#no matter how nice his beard might be

[pushing500]

The Sightstealer Saga: Part 1

It had been a regular day at Sparks; everybody was going about their chores as usual, with no way to guess the turn the day was about to take...

Boop, one of our cleansweeper mechanoids, was suddenly attacked by a terrifying figure that appeared as if from nowhere!! Fortunately, Boop recalled the many tales of Stabby the Roomba that it had heard and managed to "sweep the floor"��if you'll excuse the pun—with its sightstealer foe before limping back to the safety of our main walled-in area to be repaired.

Boop's heroic victory was seen as a declaration of war to all sightstealers nearby, but despite their knack for turning invisible, they were not very good at sneaking up on us and screamed hideous war cries so everybody knew they were coming.

Hopefully, we don't acquire an unexpected newborn from this sightstealer attack. We love Ivy to bits, but one adopted child is enough; thank you very much. Hear that, Randy? No new colonists!

*sigh* I suppose that's what I get for tempting fate...

Alistair was quick, but not quiiite quick enough to avoid a few claw-slashes on his arm. It's tricky for him to fight while running and also carrying a fifteen-year-old boy with the most impeccably groomed facial hair I've ever seen on anybody under thirty-five.

In the end, though, Alistair and Ludwig made it inside safely, and everybody ignored Ludwig in favour of welding Alistair back together first. Still, it doesn't sound like the ordeal is over yet. We've sealed the gates and holed up for a sightstealer siege. Stay tuned for The Sightstealer Saga Part Two!!

First | Next | Previous

[lilangelbud]

“You can do this, honey.” Daddy’s voice was low, gravelly, and so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath against my skin. His large hands pinned my wrists behind my back, holding me firmly in place on the edge of the bed. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and my entire body was trembling. Why was I trembling?

“You need to help your brother,” he continued, his tone soft but insistent. “How else is he supposed to learn how to please a woman? How else is he going to find a nice lady to date, huh?”

I could feel my brother’s eyes on me, heavy and intent, from where he stood in front of me. His shirt was off, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, and his jeans were already undone, hanging low on his hips. His cock was hard, fully exposed, and big. My stomach twisted in knots as he stepped closer, his gaze flickering down to where my legs were spread—open and bare, just like Daddy had told me to be.

“You’re gonna be good for him, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Daddy’s voice was almost a purr now, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. God, why did that make me shiver?

I nodded weakly, my throat too dry to speak. My brother’s hand brushed against my thigh, and I flinched, the touch sending a jolt through me. He hesitated, his eyes searching mine for… something. Reassurance? Permission? I wasn’t sure.

“It’s okay,” Daddy murmured, his grip on my wrists tightening just enough to remind me he was there. “She’s ready, son. She wants to help you. Don’t you, baby?”

I nodded again, my voice still trapped somewhere deep inside me. My brother’s hand moved higher, his fingers brushing against the wetness between my legs, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. His touch was tentative, almost cautious, but it still sent a wave of heat through me that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Good girl,” Daddy whispered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. Pride? Satisfaction? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way my brother’s fingers were moving now, circling my clit with a rhythm that made my breath hitch.

“You’re so wet,” my brother murmured, his voice almost reverent. “Is this… is this because of me?”

I didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, because Daddy’s lips were on my neck now, his beard scratching against my skin in a way that made me shudder. His hands released my wrists, sliding around to cup my breasts instead, his thumbs teasing my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra.

“She’s always been a good girl,” Daddy said, his voice rough. “Always so eager to help. Aren’t you, honey?”

I nodded again, my body trembling as my brother’s fingers dipped inside me, stretching me open in a way that made my toes curl. God, why did it feel so good?

“Take her,” Daddy urged, his hands moving to grip my hips, holding me steady. “Show her how much you appreciate her.”

My brother’s eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, I thought he might stop. But then he was moving, lining the head of his cock up with my entrance, and I clenched my teeth, bracing myself for the inevitable.

“Relax,” Daddy whispered, his hands massaging my hips in slow, soothing circles. “It’s gonna feel good, baby. You’re gonna love it.”

I wanted to protest, to tell him that this was wrong, that we shouldn’t be doing this, but the words never made it past my lips. My brother’s cock pressed against me, the tip sinking in slowly, and I gasped, my back arching as he filled me inch by inch.

“That’s it,” Daddy murmured, his hands moving to my shoulders, holding me steady. “Take it all, baby. Take it like a good girl.”

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and discomfort that I couldn’t quite untangle. My brother’s cock was thick, stretching me in ways I hadn’t been stretched before, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips.

“You feel amazing,” my brother groaned, his hands gripping my thighs as he pushed deeper. “So tight… so fucking wet.”

“She’s all yours,” Daddy said, his voice thick with something I didn’t want to name. “Take her. Make her yours.”

My brother’s hips snapped forward, and I cried out, my body jerking as he buried himself fully inside me. The pain was sharp, almost blinding, but it was quickly overtaken by the relentless waves of pleasure that followed.

“That’s it,” Daddy murmured, his hands moving to my breasts again, his fingers pinching my nipples through the fabric of my bra. “Take it, baby. Take it all.”

My brother started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but growing harder and faster with each passing second. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the soft moans and gasps that I couldn’t seem to hold back.

“You’re doing so good,” Daddy whispered, his lips brushing against my ear again. “You’re such a good girl, baby. Such a good girl.”

I wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that this wasn’t right, but the words never came. All I could do was hold on, my nails digging into the mattress as my brother’s pace quickened, his cock hitting that spot inside me with every thrust.

“You’re gonna make me come,” my brother groaned, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Fuck, you’re so tight…”

“Do it,” Daddy urged, his voice low and commanding. “Fill her up, son. Show her what it means to be a real woman.”

My brother’s thrusts became erratic, his cock pulsing inside me as he reached his climax. I felt it the moment he came, the warm flood of his release filling me in a way that made my head spin.

“Good girl,” Daddy murmured, his hands smoothing over my body in a way that felt almost… reassuring. “You did so good, baby. So fucking good.”

My brother pulled out slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he collapsed onto the bed beside me. I could feel his cum leaking out of me, warm and sticky against my thighs, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.

“You’re such a good sister,” Daddy whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. “Always so willing to help. Always so perfect.”

I wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was lie there, my body still trembling from the intensity of it all, as Daddy’s hands continued to move over me, soothing and possessive all at once.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low and dark. “Both of you. Mine.”

[threebea]

I need to write an AU where Obi-Wan works at Dex's diner maybe during the Imperial era and Clark Kenting it. Shaved his beard and wears glasses or some other low level cosmetic thing.

Patron: wow has anyone ever told you that you look like Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Obi-Wan: oh yes, after betraying the Republic I got hired at a diner in cocotown since it was the only job I could get after becoming an enemy of the state. I'm afraid I'll have to beg for your silence on the matter.

Patron: haha can you imagine? Anyway I'll have the shake and fries.

⭐

Clone Trooper: hey doesn't that guy look like General Kenobi?

Clone Trooper Buddy: no he looks completely different. He has no facial hair, he has glasses, he has tattoos. General didn't look like that.

Third Clone Troopers: it's so hard to tell them apart.

Clone Trooper Buddy: besides with the amount of businesses that legally are allowed not to serve us you think the one that had General Kenobi working for them would let us in?

Clone Trooper: ugh good point.

Regular: Ben is nice Dex, but he's kind of clumsy. (Winces as a bunch of plates shatter in background)

Stormtroopers on leave tense and look over at the middle aged man profusely apologising, they turn back to their nerfburgers.

Dex: Ben means well and he's got a kid to look after you know? Besides he's gotten way better than he was before!

CRASH

Stormtrooper: do you know how hard it is to get space mustard off armour!?

Ben: I am so sorry 😭 please let me help you.

Regular: you're a good guy Dex (shakes head)

Later:

Dex: pal you gotta bring it down with the clumsy act. I can't afford this many dishes.

'Ben': you're only mad you didn't see their faces.

Dex: well that's also true. Steal anything good?

Ben: copied a few passcodes. They were gossiping about their next station. I'll put it on a drive and you can sell it.

Dex: I'll send a copy to Organa too. Never know when it might come in handy.

Stormtrooper: I need to see your identification citizen.

'Ben' completely unconcerned: of course! Ben Kenobi (hands over very good fake id)

Stormtrooper: (stares at him) wow that's rough. Do you get hassled? You related or something?

'Ben': hassled? Oh! Perhaps a bit in the beginning, but not as much now. I thought about changing my name, but updating ID now is so complicated.

Stormtrooper: tell me about it. I got married and it was a whole thing.

'Ben': exactly! Who has the time for the line up at a Service Corscant? I find being straightforward is the best way to go about it. I'm not even related, just the same Stewjoni last name and similar build. The name is what really makes people think I look like him.

Stormtrooper: yeah I wouldn't have even thought about it. Anyway you're clear. Have a good day.

Ben: you too! 😊 (Smiles as he walks away with a bag of weapons the Stormtrooper didn't bother to check)

[captn-duck-gremlin]

Like it all started when you and some friends decided to do some urban exploration, visiting a broken abandoned military base. Now while there your friends are of course being dumb, touching things with bare hands, no face coverings to protect them from whatever harmful things could be in the air, respect for the possible dead is on floor level with them. You on the other hand, you got gloves, a face mask just in case, you're apologizing to anything you bump into. You did the research, this place went down from an unexpected attack, so there might be a corpse around somewhere (or lingering spirit). You give a short prayer to anything that looks like a corpse, regardless if you follow in those beliefs or now; you just want to be respectful to the dead. And yes, this place is haunted. Obviously. Now the important part, at one point or another 4 damned souls have clung to you. You dont notice at first, you barely feel that buzz that you're being watched. But the first unnatural thing to happen to you starts in a dream, a weirdly detailed dream. You're a housewife in the 50s. Cute summer dress, lovely home, nice street. But it feels too real, the patterns on the walls stay perfect no matter how long you stare at them, you can read lines from books you've never seen before, you look at your hands and they don't look distorted like they usually are in dreams. Then a man walks through your front door like he owns the place, you don't recognise him. At all. Yet he speaks to you in such a nice rough voice from his cigars, calling you such sweet things. Treating you like his wife. Then after what felt like hours from playing housewife you wake up, confused to hell and back. You brush it off until the next night, where you're sucked into another oddly very detailed dream, but its so different. From housewife in the 50s to maiden in the ye old times. The man is different, instead of tough, friendly bearded husband, you now have dark knight with skull markings. Helmet stays on at all times, but despite the rough and scary armour and vibe, he treats you like you're the finest silk, the sweetest flower, like you'll shatter if he so much as looks at you wrong. And after living through that you wake up once again incredibly confused. Is this what the backrooms feel like? You don't know, you don't want to know. Night rolls around once more which you dread and sure enough another weird dream with a new life. Now, at a farmland on the outskirts of an old styled town, you got chickens, goats, two cows, some ducks and a bulky husband with a silly mohawk. You don't know what year it is, what century you're at, at this point you're just rolling with it. Husband got a nice accent, Scottish you might think it is. He's absolutely spoiling you, treating you like a princess for no reason. Not like you're complaining. After that dream, you wake up contemplating that you might be losing your mind. But no, you're just being haunted by demons who like spending time with you through your dreams. Moving on. 4th weird dream, this feels further up into recent years, maybe 2000s. Cute husband, looks like a sweetheart, is a sweetheart. His skin is darker from the other ones, but not like you could tell with Sir Skull and Bones. He has a smooth voice, could probably sweet talk a bear. Time with him was almost too sweet. You swore his pupils nearly went heart shaped when he looks at you. And like the rest of them, you wake up confused. And thats just how your nights go, things in the day go.. strangely.

Oh and quick reminder, don't run from them.

[lex-the-flex]

Soured Whiskey

Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Your one night stand with a handsome stranger at the bar leads to a different endeavor.

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): HEAVY ANGST, brief cursing, small moments of action and violence, brief drinking, Logan being protective, MEGA FLUFF, SMUT 18+ – Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), oral (f! receiving), fingering, skin + body appreciation, Logan being a gentleman and the reader being lovely. (Basically distant soulmates).

A/N: I'm officially seeing Deadpool and Wolverine tomorrow and I'm so excited! But in the meantime, I thought I'd add to the pile of Wolverine smut.

Strings of ornately hung light bulbs decorate the bar, bringing a cozy old-school vibe to the modernized saloon. Closing the door behind you, the cold city atmosphere was instantly transformed into a quaint and warm invitation. You’re friends couldn’t stop raving about this new bar and that you all just had to go here and try the endless menu of cocktails and tapas. 

So through your busy work week, your friends informed you to meet at the bar on Friday once the sun started to go down. But much to your dismay, your friends bailed on you, even after repaying that they’d be there for you and help you unwind, to de-stress.

You got stood up. By your own good friends who you thought had your back. 

Sighing to yourself, it was too late to give up now. You were already here, so you might as well order a drink. 

Sitting at the bar, you sat up straight on the stool, not paying attention to who was sitting next to you. It didn’t matter. Patiently waiting for the bartender, the sight of someone sitting next to you crosses your peripheral vision. The man’s muscular arms lean against the counter, reaching for a couple of fresh cashews. 

“Hey there, what can I get you?” The bartender asks. 

“Just a whiskey sour, please.” You reply. 

“Got it, and same for you, sir?” He questions, pushing a singular whiskey glass to the person to your right. 

“Yeah, thanks.” The stranger replies. 

The stranger’s gruff voice takes you by surprise, but you pay him no mind. 

Rolling the coaster in between his fingers, the bartender places your bright whiskey sour in front of you. The refreshing yellow foamy drink is adorned with a lemon swirl and a dried cherry for garnish. Just the sight of it makes a well-deserved smile rise through your lips. Taking a sip of the cold drink, the bartender turns to the back wall with the more expensive bottles of liquor, and passes it to the stranger on your right. 

Getting a glimpse his way, the man finally comes into view. His masculine features take over your attention; the man’s full dark head of hair, beard, and strong jaw seem to put you in a hypnotic state. Glancing towards you, his light hazel eyes gaze into your e/c orbs, providing a somewhat welcoming gaze, however his stern and annoyed expression makes you turn away. 

Returning to your drink, the stranger lowers his arm next to yours, letting you see a freshly lit cigar in his hand. Blowing the smoke away from you, he silently watches you take another swig of your drink before checking the empty text message bubble once again. 

“Rough day?” He asks. 

Sighing into your hands, you jokingly squint your eyes at the stranger, and set your phone down.

“You have no idea. I‘be been craving this damn drink all day.” You reply.

Running your index finger around the rim of the almost empty glass. Smirking, the stranger raises his glass towards yours. 

“Name’s Logan.” He says. 

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Logan.” You answer, clinking your glass with his. 

Finishing your drinks and dinner in a comfortable silence, Logan silently watches you, observing some of your mannerisms that stand out to him. The way you sit perfectly straight, how you wipe your mouth after every bite, and even the outfit you picked for yourself. Your light grey cardigan sits perfectly on your shoulders along with the casual white button-up shirt that was underneath it. The pair of black dress pants and ankle boots make you look professional yet comfortable and he liked that. 

However, this minuscule moment of peace didn’t last long. The scent of strong liquor and the hint of douchebag lingers in the air behind you and Logan. Taking another puff of his cigar, Logan glances your way, warning you to not pay these drunken idiots any attention. 

Polishing off the remainder of your drink, Logan waves for the bartender, and prepares to take your tab. 

“I got it, Logan. Don’t worry about me.” You advise. 

Placing his hand over yours, Logan stops you from using your debit card, motioning to the three men behind you. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about, darlin’.” He warns. 

“You shouldn’t worry about her, man. We can take care of her. We’ll take her off your hands.” One of the drunk men sneers. 

“No thanks, boys. I’m happy where I stand.” You state, looking at Logan, rubbing your fingers over his knuckles. 

Joining you and Logan, the bartender slams his hands on the counter. 

“I told the three of you that you’re not allowed in here! Get out before there’s trouble.” He orders.

“Or what, man? What will you do? We’ve been coming here since… this place opened.” The idiot spurs, stuttering to give a clear answer. 

Blowing off his friends, the young man stumbles to your left side, slipping on the way to nonchalantly lean on the bar, still desperate to impress you. Ignoring him, Logan watches the other two men leave the bar altogether, clearly done with their friend’s shit. 

“Lemme take you out and show you a good time, beautiful. Surely I can do better than the guy on your right. I know I can fuck you better than him.” He explains. 

Not noticing that he’s crossed your personal space line, you instinctively back up into Logan, who’s nearly at his breaking point. 

“Look, bub. She said no. So, take the hint and get the hell out of here. She’s with me.” Logan rebuttals, just as a wave of rage overtakes his voice. 

The sudden sense of feeling claustrophobic creeps out on every single inch of your skin. Glancing down at your hands, you discover that you’re now white-knuckling the edge of the wooden countertop, and Logan begins to ball his fist around his whiskey glass. 

Leaning closer to you, the young man tries once again, and fully crosses the line. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me treat you better.” He whispers next to your face. 

Suddenly, you see red. The stranger’s hand touches your mid thigh and you merely fly back on the barstool. 

“Get the fuck off me!” You shout, pushing the man away. 

Within seconds, Logan pushes himself from his own seat, and grabs the young man by his hoodie. Punching the man in the face, he falls to the floor with a streak of blood leaking out of his nose. Wiping his nose, the bartender manages to pull Logan away, before returning to tend to the young man. Tugging Logan closer, he subconsciously wraps his arms around your frame, making sure that you’re out of harm's way. 

“You alright?” He asks in a low whisper.

Silently nodding, the two of you refuse to move, and your hand is still lingering on his chest.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You answer.

*****

Within seconds of shutting your front door behind you, Logan was on you. Deepening the kiss between you both, you could tell that he wanted more. Pushing you against the door, a growl escapes from Logan as he picks you up and walks into the kitchen. Placing you on the marble countertop, his hands work quickly to rid you of the cardigan on your shoulders.

Gliding his lips down to your neck, you wrap your legs around Logan’s waist. Feeling a small moan escape from your lips, you swore that he might fuck you on the cold countertop. But he wasn’t that rebellious. Tearing his own jacket off, Logan carefully carries you through the apartment and down the hallway to your bedroom.

Sitting you down on the edge of your bed, he momentarily breaks the space between you and lifts your shirt from your body. Tossing it across the room, Logan bends down and takes your face in his hands.

“You sure you want this, darlin’? I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” Logan advises, gently stroking your cheek.

“I’m sure. I want this with you. And only you.” You consent with a nod. 

Silently nodding, Logan slowly leans in and pulls you in passionately. His kiss is slow and steady, allowing him to relax at this moment. Feeling his heart swell, Logan couldn’t remember the last time someone wanted him in the way that you do.

Discarding the remainder of both of your clothes, you lay down on the comforter, melting into the soft fabric and Logan follows suit. Gripping his broad shoulders, your fingers press into his hot skin as his lips lock onto yours. Trailing his hand down your bare body, Logan’s fingers reach beneath the waistband of your lacy underwear and press against your clit.

Meeting your throbbing folds with his fingertips, you break the kiss and moan into his mouth. Staring into his hazel eyes, his orbs light up, fueling the sensation of your lust. Rubbing circles into your clit, Logan descends your body with a series of longing kisses to each part he passes.

Discarding the fabric from your core, Logan kisses the sensitive skin of each of your thighs, feeling you shake before him. His scruff makes you chuckle as he can hear your heartbeat ringing in his ears. Licking your folds, your breath hitches in the back of your throat as you watch Logan become more and more mesmerized by you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N…” He whispers in the dark.

Connecting his lips with your clit, a moan escapes from your lips. Pushing his tongue past your entrance, Logan holds your hips in place to keep you from squirming. Gripping the thin comforter, you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to handle the heat rising in your face.

Watching you from afar, Logan continues to eat you out in a steady fashion, letting you enjoy the moment. Running your fingers through his thick hair, you can feel a butterfly sensation rising up to your core. Sensing your body working with his, Logan gently squeezes your hips, lifting you just a touch. Tasting your orgasm reaching its end, your toes curl against the bedding and you cum against Logan’s tongue.

Gasping for air, Logan crawls before you, and his entire physique comes to life. His strong muscles and veins don’t frighten you like so many others, but here everything about him brings you comfort. Wrapping your legs around his waist, Logan balances himself over you, still making sure this is what you want.

“I want you, Logan. All of you, I trust you.” You declare, wrapping your arms around him.

Your vow brings the thought of tears to his tortured eyes, knowing that he has truly deserved this moment.

Lovingly holding his face, Logan briefly touches the tip of your nose with his.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He responds.

“You won’t.” You advise him.

Leaning his forehead against yours, Logan rubs the tip of his cock in time with your folds, sending excitement through his veins. Sliding himself past your entrance, the two of you look at each other, sharing a loving moan. Thrusting his hips together, Logan longs to be deep inside you. He wanted to forget about the world and get lost in you.

Burying his face in your neck, Logan leaves no space between the two of you. Moving in time with his loving thrusts, the sensation of Logan’s manhood against your walls felt like a new stress reliever that you didn’t know you needed. Surrendering to this new wave of euphoria, your fingers run along the strong muscles along Logan’s back, touching the flexing fibers beneath his hot skin. Sinking deeper into you, Logan finds your sensitive spot, causing you to aggressively scratch his back. 

Clutching the back of his head, the new scars heal within seconds, whilst Logan slightly groans from the light ripple of pain. A burning sensation of heat starts to rise in your core, you could no longer handle the tension, and Logan continues to ride out the remainder of your orgasm in pure awe of you. Gasping for air, Logan surrounds his arms around your body, and rolls the two of you on your sides. 

Pressing his forehead on yours, Logan’s warmth cascades over you, giving you a blanket of warmth in the cool room. Shifting in his arms, he gently runs his fingers through your hair, just as you trace his dimples. 

“Well, thank you for a very interesting night, Logan.” You whisper. 

Smiling, the two of you share a loving laugh together, and Logan pulls the comforter over you, succumbing to the warmth beneath the blanket. 

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@foursthemagicknumber

[lologoinsolo]

Haunted House Masterlist

Brain has more things to add to this so I shall add more. Unfortunately, I should be asleep but brain is horny for the ghosts of the house. Not edited, I’m sorry. MDNI 18+ ONLY

TW: Coercion, invasion of privacy, horniess, reader has female body parts, pussy and clit are mentioned

You pace around your little book shelf that you’ve used to place trinkets and whatnots on there for your ghosts. “There,” placing a nice pack of cigars in John’s ‘cubby’ of sorts. He hasn’t really gotten a lot but at least he has more than Simon… you feel bad about that. Every time you try to get something for Simon he just chuffs and flicks it off of his cubby.

“What’s that, love?” Speak of one of your devils. Price is waltzing around, coming closer to you and you shiver from the cold in the air. Goosebumps prickling and rippling on your skin. “Oh?” His brows raise and there’s a smile growing in that mess of a beard he has. “You didn’t have to.”

“Least I could do,” shrugging, feeling just a smidge self-conscious when that smile of his deepens. “You did scare off that salesman for me. Prick did not want to leave till you showed up.” That guy was trying to sell you on a shiesty looking vacuum and couldn’t take “no” for an answer. You can respect the hustle up until he stuck his foot in before you could close your door. He nearly got in had John not wrapped an arm around you and stared down at the man. Somehow, someway the guy saw intense flashes of blue and scampered off. “Besides,” you bend a little and grab the old cigars you got him a while ago, “these needed some changing out.”

Their scent is all gone and they look like all the ‘life’ in them was drained out. You recall offhandedly that Kyle said the man used to always have a cigar on hand when going about their work. They still haven’t told you just what it is, your bets on law enforcement. All of them are built like they live and breathe the gym lifestyle. Makes you feel like a sack of potatoes when you stand next to one of them… like right now.

John’s brow rises once more and he shakes his head. He wished he could’ve done more when that happened to you. If he wasn’t what he is now then he would’ve made damn sure that that guy would’ve apologized. At least you’re safe and that’s all that matters to him, “you still don’t have to but I appreciate it.” His eyes flickering down to his old cigars in your hands. He made good use of them and, “I’ll make good use of the new ones.” It is a bit of bragging rights when one of the men gets a new thing for their cubby. He’ll be sure to rub it in when he’s getting a nice smoke break.

“I’ll be out,�� John murmurs quietly just for you. “Want to make sure that he’s not coming back around, okay?” You nod and he fades away from your eyesight. You won’t complain about that one bit, at least you’ll never have to buy a camera for security when your ghosts are always on sight.

Still though, you sigh when you look at how empty Simon’s is compared to everyone else’s. The only thing he allows is just a nice bottle of whiskey and a bone you found from the backyard. Everything else, like stated earlier, gets flicked off or mysteriously goes missing. “Wish you’d let me get you something,” muttering when you feel a familiar weight against your back. It seems to be how he always greets you, cold and spreading across your back and shoulders. His head always over yours or tucked in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t need anything.” He grunts and you swear he and John are one and the same. At least John will go along with you placing things for him.

“I want to though.” Hands pool around your sides and squeezes, “look at it.” Pouting at the desolate little space, “there’s cobwebs in there and I think there might even be a mini tumbleweed moving about.” Moaning on about how sad it looks till he turns you around, back pressing into the shelf as he pushes a muscular thigh between yours.

“You want to give me something that badly?” His accent drops an octave and it causes heat to grow in your belly. Cat has your tongue as you peer wide eyes up at him, your hands would land on his chest but it’ll just run through like always. You settle your hands on the wood as your stance widens to accommodate him. “Trying to be sweet for me?”

“W-Well, I mean it’s only,” you swallow when the hard muscle of his thighs clench. Your pulse quickening, “it’s only… fair,” biting your lip in concentration. Fuck, you’ve been all pent up since living here. Can’t have a quiet night to yourself without wondering eyes or ears. You’ve given up on fingering yourself in fear that one will hear how desperate you are.

“Tell you what,” his hand trails down your side. Your stomach quivers, the cold blending in with your warm skin when he dips under your shirt. “I want,” he lifts it just a little to see your skin. Fingers spread and his eyes burn something dark once said fingers go down even more. He tugs on the elastic of your shorts, “these,” blunt nails scrap as he tugs them down enough to see the beginnings of the panty that you’re wearing.

“M-My panties?” Choking on nothing when he tugs your shorts farther, he takes in the view of your old, granny panties. You would’ve worn something better, something lacy if you had known he’d do this but... You should stop him, you should move away, you should yell at him but you don’t. You stare entranced at how his eyes are an endless brown, “that’s what you want?” There’s a lustful want that shines through the cracks of the usually unreadable man.

He nods and leans right against your ear. “That’s all I want.” A ghostly cold breath cools down your neck, his thumb grazing against the fabric of the panty that you’re wearing, “can you give that to me?” His thumb tucks under and your breath hitches, he’s never done this. Sure, Johnny’s touchy and Kyle is always hovering after you shower and John will flat out hook an arm around your waist when you’re cooking but Simon? Simon only ever presses against you.

He’s making you dizzy in your thoughts, your cheeks are burning hot enough that it puts the sun to shame. “Y-Yes,” squeaking out as the firm callouses of his thumb plays with the bit of skin under the hemline. Teasing the fuck out of your eager pussy. God if his pants were real enough there would be a wet patch, maybe he can feel it since he’s kept his thigh slotted between yours still. “I can do that,” inhaling sharply as he tuts out a good girl.

He disappears as quickly as he had showed up. You’re left hot and bothered and itching for something more than a thumb teasing. Cours the fucker would leave you like this, you almost wish he could’ve done more. Or any of them for that matter… you sigh and head to your bathroom. You quickly look side to side before hurriedly shucking your shorts off. God, you’re wet, your cheeks flare when you fold and ball your panties as much as you can before putting your shorts back on.

Moving like a spy, you quickly place the balled up panty behind Simon’s whiskey. Taking a deep breath before running off to your room to try and get some relief. In your haste you didn’t see Kyle’s keen eye watching you from a distance nor the hunger in Johnny’s eyes when he spots the sweet smelling thing that hides behind Simon’s alcohol. Nor did you notice just how dark the four corners in your room got when you swiped a shy finger in the smallest circles over your pulsing clit.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, violence, parental abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note:😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The smell of the roast fills the house as you focus on small tasks, things that aren’t urgent but keep you busy. Sy’s footfalls creak in the floorboard as he looms in the front room. You’re thankful to have him away from you for the time being. You’re confused and concerned about his unannounced arrival. 

You’re not sure what he means. Blessing. You look at the flowers. You’re not stupid. That’s a clear gesture and yet why would he do that for you? Why would he have an interest in you? 

The bigger question, one you can’t answer, how do you feel? Sy is nice enough but he’s scary all the same. Big and boisterous. He’s never done anything to you but you don’t really know him, do you? He doesn’t really know you. Well, this must be his way of getting to know you. 

It’s all a mystery to you. Relationships and all. Even familial one. You know from the movies that what you have with your dad isn’t normal. You can feel that he only really resents you. 

“Smells good,” Sy startles you. 

You peek over your shoulder and close the fridge. You go to the sink to rinse the cloth of the crumbs you wiped off the shelves. You wring it out and hang it to dry over the edge of dish rack. 

“Daddy’s late,” he clucks. “Ain’t he?” 

You look at the clock then him and shrug. He circles the table, pacing as his thick fingers twiddle. As he prowls, you’re reminded of a coyote. They always get into the shed in the hotter months, tearing at the rubbish stored there before truck day. 

“Anything I can help with, sugar? I don’t wanna be in your way,” he offers. 

You shake your head. You turn to the stove and open it slightly to check the roast. Still a bit to go. The potatoes need some softening. You shut it as the floor groans. You peek back and catch only Sy’s back as he disappears down the hall. He must need the bathroom. 

You continue your meandering cleaning. It’s not really messy at all but the place is old and everything’s a bit worn out, including you. As you adjust a canister in the spice rack, a noise catches your ear. Something familiar. 

You tiptoe to the hall and peer down it. You frown. Your bedroom is open. You go down and peek inside. Sy stands facing the wall, staring at the diamond art you did of finches in a nest. It’s one of your favourites so you hung it. 

He leans in as you tap on the door frame. He flinches and looks at you. He gives a sheepish expression and runs his hand over his beard. 

“Sorry, wasn’t meanin’ to intrude but the door was open so I... I was just lookin’ at this. You made it?” 

You nod. How can you tell him to get out? You have no way of making him. The door doesn’t always catch, he might not be lying. 

“Real pretty,” he praises and approaches you, “like you.” 

You blink and back up. You point back down the hall. You scurry away before he reaches you. You enter the kitchen and pull out a small saucepan. You’ll need it to make the gravy even if you won’t have the drippings to do so for some time. 

The puffing putter of your father’s truck underlines the tension as Sy lurks in behind you. You stay facing the stove, stilling your hands as you keep them on the hot edge of the stove. The warmth is just short of unbearable. 

Sy exhales and you brace yourself. Your heart beats furiously in anticipation. What will your dad think? How will he react? Usually, the large man cozens him with beer but today he’s only brought flowers. You can’t help but think of those floral curtains your dad tore down because they were too girly. 

Your dad clamours loudly up the steps. The door opens and snaps shut behind his stomping. He keeps his boots on as he enters the kitchen and scuffs short. 

Sy clears his throat, “hey, Don, how’s it goin’?” 

“Mmph, what’re ya doin’ here?” Your dad grumbles. You watch over your shoulder as he brushes past the large man and slams his lunch pail on the table. “Damn shit show down at the shop.” 

“Every day, isn’t it?” Sy chuckles. 

“Why’re you dressed like a funeral?” Your dad sniffs as he goes to the fridge. He snorts as he takes out the last beer. “Runnin’ low on Miller, too.” 

You wince and turn back to the stove. You do your best not to draw any attention. The awkwardness is as stolid as the heat radiating from the metal. 

“Well, ya know, I was comin’ to ask ya something important,” Sy explains. “About your daughter.” 

Your dad cracks the can open and slurps, nearly choking at the end, “her? What’d’ya want with that deaf rat?” 

Sy inhales audibly, “now, that ain’t no way to talk about a lady, is it?” 

“Lady?” Your dad chortles, “sure, Syverson, whatever you wanna call the appliance.” 

“I’m gonna say it one more time, you don’t talk about a lady that way,” Sy warns, the nervousness fading from his tone. “I came to ask for your blessing as I do have intentions with her. I’d like to... to build something with her. I’m a good man, Don, I think--” 

“Fucking shit,” your dad guffaws. “You ain’t serious? Her?” 

“She’s a nice lady. She keeps a good house, don’t she?” 

“She’s no use to you,” he retorts. “Got no more personality than a lamp. She can turn the stove on and wipe a dish clean but nothing else goin’ on there.” 

The oven buzzes and you quickly silence the timer. You take the oven mitts as the men behind you shift. You step back to open the door and carefully balance the roast pan as you bring it up onto the burners. Your dad makes another throaty noise. 

“Sure smells like a good dinner,” Sy says. “How about we enjoy it together--” 

“You’re fucking laughin’.” Your dad accuses. “Makin’ a joke of me ‘cause I’m stuck with the moron.” 

“Don,” Sy grits. 

“Nah, she’s a doornail, I know it. I don’t need ya pullin’ my leg about it.” 

“I’m not,” Sy insists. 

“Look at her. Like a goddamn robot. All she know how to do is cook and clean. Empty inside, ya know? It’s why she don’t talk. Nothin’ goin’ on, nothin’ to say.” 

“That ain’t true, and ya know it. You got no right mistreating your own daughter. I don’t like it.” 

“She’s my daughter, so why don’t ya take that ugly tie and get outta my house?” Your father snarls. 

“I came here honestly, Don. I’m not here to argue. I asked ya a question--” 

“No, you ain’t got my blessing. I told ya, she’s a fucking invalid--” 

“Don’t--” 

“You big lumphead, why don’t you ask her and see what she says?” Your dad interrupts. “Huh, see what you hear...” he pauses and you don’t move. You’re terrified. “See? She’s wacky--” 

“Don, you have some respect for her--” 

“Don’t tell me how to treat my own kin.” 

“Well, I’m tellin’ ya,” Sy sneers as his shadow moves. 

“You threatening me right now, boy?” Your dad puffs. 

“Only if you’re not gonna show her some decency--” 

“Get out of my house. You’re just as screwy as her. Two of ya together, fucked--” 

“Stop.” 

“Well, it’s true. Fucking mad for even thinkin’ of it--” 

“You don’t treat her right--” 

“And what would ya do with her? Big fucking ox like you. I seen the way you handle an engine. You’d break her.” 

“I didn’t call you any names, you don’t needa be rude.” 

“Rude? Aw, baby boy--” 

“I been nice, Don--” 

“Boo fucking h--” 

The crack of bone on bone makes you flinch. Then the loud crash and clatter draws you around. Your head is thrumming as your father’s body sprawls across the floor, the table scraping away from him. You only see his feet poking out from the other side.  

Sy stands over him, squared up, fists clenched, panting heavily. He’s a terrifying sight as he glares down at your father. You clasp your hands over your chest and sway. He doesn’t move. 

Slowly, you come around to look at your dad. He’s unconscious. His head lolls to one side as trickle of blood appears at the corner of his mouth. He’s not moving. You stare at his chest in search of his breath. One hit... no, that couldn’t be. 

The flowers lay across the floor, the canister overturned as water pools on the tile.  

“Told him not to insult ya,” Sy growls. 

Your eyes round and lower yourself to look over your dad. He can’t be gone. That doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way one punch could kill him. Is there? 

“Don’t touch him, sugar,” Sy commands as he bends to catch your wrist before you can check for a pulse. “I’ll take care of it.” 

You look at him and your mouth falls open. What does he mean? You fidget in his grasp and shake your other hand. What do you mean? 

“I didn’t mean to...” he drags you up and away from your dad.  

You let him, quaking and afraid. If he can do that to your dad, what could he do to you? He puts you by the stove. 

He turns and strides around the table. He doesn’t hesitate as he lifts up your dad and carries out his limp body. You watch after him until you hear the garage door. What is he doing? 

You cling to the stove and listen. You hear metals and scraping, the grind of the rusted old hood opening in that old broken Bronco truck. A cantankerous cacophony. Then a deafening crash. 

The garage door opens and Sy’s footsteps come down the hall. He walks in calmly and pulls the table back into place. He fixes the chair and gathers up the stems, putting them all back into the canister. He hands the bunch to you. 

“Needs more water.” He says plainly. “I’ll get the mop.” You stare at him as you hold the canister in your hands.  

He backs away and leaves you without another word. You look at the flower then fill the canister again. You put it back on the table as he comes back. He hands you the mop. 

“You mind? I gotta call the medics for your daddy,” he drawls. “You know, I told him not to yank that chain. Whole engine just came down on him...” 

Your lashes flutter in confusion. You take the mop and he steps away. He takes out his cell phone and pauses, inhaling deeply. You sop up the water cautiously. 

He dials out and lifts the phone to his ear. You take the mop to wring out in the tub. You go down the hall and peek through the open garage door. You stop short as you come upon the scene. 

Your dad is bent under the open hood, his shoulders contorted grossly. The hoist is overturned, the chains twisted as the engine sandwiches your dad’s head beneath it. A tragic scene of carelessness. Staged perfectly. 

Your stomach churns as Sy’s voice drowns under the tempo of your fear. You grip the mop and twitch as your insides spasm. You think you’re going to be sick. 

Dead. He's dead. Sy killed him. It was an accident. He said so. He didn't mean to, right? He couldn't have meant to. They were friends. He always came over with beer. For your dad, not you.

“Aw, honey, don’t look at all that,” Sy comes down the hall towards you and you shy away.  

You bring the mop close to you and stumble away from him. You hold it up then quickly flee. You scurry down the bathroom as the garage door clicks shut. Sy tuts as he lingers. 

“Gotta wait for the cops to show,” he calls after you. “They on their way.” 

[blond3ang3l]

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

"Keep going bunny. Since your apparently do it so often when I'm not here. Let me see how you really are behind my back." This was so embarrassing to get caught doing. Your boyfriend was gone for almost a week cause of work and you were one to get worked up easily. Unfortunately for you he came home and caught you with your plushie between your thick thighs grinding against it. The soft whimpers and pants that fell from you were too distinct so he knew you were getting close. It was a beautiful sight to him. He wanted to surprise you by coming over and instead he got an even better one.

He wiped the tears that started to drip from your eyes at the overwhelming need to cum, but no matter how much you did it was like you couldn't. Nothing felt as good as him and he knew that.

" Please B, mm help me." You pleaded to the older man. His dark grin only widened as he saw you getting desperate. Usually you'd be so shy, making him turn your plushies away when you did anything, but now you were making a mess all over your favorite one. His large hand grabbed your face with a taunt. His free one went into your drawer that was next to your side of the bed.

The hand on your jaw moved your head up so you were looking directly at him. He took in your dumbed down look. The neediness hiding (just barely) in your glossy eyes. The way your face had a slight tint of red from you being frustrated at not being able to cum. "Can you ask nicely, hm? Ask the right way and I might think about it. You let out a small sob only making him smirk. His grip tightened as his hand moved from your jaw to your chest, lifting up the shirt which just so happened to be his that you wore.

He didn't have to worry about you breaking eye contact with him and moving your head. You knew better. The rough hand grabbed and smacked at your chest making you whine. "C'mon bunny. Why do I have to repeat myself? You want something then what do you do?" He taunted.

Your head was practically spinning at this point. He always dumbed you down whenever he was around. How could you resist? He was everything you wanted in a man. He made all the decisions and did everything for you so it was bound to happen that your brain would turn off around him. "Have to ask nicely." Your answer earned you a smirk from your boyfriend. Anyone else would think that reply would have made him happy, but you knew it egged him on.

"Go ahead. I'm waiting bunny." Your smaller hand moved to his that was still harshly groping your chest. "Please. Daddy I need your help. S' not the same as you. Butcher gave a small hum of acknowledgement before pressing his lips against yours. The gloss you wore getting all over his lips and a bit in his beard. The temporary distraction quickly ended when you felt your vibrator against your most sensitive parts making you throw your head back.

Your legs instinctively closed shut only for him to force them open. " Nuh uh, none of that shit. You're gonna take this punishment or I'm gonna draw it out real long." Your hands grabbed at his arm that he had wrapped around your waist as your hips bucked into the wand repeatedly. Your moans bounced off the wall and filled Butchers ears much to his delight. "H-hah! Fuck, m' so close daddy. Can I cum?"

Butcher gave a chuckle at your begging before turning up the speed. Within seconds you felt your orgasm come over you. Your hips stuttered as the sticky mess between your thighs, on the bed, and on your plushie grew tenfold. Your breaths started to grow shaky and sounded more like whines mixed with pants. He wiped away the last few remaining tears as your legs twitched. "There you go, so good f' me. Lay down okay? Let me clean you up." You have a small nod as he pressed his lips against your cheek. Having a older boyfriend was more fun than people led on..

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

“i need to learn spanish,” logan says out of the blue as you’re carefully doing your makeup. he likes to watch you get ready in the mornings, and though you don’t understand his fascination with the process you’ve been doing for years, it’s nice to have him around.

“is there a reason for this?” you ask, trying not to allow the conversation to distract you from the task at hand. you’ve gotten good at this, at both getting ready and talking to him, having conversations about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations he would never have with anyone else.

you met logan a few months ago, when he accompanied a group of mutant kids to canada, almost dying in the process to save them. he’d been on the verge of death when you found him, skin sallow and pale from the intense blood loss, breathing ragged. it hits you sometimes how lucky you are to have found him in time, to have been able to bring him back to his daughter - every day you’re infinitely grateful.

he’s struggled to adapt to life here. eden, a sanctuary for mutants that reminds him a bit too much of the x-mansion, the place where everything in his life went wrong. where he’d let his guard down little by little, letting people see past his mask, making relationships only to watch them all die. he could do nothing to save them.

so he hardly interacts with anyone other than you and laura kinney, his daughter, though lately she’s decided she wants everyone to call her laura howlett. the look on logan’s face when he told you was one you’d never forget: joy and fear and confusion, adoration for his little girl tinged with the anxiety of knowing that anyone close to him usually suffered terribly.

“laura,” he grumbles, which is the answer you expected. despite living in mexico for quite a few years, he didn’t pick up much spanish, and certainly not enough to understand laura’s rapid-fire quips. “she always says shit in spanish when she doesn’t want me to know what she’s sayin’.”

you laugh. laura’s a bright kid, and it’s true that she enjoys insulting logan in spanish, but only at the same frequency as her english insults towards him. most of the time her spanish comments are neither good nor bad, just stream of consciousness comments. she enjoys logan’s frustration at not being able to understand her, so really it doesn’t matter what she says, just that he hears it.

“i can try to teach you,” you reply, “but i’ve never taught anyone a language before, so be warned i may not be good at it.”

“a lot of people here speak spanish. i didn’t ask them.” logan says, “you’re the only person i can stand bein’ around for more than a few minutes, so you got a better shot than anyone else.”

you feel a rush of giddy excitement flow through you in response to his words. it’s not a secret that you find logan horribly, unbearably attractive with his salt-and-pepper hair and his beard and his deep eyes and his arms and honestly you could spend hours listing every one of his attractive features.

the point is, you want to kiss him stupid, and with the way he lingers around you in moments like these, makeup half-done and your bedsheets still rumpled from sleep, makes you hope that he might feel the same. maybe spending more time together is just what you need to figure it out.

“we can start tomorrow.” you agree.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch @uncertified-doc

[ponett]

Do you have any advice for people making OCs/sonas? Yours are really well rounded and unique and I'd greatly appreciate the insight of someone who got a passion project off the ground!

So this is a very broad topic, and it varies a lot based on your own creative goals, what kind of characters you're creating, and where you want to use them. Creating an OC to be used in furry pinups is a little different than creating one for a dramatic story. But I'll try to give some general advice on how I do things for the types of characters and stories I tend to work with

Heads up: this will be kinda long lol

The germ of an idea

For me, I'll generally be inspired to create a character starting with a small number of core traits. These could be anything. A color scheme, a body type, a job, a hobby, a personality archetype, an outfit, a visual motif, a functional role in a story I'm working on, a noteworthy facial feature, a weapon, a relationship of some sort to an existing character, a single scene or joke I want to use them for. For furries and fantasy characters, species is usually one of the first things I'll have an idea for, which tends to get the ball rolling fairly easily since we have all sorts of cultural associations with different animals and fantasy creatures.

Any standout character trait like this that you find compelling can serve as that initial spark. The inspiration can come from anywhere, but it's often just a matter of knowing yourself and your own tastes. What do you like? What are the people in your life like? What really speaks to you in a character? What's an existing fictional character that you'd like to rewrite and take in a different direction? What's an aspect of yourself that you would like to see represented more often in fiction? It doesn't have to be something super deep or fleshed out right from the start, though. You can start with something as simple as "I want a black cat character" or "I want a character who dresses like an arcade carpet" or "I want a character who looks scary but is actually nice." Whatever it is, it's something that differentiates the new character from the ones I already have, because otherwise I'd just be using them.

Contrast

From there, you can start brainstorming other traits that might go with those core traits. Some of those may be traits that naturally complement each other. Continuing with the black cat example, maybe you wanna play into the common cultural perception of black cats and say that this character brings bad luck, or is associated with witchcraft. However, I often like to give characters contrasting or even seemingly contradictory traits, which can help elevate a character beyond a stock archetype. Real people tend to be a walking ball of contradictions, after all.

I've talked a lot about how I did this with the main cast of SLARPG. Melody is a fox, traditionally a crafty and untrustworthy predator, but she's extremely introverted and gentle. Allison is a bunny, but instead of being a meek and cuddly little prey animal she's an outgoing fighter who loves a challenge, and she has a muscular build. I think this kind of thing gives characters some fun flavor, and can be really effective for both comedy and drama. For an example from something I didn't write, take Senshi from Dungeon Meshi. He's a dwarf, and he embodies certain stereotypical aspects of dwarves - he's a short, buff man with a big bushy beard, he lives underground, he's stubborn and doesn't like elven magic - but he also goes against some of them. Instead of being an expert on mining and blacksmithing, Senshi is a culinary expert who has a deep appreciation for the natural ecosystem of the dungeon. He's a weirdo among dwarves for not caring about the wellbeing of his axe and for using his super awesome shield primarily as a giant wok. And that's what makes Senshi fun and interesting.

So going back to our example, instead of going with the stereotype, we could make a black cat character who has comically good luck, or who's superstitious and afraid of witchcraft, or who's an extremely rational person who always believes in science over superstition. Or maybe you roll with the bad luck angle, but instead make the black cat be the victim of their own bad luck in some interesting way. Maybe this black cat has terrible luck with love and can't hold down a relationship. Maybe this black cat is an aspiring speedrunner who consistently gets the absolute worst RNG possible in every video game due to their own bad luck. Maybe this black cat has accrued a horrendous gambling debt after a long losing streak and has loan sharks coming after them.

These are all just hypothetical examples, of course. I don't exclusively make characters with ironic contradictions like this. The idea is just to build on those core traits you started with in interesting ways, and that's one of my favorite ways to do so. But honestly, a lot of the time execution is more important than the sheer originality of an idea, and sometimes really putting your all into playing a trope you love straight is the right move.

Specificity

Regardless of what direction I take a character in past that initial seed of an idea, the key ingredient tends to be specificity. To give them specific details beyond the most stock possible version of that core idea you started with.

This is something I internalized from Tim Schafer, via a blog post in the behind-the-scenes backer material for Broken Age. Sadly I'm not sure if that stuff is still available, but I did save this particular post about creating characters since it really helped me, so I'll directly quote a chunk of that post here:

No two characters would approach a problem or react to events in the same way. At least, not if you’ve designed the characters well. If you’ve left them too vague or superficial, if they are merely functional elements in your story instead of individuals, then they might react in the same way. And that’s a problem. So to avoid that, I’m going to talk about one the most important parts of character development: specificity. Making sure your character is a specific individual, not a stereotype. A unique character, different from anyone else in the world. It doesn’t mean that they have to have wacky gimmicks, eyepatches and crazy accents. It just means they have to be specific. For example, let's create a new character. Let's say your story has a scene where your main character gets in trouble in school. So you’re probably going to need a school teacher. Imagine a school teacher for a bit. Do you see her in a little red schoolhouse? Maybe a bun in her hair? An apple on her desk? Thick black glasses? Let’s put a ruler in her hand for good measure. Done! We have our teacher character. She’s ready to be in the scene where our hero goes to school and the teacher sends her to the principal’s office for passing notes. Right? I mean, this character doesn’t have too many lines, so why develop her character any more? The problem is that this teacher is a very shallow stereotype of a teacher. She has no specific attributes that make her memorable. She’s the teacher you would get in a set of free clip art. She might not have many lines, but if all your supporting characters are this way, your story will be more bland than it should be. Even if this teacher is only onscreen for a minute, she should be unique and different from any other teacher in the world. Luckily, it's not actually that hard to make her so. You just have to ask some very basic, specific questions.

Tim goes on to explain how simple exercises like filling out character sheets with basic questions about your character (there are a million of these online) can help push a character beyond a stock archetype, even if it's a minor supporting character. Questions about where they're from, their likes and dislikes, their beliefs, their goals in life, that sort of thing. For minor characters especially, a lot of these details may never actually come up in a story, but just asking even a few of these questions and giving them specific answers helps you see them less like an archetype and more like a real person in your head. Maybe you never bring up your character's backstory or their favorite sport or what kind of music they listen to, but just having a specific answer for questions like that might help color the way you depict that character in subtle ways. It makes it feel like they aren't defined by just that one core trait you started with, and helps make the characters and world feel more alive, like there's stuff going on with them beyond the bounds of the story or the drawing.

It's a careful balancing act, though. It's easy for a character to feel like they're a collection of too many unrelated gimmicks and quirks. Again, like Tim said, these specifics don't have to make for the craziest, most original character ever, there just has to be something there.

Let's go back to SLARPG as an example, where I combined broad character archetypes I liked with more specific personal elements that I felt like I wasn't seeing enough in the fiction I liked. Melody is riffing on the common idea of the reserved healer character in the RPG or MMO party and the shy girl archetype, but she's the main hero instead of a supporting player in another person's story, and she's also a fat bisexual trans woman who draws a lot of little details from my own life. Her interests, her relationships, her opinions on things, her personal hangups and dreams, these all set Melody apart from other fantasy healer characters and define her as Melody Amaranth. Specificity!

But it doesn't always have to be super deep, especially if you just want some characters to draw for fun and aren't planning on writing a story with them. Take my fursona. I've always loved dogs, so I made my fursona a dog. I chose a Samoyed in particular because I think Samoyeds are the cutest, and I hadn't seen hardly any anthro Samoyed OCs at the time. I leaned into the breed's signature fluffiness to help my fursona stand out from other canine OCs. She has simple identifying traits like being fat like me, wearing glasses like mine, and having a hairstyle kinda like mine (when I tied my hair up in a bun, at least). And there you go. Fursona achieved. She's not a wildly high concept character, but she doesn't need to be

Anyway I realize that this is mostly about the writing aspect, so here's a few quick bullet points about designing a character's appearance:

Face and body type variety are good, but personally I would say lack of body type variety is worse than same face syndrome

Knowing some stuff about shape language is good, but you don't have to be completely beholden to the "circles are friendly, squares are sturdy, triangles are scary" shit. I'm generally more interested in using repeated shaping in different parts of a character's design as sort of a shape motif. Melody's body, hair, and tail are all made of round, swooping shapes, for example. (This is more applicable if you're designing cartoonier characters as opposed to realistic humans, obviously.)

Knowing some basics of color theory is also good. I like using complementary and contiguous color schemes on characters and generally try not to use too many distinct colors on one design. Black and white and grey and various browns are good as neutral colors to balance out the colors of the rainbow, and gold can be a nice accent color

A small handful of identifying accessories can be fun, but don't rely on those to make a design stand out. Ideally your character should still be identifiable even when not wearing their default outfit, or even in silhouette

Aaaaaand I'm gonna call it a wrap there! This is a huge topic, so hopefully this helps with at least some of the basics! At the end of the day, though, don't beat yourself up if you can't sit down and force yourself to come up with the most crazy awesome OC ever. Just have fun and be yourself!

[nameless-jamie]

Fire and Ice

One-Bed-Trope SPECIAL

Roy Kent x fem! Physio reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Masterlist

TW: cursing, kissing

From the moment Y/N started as AFC Richmond’s physio, Roy Kent knew she was going to be a problem.

She was too smiley, too bubbly, and too damn nice for her own good. Always bouncing into the training room with that stupid bright-colored clipboard—neon pink or pastel yellow or some other shade that hurt his eyes—asking the players about their injuries with a smile that could probably melt stone. And Roy, being Roy, met her sunshine with nothing but grunts, scowls, and the occasional begrudging “thanks” after a particularly rough treatment session.

But despite his best efforts, Y/N seemed determined to worm her way under his skin. She had this maddening habit of teasing him—nothing outright mean, just playful jabs wrapped in a smile that made his chest feel too tight. Calling him “old man” when she iced his knees, poking at his grumpy demeanor, and laughing softly whenever he let out one of his signature growls. And the worst part? She never seemed to notice the effect she had on him—the way her touch lingered just a second too long during treatments or the way her laughter echoed in his chest long after she’d left the room.

And Roy? Yeah, he noticed.

He noticed the way his pulse sped up whenever she adjusted the tape around his knee or pressed her fingers gently into a sore muscle. He noticed the way her ponytail always swayed when she walked across the pitch, bright and bouncy like she belonged in a goddamn sunshine commercial. He noticed the way she laughed at everyone’s jokes—even Jamie Tartt’s—and how she always seemed to find the good in people, no matter how much of a prick they were.

And it drove him mad.

Of course, the rest of the team noticed too. It was impossible not to.

“Oi, Roy,” Jamie would call across the pitch with a shit-eating grin. “Careful, mate—Y/N might smile at you too hard, and your heart’ll give out.”

“Leave him alone, Jamie,” Isaac would add, barely holding back a grin. “Man’s just tryin’ not to fall apart.”

Even Ted and Beard weren’t immune to the gossip.

“Y’know, Beard, I reckon Roy’s got himself a bit of a crush,” Ted had remarked one afternoon, watching as Y/N adjusted the ice pack on Roy’s knee with a soft smile.

Beard, as always, said nothing—just raised an eyebrow and sipped his tea.

So yeah—everyone saw it. Everyone knew that beneath all the gruff words and grumbles, Roy Kent was hopelessly, utterly, pathetically smitten.

The only person who didn’t know?

Y/N.

Richmond was on their way back from a successful away match, in the midst of winter. Naturally Y/N, the teams main physio was riding on the team bus.

But Y/N hated away matches in the winter.

The bus rattled softly as it wound its way down the snow-covered country road, the faint hum of the heater doing little to cut through the chill. Snowflakes tapped gently against the windows, blurring the view of frost-covered trees and winding roads beyond. Inside, the air buzzed with the familiar chatter of the team—laughter, jokes, and the occasional shout from Isaac or Dani echoing through the aisles.

Seated near the middle of the bus, wrapped in her Richmond-issued jacket, Y/N balanced her clipboard on her lap, flipping through the players’ post-match recovery notes with practiced ease. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, humming softly under her breath as she made quick, efficient notes on muscle strains and hydration levels.

“You hum like you’re starin’ at a bloody sunset instead of injury reports.”

The familiar gravelly voice made her lips twitch as she glanced up—unsurprised to find Roy Kent standing in the aisle beside her seat, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His signature scowl was firmly in place, dark eyes fixed on her with their usual mix of mild annoyance and something she could never quite name.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood,” Y/N teased, tilting her head with a playful grin.

Roy grunted. “I’m always in a good mood.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Kent.”

A huff of air escaped Roy’s chest—something that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t Roy Kent.

“Did you need something, or did you just come over to brighten my day with your cheery disposition?” she asked, tapping her pen against her clipboard.

Roy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his jaw working like he was debating whether or not to respond. “…Knee’s still tight,” he muttered, almost like it physically pained him to admit it.

Y/N’s smile softened into something gentler. “Left or right?”

“Left. Felt stiff after the match.”

“Well, you’re not gettin’ any younger, old man,” she teased, her eyes dancing as she scribbled a note on her clipboard.

Roy’s scowl deepened, though the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Watch it.”

“Or what? You gonna growl at me?”

Roy leaned forward slightly, just enough that she could feel the faint heat of his presence—close but not too close. “Don’t tempt me,” he muttered low enough that only she could hear.

The air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken. Y/N’s pulse skipped, but she recovered quickly, tapping her pen against her clipboard with a teasing smile.

“Careful, Kent. You almost sound like you enjoy our little chats,” she quipped, biting her lip to suppress a grin.

Roy grunted again—his signature non-answer—and stepped back before she could push him any further.

“Make sure you stretch when we get there,” she called after him.

“I know how to bloody stretch,” he shot back without looking over his shoulder.

“Could’ve fooled me, grumpy!”

Roy raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, middle finger extended.

Y/N just laughed, shaking her head as she returned her focus to her notes, the warmth of their exchange still buzzing beneath her skin.

After a while she felt the empty seat beside her shift.

“Oi, Y/N.”

She glanced up to find Jamie Tartt sliding into the seat beside her, his grin already firmly in place.

“Hey, Jamie,” she greeted with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much. Just wonderin’ how you put up with Roy all the time,” he replied, leaning back against the seat with an exaggerated sigh. “Man’s always growlin’ and glarin’ like someone stole his favorite pair of boots.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “He’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Jamie snorted. “C’mon, love—he’s like a bloody bear with a sore paw. Especially when you’re around.”

Y/N blinked, her smile faltering slightly. “Wait…what do you mean?”

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve not noticed? Man’s always scowlin’ at you like you’ve personally offended him. Isaac reckons it’s ‘cause you’re too nice and smiley. Throws him off, y’know? Can’t handle all the sunshine.”

“Oh.” Y/N’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her clipboard, her chest tightening with something she couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t think he… I mean, I know he’s a bit grumpy, but I thought we got along okay.”

Jamie tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Eh, maybe he’s just allergic to happiness. Or maybe he just—”

“Jamie,” Sam called from a few seats away, shooting him a warning look. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not bein’ mean!” Jamie protested, throwing up his hands. “I’m just sayin’—maybe Roy’s not your biggest fan. Bloke’s got the emotional range of a brick wall, after all.”

Y/N forced a laugh, but the doubt had already settled deep in her chest.

Maybe Roy really does hate me, she thought, her smile dimming slightly as she glanced out the window at the falling snow.

After a while the bus came to the stop. According to Y/N's GPS on her phone they weren't anywhere near Richmond. The bus driver must be taking a break or something...

Of course, fate had other plans.

“We’re stoppin’ here for the night,” the driver called back, his voice carrying over the groan of the engine.

“What? Why?” Roy Kent’s unmistakable growl cut through the air.

“Road’s closed up ahead. Too much snow. We’ll head out first thing in the morning once they’ve cleared it.”

A collective groan rippled through the team.

“Ah, come on!” Jamie Tartt whined. “It’s just a bit of snow, innit?”

“More than a bit, mate,” Isaac replied. “Unless you fancy freezin’ your bollocks off in a ditch somewhere.”

“Language!” Sam called teasingly.

“Alright, everyone off the bus!” Ted Lasso announced, clapping his hands together as he stood. “Let’s make the best of it, folks. Who knows—maybe they’ve got hot cocoa inside.”

The inn was charming in a rustic, old-world kind of way—dark wooden beams, stone fireplaces, and the faint scent of something sweet baking somewhere nearby. But the moment they reached the front desk, Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper said, looking genuinely apologetic. “With the storm, we’re nearly fully booked. I only have a few rooms left—most of them singles.”

Ted clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks, looks like we’re bunkin’ up tonight! Pair up, grab a key, and try not to snore too loud.”

The players quickly began claiming rooms—Isaac and Colin, Sam and Dani, Jamie and Richard. Y/N waited patiently, figuring she’d get the last room left, because she was the only woman on the bus. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d crashed on a too-small sofa or shared a room with Rebecca during away matches.

But when the innkeeper slid the final key across the counter, Y/N had a sinking feeling.

“This is the last one,” she said kindly. “Room 204—queen bed, en-suite bathroom. I hope that’s alright.”

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar presence loomed beside her.

“Wait, what?” Roy Kent’s gruff voice cut through the air.

Y/N glanced up to find Roy standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, eyebrows furrowed in that perpetual scowl.

“The bus driver’s already claimed the last single room,” the innkeeper explained. “I’m afraid you two will have to share.”

“Oh.” Y/N blinked. “Um…that’s fine. It’s just for one night, right?” She glanced at Roy, whose jaw seemed to clench even tighter.

Roy grunted. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.”

Y/N took the key, plastering on her best smile. “Thanks. C’mon, Roy, let’s get out of everyone’s way.”

The room was cozy—if slightly small. A large queen bed sat against the far wall, piled high with thick blankets and pillows. A small fireplace crackled warmly beneath a stone mantel, and a window overlooked the snow-covered courtyard below.

Roy stood awkwardly by the door, shoulders tense as Y/N set her bag down near the dresser.

“Well…this is nice,” she said, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah. Great,” Roy muttered, hovering near the threshold like a man debating whether to make a break for it.

Y/N bit back a smile. She’d gotten used to Roy’s gruff demeanor over the past year of working with the team. He was all rough edges and sharp words, but she’d learned to see past the scowl to the fiercely loyal, surprisingly thoughtful man beneath.

Not that it made sharing a room with him any less awkward.

“Alright,” Y/N said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s figure out the sleeping arrangements. I can take the floor if you want the bed—”

“No,” Roy cut her off immediately, shaking his head. “You’re not sleepin’ on the bloody floor.”

“Well, neither are you,” she replied. “So unless you’re planning to camp outside in the snow, I think we’re stuck sharing.”

Roy’s brow furrowed. “We can’t—”

“It’s just one night, Roy,” she said gently. “I promise I don’t bite.”

Roy made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. But everyone stays on their side of the bed. No fucking cuddling.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Deal.”

Hours later, Y/N lay beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling and very much not asleep.

The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fireplace and the faint sound of Roy’s breathing beside her. Despite the wide bed, the heat radiating from his body was impossible to ignore, and Y/N’s pulse seemed to thrum louder with every minute that passed.

Just go to sleep, she told herself. It’s just one night. Stop being weird.

But sleep remained stubbornly out of reach.

“Can’t sleep either?” Roy’s low voice rumbled in the darkness.

Y/N turned her head slightly, finding his silhouette beside her, broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His face was half-shadowed in the firelight, but she could still make out the furrow of his brow.

"Not a wink," she admitted quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m too cold.”

Roy exhaled a slow breath. There was a pause—just long enough that she thought he might ignore her. But then—

“C’mere,” he muttered gruffly, shifting slightly beneath the blankets.

Y/N hesitated, her pulse hammering in her chest. “…What?”

Roy huffed impatiently. “I said, come here. Don’t make me say it again.”

Her heart lodged itself somewhere between her ribs as she scooted closer, tentative and unsure—until Roy’s arm curled around her shoulders, pulling her against the solid warmth of his chest.

Holy. Shit.

Y/N swallowed hard, every nerve in her body lighting up like a live wire as Roy’s hand settled lightly against her back, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt. His heart beat slow and steady beneath her cheek, and she could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath against her skin.

“Better?” he asked gruffly.

“…Yeah,” she whispered, her breath ghosting against his collarbone. “Thanks, Roy.”

He made a low, noncommittal noise—a mix between a grunt and something softer, something that made her smile despite the heat rising in her cheeks.

Don’t read into it, she told herself firmly. It doesn’t mean anything.

But as the minutes ticked by and the firelight flickered against the walls, Y/N couldn’t deny the way her heart stubbornly refused to slow down.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Sleep still refused to come. Now the reason wasn't the cold, but a certain grumpy man, cuddling her.

Y/N shifted slightly beneath the blankets, trying not to disturb Roy—but her movement drew a low, sleepy noise from the back of his throat, something halfway between a sigh and a hum.

Y/N froze, pulse hammering wildly in her chest. “…Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Roy mumbled, his voice rough with sleep and something heavier beneath it. His arm tightened briefly around her, then loosened again, as if caught between holding on and letting go.

Y/N swallowed hard against the ache rising in her chest. The room felt too warm, too quiet, the air thick with things neither of them seemed brave enough to say.

“Roy?”

“Mm?”

"Are you awake?"

"I am now..."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. What's keeping you awake?" he prodded, feeling her uneasiness.

“…Do you really hate me?” she asked softly.

Roy stiffened beside her, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “…What?”

“Jamie said something today on the bus. About how you’re always growling at me. And I just—” She bit her lip, staring at the firelight dancing across the ceiling. “I know I tease you sometimes, but I didn’t think you actually—”

“Christ, Y/N,” Roy muttered, his voice rough with something she couldn’t quite name.

Before she could say another word, Roy tilted his head, his nose brushing lightly against her cheek—just a whisper of contact, but enough to send heat rushing beneath her skin.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his gaze found hers, dark and intense and impossibly close.

“…I don’t hate you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with something dangerously close to longing.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. For a moment, they simply stared at each other—caught in that fragile space where time seemed to slow, and the air felt too thick to breathe.

And then Roy kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow.

It was heat and desperation and months of pent-up tension crashing together all at once. His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his lips claiming hers with a rough, aching intensity that stole the breath from her lungs.

Y/N gasped softly against his mouth, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she melted against him, her body slotting perfectly against his like they were made to fit together. The kiss deepened, slow and searching, as if they were both trying to memorize the shape of each other—the taste, the warmth, the way their breaths mingled in the space between kisses.

Roy groaned softly into her mouth, a low, gravelly sound that sent a shiver down her spine as his thumb traced slow circles against the curve of her jaw. His other hand splayed low against her back, holding her steady as her pulse thrummed wildly beneath her skin.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Roy’s gaze searched hers—dark and uncertain and so painfully open that it made her chest ache.

“Does that answer your question…I don’t hate you, it's the opposite.” he repeated quietly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

“I mean you made that very clear,” she whispered, her heart lodged somewhere between her ribs. “…Me neither, you know. I actually really like you, Roy.”

Roy huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “Good,” he muttered, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

For a long moment, they simply stayed there—caught in the warmth of each other’s breath, the world outside fading into nothing but snow and firelight and the quiet rhythm of their hearts.

The next morning, when they stepped out of the room hand in hand, the entire team was waiting in the foyer.

“Oi, oi, oi!” Jamie shouted immediately. “Finally! The power-couple, had a nice night, huh?”

“I knew it!” Isaac crowed, slapping Sam on the shoulder.

“Took you long enough, Kent!” Dani added, positively beaming.

Roy glared at them all. “Piss off, the lot of you.”

“Leave them alone,” Y/N added with a smile that was definitely not helping Roy’s case. “They’re just jealous we got the only cozy room with a fireplace.”

“Oh, cozy, is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” Jamie teased with a wicked grin.

Roy growled low in his throat—the kind of growl that usually sent the entire locker room scrambling for cover. But this time, Y/N just laughed softly beside him, squeezing his hand as if to say, I’ve got you.

And somehow, for the first time in a long time, Roy found he didn’t mind the teasing half as much as he thought he would.

Because as long as Y/N was beside him—warm and steady and laughing at his side—he figured he could survive just about anything.

Even Jamie Tartt’s endless teasing.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Cursing-Breaking for the Fast Asleep Princess

Every few years, Annabelle would open her eyes to find someone hovering above her. They’d have shiny white teeth and artfully styled hair. The styles themselves would change. A long braid. A pompadour. A curly wig woven with brooches for heaven’s sake. She’d humor them.

She’d sit up, shake out her arms and legs, dead to the world and stinging with every movement. Sometimes they wanted to kiss her again. Other times, they had smelled her breath. She’d brush her teeth, of course, very thoroughly, and then turned to the men.

“So.” She sat and winced and shook out her arms again. “Tell me about yourself.” Annabelle was sure she saw a glimmer of what the spell saw: Pompadour loved all poetry concerning birds. Huge Beard massaged the feet of his hunting dogs every night, one by one. The guy in the wig had twinkling eyes and long lashes that she supposed she could fall in love with. Then, she’d look out the nearest window and the forest will have grown out. New trees or pillars of smoke in the difference.

The feeling that came over her was hard to describe, eating at her nerves worse than the numbness. The prince would leave the room eventually, pleased with himself for the most part. Then, Annabelle took out the draught from under her bed, and took a swig.

She’d leave a note, of course, pinned to the door for them to find. Sorry, it would read in one rhyming phrase or another. However strong love’s arrow, fairy magic darkens all doorways.

Technically, it wasn’t true. None of it was true. But the drought had an aftertaste of stars and deep night and winter that tucked you away into yourself. She didn’t dream, not on fairy magic, not like this.

The final pair of eyes were green like grass and just as beautiful as any of the last.

Annabelle coughed and sat up delicately.“Oh,” she said, “a princess.” It wasn’t the first time an errant lady had given her a smooch, but usually it was a joke. They didn’t think it would work. What a waste! Annabelle didn’t like listening to them prattle on and would roll over in bed to grope for the bottle under the bed.

This one, this princess, burned bright red and touched her mouth.

“You didn’t think it would work?” Annabelle offered, shaking out her hands and heaving her legs off to the side. This one had nice hands, soft-looking and well-made.

The woman blinked back at her, and hunched into herself. She had thick brown hair and a wide build. She winced. “Are you in pain?”

“No more than usual, and usually it’s not any at all.” The woman blushed harder as Annabelle pulled her skirts up to rub the feeling into her calves. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Um,” she chewed on her bottom lip, “miss, uh, what’s your name again?” She rolled her eyes. “You really didn’t think it would work.” 

“I’m Ursa, I mean.” The woman was tall and rather round and when she stood, Annabelle sat back. 

Annabelle was already planning on how to wiggle down to the floor to get her potion, but Ursa was staring out the window.

“Do you think it fixed mine too?” Annabelle paused. “Were you also asleep when you kissed me?” She smiled. “Now that sounds like a story.” Ursa coughed out a laugh. “No. I’m afraid mine has a bit more teeth to it. Oh, shoot.” She pushed the curtains open and the world opened up to a purple dawn. There were fewer trees. A dark-wood castle in the distance. More smoke. Ursa sighed. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” “What?” Annabelle looked her up and down.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter much. Curses always find their way out.” Ursa shrugged haplessly. “The bear.” “Bear?”

Ursa shrugged again. “Thought they might cancel each other out. True love’s power cuts both ways and all. Stand back.”

“Well, I mean, if mine worked–” Annabelle stumbled over the word. She’d never met someone else who was cursed before. Though, she supposed, she wasn’t much of a curse-breaking herself it turned out. The air itself darkened. An icy wind blew. Ursa shuddered. Annabelle jumped up just in time for the princess to get down on all fours, and sprout white fur from her hands and feet.

Annabelle clung to her bedpost. A new feeling bloomed among the unnamed ones: she’d failed. The polar snuffed around the corners of the room, wearing the armor of some unknown kingdom, and she decided perhaps, for once, she’d stay awake for a little longer.

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

[ruskaroma]

could you do a little drabble of an au of the reader and jw on their wedding night and tbe reader is like pure and naive and loosing her virginity to john 🤭🤍🪷

oh my god.. can i shake this up a little bit?

arranged marriage with john wick.

let’s say you’re the only child of a very powerful mob syndicate, and all your parents wanted is the best for you, so they don’t want you going around fucking with other guys that are below they’re status because it might ruin the reputation they’ve worked so hard to achieve.

so they kept you isolated.

you’re homeschooled, the only friends you have are the maids, the children of those maids and gardeners, you rarely go outside – and if you do, you have a bunch of bodyguards following you around everywhere you go.

of course, you don’t question it. you know your parents only want the best for you, and you know how dangerous it is to live in a world like this. you can’t exactly blame your parents.

when you turned 20, your father introduced you to a man named john wick.

he’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome you keep reading about in the books. late forties or mid fifties, you don’t exactly know. you just know that he’s a lot older and probably knows better.

your father had explained how you’re going to be marrying john and you were beyond ecstatic upon hearing the news. having a companion in life could open up to so many different opportunities. it didn’t matter that you just met this man. there’s so much time to learn about each other as you two plan for the wedding.

you didn’t ask your parents why they’re suddenly letting you marry a man because simply don’t care. too naïve for your own good. you didn’t know that your parents are only paying their debt to john and you were the only thing in their life that they could just simply give away.

fast forward to the night of your wedding day, let’s say that you aren’t expecting john to be so... rough during your lovemaking.

his actions are rough but his words are soft. it’s confusing you. you thought honeymoons are supposed to be sweet and slow, yet here you are getting fucked on the bed like some kind of cheap whore as john pulls your hair from behind and whispers filthy praises in your ear like there’s no tomorrow.

“my pretty little wife,” john grunts, snapping his hips against your ass, burying his cock so far deep into your little cunt that you could feel it in your stomach. you drool, stumbling over your words. “my wife got the best pussy – so fucking tight and pink. i bet you’ve never let anyone touch you like this before, hm? only me? only your husband?”

“y-yes – yes, john, o-only you!” you sob, clutching the bedsheets in your first as your pussy clench around his dick. “f-feel so full, j-john, feel s-so full – so big.”

“that means you’re doing a great job, baby,” he praises, letting go of your hair to drop his head on your neck, peppering kisses all over as his beard tickles your skin. “my little wife is taking my cock so well. you’re gonna have to get used to it, baby, because i can assure you that i’ll be fucking your sweet little cunt every single day that i come back home. gonna get you so nice and full again like this.”

[whimsicalpolitical]

closeness- ross macdonald x reader

summary: things between ross and you are getting more serious warnings: 18+mdni, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, aftercare

he’s a gentleman.

always has been, since the first moment you met him. it’s not just the way he holds the door open or pulls out your chair, but the way he looks at you when you speak- like every word you say might be the most important thing he’s ever heard.

your friend set you up, swearing you’d like him. you didn’t expect much- just another awkward dinner, another too long evening you’d politely smile through.

but then there was ross. quiet confidence. warm eyes. that slow, dry humor that slips out at just the right moment and leaves you laughing days later when you remember it again.

being with him is easy. it doesn’t feel like work. you don’t have to overthink your words or check yourself. there’s a gentleness in him that makes you soften too.

and now here you are. on your fourth date.

you’re both laughing softly as you walk up to your flat, his hand brushing yours, not quite holding it yet. the night’s still sitting warm on your skin, your heels clicking gently against the pavement.

“that dessert was insane,” you say, glancing at him.

ross smiles, hands still tucked in his pockets. “wasn’t it? i was genuinely worried you were going to levitate.”

you snort. “i almost did. the caramel was… stupid good.”

“stupid good,” he repeats with a grin. “high praise.”

the conversation lingers like that, casual, easy. your fourth date. the kind that feels more like a rhythm now. he knows how you like your drinks. you know the way he leans back when he laughs, that quiet little laugh when he’s trying not to seem too charmed by you.

you reach your building. the buzz in your chest flutters a little harder. he stands close as you fish for your keys.

“i’ve told you multiple times tonight but you really do look gorgeous,” he says, “that dress fits you perfectly.”

you glance at him, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “thank you. you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckles. “this old thing?” he tugs at the collar of his black shirt, slightly wrinkled now from the night.

you unlock the door, but don’t open it yet. you look at him. he’s already watching you.

“you’re really lovely, you know,” he says.

you smile, a little breath caught in your chest. “come here,” you whisper.

he doesn’t hesitate. steps in, one hand resting lightly at your waist. the kiss is soft at first, then deeper. his beard brushes your face, warm and gentle, and you sigh into him.

you don’t want to move. you want to stay right here- this quiet moment where nothing else matters. just his mouth on yours and the way he smells like cedar and red wine and something you already associate with safety.

when you finally part, you’re both smiling, a little dazed.

“do you want to come inside?”

he blinks once, then nods. “i would like that.”

you open the door fully and step inside, letting him take the lead.

you close the door behind him, the click of the lock suddenly loud in the quiet. ross shrugs off his coat and glances around, a little unsure of what to do with it.

“let me take that,” you say gently, stepping forward. your fingers brush his as you pull the coat from his arms and hang it neatly by the door. he gives you a soft, grateful look.

“thanks.”

you smile, your heart already fluttering.

he looks around slowly, taking it all in. “this is very nice,” he says, then turns back to you with a little smile. “very you as well, to be honest.”

you let out a quiet laugh, a little surprised. “you think so?”

he nods, walking further in. “yeah. don’t know if it’s the plants or those posters, what’s that- oh that’s mad, you’ve got the ‘stop making sense live album’,” he points toward the framed record sleeve. “impressive.”

he walks a little slower now, like he’s careful not to overstep, but he keeps looking at everything. “i knew you’ve got great taste.”

you’re still watching him, heart racing, cheeks warm. it’s surreal- this man you’ve thought about since that first night, who you kissed under streetlights and laughed with over late dinners, is now standing in your flat, making himself real in the space where you keep your quietest things.

“i think so too,” you smile, obviously trying to project the great taste comment on to him.

he moves to the stool by the kitchen bar and sits down, resting his forearms on the counter. you follow, feeling the buzz in your body like it’s humming under your skin.

“what can i get you?” you ask, voice a little airy, but you’re trying to keep it cool. “some more wine? water? i’ve got some weird elderflower soda in the fridge if you want to live dangerously.”

he grins. “wine sounds lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

you shake your head, already moving. “never.”

he watches you from the stool, eyes following every movement.

you open the cupboard, hands slightly unsteady, and you don’t even care. you like that he sees you nervous.

it’s hard to hold eye contact for too long. not because you don’t want to- because you do, so much-but because it feels like he can see straight through you when you do.

you pour two glasses. the wine catches the light in deep red swirls and you steady your hand just enough to not spill, but he’d probably still tease you if you did. he’s watching again, quietly. you pass him his glass and he takes it with a soft, “cheers,” eyes flicking to yours.

“cheers,” you echo, tapping the rim of his glass with yours gently before rounding the counter.

you sit opposite him on the other stool, close enough that your knees bump under the bar and neither of you moves away. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t pull back. he just sips his wine, one hand cradling the glass while the other rests on the edge of the counter, relaxed.

you talk. not about anything serious. just the night, the food, a song that had been playing at the restaurant that you both recognised and made a joke about.

you laugh, a lot. especially when he gets going on some ridiculous story about a gig they played years ago.

you nearly choke on your wine from laughing, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

ross smiles wide at that, dimples catching in his cheeks- and there it is. those. you’ve seen them, of course, but not this close. not like this. and now you’re sitting here, lightheaded from wine and laughter, just staring at him, wanting so badly to reach out and touch his face like it’s a painting you’ve studied for weeks. you grip the stem of your glass instead, trying to play it cool.

he leans in a little, like he’s trying to hear something you haven’t said yet. the space between you is smaller than before.

you’re flushed, your cheeks are warm, skin is buzzing, lips tingling from the wine and from how much you like him. the warmth is moving slowly through your body, not just from the alcohol, but from the fact that he’s here, with you. in your space. and you don’t want this night to end.

you laugh again at something he says, something silly and quiet, and your hair falls into your face.

before you can even think to move it, his hand is already there, gentle and without hesitation. his fingers brush the strands back behind your ear, slow and careful. his hand lingers just barely against your cheek as he looks at you.

“there you are.”

you blink up at him, caught completely in the moment. your heart skips like it’s forgotten how to move properly.

you smile small and shyly, “hi.”

“you’re stunning,” he says quietly.

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. your mouth pulls into a grin you try to hide. “stop,” you mumble, giggling a little, looking away.

“if you think i’ll stop,” he says, without missing a beat. “you definitely think wrong of me.”

before you can say anything back, he leans forward and gently slides your wine glass out of your hand. sets it down beside his. then he takes your hand, slow and intentional, and gives it the softest pull.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you stand, and his hands find your waist almost immediately. they settle there like they’ve done it before, like this is a habit you already have. he draws you in, guiding you until you’re standing between his thighs.

he licks his lips once, gaze dipping to your mouth. “i can’t stop thinking about you, love. you’ve been messing with my brain a lot.”

you can barely breathe. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he repeats. “i’ve been enjoying every minute with you. ”

your hands rest on his sides, sliding up just a little. his shirt’s soft but you can feel the strength beneath it.

he leans into you again, kissing slower this time. less polite. less careful. his mouth moves with yours like it knows the rhythm already, like you’re dancing without needing to hear the music.

then his hand drifts lower. finds your thigh, his fingers curving around it as he squeezes gently, and the sound you make is half breath, half surprise.

he uses the moment to part your lips with his tongue. first, a light sweep against your bottom lip-like he’s asking.

you let him in.

his other hand presses a little firmer at your back, drawing you even closer, until you feel everything. his breath, his chest rising with yours, the way he’s holding back just slightly.

your fingers clutch at his waist.

“ross,” you whisper, because it’s the only thing that makes sense in this moment.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. his pupils are blown, lips a little parted.

“alright?” he asks, looking for any sign of resignation from you.

you nod, lips tugging into a slow smile. “mhm.”

your fingers drift up, almost without thinking, playing gently with the collar of his shirt, smoothing it out like it's something to do with your hands. you're looking at him, but not fully, cheeks warm, heart racing.

you pause, then tilt your head just slightly. “maybe we should… move to the bedroom?”

you say it quiet, but clear.

there’s a beat of silence, like the moment just stretches out for a second too long. and then ross grins, slow and wide and almost boyish, the kind of grin you can feel down in your stomach.

“yeah?” he says, voice a little hoarse, like he wasn’t expecting it but he’s definitely not saying no.

you nod again, still fidgeting with the edge of his collar, and he reaches up, covers your hand with his for a moment. his thumb rubs along your knuckles as he speaks.

“wasn’t my plan tonight,” he murmurs. “swear i was gonna kiss you and then leave like a gentleman.”

you laugh under your breath. “you did kiss me.”

“yeah,” he says, smile softening. “and then you stood in front of me in that dress and looked at me like that.”

“like what?”

he leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, just near your ear. “like you wanted me.”

you pull back just slightly, eyes meeting his again. there’s a quiet thrum of tension between you now. no rush, no pressure, just mutual gravity.

you squeeze his hand. “i do.”

his eyes flick over your face, and then he nods once. firm.

“alright then. lead the way, darling.”

he stands slowly, his body rising close to yours, tall and steady. he doesn’t move until you start walking, leading the way, heart hammering.

in the bedroom, you close the door behind you with a soft click. the air shifts. it’s just you and him now, in the quiet.

you cross the room and turn on the little lamp by your bed. it glows warm and low, casting soft shadows on the walls.

ross is still standing by the door, watching you like he’s taking you in.

you turn to face him, and for a beat, neither of you says a word.

then he steps forward, slow and calm, and reaches for your waist.

his voice comes low, steady. “we’re not going to rush this. it’s just us. s’alright.”

you nod.

he sits down at the edge of your bed, legs parted slightly, looking up at you with that same softness in his eyes. then he slides his hands to your hips, guiding you gently forward.

you straddle him without a word, settling into his lap. his hands rest low on your back, fingers splayed, already pulling you in.

you kiss him, messier this time. eager. lips parting too fast, teeth bumping slightly, but it only makes it better. real. your hands curl at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

he kisses you deeper, mouth warm, breath hot against your cheek. one hand slides up your spine, the other dips lower, pressing firmly at the small of your back until your chest is flush to his.

you exhale into his mouth.

he pulls back for a second, eyes flicking to yours. both of you breathless.

“you’re driving me mad,” he murmurs.

you keep kissing like it’s the only language you know. no real rhythm, just mouths chasing each other, hands wandering, breathing each other in like you’ll forget how if you stop. it’s a little uncoordinated, like you’re teenagers again, hungry and too warm, laughing into kisses and then going quiet when it gets too good.

your hips start to move without you even thinking. slow at first, just shifting against him, the friction barely there. but you feel it-the way his breath catches, how his grip on you tightens, his fingers pressing harder into your back.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, just barely audible.

you do it again, tilting your hips a little more deliberately, and this time he groans, full and low in his throat. his head dips to your shoulder for a second, lips brushing your collarbone.

“jesus christ,” he mumbles, and it makes you smile.

“ross,” you whisper, more like a plea than anything else.

his hand slides to your thigh, steadying you. “yeah, love? talk to me.”

your forehead rests against his. your breath stutters. “i just- i want-“

you don’t even finish it. he’s already nodding.

“i know. i know. i’ve got you.”

but even then, he doesn’t rush. his hands move carefully, sliding down to hold behind your knees as he shifts you gently, and then he leans back, kisses you once like a pause before lifting you off his lap just enough to set you down on the bed.

he stands up briefly, pulling off his shoes without taking his eyes off you. the way he looks right now, strands of his hair falling out of his perfect bun, lips red, chest rising and falling like he’s working to keep calm, it does something to you.

you reach out for him. he smiles, drops a quick kiss to your ankle, then crawls over you, settling between your legs like it’s the only place he wants to be.

his mouth finds yours. slower this time, more deliberate. he kisses you like he wants to taste every sound you’ve ever made, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

your hands move to the back of his neck, threading into the little hair there.

he shifts slightly, weight braced on one forearm, the other hand finding your side.

“i’ve wanted this for a while now,” he murmurs against your lips, “not like i’ve only wanted this, i don’t want it to sound like that. you’re special, love, really special even.”

“keep talking,” you giggle.

he laughs, “i’m just saying. i like you. a lot.”

“i like you a lot, too.”

and then he’s on you again.

you don’t stop kissing. it keeps getting deeper, messier, hotter. his hands are firm on your back, slipping under the fabric of your dress, palms dragging up and down like he can’t touch enough of you at once.

your hips start moving again, just slightly at first, like a shift of pressure but then it’s deliberate, rocking against him, slow and seeking.

he groans, low and rough in his throat, and it makes your stomach flip to notice how hard he is and how much he wants this as well.

“fuck,” he mumbles against your mouth.

you do it again. you can’t help it. you need more, more friction, more of him. the heat between your legs is sharp now, pooling, and the way he’s reacting only makes you bolder.

your kiss breaks for just a second, a ragged breath passing between you.

his lips brush yours, and then he leans in close to your ear.

“as much as i like this dress,” he murmurs, his voice thick, “can i take it off?”

you nod, dizzy with want.

he stills. “is that a yes?”

you meet his eyes, your voice breathless. “yes.”

his hands move to your shoulders, sliding the straps down slowly, dragging the dress with them. he watches your face the whole time, gauging every blink, every breath. the fabric slips off and pools around your waist, then you shift to help him tug it the rest of the way off.

and then you're just in your black lace set, the one you picked knowing you might see him tonight, hoping.

he stops. absolutely still.

his eyes roam down your body like it’s the first time he’s seen something real.

“oh, christ, darling…” he breathes, and then again, quieter. “do you know how perfect you are?”

you glance away, cheeks burning, and lift a hand to half-cover your face with a shy little laugh.

he catches your wrist gently, tugging your hand down.

“stop,” he says,. “none of that. let me see you.”

you nod, eyes flicking back to his. he smiles, just a little, and kisses your cheek, then lower, to your neck.

he lingers there, his mouth opening over your skin, sucking gently until you let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a whimper.

your fingers curl in the back of his shirt as he keeps going, sucking just a bit harder, then soft again, his tongue warm where it soothes.

you feel your panties dampen further, the ache between your thighs now impossible to ignore.

you shift beneath him, and he groans softly, lips still at your neck. “ross, too much clothes.”

he hums and immediately starts to unbutton his shirt.

you catch his fingers midway and finish what he’s started, sliding it off his arms and throwing it next to the bed.

“is that better?” he asks.

you nod, dragging your hands down his now-bare chest, slow and deliberate. “much.”

his skin is warm under your palms, firm, lean muscle shifting as he moves. you trace the lines of him, down past his ribs, to the soft trail of hair just below his navel. you dip your fingers there, barely, just enough to tease- then drag them back up again.

he groans, low and tight, and ducks his head to your neck again.

“you’re going to drive me fucking mad,” he mutters against your skin.

you giggle, breath hitching as his mouth latches to your neck again, hot, open-mouthed kisses, slow and sucking, tongue flicking just enough to make your toes curl.

you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in. your heels dig into the back of his thighs and he grinds into you instinctively, both of you gasping at the friction.

“ross,” you whisper, a little breathless. “i need you. please.”

his head lifts, eyes half-lidded and dark.

he kisses you again, softer, before trailing his hand down your body. slow, light touches down your side, tracing every curve.

then he shifts slightly, his fingers gliding along the inside of your thigh.

“here?” he asks, teasing you back.

you shake your head, your hips twitching up toward his hand.

he smirks, his fingers moving higher, until they hover right over the lace of your panties, ghosting across the heat there.

“here?”

your breath catches and you gasp, nodding quickly.

“please,” you whisper.

his mouth is back at your jaw as he answers, low and steady.

“i’ve got you, sweet girl.”

his fingers skim down to the edge of your panties.

you chase ross’ lips, gifting him a kiss that is decidedly messy and anything but falling under the category of sweet. his hands move to haul you tighter against him, slotting your legs tighter around his waist.

finally his fingertips are dipping beneath your panties in a smooth motion, stroking through your folds, dragging pleasure through you so intensely, you're scared you'll break apart right then and there.

you're so unbearably sensitive, nerves bursting open beneath his touch, that you desired for way too long.

he clicks his tongue softly, clearly pleased. “look at you, making such a mess for me.”

there’s nothing rushed about the way he moves, but your body doesn't seem to know that. frantic anyway, trembling anyway, gasping like he himself is a trap you've willingly walked into.

he teases with his fingers slowly, gliding up and down your folds, spreading you open, painting your clit with everything he's pulled from you.

he gives you just the tip of his index, barely inside, and then pulls back like he enjoys teasing you.

you’re soaked now. slick enough that it's starting to drip where your pelvis meets his thighs, a growing mess that's probably already bled through to the bed.

"talk to me, love," he murmurs. "what’s going on in your head?”

"can’t- can’t think," you confess. "just need your fingers."

"you have them," he says.

"inside," you whimper. "need you inside."

he gives you a kiss to the corner of your mouth just as his finger slides in.

"is this what you wanted?" he smiles. "like it when you beg, darling, sound so pretty."

and your body answers for you, clenching around the intrusion, like it's trying to hold onto him, pull him closer, keep him.

you remember one evening when you watched him play the bass. all you could actually watch were his fingers.

the way his fingers curled around the neck of the bass, smooth and sure. the way they plucked and strummed with that lazy kind of precision, like they’d been born knowing what to do. you hadn’t even meant to stare. but it became all you could see.

now one of them is buried inside you, barely, and it's already too much.

when the second slides in, it feels like being opened from the inside out.

a moan punches out of your chest unfiltered. your hands reach up for something to hold, finding purchase at the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers tightening there.

he leans in, eyes half-lidded, voice hushed. "you feel so good around my fingers. so tight.”

"ross..." you whisper.

the sound that fills the room is filthy, wet and messy and loud enough to drown out whatever noise you just tried to make.

you’re grinding down on him now, mindless, rutting against the heel of his palm like shame doesn't even exist anymore.

your head is light, skin buzzing, and you’re so close you can almost grasp the feeling.

"you’re absolutely perfect," he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. "will you let me have a taste? please, darling.”

and god. you moan out a yes the second you heard him plead.

you whine when he slips his fingers out of you, the orgasm that was near fading away.

ross smiles and kisses your lower stomach, “i know, love. don’t worry, yeah? i’ll make you feel good, s’all i’ve wanted to do for ages.”

you nod and watch as he shuffles down the bed and hooks his arms under your knees to pull your legs further apart.

he lets out a groan as his eyes are fixated on your dripping wetness, “fuckin’ hell, don’t think i can ever forget this moment. you’re so beautiful.”

and before you can give him a response and tell him what he does to you he’s on you.

his tongue is lapping at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. he groans into you, the sound deep.

you can’t stop yourself from moving - hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. but he only grips your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it’s nothing. like your squirming doesn’t even faze him.

you whimper, barely coherent and all you can think about is how badly you want those bruises. you want to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. you want to remember exactly how they got there.

He groaned in pleasure at your taste as his tongue explored every inch of you he could physically reach.

his nose is rubbing against your clit and his beard feels so nice against your skin and oh god if you thought you saw heaven before, you are wrong because the moment his lips wrap against your bud angels open up the pearly gates tor you.

"oh my god" you cry out, your left hand getting a mind of its own and pulling the tie out of ross‘ hair to pull at it, "oh my fucking- oh wow"

"you taste so sweet, love" he says into you, sending another wave of pleasure through you, “even sweeter than that dessert you’ve had, i swear it.”

"really, darling, you are absolutely perfect,” he continues in between lapping at your core "wish i could’ve had you like the sooner.“

you can only moan in response, and you can feel his smile on your skin as he watches the effect he is having on you.

he admires you biting your lip as you moan for him, your face flushed, your hand in his hair... this is the best decision he has ever made- going on a blind date with you.

the sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he loses himself in the act of pleasuring you-all of it draws you closer to the edge. he’s back to moving his fingers inside of you.

he continues thrusting his fingers, trying to hit your spot every time as his tongue laps hungrily over your clit.

"fuck, ross- please don't stop..." you whimper, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you feel your release building.

he looks up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. he continues eating you out, groaning against you. his hips begin to thrust against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he feels.

he can feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. he moans, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you feel.

he forces himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon.

“let me have it, darling. come on,” he encourages.

that’s all it takes for you.

your thighs clamp around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cry out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangling in the sheets. you writhe beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. you whole body is twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

“just like that,” he whispers.

your whole body is trembling, even in the afterglow. he doesn’t pull away quickly. he stays there, between your thighs, lapping slow, soft, like he doesn’t want it to end. your fingers twitch where they rest tangled in the sheets, mouth parted in a helpless whine.

“ross-” you breathe, voice cracking around the edges.

he hums, pleased, but he finally kisses the inside of your thigh, then the other. it’s tender, like he’s grounding you. like he knows you need a moment.

when he looks up again, his beard is damp and glinting in the low amber light from your little lamp. he looks flushed and satisfied, like he’s just tasted something rare.

he crawls up your body slow, his hands dragging gently along your sides. and when he’s hovering over you, he leans in, tilts his head just a little.

“absolutely sweet,” he murmurs “want to taste?”

your stomach flips. you can only nod.

he kisses you then, deep and slow, his tongue slipping into your mouth with that same soft certainty he had when he touched you. you kiss him back, tasting yourself on him, the heat of it curling in your belly again.

when you pull back, your hand rests against his chest, and you smile- blushed and glowing.

“you’re really good at that,” you say softly, eyes not leaving his.

his smile tugs higher on one side. “yeah?”

you nod. “mhm.”

he brushes his knuckles along your cheek, eyes twinkling. “noted.”

you giggle and turn your face into his hand, suddenly shy. the weight of everything hitting you- not in a heavy way, just in the realness of it. this is happening. he’s here. and you want him.

he shifts slightly, his thumb brushing soft rhythms against your cheek.

“still alright with this?” he asks, “we don’t have to rush into anything, you know. we could go back out there, finish that wine, talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

“no,” you say, “i want this. i promise. i’m not nervous- not really. just… excited. really excited.”

he nods, his eyes fixed on yours. then he leans in again, resting his forehead against yours for a second.

“that makes two of us,” he whispers.

you wrap your legs around his waist again, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer. he smiles against your mouth, hands slipping around your sides like he already knows what you’re doing, already loves how eager you are.

“someone’s keen,” he mumbles, grinning, and you kiss him instead of answering, because he’s not wrong.

you can feel him now, through his trousers-hard and hot, the weight of him resting against your thigh as you rock a little beneath him. it draws a soft groan out of him, barely there, like he’s trying not to give it too easily.

his hand slips behind your back, skilled and smooth, and your bra comes undone with one quick flick.

“god,” he mutters, before kissing his way down. “i like you so much.”

he buries his face between your breasts, kissing, licking, the scratch of his beard sending chills down your spine. then he pulls one nipple into his mouth, and your back arches off the bed.

your fingers wind through his hair, your voice breathless. “don’t wait any longer, please. i need you.”

ross groans into your skin, then lifts his head, eyes scanning your face like he’s making sure you mean it. you do. every inch of you does.

he nods, murmurs, “yeah, alright,” and climbs off the bed just enough to push down his trousers and boxers.

and then- christ.

you can’t help but look. he’s thick and flushed, heavy in his hand as he kicks the fabric away.

you grin, dazed. “jesus.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you alright there?”

you laugh a little, cheeks hot. “yeah, just- impressed.”

ross chuckles, crawling back over you. he leans down to kiss you again, mouth soft, and you pull him close, about to guide him in-

“wait,” he murmurs against your lips. “condom, love.”

you pause for half a second, then shake your head gently. “uh- i’m on the pill. and if you’re… i mean, i’m clean.”

he blinks, breath catching, and then he kisses you again, rougher this time.

“you’re mad,” he whispers against your mouth, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t hesitate.

he’s above you, but it doesn’t feel like he’s hovering or taking- he’s just there. real. warm. looking at you like he’s never seen anything quite like it before.

your bodies are pressed together, skin to skin, hearts racing in time. his fingers trace slow patterns along your side, like he’s still memorising, still learning.

you meet his gaze, and his brows twitch just slightly- there’s something unspoken in his face, something raw.

“can’t even tell you how ridiculously nervous i am,” he says softly, like it’s just dawning on him.

you nod, breath catching in your throat. “i know,” you whisper.

he dips his head, presses his mouth to your shoulder, then your collarbone, lingering there. his voice is muffled when he says, “i really like you.”

your heart clenches. in a good way. in the way that makes your stomach flutter.

you lift your hand to his cheek and guide him to look at you. “ross,” you say gently, “you’ve got no idea how much i like you.” you smile as you kiss his cheek. “you might actually be in trouble.”

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. “god, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, eyes slipping shut for a beat. “you’ve got me, completely.”

you shift beneath him a little, breath unsteady. the want is there- clear in every movement, every glance.

he notices. of course he does.

“what?” he asks, half-smiling. “what’s that look?”

you laugh, a little breathless. “are you seriously gonna make me wait?”

he grins then, eyes lighting up. “impatient.”

you shrug. “i’ve been patient. i just- want you.”

he nods once, slow. “alright, love,” he says, voice low and steady, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “no more waiting.”

you’re so wet that when he runs his shaft through your folds, slicking himself up, his tip kisses the entrance of your cunt, drawing a gasp from you and a growl from ross. you’re desperate for him to just slide in, make himself at home where he belongs, between your hips.

and when he does, it's fucking euphoric.

he pushes in slowly and halfway first, letting you get used to him.

"alright?" he asks quietly.

you nod, your voice catches in your throat as he falls out of you, just to thrust in again and let his cock dive through your soaked, swollen folds straight into your warm cunt.

“oh- fuckin hell,” he groans.

he continues to slide in fully and you both gasp in each others face when he can’t go any further.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, your eyes already rolling to the back of your head.

ross is biting down on his lip, his breathing going ragged. “can i-?’

you immediately nod and rock your hips once to encourage him.

he’s dragging his hips back and forth against yours, filling you up until his tip kisses the edge of your cervix, and pulling out until he's between your folds again.

“oh- you feel so good around me, love,” he says, holding himself up by his forearm next to your head.

you move your head and kiss him. because you can kiss him. whenever you want to now. and he feels amazing.

you both really can’t focus on the kiss which is why it’s messy and wet and so fucking sexy.

you’re holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

but you're so full of him and it's perfect. you can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips.

"good?" he rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth. you nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for another kiss.

he satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

his name slips from your lips like a prayer-ross finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

but he's no better, he’s been groaning in your ear since the start of it. he really cant help it.

ross lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. he continues his deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. he also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

christ.

“oh my- fuck.”

you head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. the stimulation is insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

his hand cups your jaw, “you’re perfect,” he groans, “such a lovely girl.”

“oh- i, ross.”

his cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“i know- i can feel you,” he whispers, “just- fuck.”

“i’m so-“ you choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head.

his forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. "so good for me.”

you body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don't even know if you're moving or if he's just pushing you through it.

“i know, love. you can do it, come on.”

"oh, oh -" your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can't do anything but let it consume you.

"christ," he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

you barely register the way you're gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

"that’s it, sweet girl," he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. "so good for me."

his pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

"you’re so tight," he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

you’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

he groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

a shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

he doesn't mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. you want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat.

he murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

his lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

you arms wind around his neck before he can get too far.

he hums and smiles down at your blissed out state, “love?”

you hum. “gimme a moment.”

ross smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes even though you can’t see it. “alright,” he says, kissing your temple. “take all the time you need.”

his hand rubs slow circles into your hip, and he keeps murmuring things against your skin. soft nothings. compliments that make you flush again.

“this was so perfect,” he mumbles, kissing along your cheekbone. “you were- are- so perfect.” he sounds almost in disbelief.

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. you feel warm and giddy, and when you kiss him, it’s lazy and sweet.

eventually, he shifts and pulls out carefully. you whimper, hips twitching, and ross hisses softly. “bloody hell.”

he sits back on his heels for a moment, looking around the room, a little dazed. then he points toward the closed door across from your bed. “is that the bathroom?”

you nod. he moves to stand and bends to grab your shirt from the floor, but before he can, you push yourself up a little and say, “wait- i want yours. can i have it?”

he stops, glances at you, and his lips twitch into a grin. “course,” he picks up his black buttoned up and throws it to you. “there you go, love.”

you catch it and slip it on quickly- it’s warm, soft, smells like him.

“and i’m gonna wear yours then?” he jokes.

“nah, you’re staying shirtless,” you smirk.

ross snorts, one eyebrow raised. “course i am.”

you just smile and watch him walk into the bathroom, bare-chested, slipping on his boxers on the way. he’s back a moment later with a damp towel, and he kneels at the side of the bed.

“there,” he says almost to himself, “how are you feeling?”

he gently cleans you up. it’s tender, focused, doesn’t want to hurt you.

you hiss when he brushes over your clit, “perfect. couldn’t be better.”

“m’glad,” he brushes your knee with a kiss, tosses the towel aside, and climbs into bed next to you. you curl into his chest, his arm slipping around your back, fingers tracing your spine.

“and now what?” you ask.

ross smiles, “don’t know. i’ll do whatever you want. you want to watch something?”

“that would mean moving to the couch and i’m too tired for that,” you say, already melting into his body heat.

“like i wouldn’t carry you,” he scoffs, “but,” he draws out, “we can just enjoy each other here then, hm?”

“yeah,” you mumble.

[that-basic-simp]

The Ronin and The Bride

Mizu x Fem!Reader CW: N/A WC: 2.6k+ Uses mostly he/him pronouns for Mizu until towards the end.

"You're a lot younger than I expected you to be," I said as I was standing in front of my soon to be husband.

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not."

"Take it as you will," I said, turning away from him.

My mother arranged this marriage as she was starting to get older and prone to more accidents if she wasn't taken care of. I think it was an excuse to get some money after my father passed away. And I couldn't really bring in money no matter how many jobs I took on. And my mother was always selling her body to any man she would to get money. It was never enough and so deciding to marry me off to someone was the best option.

"Let's get this over with," I sighed.

Once everything was said and done, my mother was milling about the small house my husband owns. It wasn't the best for us, but it held the three of us and that was all that mattered. There was a small little farm in the back where we could grow our own vegetables. There were even some cattle in the back as well. So there really wasn't much for us to worry about when it came to food, as there was plenty already harvested and ready to be prepared.

"What's your name?" I turned to the man.

"Mizu," he said, removing his Kasa from his head. "Yours?"

"Y/N," I said.

"Nice to meet you."

"What did you do before getting married?"

"I killed people," was all he said and bluntly.

"Like a samurai? A lord's swordsman?"

"No. I don't really know what to call it."

"A ronin, maybe?"

"That might work."

"Are you still killing people?"

"I," Mizu let out a sigh. "I tried to. But it seems people find me and want to kill me for what I've done."

"And what have you done?"

"Kill people."

"Right," I said. "They want to get revenge on the person who killed someone they knew."

"I was out for revenge," Mizu said.

"You were?" I asked.

"Yes."

"What for?"

Mizu stood up and opened the door, walking out. I let out a sigh as my mother shook her head at me. I stood up and went after Mizu, but he was nowhere to be found. Not even where the tools were to shear the sheep and tend to the livestock. I turned and headed back inside, preparing dinner for us.

When the sun was slowly falling down into the horizon, the door opened up and Mizu walked in. Sweat was running down his forehead and there was something odd about him. He wasn't very masculine for a man. He looked kind of slender, but not very muscular at all. Well, I shouldn't say muscular. I should say, he's not very broad. And there isn't really any facial hair on him. I shouldn't judge. My father had a clean face and whenever his mustache or beard grew in, he'd shave it almost immediately. He didn't care for that kind of look.

I guess I shouldn't really say that Mizu isn't like other men. Maybe that's a good thing. He let out a sigh as he sat down, finding that there were bowls of noddles prepared for him. It wasn't much, but it was what I could do with what he had already here.

Dinner was silent. My mother tried to make conversation with Mizu, but he gave off the impression that he didn't want to talk. Always looking away from her, pretending like he didn't hear, or shrugged his shoulders. There was also another odd thing about him. His glasses. He always wore them, yet again, I've only seen him a couple of times throughout the day. What were they hiding if he was in fact hiding something?

After dinner was finished and cleaned up, my mother went into a different room while Mizu and I were in the same room. He was washing up while I had just finished. It was odd, laying on a mat that wasn't my own. Or I should say, it wasn't in my own house. I didn't feel like I belonged here and that this marriage was going to go anywhere. It felt like Mizu already had a life planned out for himself and now that he has to take care of not only a wife, but his wife's mother, it felt like we were impeding on his life.

Once the door slid open, I looked up and found Mizu's hair to be long and down, past his shoulders. Strange. I know some men have long hair, but I wasn't expecting it to be that long. And silky too, with how the light of the candle reflected off of it. It reminded me of water, like his name. How reflective and wavy it was. And his skin looked soft and gentle, not hard and rough. There was something Mizu wasn't telling me.

"Mizu?" I asked.

"Oh shit," he gasped, jumping slightly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I thought you were asleep."

"I can't."

"It'll take some time to get used to."

"How come you don't really talk to us? To me?"

"I wouldn't blame anything on yourself," Mizu said, getting ready for bed. "I am not really the best person to converse with. I was alone for the majority of my life aside from my adoptive father."

"Who was he?"

"Master Eiji. A sword maker near Kohama village. I grew up there."

"I see."

"Where did you grow up?"

"Kyoto."

"How was it there?"

"It was crowded. Dirty, too."

He snickered, "I thought the same thing."

"When did you go to Kyoto?"

"I had to find the Shindo-dojo and speak to the master there."

"I do remember hearing something of a samurai coming into the dojo and making quite the spectacle."

"That was me. Even though I am not a samurai. I never was."

"Why do you say that?"

"Samurai fight with honor. I had no honor back then. I still don't."

"All the more on why you fit with the ronin," I smiled softly at him.

He nodded before laying down on the mat and blowing out the candle. I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but the curiosity behind Mizu's past kept me up.

The weeks went on and they soon turned into months, and Mizu still didn't really open up to me. He asked me a lot of questions, but whenever I would ask him anything of his past, he'd either leave or evade the question. It infuriated me, but one question bothered me.

"Mizu?" I asked as I was helping him with the harvest for this month.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Why did you allow me to marry you?"

He turned his head, finding my curious gaze at him.

"If I am going to be honest, it was the money."

"The money?"

"Yes. Call it selfish, but--"

I cut him off, slapping him in the face. He stumbled backwards slightly, holding his cheek as it was burning red.

"It is selfish!" I sneered at him. "You live out here by yourself, unbothered by people, and yet you buy me like I am being sold to one of those flesh traders. Or even into prostitution."

He was silent now, looking away from me.

"Do you even know how it feels? To be bought and sold just like that? For money being the only driving force to marry someone? You wouldn't know because you're a man! You don't have to worry about those things at all!"

There was something that changed behind those eyes. They always seemed cold and dull, but as soon as I said that, something snapped within Mizu. His eyes widened slightly, before narrowing as he slowly turned his head to face me. There was a raging storm within those eyes and even though I couldn't see his true eye color, I knew they were burning within. He stood up, straightening himself, even though he was a few inches taller than me.

"What do you know about me?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Nothing! I know nothing about you!"

"Exactly. And we're going to keep it that way."

"I don't even know why I accepted to marry you."

"I accepted. That was all that mattered."

"I should have talked my mother out of it."

"Did your mother have any other people in mind?"

"A few. They would pay more than what we offered you."

"And why did you choose me?"

"I guess it was because you lived out here and not in a city or someplace large like Edo."

"So you came out here for solace?"

"More so for my mother."

"You could have had anything you wanted, but settled to eat trash," Mizu said.

"It wasn't my fault that my mother insisted on me marrying you! Of all people, you! I could be in Edo right now," I said.

"And what? Married to the shogun's son? Basically being a baby factory for them?"

"It'll be better than living out here with nothing around other than a small village nearby to trade things for."

Mizu glared at me, "You chose this life. Not me."

He stalked off, heading inside the house. The door slammed and I winced slightly, letting out a sigh as I knew I had to face my mother once I entered the house. And face my mother I did. She went on to berate me, saying that is not how a wife should talk to her husband. She went into her room and I was left alone. I let out a sigh before getting dinner ready. Once it was, Mizu did not arrive to eat.

"Go find him," my mother said.

"Fine," I said and stood up, heading into our room.

Sliding the door open, Mizu was sitting in the corner.

"Dinner's ready if you want any," I said.

"Y/N, wait."

I stopped, not turning to face him.

"What?"

"Can you look at me?"

I turned and found his glasses were taken off. Slowly lifting his head, he opened them. My eyes widened slightly, finding the most beautiful shade of blue staring back at me.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I accept your apology. But why now? Why show me your eye color?"

"It's one way I know I can trust you. How you react is everything to me."

"Why?"

"I was ridiculed, bullied, and looked down upon for my eye color."

"What's so bad about having blue eyes?"

"First off, I have blue eyes in Japan. It's not normal."

"So your father was one of those white men?"

"Yes. How do you know about that?"

"My father was killed by one of those white men. He heard word that a white man was going to be heading to Edo to kill the shogun. He went to warn the shogun and he died there. He was face to face with that white man and he shot him down like he was nothing. That white man fought with no honor. But with pure intent of wanting all the power in the world."

"I-I was there."

"You were?"

"Yes," Mizu said. "I was there in Edo when that white man killed the shogun."

"Did you kill him?"

"N-No," Mizu turned away. "I-I went to London to find the other two. Once we got there, he ran. I knew nothing on London and decided to return back to Japan."

"So you were on a quest for revenge."

"I was. I never got to complete it."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

I nodded my head, "I see. And your eyes, they're very beautiful."

A small smile crawled on his face. That was the only time I have ever seen him smile since I was here.

"And I wouldn't be insecure about your eyes."

"What about your mother?"

"Around her, hide them. But around me, there is no need for you to hide who you are," I said, about to step out of the room. "I'll be beside you no matter what."

Within a few weeks, Mizu was starting to open up more. He was letting me help more around the small farm we had. Such as shearing the sheep, feeding the livestock, and he even took me into the woods to where this peach tree was. They were low enough to where Mizu could reach up with ease and grab one for me. We would spend hours there, just talking more and more about anything and everything. It made me smile to know that Mizu was warming up to the idea of married life.

"Y/N, we need to talk," Mizu said one night.

I was slicing carrots when he said that, almost making me cut my finger off. I had nicked the skin and Mizu rushed over, grabbing some bandages he kept nearby in case this happened.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yeah. I am. W-What did you want to talk about? I-Is it something that I did?"

"No, no, no," he shook his head, wrapping my finger up. "I-I've just been hiding something from you."

"It's only been half a year since we've been married. And now you're telling me this?"

"Yes. Because you deserve to know the truth."

"Truth? About what?"

"Your mother is not here, is she?"

"No. She went to the village to see if she can get anything for dinner tonight."

"Ok."

"Why?"

"I-It's better that I show you."

He reached up and removed his ponytail, letting his long hair fall down to around chest level. After that, he grabbed his haori and pulled it back, revealing a binding around his chest.

"I'm not a man."

"A woman," I said.

Mizu nodded, "Yes."

"And this changes how?"

She blinked a few times, "Y-You're taking this surprisingly well."

"I told you before, Mizu. There is no need for you to hide who you are around me."

Some tears formed in her eyes as she reached over, pulling me into a tight hug. Pushing her away, she looked confused at me.

"I-I am just shocked you hugged me."

"I-Is that ok? T-To hug you?"

I smiled, "Of course. Just warn me next time."

She chuckled, pulling me into a hug. I hugged her tightly, finally knowing the true Mizu.

"Thank you, Mizu."

"I didn't do anything."

"For showing me who you are."

She smiled, nuzzling the side of her face against mine.

"You're welcome."

My heart beat fast and hard against my chest. I wasn't liking the whole marrying someone I never met before idea, but with Mizu, I am glad my mother picked her from the other men.

"Oh shit!" I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away.

"What? What's wrong?"

"My mother cannot know about this," I said.

"Shit! Right. W-What would she do?"

"For starters, probably have you killed. Either by her hands or by someone else's. But I think by now that you'd kill them before they even drew your blood."

"That's true."

"Or worse," I let out a heavy breath. "She'd make me leave you for another man."

"You say that like a bad thing."

"And you say that like you want it to happen," I said, a little offended.

"I-I didn't mean it like that, Y/N. I-It would be a bad thing for you. But also for me."

"W-What are you saying?"

"I-I've come to enjoy your company. Mostly yours since I have not acquainted well with your mother, but you," she found my eyes, a look of awe in them. "You're someone I want to have in my life. Someone I should have had in my life."

"Why someone like me?"

"You accepted me no matter what. You didn't judge about my eyes and you didn't judge about me revealing the truth. If I would have been found out anywhere else and with anyone else, I'd be rejected. You welcomed me even though we started off rough. Y-You've shown me what unconditional love is. And I couldn't be more grateful for that," she smiled softly at me.

I reached over and grabbed her hand, "Man or woman, Mizu, it doesn't bother me. I will still love you for who you are."

"L-Love me?" some blush crawled onto her cheeks.

My eyes widened, recognizing what I just said. Some blush came onto my cheeks as well.

"S-Shit," I whispered.

She chuckled, her smile growing wider, "So is that a confident response?"

I let out a sigh and placed my hands on her cheeks, pulling her towards me. My lips met hers lightly and her arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into her. She pulled back after a few seconds, taking in a deep breath.

"I'll take that as a yes?" Mizu asked.

"Yes, Mizu. I love you."

"I-I love you, too."