heat play specifically. Drip body safe wax on his body and watch him shiver at the sensation, he loves it. Also choking, please let him do it to you or do it to him. Like I said earlier, he loves your neck and loves seeing his hands on your body, so his hands enveloping your neck? Oh boy, that's so hot to him.

Another one: shibari. Tie him up or let him tie you up. That kink goes along his powerplay, not in a master way, because I think he'd cringe at that, but in a "I am in control here" situation. Being completely under your control is exhilarating to him and he'd absolutely love it. And another obvious one to me, biting. He loves seeing his bitemarks on you and loves the thought of being bitten back (if you do it, he will let out a low moan, so be aware of the power you hold)

L = Location (favorite locations to go at it)

Lighter prefers to be intimate in the comfort of his or your room. Or a secluded place where you two won't be seen, heard or be at risk of danger. He likes the persona he has in front of others and doesn't wanna ruin that but he also really appreciates his privacy, specially for things and situations such as these. While he's not opposed to doing it in public, he'd much rather do it at home, in your shared bed or at any location inside your house.

M = Motivation (what gets them going?)

Seeing you in little to no clothing. Yes, he's seen you naked, yes he's seen you in your underwear, yet it still gets him needy for you, same goes for sexy and/or tight clothes! You whispering dirty things into his ear, your consent and eagerness to go at it just as much as him ough, it makes him go crazy. Have you ever heard the saying "consent is sexy"? Yeah, that's Lighter's motto. He sees you consenting to him fucking your brains out? He's 10x more bricked now, good luck.

N = No (things he wouldn't do, turn offs)

Anything that involves blood. It's common knowledge he cannot stand the sight of it properly, so anything that involves blood is a no go. Also, consensual noncon is also a no go to him. Yes, you might have given your consent, but it feels wrong to him and makes him uncomfortable, so no.

O = Oral (giving, receiving, skill, etc...)

He is pretty indifferent on wether he receives or gives. But again, we're in the "Lighter is a virgin" timeline, therefore, he's not very... Skilled? I mean, he is naturally talented, but besides what he knows from masturbation, he's pretty much in the dark.

Once he gets the ropes though, he's a fucking expert at it, eats you out like you're his favorite dish and sucks you so well like GOD no one has given you head that good before...

Will melt and become a mess if you eat him out or give him head though. Eat him out for the first time and he'll be conflicted, but also on cloud 9. So, give him a break after so he can catch himself and process how he feels about this (he likes it, please eat him out more).

P = Pace (self explanatory³)

Lighter is, at first, slow and insecure. He has no experience, after all. But once he knows what he likes and what you like, it's on sight. You want fast and rough? Alright, he gotchu, you want him to go deep and strong but slow? Already on it! He can vary his pace pretty easily but, when on the receiving end, go rough. When he's feeling sore, be gentle with him but otherwise, go as rough as you can. He wants to feel every part of himself screaming the next day due to how good you made him feel.

Q = Quickie (opinion on them)

Doesn't mind them but prefers longer sessions. If the both of you are horny and in a rush, sure, he doesn't mind it, but wouldn't trade it for long nights with you.

R = Risk (do they take them)

Lighter prefers to play things safe. He is willing to experiment, yes, but if it involves risky things, you'll both need to have a looong talk about it and ensure you're prepared in case anything happens. If you TRULLY want it, he can try, but he'd prefer not to take unnecessary risks, specially not with you

S = Stamina (self explanatory⁴)

Bro is a BOXER for fuck's sake, he has a really good stamina. Can go until you're tired but usually lasts up to 5-6 rounds. Can last more with the... Right incentive (cough cough, aphrodisiac, cough cough), but comfortably lasts 5 and 6 with strain. He starts to cum faster after round 3 so... Be aware of that

T = Toys (do they own any? Do they use them? Self or partner?)

Again, virgin Lighter timeline. He has them, but most likely hasn't used them due to his anxiety. But if you offer to use it on him, he's not so opposed to it- oh, oh he's a moaning mess now... Welp, there's your answer, ig. Vibrators get to him faster, so if you make him use one in public, it'll take all of his might to maintain his composure and not just fucking FALL. He prefers when you use toys on him, but is willing to use them on you too if you really want it.

U = Unfair (do they tease? How much?)

Yes, he teased. When he's on top and dominating, he's going to tease you a lot, specially if you're acting a bit... Bratty. But when he's bottoming? Oh he's a brat, alright. He teases the ever living shit out of you because he finds your reactions endearing (and because it gets you to fuck him harder more often than not)

V = Volume

Top → grunts and huffs, bottom → moans and whimpers. Listen, his noise and his volume depend on his position and it is final. If he's bottoming, he'll be loud, moaning like a bitch in heat, cursing everything because of how good you're making him feel. But if je tops, he lets out more grunts, groans and growls. He'll still curse, but in more of a gruff voice when compared to bottom Lighter moments.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

Listen here, he's either trans and has the juiciest pussy known to man, or he has the biggest dick ever. In both headcanons he has mantits and ass, ok, those are interchangeable. He also likes when you slap his ass and collar him.

Do it, I dare you, he'll moan.

If you slap his ass in public he'll flinch and let out a TOTALLY not manly yelp and will proceed to glare at you with flushed cheeks.

Oh yeah, he also hides his flushed face behind his scarf (when he has it in hands, otherwise he uses his arms)

X = X–Ray

9 inches, slight curved up and thick. Rosy tip, methinks, with some veins popping out very slightly (good luck sucking that)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

A considerably normal sex drive, when compared to his stamina. His mind is dirty, sure, but he doesn't want it all the time. When he wants it, though, it hits him kinda hard. Please help him, he's not rlly good at hiding it.

Z = Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep?)

Kinda fast, actually. He strikes me as the type to fall asleep considerably fast when he's not stuck overthinking... Or when he's been sucked dry beyon belief, turned into a raising, even. So yeah, he falls asleep easily as long as he isn't overthinking or is deadass tired

Written by Cramathonn on 30/12/2024 [dd/mm/yy]

Finished at 11:02pm