#so there will be more scar kissing to come

[dmitriene]

cw: hybrids, breeding, glimpses of consented somnophilia.

bear hybrid john price gets you to hibernate with him, it's not that there's much choice, of course, you wouldn't be wandering around the house and outside much when your spouse is sleeping away, tucked in the warm bed with all the furs and copious pillows, all arranged around him with comfortable softness, yet, he misses the most important, you, and he won't be willing to start his hibernation until you join him.

sure, it's not an easy thing, to match his sleepiness while you're not used to go through such a thing as a human, but your bear spouse will get you all cozied against his side, cradled in a crushing, squishing embrace against the brawny, sculpted plains of his softened chest, dappled in curling, brown thick hairs, coating every ounce of john's skin, his huge pecs, bulky, meaty thighs, the roughened fingers, fluffy as fur, warming you like a furnace, mapping a trail to beneath his underbelly and down to the groin.

you keep the fridge and all the shelves stocked with a lots of food of all kinds, to freshly cooked to something quick to make, and even canned, meats, vegetables, fruits, john needs a good nourishment, and you're too, because he doesn't let's you leave the bed, not with how his heavy body brackets your's against the rumpled, cottony sheets, not a single cloth separating his scarred, supple skin from yours, kindled with suffocating, simmering warmth, holding you close tight, broad fingers sinking in the slopes and dips of your body.

john doesn't wakes up mid hibernation to eat, doesn't really needs it, just as the rest of his kind, no, he flutters his pretty blues groggily and rubs a calloused palm over his bearded, prickly face to get a taste of you, dozed in a light sleep beneath his draping hand, your face pillowed on his bicep, pretty lips pouty, cheeks warm and rounded, flattened against his arm, and your ripe, sweet body is all naked in it's glory, splayed along the linens beneath, relaxed and leaning in the closeness between you both, cunt hidden between the sacred gates of your supple thighs.

the hot, gummy insides of your cunt heavenly around the pulsing, restless girth of his fat cock, dragging in the engulfing tightness of your soppy hole, getting you stretched out and loose to accommodate the thickening length of him, filling you slow and deep, patient, almost lazily so, movements languid as he pushes his wide hips, body bowing and draping over your whole form, cozy and limbless, even though you moan out quiet and groggy when you feel it, the weight of his cock alongside your tender, inner walls.

kissing away each keen and breathy whimper, devouring them eagerly, leaving your lush, kissable lips to nip and suck over the tantalizing curve of your neck as your head tilts back, eyelashes fluttering with the heavy closing eyes, your nails scrabbling over the tensing, rippling lines of his back, seeking purchase, clawing and scratching with crescent dents, your trembling body chasing the withdrawing movements of his hips, the battering ram of his cock, coercing for more, feeling the delicious dizziness that comes from the burning feeling that swoops up the length of your bowing spine.

the curve of john's tip butting against your gummy spot, withdrawing, pressing back, relishing in the gripping clutch of your sloppy, loose hole, your sensitive skin a feverish garden of different marks and bruises, sharp teeth's that leave blood rushing indents up your neck and covering over the rapidly hammering pulse point, the rasp of his beard still tangible, making you shudder, whole body itchy from where he rubs over you, but you keep in place, singing pleasure honeyed sounds, coaxing john for more, so as to feel the way he'd breed you.

groping and pressing in every nook and cranny of your form, forcing you into the mattress, nails biting and almost tearing in your flesh, followed by each bestial, guttural groan and rasp he let's out, gravelly, seeming to shake the stuffy air around you both, your little sounds turning in the pitched, frequently repeating gasps, the saucers of john's pupils bewitching in their intensity, enraptured as they look at you with animalistic affection, right until he get's you full with spurt after spurt of his fertile seed.

john makes sure to keep you plugged full, sated just as he is, with his cum making your tummy feel bloated, pumped inside your gaping, still spasming pussy until his seed would stop gushing out in milky streaks around his softening cock, each drop cherished, oughting to see your belly grown round and full with little cubs by the end of the winter, and tucking you back to the side, where you both drown back beneath the veil of sleep, nuzzling in your forehead, he hopes it would take.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[salemrph]

Sleepy morning with Sylus

A/N: While I was reading some other posts yesterday, I came across a user asking what it would be like to wake up next to Sylus. My imagination jumped on it right away! I would say this is more of a headcanon than a fanfic. I focused more how he would experience it. Short write, just because I'm working on other stuff.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 1,430 | Reading Time: 5 min

Background music

Your laughter echoes through his bedroom as you try to break free from his grip, his breath tickling your skin. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, pressing himself against your naked body. You smell incredible, so intoxicatingly good that waking up next to you must be heaven on earth.

You squirm and kick, already in tears from laughing so hard. He can't get enough of that sound, of the way you smile, the way you close your eyes and lean your head back. Your presence is like a flowerbed in full bloom, vibrant and breathtaking. Blooming in its full splendor.

Whenever he can, he admires you. When you sleep, he counts the moles on your body, tracing them with his fingertips. He caresses the scars you've earned as a fierce Hunter, kissing every natural fold of your skin. His touch follows the curve of your back, the delicate shape of your ass, down to your legs. The same legs that always wrap around him in the intensity of passion.

He loves you, more than he could ever show to you. It wouldn't be enough, ever.

"Sylus—"  you gasp between laughs, struggling against him as your muscles start to cramp.

"You have so much energy, kitten" you keep laughing, you are so ticklish this morning. His nose brushes against your neck before he nips at your skin, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You squirm even more, still breathless from laughter. "I will pee myself... Stop!"

He hums against your skin, only tightening his hold. He isn't really awake, he wants to keep sleeping, enjoying the peaceful morning with you. Sylus has worked hard to clear his schedule, to be with you like this. To adapt to your routine, make breakfast, and simply enjoy a normal day at your side.

"Then pee..."  he teases. 

"Gross! Let go." You protest, thoroughly disgusted by his suggestion.

"Not even in dreams, sweetie" he chuckles while still kissing your shoulder.

"Sy..." you whine. That tone, the way you try to get your way putting that face, that tone in your voice. The one that makes his heart melt no matter how much he tries to resist. He growls, reluctant to release you completely. His grip tightening for a moment before he finally exhales and relaxes.

"Go. You have 2 minutes to come back". 

You waste no time jumping out of bed, only to earn a slap on your ass.

"Hey!" You spin around, shooting him a glare. Sylus only smirks.

"I like how it wiggles"

You disappear in the bathroom. Sylus shifts onto his back, crossing both arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a rare sense of peace. Yeah… he could get used to this. No, he wants to get used to this. The wealth he possesses and everything he has done has been nothing more than a way to ensure your safety. The years he spent searching for you taught him that he had to be prepared for anything. Losing you again was not in his plans. And if the day ever comes when you no longer love him, it won’t change a thing. He would still protect you, even from the shadows.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you sneaking back into bed. Carefully, you inch closer, suppressing a grin as you reach out to poke his cheek. But before you can even make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

"Feeling playful this morning, my love?"

"Just a bit" you smirk. Sylus laughed.

"What do you want to play?" You tilt your head, pausing deliberately as your eyes drift over his bare chest, trailing down to his toned abs. The sheets rest low on his hips, and the way you’re looking at him doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows that look.

With effortless ease, he shifts, pulling you toward him until you land on top of his body.

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. The color of your lips is already beautiful, but he loves it even more when they darken after passionate kisses. His lips part slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, mesmerized by the infinite depth of your shining eyes.

You lean in, pressing tender kisses across his face before finally finding his lips. Your entire body relaxes, melting into him. Savoring the slow movement of your mouth. Heat growing in your body. Between you two. The kiss deepens bit by bit, his tongue tracing your lips, later moving beyond, slipping inside, tasting you. You sigh into him, already lost in the spreading feelings of longing.

His hand has already trapped you. One sitting on your back, the other on your ass, keeping you close. He is getting harder by the second. His need for you is growing. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips grounding you in the moment. There is no rush, no urgency. You have the complete morning and day to melt in each other.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is warm against your lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he exhales deeply. This is a dream, he thinks. A damn good dream. And he has no intention of waking up.

One hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. He doesn’t need to speak; everything he feels is in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious. You cover his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. A faint smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again.

Sylus takes his time, enjoying how your body reacts to him, the quiet gasps, the way your fingers tangle in his hair. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper. He watches you with a quiet intensity, taking in the way you melt under his touch. The space between you disappears, lost in the unhurried way he moves. Once more, your worlds merge, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understand.

That's how you start the morning: with him, with you, with nothing beyond these four walls mattering. Just the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of your hearts, and the love that neither of you needs to put into words.

[noctiva]

Flesh + Blood

toby rogers x f!reader [NSFW!]

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WC: 10.1k

Summary: toby usually tries to keep the more violent aspects of his life out of your line of sight, but after a mission gone awry you get a taste of his true self. literally.

CW: 18+ content, filthy dirty nasty shit, descriptions of violence and gore, rough handling, masochistic tendencies + just masochism in general, heavy sadism, biting, blood kink!!!, marking, dead dove don’t come at me, explicit sexual content, unsafe sex, creampie, hair pulling, degradation but also praise (kinky ver. of hurt/comfort), rough oral sex, dirty talk, dacryphilia, CNC if you squint, toby being mean in a hot way, reader is a fuhREAK

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Some of the acts written here are definitely not recommended to imitate. Be safe!

[also, if you can speak german I’m sorry lmao I used google translate ε-(´∀｀; ) if you can’t speak it just highlight then hit translate!]

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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You had known Toby had a bad day before he even walked through the door.

The morning, had been like any other. Your boyfriend waking you up with soft, sleepy kisses against your neck, your limbs tangled with his beneath the covers. His soft hair tickled your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin as the morning sun shone through the window of the cabin you called home.

"Gotta g-go out today." He had murmured, voice thick with sleep and gravelly - his stubble scratching gently against your jaw. "Boss's orders."

His hands had slid up your body, under the loose t-shirt you had worn to bed - his calloused palms a soothing abrasiveness that quickly smoothed over any disgruntled thoughts about him leaving for the day. Up your stomach, over your ribs, resting just under the swell of your breast to feel your heart beat beneath his touch. "Don't worry, it's an e-easy job. Should only be gone f-for an hour or two."

You had reached up, threading your fingers through his messy, chestnut brown hair - knotted with bedhead, but still so soft as the strands slipped through the gaps. You nodded softly, pulling him in closer, murmuring a gentle 'be safe' next to his ear before pressing a kiss to the lobe.

And Toby had laughed, a sweet, honey-like sound before he lifted his head to look at you proper through his half-lidded eyes. "You-You're sayin' that t-to me?" He had chuckled, a cocky, yet boyish grin stretching across his lips.

God, that smile. It did something to you every single time. How his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and that one dimple that sunk into his unmarred cheek. His teeth, crooked and chipped from too many blows to the face, had a unique quality to them that left you charmed. Every imperfection on Toby, was perfection to you. Even the left half of his face, mangled and scarred, flesh torn from gums to leave his back molars on display at all times.

Grotesque, to most, but to you it was simply captivating. Just another special quirk in the sea of things that made up the man you loved. "You fuh- forget who you're t-talkin' to?" He had chastised you lightly, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, I am the danger. You- You know that."

You did know. But it was so easy to forget, when he was so sweet on you.

"Yeah, I know." You had hummed back to him. "I just forget sometimes, because you're so nice to me."

A little snort of a laugh left Toby, and he rolled his eyes, just before leaning down again to press a gentle kiss between your eyebrows.

"Remind me to j-jog your memory sometime." He had huffed softly. "I'm p-plenty scary."

That had been at just past eleven this morning, and now as you stood in the kitchen - with one of Toby's shirts hanging oversized over your body - it was nearly six. The mid-October sun has already started dipping under the horizon line, filtering in streaks of pink and gold through the window while you busied yourself.

If you didn't, you knew you'd just start to worry - despite the fact that you knew Toby would just make fun of you for doing so.

A paring knife in your hands, you were peeling potatoes whilst humming softly to yourself, a pot of stew simmering on the stove next to you. If he had been out this long, you were sure he must've worked up an appetite, and needed something warm to ward off the chill accumulated in his bones.

Besides, you liked doting on Toby. Liked to see the way his eyes shone when you did something for him just out of the good or your heart - because you loved him. You wanted him to always know that fact, never doubt the love you kept harboured in your heart just for him and him alone. It was more little gestures than big ones; scrubbing bloodstains out of his clothes and patching up holes, tending to wounds he didn't notice he acquired, or cooking dinner like right now.

None of these things felt like chores, they were almost therapeutic. And so as you stood by the stove, chopping potatoes into little cubes, you were blissfully calm despite your boyfriend's extended absence. The television was on in the living room, playing some old rerun movie you had only picked for background noise. The fireplace below it crackled, though it was dying because it had been a little too long since you had thrown in a new log.

Was this domestic bliss? It sure felt like it. Maybe as close to it as you would come, with a literal axe murderer as your chosen partner.

And like a tulpa born straight from your thoughts, the moment your mind wandered back to Toby - the man himself was making an entrance like a freight train.

The front door burst open, so quickly slicing through the soft and cozy atmosphere you had been shrouded in. You couldn't see him, not yet, because the entryway to your home was behind a rounded corner - but you should sure as hell hear him.

The door creaking before it slammed shut. Heavy boots knocking against wood floor. The metallic clang of something hitting the ground (presumably his hatchets), and soft grumbled curses spilling from his lips.

You had been right. You knew there was something off about today.

"Toby?" You call to him, your voice soft and gentle. Not wanting to poke the bear even more than it already had been. Setting the knife down on the cutting board, you quickly shut off the stove and move the pot to a cold burner. Then, with your feet moving faster than your mind was, you make your way out of the kitchen and through the living room. "Are you o-"

The words die on your tongue the moment you round the corner. Now, you were well aware of what Toby did when he left home. Though he hid the gory details from you more often than not, his stained clothes were all of the confirmation you really needed. He was a killer, a good one at that, judging from the little snippets of what he had told you.

But right now, he looked like more than that. He looked like a butcher.

The amount of blood almost didn't look real. Like something out of some gorefest slasher film rather than the authentic remains of a real human being. Toby was coated in it. It was matting in his hair, smeared across the goggles that were pushed up onto his forehead. It was clinging to his eyelashes, dripping down his cheeks and off of his chin. His sweater was drenched, splattered with crimson and torn at the hems - like the fabric had been snagged by the forest brush as he trudged through it.

There was a handprint on his chest, just below his shoulder - smeared and frantic, like someone had been trying to shove him off of them, clawing at the fabric in vain.

Then your eyes trail up again, and god. The look in his eyes.. Dark, somehow both simultaneously dead hollow and wildly crazed. It was almost hard to believe this was the same man who had left the house this morning.

"B-Bitch got away." Snapping you out of your stunned stupor, is Toby's voice - gravelly and strained, sounding almost like he had spent the last hour just screaming his lungs out. You blink a few times, feeling as though his very presence has given you whiplash, before squeaking out;

"What?" Your gaze drops down, eyeing the pool of red accumulating beneath his boots, and you have to ask yourself if at least some of it is his, because there's just so much. Also, you're suddenly very happy you chose hardwood over carpets.

"She- fuck! -She got a-away." Toby repeats himself, his shoulders jerking as an involuntary tic wracks his body. You could hear his joints crack and pop as it happened, a noise that you really never got used to, no matter how much you loved him. He takes a step closer, then another, his boots producing a sickening squelch against the floor. "I fuh- fuckin' gutted her like a damn fish, and she g-got away!"

He's looking down at you, wild eyes glinting in the low light of the entryway, and you can't help but shrink a little. You had never seen him like this. Bloodied and bruised, sure, but never drenched in it - body shaking with unspent adrenaline as he recounted what he had done in graphic detail. "Cut her from here-" He poked your belly button through your shirt with a stained finger, the touch making your whole body tense up. "Up to 'er tits, a-and she still got away. F-Fuckin' scooping up her own guts with her hands as she ran." You look up to meet his eyes, and he's already staring dead straight into yours. "C-Can you believe that?"

He goes silent, looking at you expectantly, and it takes you a few moments to realize that he's actually waiting for an answer. You give him a small, jerky shake of your head, and clear your throat.

"No." You manage out, your voice coming out much softer and shakier than you had meant it to. "That... That doesn't make any sense."

Toby lets out a bark of a laugh, hollow and dry - nothing like the warm and soft chuckle that had graced your ears just this morning. It's a chilling sound, almost maniacal in the way he takes in a wheezing breath afterwards, his head tilting backwards as a warped version of a smile stretches across his lips.

"Yeah, n-no shit." He snorts, before stepping around you and stalking into the living room. You follow, because what the hell else are you supposed to do, collecting blood on the soles of your socked feet as you adhere to the gruesome trail he leaves behind. Toby, pays no mind to any of the mess he's creating, too caught up in his own tumultuous mind to realize that it's starting to look like the murder (or, attempted one, you guess) played out here. "Her friends were easy, maybe t-too easy, but I had expected that! S-She wanted to act like she was t-the fuckin' final girl."

He shrugged off the coat he had been wearing over top of his hoodie, the material falling to the ground with a heavy thump before he started trudging over to the couch. You have to bite your tongue. God, was he going to stain that too? "B-But it might be my fault. The first two were so a-agonizingly easy. So buh-boring. Wanted to have a bit of fun with the last one." He flopped back against the couch and, yup, now your sofa is now smeared with blood as well. "Shoulda just lodged my axe between 'er f-fuckin' eyes."

Something about the way he's speaking, so detached from the acts he committed, made your blood run ice cold in your veins. There's a pit in your stomach, and your chest feels tight every time you take in a quivering breath.

His eyes lift to meet yours from where he's sitting on the sofa, and that's when you realize it.

You're scared of him.

Your palms feel clammy, your heart thudding so hard in your chest that it feels like it's bruising your ribs from the inside. You were scared of him. Of Toby. Never, not once in the years you had been by his side, had you ever felt fear run through your veins while in his presence.

Not when you wiped a few little speckles of blood from his face, not when you sat beside him outside as he sharpened his hatchets, not even on one of his bad days when he would get snappy and snide with you.

But right now? Oh, there was no denying the feeling swirling through your veins like a toxin. You were damn near petrified, and oddly - it was exhilarating.

It was hard to explain exactly what avenue your mind went down, but you were pretty sure it went a little something like this: Toby was always so sweet to you, almost sickeningly so, barely letting you get more than a peek into what he did when those orange goggles of his came down over his eyes. He was hardly ever harsh with you, like you were an angel, and he was scared to sully your spotless white wings with his stained hands. Right now, as he sat before you, eyes cold and his skin growing sticky with drying blood, he was the exact opposite of that. Finally, finally, letting you see every part of who he really is, right down to the gory details.

It made something in you stir. Excitement? Awe? You weren't quite sure. All you knew was that the lead in your stomach was moulding into butterflies.

"Well, she's got to be dead." You murmur, approaching him slowly, eyes locked on him as he settles into the couch - legs spread and his head tilting back against the cushions. Fuck. Were you crazy? Why has he never looked hotter? "If what you said is true, she probably didn't make it far before collapsing. Probably died from blood loss, or shock."

You come to stand before him, right between his knees, and the way he stares up at you has your own nearly buckling under the weight of his gaze. "There's no way she lived."

"Y-You'd think, right?" He hums back to you, his voice low as he leans forwards and rests his elbows on his thighs. "And yet I never found her f-fuckin' corpse. She got away after s-socking me in the nose and I just... Never saw her again. Combed that forest for hours." He reached up, pointing a finger at you. "And you know. You know t-that I know those woods like the b-back of my hand. I looked everywhere." You swallow thickly. "Nothin'. No corpse, no blood trail to lead me to her. The bitch went g-ghost."

"She's dead, Toby. She's got to be. There's just no way." You reassure him. Then, slowly, you sink downwards, folding into a kneel on the ground between his thighs. Wanting to be eye-level, but also, wanting to be closer. Despite the blood - because of the blood - you weren't sure. Your mind was a tangled mix of emotions, and all of them were volatile. Toby watches you, his eyes unreadable as his gaze tracks you moving downwards in his line of sight. "I'm sure you got her."

"Yeah, well." He had noticed your shift in demeanour immediately. Through his clouded mind, there was a shred of guilt that had been prodding at him when he caught sight of the fear in your eyes - so sweet and lovely compared to him, like a scared little rabbit cowering before a pack wolf. It was still there, that anxiety, but it was bordered with something else. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. Or maybe, something he just didn't think was plausible. "I-It's not a job done unless there's a-a body to show for it." He reaches up, wiping away some of the blood that had begun to drip into his eye, smearing it across his skin in consequence. Your heart leaps. "Brian and Tim are pissed. T-Told 'em I could do this one on my own and look what h-happened."

“Well it’s not your fault.” You breathe back to him, holding his gaze as you place a reassuring hand on his knee - looking up at him through your eyelashes. “How were you supposed to know she would practically be immortal?”

Toby laughs dryly and shakes his head, watching you for a moment before he reaches down and pinches your chin between his fingers. You can feel it as the blood smears against your face, and you can smell it - sickly metallic, almost sour. It made your stomach churn.

“Not immortal, just way t-too determined.” His thumb smooths against your cheek, dark brown eyes watching with interest at the stark red mark he leaves against your soft skin. Pretty. He thinks to himself. Real fucking pretty. He really can’t help it when he tightens his grip a little bit, just to feel how soft you are. How fragile you are.

Your eyes widen minutely, and he lets out a soft hum before dragging his hand up the side of your face - painting the canvas that was his pretty girl’s skin. Might even be prettier if it was your own blood. It takes a lot of willpower on his end to squash that thought down.

Toby would never hurt you, he had sworn that to himself on the first day you had met eyes, but he’d be damned if he said he didn’t think about it sometimes. About how your eyes may look, glassy with tears while your face scrunches up in agony. What specific shade of red your blood is. How it tastes. Smells. How it would look smeared across your perfect tits.

Leaving scarlet handprints on your ass, hips, neck, all just to lick you clean afterwards.

He wouldn’t though. He couldn’t. You were far too lovely for that. Far too gentle to be tainted by the likes of someone like him. It was a miracle you hadn’t been already.

It was getting a little difficult to restrain himself though, when you were kneeled before him looking like something pulled straight from a wet dream. So decadently pure, with trails of his sin streaked across your face.

He could fucking eat you whole if you’d let him.

“Toby?” Your voice, soft like spun silk, pulls his thoughts out of the depravity they had been falling into. He tears his eyes away from where his hand met your cheek, and sinks into your irises instead - which might just be a more dangerous route. Wide, like a deer in the headlights you look up at him, with a slight tremble to your bottom lip that makes his stomach feel hot. Makes his whole body feel hot, like you had set him alight with one look.

He doesn’t respond at first, instead just holding your gaze as his hand slips down. Then his eyes are flickering towards the sight of his fingers instead as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. He swipes across it, smearing blood on your lip like some grotesque form of lipstick - his breathing stuttering when you’re left with the most decadent shade of red against the soft plushness.

“P-Pretty.” Toby can’t stop himself from saying, his voice just above a whisper. As if in a trance, he pushes his thumb past your lips without a second thought, hooking into your jaw and prying your mouth open. You sputter, face immediately scrunching up at the action.

You can taste it, the blood. Somebody else’s blood, drained from some poor victim Toby had incapacitated. It was pungently metallic, just a tad bitter, and it immediately made your stomach twist when it hit your tastebuds. With eyebrows furrowed you pull away from him, watching how a pink-tinged line of spit connects your mouth to his finger before it breaks.

You spit onto the floor beside you, not caring about the mess because there was already so much to clean up. You just needed the taste out of your mouth. Toby though, he had other plans.

There’s still drool dribbling down your chin when his hand seizes your jaw again, tilting your head back to look at him with a force that made goosebumps prickle your skin. “You d-don’t like it?” He asks as he leans forwards a little, wild eyes boring into yours. His fingers dig into your jaw, with a strength he’s never shown on you before, and suddenly you’re wondering just how much he’s been holding back all of this time.

You shake your head once, before clearing your throat.

“Don’t like the taste.” You murmur, trying to ignore the fact that your body was so easily conceding to him. Scared, but still so willing, still so eager. You could feel your skin heating up more and more with each second that ticked by.

Why? You should be pushing him away, right? Shoving him towards the shower and throwing his bloody clothes in the wash. For some reason though, you just couldn’t. You were disgusted by the taste on your tongue, shaking where you kneeled because of the man before you, and yet you couldn’t force yourself to move. Not even out of fear anymore, out of something worse. Something sick and twisted that had been sleeping for a long time, now clawing its way to the surface with jagged nails.

“No?” Toby presses his fingers to your lips again, this time his pointer and middle finger both - watching you with an intensity that made you squeeze your thighs together. You knew what he was doing. He was testing you. Seeing whether you’d take the bait and give in, or stick to your morals and shove him away for the second time.

Right then, you remember what he had said to you earlier that day. ‘Remind me to jog your memory sometime. I’m plenty scary.’

You wanted more proof of that.

And so you meet his eyes, then slowly part your lips. His pupils practically swallow his irises whole, eyes going damn near black before he’s slipping his blood soaked fingers into your mouth.

Again, you get the acrid taste or blood on your tongue, and it makes your stomach turn just like it did the first time. But you don’t push him off this time, you let him push further, further - until you’re gagging when the tips of his fingers hit the back of your throat. “Lügnerin.” He murmurs darkly, watching with a keen interest as you sputter on his fingers - drool pooling at the corners of your lips. “You d-do like it.”

You whimper around the digits, a sound that even you would admit was pathetic, and it just makes Toby’s lips twist into a wicked grin. The rasp of his mother tongue always did something to you, he knew that and he found it so adorable how you just melted for him when he spoke it - even if you didn’t have the slightest clue what he was saying.

This was just like - no, better than - his wildest dreams. You looked so pretty and pitiful. His sweet girl. His angel. Kneeling before him, just begging to be ruined.

How could he ever deny you? “Y-You’re not as innocent as I thought, huh?” He taps his fingers against your tongue, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Lick ‘em clean.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment you completely freeze up - aghast by the command he’d just given you. You couldn’t deny how the low drawl of his voice sent tingles straight down to your gut, leaving you shifting where you sat before him. It was a humiliating thing to realize, but the evidence was there, already dampening your panties.

You were incredibly turned on.

You breathe in a breath through your nose, before closing your lips around his fingers - suctioning to them as you began to gently suck. It was filthy. Your mouth coated with a metallic tang, your tongue scrubbing against his rough callouses. It nearly made you gag, and yet you didn’t stop, you kept going - swirling your tongue around the digits until they were spotless, and you were releasing them with a soft ‘pop’.

“Scheiße..” Toby breathes out, his voice rougher than before as he stares down at you. At his two fingers, now starkly cleaner than the rest of his hand. Your lips are stained even more now, and it’s smeared across your chin and cheek, making you look like such a bloody little mess for him. If you let him go this far, you’d let him push more, right?

He wanted you coated in it. Wanted some of it to be your own. Needed to see what face you made when he broke skin. He knew it would be lovely, every part of you was. “S-Such a good fuckin’ girl.” He murmurs, reaching out to cup the side of your face and squeezing softly. “You really d-do like this.” Toby’s voice sounds almost awestruck, and for good reason. Who would’ve ever guessed you wouldn’t mind, scratch that, you liked seeing him like this? A lot more than you were saying, if the way you keep squirming was anything to go by.

Were you already wet? Dripping slick into your panties just from sucking blood off of his hand? His heart thuds like a drum beat in his chest, and he could feel his cock stir in his jeans just from the thought alone. How much could he push you? Just how far would you let him go?

Hell, even if you stopped him here he thinks he’d be satisfied, because what he had just witnessed was prime jerk off material for fucking years to come - but he couldn’t help but want to push his luck, and see how much he could get from you. “You like s-seeing me like this?” He asks softly. “Like seeing proof of w-what I do?”

His hand trails downwards, tracing the line of your jaw before circling your throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, making its presence known. “Makes y-you realize just how fuh-fuckin’ nice I am to you, hm? C-Could kill you so easy i-if I really wanted to.” Now he squeezes, a gentle yet firm pressure against your throat that has your pulse kicking up a notch. “You’d be d-dead before you even knew w-what happened, baby.”

He tightens his grip a little, enough for you to really feel it, and your breathing stutters because it’s already getting hard to breathe and you know he’s still holding back by a lot. “Or maybe, I’d go slow. J-Just to hear your pretty screams.”

He leans down, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fan against your face, and then he’s asking; “Would you l-let me?” It’s a question that has your heart rate spiking, making goosebumps rise over the entire surface of your skin. It’s enough to render you speechless, and so when you don’t respond, he continues. “Would you let me h-hurt you? I’d never really k-kill you, darlin’. Just wanna see you b-bleed.”

And, fuck. Fuck. Those words seemed to be armed with the intention to go straight to your cunt, and that’s exactly what they do. You can feel it as you just grow wetter, your neglected clit throbbing within the confines of your panties. It was a thin pair, something lacy and sheer (just how Toby liked them) but they still felt like too much. Restrictive. Irritating in the way they were a barrier between you and his bare touch.

Had you always been this much of a freak? Maybe. Maybe that’s why you looked past Toby’s profession so easily. Secretly indulging in the thrill, the danger of sharing a bed with someone like him.

Someone who, as he had just made clear, could end your life on a moment’s notice if he really wanted to. The constant uncertainty of another promised day, the silent wonder of if he’d ever snap on you instead.

You had been wanting this. You just hadn’t fully known it until it was staring you right in the face.

“Yeah.” You end up choking out, the last remnants of your self-respect completely flying out the window. If he wouldn’t actually kill you, maybe this was the safest way to dive into the dark desires growing within you. Maybe you wanted to experience every last thing he had been holding back over the years. What would he do to you? What had he been fantasizing about, unbeknownst to you? The uncertainty of it all, is what was making your blood hot. “If… If you really want to.”

“Oh, I want t-to.” Toby murmured softly as he drags his hand back up to your face, before sliding behind your head and pulling you closer by the nape of your neck. Closer to the crotch of his jeans, which - you had noticed but not commented on - had grown a tent in it since you had begun speaking. He really was into this just as much as you were. You suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. “D-Do you know?” Closer he draws you in, until your chin is brushing against his fly. “Do you know how many t-times I’ve thought about it? D-Dreamt about it? You screaming for me? Really screaming?”

You swallow down a lump in your throat, and you’re still trembling. Haven’t stopped, ever since you knelt before him. It was intoxicating, how he set your mind and body alight. “Y-You’re just so p-precious. So sweet to me. I never wanted to actually d-do it…” His fingers curl into your hair, gripping the strands tight enough for you to wince. “But if you’re asking me to? I won’t want to stop until you’re b-begging. And even then, I-I might not.”

You might just fucking drool from that warning alone. God, how had you not known he had been restraining himself so heavily around you? You had thought it was in his nature to be gentle and sweet, the acts he committed for the entity he served just being something he had to do. But no. He had been craving this for longer than you could imagine. Probably since the first day you met. Had he always viewed you as prey? “Y-You really want that? I don’t wanna buh-break you.”

He smiles, an expression so sweet it almost feels uncanny for the circumstances. “I love you t-too much for that.”

“I want it.” You say before you can really mill over the thought, pure impulse taking over - the craving too strong. “I want it, Toby. I do.”

He hums softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them as he looks you over. You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Bloodied, begging, just centimetres away from his clothed cock. Probably like a feast, and his eyes were flickering like he was just itching to dig in.

“D-Du spielst ein gefährliches spiel, meine Liebe.” And it doesn’t even matter that you don’t know what he’s saying, you can just tell it’s a warning. By the look on his face, how his grip on you tightens to the point of near painful. You know it’s just a taste. He could give you so much more. “Prove it th-then.” He hums softly, finally releasing his hold on you in favour of settling back into the couch cushions once more. He crosses his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow as he watches you with an expectant gaze. “Prove that y-you want it, and maybe I-I’ll humour you.”

It was the nonchalance that had you squirming, it was what had your heart racing from the moment you stepped through the door. He wanted this just as much as you did - hell, definitely more than you did - and yet he wasn’t easily cracking like you would’ve expected. It was like he enjoyed the performance of it all, the joy of seeing you sink lower and lower all just to please him. Having his favourite girl beg on her knees for him to paint her crimson? Now isn’t that just a treat.

It takes a moment for you to will your body to move, feeling paralyzed by the sheer potency of dominance radiating off of him. Toby had always been a bit on the commanding side with you in the bedroom, but in a more gentle way.

‘I know you c-can do it for me’.

‘You look so puh-pretty on your knees. Stay just like th-that, okay?”

‘Just a l-little more. You feel so good.”

Tender coaxing. Husky words of encouragement and soft touches to move you how he wanted. You’re realizing though, that may have been a watered down version of how he really wanted to treat you.

You move slowly, your shaking hands raising from your lap to reach for his belt buckle instead. His hips twitch at the action. Eager. Impatient. Your eyes lift to meet his as you start to pull his belt loose, and you feel it as goosebumps raise on the back of your neck - sparking up a chill that travelled all the way down your spine.

Toby was watching you like a hawk, like a predator, tracking each and every movement of yours with a keen interest. It was chilling, really, but the fear just went straight to your core. His belt comes undone, and you don’t even bother pulling it from the loops before you’re popping the button of his jeans.

The fire has died out by now, and the movie you had been playing had finished the ending credits, so it was incredibly silent in the room with him. So much so, that you could hear his every breath. The sound of his zipper being pulled down sounds so incredibly loud. “D-Du bist ein k-krankes kleines ding, nicht wahr?” He’s murmuring right as you’re beginning to tug his briefs down his narrow hips, and he’s normally so cold to the touch - but he’s burning up beneath you right now. “C-Come home c-covered in filth and you j-just drop straight to your knees.”

His cock springs free just inches from your face, and you can’t help but gasp softly. You always felt like you had been blessed when it came to what your boyfriend was endowed with. Long, but not enough to hurt. Thick enough to really feel the stretch. Curved just the right amount, with a vein running up the side and flushed pink at the tip. “Schlampe.” Toby mutters under his breath, right as you feel your mouth start to water.

And you know what that word means. Your eyes dart back up to him immediately, face flushing a deep shade of pink - so perfectly complimenting the blood smeared across your skin.

“I’m not.” You murmur softly as your eyebrows scrunch together, but you close a fist around the base of his length anyway. You hear it when his breathing stutters, and you feel it when his cock jumps at the touch.

“I-I’m not convinced.” He snorts, his eyelids drooping as you pull your hand away to spit into your palm, before returning it to him nice and lubed up. He’s so warm in your hand, already so hard you can feel him throb against your palm. His words make your ears burn, because you know that you’re just proving him right as you lean your head down to lick at the tip.

Toby’s eyes flutter, a satisfied hum rumbling from his chest as you flatten your tongue against him - lapping up all the salty precum that he had already accumulated. God, he tasted good, he always did. Always left you craving more. “D-Du bist eine d-dreckige schlampe.” You’re circling your lips around the head of his cock. “Ich wusste es.”

He’s being mean and you know it, but it just makes you burn hotter as you sink your mouth down onto his length. The drawl to his voice, low and sultry as he spits germanic insults down at you - you can’t help but moan around him as you try to take in more. He’s bumping against the constrictive muscles of your throat, but you can take him if you really put your mind to it. You’ve done it before.

You’re trying to get your throat to relax, breathing in through your nose and getting comfortable - when you suddenly feel a hand on the back of your head. It’s sticky, smearing blood into your soft hair, and then it’s pushing you down.

Immediately your eyes blow open wide as you’re shoved down onto his cock, your throat burning and hot tears immediately springing to your eyes. You gag around him, fingers flying down to dig into his thighs. Your gaze darts up towards him, equal parts bewildered and frantic as you try and blink back the tears. “You were t-taking too long.” He chuckles, his grin wicked and lacking any semblance of remorse. His fingers curl into a fist in your hair, gripping the strands with enough force to make your scalp burn as he pushes you down further - until your nose is bumping against his pelvis. “You wanted this, baby. D-Don’t forget that.”

You can barely breathe, your throat practically convulsing around him as it tries and fails to adjust to the intrusion. Tears cling to your eyelashes before they’re dripping down and landing against Toby’s skin. “Ich liebe es, wenn du weinst.” Even if you squirmed you couldn’t try and get away, the strength of which he’s pushing you down being something you could only dream to fight against. “D-Du siehst so hübsch aus.”

Then he’s yanking you back upwards until just the tip remains between your lips, giving you a second to take in a few gasping breaths through your nose. You try to fill your lungs as much as you can, but it still doesn’t feel like enough when he pulling you down onto him again.

He keeps like that, grip tight on your hair as he bobs your head up and down on his cock, making you taking him to the base each and every time. Your throat feels raw, your ears are fucking ringing, and you can’t see a damn thing through the tears blurring your vision. He’s merciless with it, only giving you seconds at a time to greedily take in air before he’s filling up your throat again.

And yet somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever gotten wetter. Your pussy is throbbing, soaking through your panties and making the fabric cling to your folds. Rubbing your thighs together isn’t even helping, you’re so worked up that it’s nowhere near enough to placate you.

So, as Toby switches to holding your head in place as he bucks his hips up into your drooling mouth, you snake a hand down between your own legs.

Toby, of course, tracks the movement immediately. “Oh, poor baby.” He drawls, his tone dripping with mockery and oh so cruel. “Pussy’s g-gettin’ wet because I’m t-treating you like a wh-whore?” He huffs out, fucking up into your mouth with more vigour and making you let out a strangled whimper. “Du bist so erbärmlich. It’s c-cute.”

You whine around his cock as your fingers slip into your panties, and you waste no time finding your clit and rubbing tight circles against the slick nub. A moan leaves you immediately, vibrating through Toby’s length. He hisses out a curse, his hips stuttering a little at the sensation.

You looked so lovely. Lips stretched around his cock, drool seeping out of the corners of your mouth. Tears streaking your blood smeared skin. Your face flushed a pretty pink shade as you touch yourself almost frantically, brows pinched together in pleasure. It was an image that Toby was sure would be burned into the back of his eyelids for a long time to come.

You were just perfect.

His breathing has grown ragged, heavy huffs of breath leaving his lips each time he fucks deep into your throat. With a hand on each side of your head, your hearing is muffled - the echo chamber of your skull filled with nothing but the obscene ‘schlick, schlick’ of his dick dragging against your tongue.

You’re such a mess that it’s pitiful. There’s a growing pool of your liquids accumulating at the base of his cock and dripping between his thighs - your drool, tears, and even a bit of snot from how brutally he’s been treating your poor face. It’s so filthy, as is the slurping sound you make everytime his length leaves your mouth.

Your fingers pick up the pace - faster, more pressure - chasing the heat brewing low in your gut. Your thighs are shaking, knees aching from kneeling against the hardwood flooring, and it’s so good. So good that you can barely even think anymore, your brain reduced to a puddle of thoughtless mush that sloshed around with each buck of his hips.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before - just a bundle of desperation and need. Shaking from discomfort with an aching jaw, and yet it’s exactly where you wanted to be.

Then suddenly, you’re yanked off of his cock, which hits his stomach with a wet slap. And you’re blinking up at him, fingers stilling as you silently question him on why on earth he’s stopping. You could keep going for hours if he wanted you to, the aches and pains just something that fuelled your desire even more. “G-Get up here.” He huffs out, reaching down to grab at you before you can even process what he’s said. “Ich muss d-dich spüren.”

Your legs are shaky and sore when you rise, but lucky for you, you’re not standing for long. Toby tugs you onto his lap without hesitation, impatient hands clawing at the fabric of the loose shorts hugging your hips. “Ich werde dich zum Schreien b-bringen.” You shift, making it easier for him to tug the shorts off of you along with your soaked panties. With how he’s being, you’re pretty sure he would’ve just ripped them off if you didn’t. “Ich werde dich z-zum Weinen bringen.”

He slides a hand between your legs, a soft growl rumbling from his chest when he feels just how slick and ready you are for him already. “You’re fuh-fuckin’ dripping.” He hisses out, giving no warning before sliding two fingers (the ones you had already sucked clean) into your leaking cunt. You gasp, your pussy fluttering around the digits at the sudden intrusion - hands flying up to grip at the bloodied fabric of his hoodie.

He’s far from gentle, just like how he warned you he’d be, but at least he was stretching you out a little bit. Pumping his fingers into you, curling them in the way he knows you like. Scissoring them wide, impatiently getting you ready to take him all.

And with how you had already gotten yourself so close, it’s a piece of cake for him to finish the job. You let out a whine, eyes screwing shut as the pads of his fingers rub against your gspot, taking you higher and higher until-

“Toby-“ You moan, your head dropping low to rest against his shoulder, the drying blood feeling cold as it smears against your face. You can feel the knot in your gut tying tighter, and when his thumb comes up to play with your already swollen clit - you know you’re done for. “I can’t- I’m gonna-“

“Y-You gonna cum for me?” He rasps out, just doubling his efforts as your lips part in pleasure. His gaze drops down, catching on the way his thumb smears blood against your folds, and his abandoned cock jumps at the sight. “Wunderschön.” He’s breathless when he speaks, even more so when you start to shake in his hold.

Your hips twitch, thighs tremble, and then you’re melting against him as you cum - pressing your face into his neck as a wave of pleasure washes over you from head to toe. It’s so intense that stars dance behind your eyelids, your breath catching in your throat as you choke out a moan against his skin. “T-That’s it.” Toby murmurs. “Schönes Mädchen.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you whimpering at the loss - but it’s not for long. He grabs you by the waist, tugging you close until you’re positioned right over his leaking cock. “Y-You’re so p-perfect for me.” He murmurs as he reaches down to take hold of himself, swiping the tip through your slick and getting it nice and wet. “Ich liebe dich.”

You know that one too. “I love you more.” You breathe back to him, and then your brows are pinching together as he slowly lowers you down onto him. Even with the small amount of prep he’s given you, it’s still a stretch, making your breathing stutter as you sink down inch by inch - swallowing him up with your sopping wet pussy.

“S-So tight.” He hisses out, grip like a vice on your hips as you take everything he gives you. “F-Fuck, you’re a d-dream.”

You squirm a little once you’re fully seated, your thighs meeting his. He’s pressed right up against your gspot, a constant pressure that sends sparks of pleasure up your spine. He’s so perfect, everything you could ever need and then some. You feel filled to the brim, your walls pulsing around him to the time of your heart beat, eyes glazed over as you raise your head from his neck to look at him.

He smiles. Bloody, crooked, and yet somehow so incredibly charming. Toby gives the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen him produce, as if he wasn’t six inches deep in your blood smeared body. “You look so g-good like this.” He hums, trailing his hands up your sides and bringing your shirt with it, before tugging it off of you completely. Braless, your nipples perk up once they’re exposed to the cold air, and it just makes his grin widen before he’s bringing his palms to your chest.

He kneads the soft flesh, leaving streaks and bloody fingerprints against them, and just like that - he thinks he’s fallen in love all over again. “My girl.” He murmurs as he rolls his hips up, pressing into you more. “My baby.”

Calloused palms slide down the expanse of your abdomen, then settling on your hips again and giving a squeeze. You were so soft. So soft, warm, and pretty. And your pussy - so wet and hot around him, your walls clinging to him like they’ve been molded to the shape of his cock. He could drown in you if you’d let him. “Lettin’ me g-get you all buh-bloody.” He drags against your sensitive core as he pulls you upwards, eyes locked on you face - watching each little change of your expression. “Gonna l-let me give you mo-more? I-Ich möchte dich s-schmecken.”

“More, Toby.” You whimper, voice trembling. Whatever he’s willing to give you, you want. Screaming, crying, breathless - you don’t care. You’ll give it all to him.

“D-Du bist reizend.” He breathes out, just seconds before dropping you onto his length. He fills you up again in such a swift movement it nearly knocks the wind out of you completely, but you don’t even have time to catch your breath. The pace he picks up is just as ruthless as the treatment he had given your throat.

Fast snaps of his hips, deep thrusts, fucking up into you like it’s his only mission in life. It feels like he’s punching the moans out of your lungs, hitting so deep on every stroke that it makes your vision blur around the edges. You can do nothing but take it, your cunt drooling all over him as he bounces you on his lap like a doll.

Toby, is absolutely captivated. You are everything right now. Better than his wildest dreams. The most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Mouth dropped open as you cry out and gasp for breath, skin glistening with sweat and streaks of scarlet. Tits bouncing with each thrust, skin rippling in the most enticing way.

He needs to sink his teeth in, and so he does.

With your eyes squeezed shut from pleasure, you don’t even get a warning before he leans forwards and bites down on your neck. Hard.

Immediately, the pain that blossoms from his teeth is something that has your eyes snapping open - momentarily sobering you up and clearing your mind. When he breaks skin, you scream.

A real, genuine, straight from the soul scream. It’s ripped from you, your cunt tightening around him as your whole body tenses up. The feeling of his blunt teeth biting so hard that they tear skin, is something you don’t think you’ll ever forget. It’s a searing pain. The kind that makes your mouth go dry as all the air leaves your lungs.

Instinctively, you reach your hands up to push at his shoulders to free yourself, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he just bites down harder. Toby moans against you with a mouthful of flesh, snapping his hips up into you harder, his grip tight to keep you right where he wanted you. No amount of struggle or pushback was fazing him. He was so drunk on the taste of you, and the sound of your screams, that every protest was falling on deaf ears.

His jaw finally relaxes, and then he’s pulling away - slowly pulling his teeth from the stark puncture wound now standing out against your previously unmarred neck. He watches as the blood pools in the deepest parts of the wound, then beads up before it drips down - down, over your collarbone, across your chest, sliding down the slope of your breast. Fuck, this is so much better than his dreams.

“Toby-“ You cry as fresh tears well up in your eyes - salty and hot, just like the blood staining Toby’s tongue. Your neck was throbbing, and with how he just kept impaling you on his dick over and over despite your cries, you were beginning to feel a little dizzy. It was a lot for your body to handle, maybe too much. But you’d be damned if you backed down now.

Toby looked feral. You catch his gaze and you swear your heart stops. You’ve seen him in the heat of the moment more times than you could count, but never like this. He looked… Deranged. Absolutely intoxicated by you, and fully sinking into that fact. His pupils were blown wide behind drooping lids, lips smeared with your blood as they stretch into a satisfied smile.

“D-Du schmeckst so s-süß.” His right hand slides downwards, meeting your clit once again with ease. Giving you a few, soothing circles. “I-Ich könnte dich l-lebendig essen.”

Toby seats you back on his dick fully, and then your worldview flips. It’s only once your back hits the couch cushions, that you realize he’s picked you up and pinned you down. “Y-You know how puh-pretty you sound when you scream?” He asks as he shimmies off his jeans fully, staying pressed as deep as possible the entire time. “And those t-tears.. Fuck, y-you’re gorgeous.”

He nuzzles against your neck as he gets comfortable between your legs again, putting a pressure against the bite mark that made you wince. It had just started to settle down from a blinding pain to a dull throb, but it feels like he’s reignited it all over again. “Ich glaube, ich ha-habe vorhin gelogen.” With one hand on your stomach and one on your waist, he’s got your trapped beneath him. “Ich möchte d-dich wirklich b-brechen.”

You feel a tongue against your neck as he begins to rock his hips once more. Gentler this time, finally giving your body a chance to relax. Toby laps up the blood from your neck as he fucks you with slow, shallow strokes, muffling his moans against your skin. Your body arches up into him, your chest meeting his, and you’re gasping right next to his ear. It’s the strangest feeling, having his tongue dip into the pits of the wound he had just made, but the sharp sting is almost welcome. It just feels so… Comforting. Intimate.

Like you’ve never been closer.

Toby pulls his head back, fluffy strands of hair falling against his forehead as he watches you from above. You look like a damn work of art, a sight that makes his breath catch. His gaze travels down to focus on the image of your pretty pussy swallowing him up over and over. Stretching around him. Leaving him glistening with slick everytime he pulled out. Then, his eyes lift, and he’s focusing on the blood smearing your stomach and chest. Higher, his eyes trace the shape of the mark he left on you. Finally, they stop at your face - contorted in pleasure and streaked with tears. “Y-You’re so b-beautiful.” He gasps out, nails sinking into your skin as he starts pulling your body back to meet his thrusts.

Your body shifts and slides against the couch cushions, already damp with sweat and blood. He’s got you taking his whole length again, making sure to bury himself to the hilt on every single stroke - his pelvis bumping against your clit. “I love you.” He moans softly to the melody of his skin hitting yours. His voice is so sweet and gentle, just like in the morning. A reminder that he was still the exact same man.

“I-I love you, Toby.” You choke out, just barely getting the words out between gasps and moans. You were nearing another peak. Could feel it brewing and growing hotter with each snap of Toby’s hips. His hands slip down and around to your ass, large palms splaying against each cheek and keeping you nice and spread open while he gets lost in your heat.

You just barely see it through your hazy vision as he leans down once more, but you notice his lips parting. At least this time, you’re getting a bit of a heads-up.

His teeth meet your skin again, this time your shoulder, and he bites down so quick it takes a moment for the pain to even register. But once it does, it’s even worse than the last one. Again, you yelp, crying and squirming beneath him hopelessly as he sinks his canines deeper into your flesh. Right into the muscle, it feels like, when his jaw locks into you harder.

It’s excruciating. A blinding pain that makes your head feel fuzzy. What you were feeling right now, with Toby latched onto your shoulder while he pounded into you, was something you couldn’t quite understand. Did you hate this, or love it? Did you want to push him away, or draw him in closer? Was it pain or pleasure?

The answer to each question, was a resounding ‘I don’t know’.

Your body seemed to decide before your mind did though, because you find yourself reaching up for him with a trembling hand. Into his hair your fingers thread - not tugging or pulling, just cupping the back of his head. Holding him there as he tears at your flesh. You think you would do the exact same thing even if he started pulling meat from bone.

You feel like you’re melding into him, becoming one as the warmth of your blood drips down into his throat. The pain started to do something funny as he released your shoulder before biting down again just a few inches below. It wasn’t distracting from the pleasure anymore, it was heightening it. Two opposites swirling together to form something new and exhilarating.

Toby notices the moment it happens, feeling how you relaxed so sweetly into his brutal hold. His nails bite into your hips, surely leaving scratches and bruises behind - just a few more marks to add to the collection he’s already given you.

“P-Perfect.” He breathes once he pulls back again, mouth smeared with blood and his teeth stained with it. Toby looked like a rabid beast in your eyes, and you were his willing victim. He wasn’t all violence and ferocity though, you could tell as you looked into his eyes through your blurry vision. His gaze was teeming with nothing but love. A tad obsessive, a little warped, but love nonetheless.

It makes your heart swell. “Y-You’re everything t-to me, you know that?” He tells you softly, rolling his hips deeper as he feels your walls start to flutter around him. Your blood drips down his jaw, glinting in the low light of the living room. You don’t think he’s ever looked more handsome.

Without a thought in your mind, you pull him in with the hand you still have placed on the back of his head - pressing your lips to his in a messy kiss. You can taste your own blood, even more so when he slips his tongue past your parted lips with a groan. It’s sloppy and crude, blood and drool smearing against both of your faces as you drink each other in. “Wenn ich ein b-besserer Mann wäre, würde ich d-dich heiraten.” He gasps against you after pulling away minutely, such filthy noises spilling from his lips and falling straight into yours. “Du verdienst alles.”

Your fingers fist into his hair, now gripping hard enough that you know it would hurt him if he could feel it. But he couldn’t, so you just tug harder as his length slides against your convulsing core.

“Toby-“ You cry in an attempt to warn him of your impending release, but he doesn’t even need you to.

“I-I know, baby. I know.” Toby groans, then leaning in just a little closer again to catch your bottom lip between his teeth. You’re expecting it now before he even spilts it with his canines. You can’t even taste it when blood gushes into your mouth, your tastebuds already completely coated in that metallic tang. “G-Give it to me.” He rasps out once he tears his teeth from the supple flesh.

And you do, you give him everything. One hand pulling his hair until his scalp went raw, and the other one clawing at his bicep - you tumble over the edge for the second time in a flurry of gasps and moans. Your legs lock around his hips, squeezing him tight as your cunt just squeezes harder - pulsing around him, sucking him in like you never wanted to let him go.

You didn’t. You could die like this and be a happy woman. “A-Ah, fuck.” Toby groans out, head dropping low as he fucks into you with even more vigour. Chasing his own release while prolonging yours. With stars in your eyes and ears ringing, your body trembles beneath him as his hips begin to stutter.

And you suppose you should’ve predicted what he did next. Right as you feel him start to throb inside you, he reaches for your hand and yanks it from where it had been gripping his shoulder. Toby seizes your wrist, letting out a gravelly moan just before he presses his lips to your forearm.

Teeth break skin again right as you feel him spill inside you. Hot ropes of his release, pulled in deep by your still convulsing body. Even hotter waves of painful pleasure washing over you like he had cast a spell.

His thrusts go lazy, still pumping into you as his spend gushes out around his softening cock - just adding to the mess you’re already coated in. He pulls out of your body first, then tugs his teeth from your arm second.

When he looks back to you, you feel your joints go gooey. His eyes are so warm and satisfied as he parts his lips, holding your gaze as his tongue darts out to lick at your newest wound. It’s comforting in the strangest way, and it’s the sickest form of sweetness when he’s pressing kisses to it just moments later.

He does that for every single one. Peppering kisses against each tooth shaped indentation, lapping at the blood until you’re left (relatively) clean. Raw, red puncture wounds that had already begun to swell, but each kiss makes the throbbing dull.

“S-Sorry.” He murmurs softly, lips brushing against your sensitive skin. “Y-You don’t even ha-have to say it. I know I-I went too far.”

Your body feels like it’s been drained of all of its energy, weak and sore all over, but you still force yourself to shake your head. Your arms feel like they’re made of lead when you lift them, pain rippling from your neck downwards - but you wrap them around him anyway.

“No you didn’t.” You whisper back, with a throat so raw that your voice comes out hoarse. “I’m alright.”

Toby relaxes a little at your gentle reassurance, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and letting out a shaky sigh.

“Y-You sure?” He asks, just to be certain. You were still trembling, muscles sore and stiff as you held him close. “I-If you hate me now, I wouldn’t buh-blame you.”

You let out a short breath through your nose and shake your head again.

“I could never hate you.”

—————————————————————————☆

the toby brainworms were eating me alive so I started writing this and then just kept writing and writing and ended up with 10k words of pure filth

if my invite request ever gets accepted on ao3 I’ll post it there too but for now this is a tumblr exclusive lols

thanks for reading! ♡

[wendichester]

⊹౨ৎ ₊˚ i'm home,

summary. dean comes home after weeks away.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1216

notes. slight smutty ; mdni!

The front door swings open with a heavy thud. The sound is sharp enough to make your breath hitch, but you know it’s him—there’s no hesitation, no fumbling with the lock. Just the unmistakable weight of Dean stepping into the house.

Your heart jumps. You weren’t expecting him. You never do. His job—whatever the hell he does in that mysterious, classified “military” role he claims—keeps him away for days, sometimes weeks. He doesn’t have a schedule, doesn’t give you warning. He just shows up, worn and bruised, carrying the weight of something you don’t fully understand.

And yet, the second you hear his duffel bag drop, you’re moving.

You rush toward the door, socked feet slipping slightly on the hardwood, your body already reaching for him before you can think. And then there he is.

A mess.

Blood stains his shirt in dark patches, dirt streaks his jawline, and sweat clings to his skin. He smells like engine grease, like gunpowder, like Dean. His knuckles are raw, split open in places, his lip swollen, a thin cut riding high on his cheekbone.

But he’s here. He’s whole. And the smile he gives you—crooked, exhausted, so full of warmth it makes your chest ache—tells you everything you need to know.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice like gravel, and suddenly you’re breathing again.

“Dean.” His name comes out as an exhale of relief, as you throw your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him. He grunts at the force of it but doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, wrapping you up tight. His fingers splay across your back, holding you against the solid heat of his body, as if he needs the reassurance just as much as you do.

“Missed you,” you murmur against his neck, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against your lips.

Dean lets out a breath, his grip tightening. “Missed you more.”

You pull back just enough to take him in—his tired green eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the exhaustion he wears like a second skin.

“You look like hell,” you whisper, reaching up to brush your thumb over the cut on his cheek.

Dean huffs a laugh, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. “You should see the other guy.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know what battles he fights, what enemies he faces out there, but you know one thing—he always comes back. To you.

“You’re here,” you murmur.

“I’m here,” he echoes, voice low and sure.

His eyes flick down to your lips, and that’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes against yours, swallowing the words you might have said. It’s desperate, aching, a kiss that feels like a promise and a prayer all at once. His hands roam over your back, up your sides, gripping, holding. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your mouth.

You barely register the way he starts moving, guiding you backward until your back meets the bedroom door. He kicks it open, walking you inside without breaking the kiss, without letting you go.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, palms rough and warm against your skin, tracing the curve of your waist before tugging the fabric up and over your head. He drinks you in like he’s been starved, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that has heat curling low in your belly.

You reach for his shirt, but he beats you to it, yanking it off and tossing it aside. The sight of him—battered, scarred, but so breathtakingly solid—makes your pulse stutter.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, tracing just under the wound on his upper arm that was poorly patched up. Messy stitches, made by his brother Sam—which you had yet to meet.

Dean catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers. “I’m fine,” he assures you. “Better now.”

He backs you up toward the bed, lips meeting yours again, slower this time, more reverent. His hands work their way down, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings, pushing them past your hips. They fall to the floor, and then he’s lifting you, laying you down with careful hands.

He follows you down, settling between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. His lips never leave yours, not even when he reaches for your panties, tugging them down and tossing them blindly—where they land somewhere near the dresser, forgotten.

His fingers trace along your thighs, slow and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

“Dean,” you breathe, arching into him.

He groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how much I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He kisses his way down your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands roam your body, memorizing, relearning, making up for every second of lost time.

When his fingers dip between your thighs, you whimper, hips rolling up into his touch.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, watching the way you fall apart for him. "You always this needy for me?"

You nod, breathless.

His lips twitch, but his eyes are dark, heavy with something raw. He leans in, voice dropping.

"Missed you so much," he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your stomach. "You have no idea."

Then he’s between your thighs, and all you can do is feel.

The heat of his mouth, the slow drag of his tongue, the way he groans like he’s the one being wrecked by it. He holds you down, grips your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Could be minutes. Could be hours. But by the time he finally drags himself up your body again, you’re panting, dizzy, wrecked.

Dean smirks, kissing you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Then, just as slowly, he lines himself up and sinks into you.

You both gasp, foreheads pressing together as he stretches you open, fills you in a way that makes you feel whole.

His breath is ragged, his hands trembling where they grip your hips.

"You okay?" he rasps.

You nod, nails raking down his back. "Yeah."

Dean exhales sharply, then moves.

It’s slow, deep, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he’s savoring it, like he wants to remember this. His hands roam your body, his lips press hot kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, voice breaking. "You know that, right?"

Your heart clenches. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

"Always," you whisper against his lips. "I'm all yours."

Dean groans, rolling his hips deeper, dragging another gasp from your lips.

The world melts away.

Hours later, you’re tangled together beneath the sheets, your body still humming, your limbs heavy and satisfied. Dean’s arm is slung over your waist, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your hip.

You shift, turning to face him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You should sleep.”

He huffs a tired laugh, eyes barely open. “Not yet.”

Your lips curve. “Why not?”

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Because I’m home.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

[innorality]

could you do satoru coming home with a huge scar on his stomach after not contacting his gf for weeks and then reassuring her with intimacy please?

HEAVEN CAN WAIT — G. SATORU

cw : sad in the beginning, afab reader, unprotected, p in v, honestly very cute sex nothing too kinky

a/n : tysm nonnie you gave me the opportunity to use this song as a title finally 🥹 also this idea is so cute like yes pls soft vanilla "I missed you sex" with satoru #needthat !!! also #satoruisalive I believe in it 💔 oh and I'm so sorry this feels very rushed and is not proofread :(

wc : 1335 words 😼

empty. cold. that’s how his side of the bed felt at the moment. it had been weeks since you last saw him, and days since his last message. your eyes stayed glued to your screen, rereading his final words over and over again.

"i luv youuu"

cold tears slipped down your cheeks. you weren’t even sure if they were from grief or from your irritated eyes after staring at the screen for so long without blinking. deep down, you knew the truth—you weren’t dumb. this was bound to happen one day. but you weren’t ready to accept it yet. you wanted to stay in denial just a little longer.

satoru was supposed to be the strongest. so why hadn’t he come home?

with a shaky breath, you shut your phone off and set it aside. hugging his pillow tightly, you buried your face into it—only to realize it didn’t even smell like him anymore.

silent sobs wracked your body as exhaustion finally overtook you.

but in the dead of night, a noise startled you awake.

footsteps.

first near the front door. then in the living room. the kitchen.

and now… heading toward your bedroom.

afraid, you hid under your blanket like a child. you didn’t know if it was reflex or true fear—because honestly, after losing the man you loved, life had lost all meaning.

the door slid open, and you held your breath.

then, a voice.

"baby?"

satoru.

your heart stopped, then raced. it was him. the way he said your name, the way his voice carried through the room—you had missed it more than words could express. before you could think, you jumped out of bed and ran straight into his arms, clutching him as if he might disappear again.

he hugged you back just as tightly.

"where… where the hell were you?! you don’t know how worried i was, how much i cried! i thought you were—"

his lips met yours, silencing your frantic words with a soft peck.

"now, now," he murmured against you, his tone laced with that familiar teasing warmth. "i’m here, and that’s all that matters, pretty."

you pouted, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you buried your face into his chest, holding him closer. but then your fingers brushed against something different—a rougher patch of skin around his stomach.

a scar.

your breath hitched. "how did you..."

he turned away slightly, avoiding your gaze. guilty. he didn’t want to talk about it.

so you didn’t push.

instead, he gently eased you back onto the bed, his lips finding yours again, slow and deliberate.

"i was this close to dying," he murmured between kisses, trailing from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck. "but i remembered you were waiting at home for me..." his words sent a shiver down your spine as his kisses grew deeper, needier.

"and i decided that heaven could wait."

you let out a breathless giggle, threading your fingers through his white locs."you think you’re going to heaven?" you teased, tugging playfully at his hair. "what a joke."

swiftly, he unbuttoned the blouse you had on and grabbed a handful of your breast, massaging it gently while sucking and nibbling on your neck to create a colorful bruise. sweet moans of his name slid out of between your lips against your will and he simply smirked at them.

"I know you cried, and I know you were cold," his eyes bored into yours, "but now that I'm here, I promise I won't ever leave again." and this time, you're the one that closed the space between your lips. you knew that his promise wasn't true at all, but you decided to ignore that fact and let yourself believe it for the span of a single night. in the heat of the moment, your hand slid down his chest and onto his pelvis, before sneaking its way into his pants, stroking his erection sensually.

satoru moaned into your mouth before taking this bold action of yours as a sign to give you pleasure aswell, his hand rubbing your pussy through your thin panties. "Oh shit- yeah, just like that, 'toru.." your head fell to the side as his hand slid into your panties, rubbing up and down your slit to collect some of your wetness before rubbing tight and quick circles onto your clit, making you needily clench around nothing.

meanwhile, your hand was still skillfully rubbing his cock, thumb rubbing on his tip making him jolt up from the sudden intense pleasure. satoru bit his lip before penetrating you with two of his digits, making you gasp in utter shock and awe. your breath followed the rhythm of his fingers that he pumped in and out of you, as you sped up the speed of your own hand.

as expected, you felt orgasm build up pretty quickly, and as you were of the edge of climaxing, you stopped him. "stop, stop! 'toru, stop it," and he quickly halted his movements, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort or pain. "I'm sorry baby, did I hurt you? I'm so fucking sorry, fuck-" you interrupted him, "no honey, I just..." you bit the inside of your cheek, "after all this time, I wanna cum on your dick, not your fingers..." and you felt his cock twitch at your words. he stared at you in shock before his expression turned into a lustful smile.

and before you even realized it, he had taken your hand out of his pants, before taking said pants off along with your panties in a span of a second. impressive.

"you know baby," he rubbed up and down your slit with the tip of his cock, "even though I won't go to heaven, I'll make sure you do," he aligned his tip with your entrance. "what do you mean?" he pressed a quick kiss against your lips. "I'll take you there myself." and with that, he bottomed out inside you in one swift motion.

your jaw dropped and you instinctively closed your eyes to embrace the familiar sensation of him inside you, but he tapped your cheek with his finger to get your attention. "eyes on me love." and so you obliged, opening your eyes to be met with an expression that seemed to be the results of a love and lust mix.

the sound of his hops meeting yours over and over again made you delirious along with the sensation of his cock claiming your insides and the intense eye contact you held with satoru. at some point, satoru can't hold in anymore—he whines and moans into your ear, whispering confessions such as "fuck– I love you too much, baby-" and "I missed this so bad... holy shit, yeah- I need this- oh fuck, yeah.." which did nothing but turn you on even more.

your hand went straight to your clit to rub it when you felt your orgasm building up again. satoru chased your high as much as you did, using his six eyes to hit all those gummy spots that made you see stars. "fuck- m'cumming, m'cumming!" you couldn't hold back your voice as your orgasm crashed over you without a warning. you struggled to keep your eyes on him as you twitched and shook with the intensity of the orgasm, as it had been weeks since you deemed yourself worthy enough to feel pleasure.

satoru's orgasm followed suit, shooting long ropes of cum into your womb, as your tight grip pulled strings of moans of your name out of his mouth.

as you both calmed down, satoru pulled his cock out and flopped on his back next to you.

a comfortable silence fell upon the both of you before you broke it, "you know," he hummed in acknowledgement, "you were right." his head whips to the side to look at you, who was already turned towards him. "what about?", you smiled, looking at the ceiling, "you did take me to heaven, after all."

you crawled on top of him to kiss his scar, making him feel a bit tingly. he patted your head, "and I'd do it all over again just for you, love."

[hyunjuenthusiast]

Im craving for angst , so girl can you write about Hyun ju x female reader

Basically Hyun ju and female reader have been dating for 1 and half year now, but things didn't went so well after attending squid game, Hyun ju gave young mi more attention , than she did for female reader so she distance herself from Hyun ju and her team, wondering why female reader ditched her. So female reader went to Gi Hun's team instead. And to make things worse not only Hyun ju voted O to continue the game, but Hyun ju lost the love of her life during the Mingle, ANND.. It took Hyun ju 2 to 4 business days to figure out that she hasn't been a good girlfriend ever since they came to squid game and Hyun ju Crashes out so badly.

(Female reader committed su!cide during Mingle, died instead of young mi and the shaman lady predicted female reader's death)

(And YES the guilt is definitely eating Hyun ju alive)

Sorry if this is too long

Take your time for this one

゜・（／。＼）・゜

Okayyyy complex, I like it! Hopefully I do this ask justice 🙏🏻

HER ANGEL

Pairing: Hyun-ju x femreader

Warnings: ANGST, depression, death, suicide, longing, survivors guilt.

Insecure. That was a word Y/n had always been familiar with. Ever since she was little. Her mother would criticize everything she did. If she ate too much, if she didn't eat enough. If her hair was down, if her hair was up. If she smiled, and if she didn't smile. Everything she did up until she was an adult was judged.

When she finally got the taste of freedom, moving out at the ripe age of eighteen, she discovered that the world was an ugly place. Nothing like how she fantasized how it would be. The books were wrong.

For the first few years after moving out, she was alone. Truly alone. She had no one. No friends to call late at night, no fuzzy kitten to cuddle when she had tears running down her face on a rainy day. No significant other who would whisper sweet nothings to her as she fell asleep... No one.

Not until she met her angel. Hyun-ju.

Everything had changed. For the first time in her life, Y/n felt like she deserved to take up space in the world. Hyun-ju made her feel wanted, loved. She erased every insecurity Y/n had. She loved every flaw and imperfection. She kissed her scars and wiped her tears.

Hyun-ju was her soul mate.

Y/n didn't care that her angel was different. She didn't care how people looked at them in public. Hyun-ju was perfect, in every way. Even if her angel couldn't see it for herself.

Hyun-ju told Y/n of her wishes for surgery. She had cried to Y/n about her debt and abandonment. And Y/n was there to comfort her in return, wiping her angels tears away and whispering promises.

So when a nice-looking man asked Y/n to play a game, showing her the money she would win, of course she agreed. For her angel, for Hyun-ju.

Y/n didn't need convincing to call the number on the back on the card. Once she saw Hyun-ju looking at herself in front of the mirror, her eyes filled with loathing, she dialed the number.

It was the least she could do. Hyun-ju had given Y/n her sense of self back. She had given Y/n her smile back. Of course, she would return the favor. Anything for her angel.

Waking up to the blasted music, she looked around to see other people. Waring the ugliest green she had ever seen. Looking down at herself, she saw her jacket was labeled 005.

She gathered around like everyone else. Waiting for an explanation. There were so many pink guards and even more players. They explained that they weren't trying to collect debt or cause any harm.

"Excuse me!" Said a voice. Not just any voice. Her angel's voice. Y/n quickly turned and saw Hyun-ju. Her Hyun-ju standing near a couple of bunks. She didn't catch what her angel said next, only focused on the fact that she was here.

Y/n winced as she saw Hyun-ju getting slapped. That was the day her angel had gone on a walk. She remembers her coming home, acting strange. Hyun-ju had met the salesman before Y/n did.

As all the players walked in single file lines up the colorful steps to get their pictures taken, Y/n looked around for Hyun-ju. Seeing her fixing her hair prettily, she smiles and quickly walks up to her. "Angel!" Y/n gushes.

Instead of greeting Y/n with a smile, Hyun-ju tenses. Asking her what she was doing here. "I know how much you need the money..." Y/n whispers softly, watching as Hyun-ju's eyes soften.

As they all walk into the first game, Hyun-ju holds Y/n's hand. "Don't separate from me, sweet girl. Okay?" Her angel asks softly. Y/n squeezes her hand in return.

"What is that?" Y/n asks, pointing to the giant doll like figure in the distance.

"Green light..."

Y/n quickly runs forward a few steps, then stops.

"Red light!" The doll waits, seeing if anyone would move.

The first to go was 196. Y/n stood, stiff as a board, the sound of people dying behind her. When the doll says green light, no one moves forward, but Hyun-ju reaches over and grips Y/n's hand.

Player 456 explains that they will die anyway if they don't cross the finish line in time, and so, she stays behind Hyun-ju, racing towards the finish line.

Once across, she watches in horror as her angel races back across to help player 456. This is the first and only time that Y/n has ever wanted to yell at Hyun-ju.

The second game is the six legged pentathlon. Her and Hyun-ju look around for more teammates. She notices Hyun-ju's fallen expression when people stare at her, and when they don't want to join because of her.

"Excuse me?" A timid voice says from behind the both of them. Y/n and Hyun-ju turn to see a small girl, obviously nervous. "W-Would you...like to team up with me?" She asks, looking at Hyun-ju first, then to Y/n.

Ever since then, Hyun-ju had been attached at the hip with Young-Mi. It was hard for Y/n not to notice, especially in a place like this. When she wanted comfort and reassurance from her angel, she would see that Hyun-ju was already comforting Young-Mi, that she was already whispering words of encouragement to her instead of Y/n.

But that was just who her angel was. She was kind to everyone, and Y/n had no right to take that away from Young-Mi. Y/n could clearly see how terrified the small girl was, and if Hyun-ju was her safe place, then who was Y/n to take that away from her?

That's was until Y/n heard it. What Hyun-ju was saying to Young-Mi.

"I won't let anything happen to you, sweet girl." Hyun-ju had said. Y/n felt her stomach drop. Sweet girl. That was Y/n's nickname. That was her word of endearment.

She decided to give them space. Joining player 456 and his team.

The third game was mingle.

As they all stood on the platform, Y/n watched as Hyun-ju held Young-Mi's hand, giving her soft smiles. Y/n felt horrible for feeling envious. Would she always be cursed to be this insecure? Would she ever feel content with anything?

"TEN"

The voice said. Everyone scrambled to find their groups and rooms. So far, their team had nine after joining Hyun-ju. Until her angel grabbed the crazy shaman lady.

Running into the green room, Y/n pants, not even bothering to look at her angel holding onto another woman. Hyun-ju gives her a confused look, wondering why she had left their group.

"Your heavy sorrow will swallow you whole." The crazy lady says, making everyone look at her. Y/n shrinks into herself as she realizes that she's talking to her. "You won't last much longer, I'm afraid. Pity. You have the purest birthstone."

"SIX" the voice says.

Gi-hun and Young-il had split from the group, leaving Y/n no other choice but to join Hyun-ju.

They all run to a yellow door, freezing in their tracks as they see a group is already in there. Hyun-ju races to find a different one.

She found one.

Y/n starts to run towards it with the other people in her group, but when she sees player 333 running towards it too, she slows down.

Looking over at her angel, she sees her clutching Young-Mi's hand.

The pregnant girl holds her belly.

The mother and sun cling to each other.

Where did Y/n fit into that? She didn't.

She has seen Jun-hee talking to player 333 on several occasions...

She needed him, more than any of them needed Y/n.

She made her decision then.

As player 333 races into the room, she finally hears Hyun-ju calling for her. Her angel was trying to get 333 out of the way.

Y/n walks to the door, looking into the small slit. "Y/n, what the hell are you doing? Go find a room! Go!" Hyun-ju shouts. Y/n only shakes her head softly.

"Ita okay angel." She whispers, putting her hands onto the door. Hyun-ju is starting to panic. The timer still had thirteen seconds on it. "I know there's no place for me here. Not now." Y/n says, tearing up.

Hyun-ju continues to shout, begging Y/n to go find a room. "You made me feel so inside the lines, Hyun-ju. Like I wasn't a lost shade outside of the pretty design. I could actually fit inside the art." Y/n says with a sad smile.

"I never thanked you for that." She says. "Thank you for showing me. For guiding me to see who I was for the first time."

Nine seconds on the timer.

"I know you'll be happy. You'll make it out of here and live the life you've always dreamed of...live the life you've always deserved. A life, with Young-Mi." Y/n's lip quivers.

Four seconds on the timer.

Hyun-ju starts shaking the door, sobbing and yelling. "I love you, my angel." She whispers tearfully, letting out a pained breath as she feels the bullet peirce her back.

"NO! Y/N!"

Player 333 had left that room beaten to a bloody pulp.

At first, Young-Mi's hand doesn't feel out of place instead of her own, not for the next two games.

Until Y/n's words repeat instead of her head.

A life...with Young-Mi.

Once she realizes it, she drops Young-Mi's hand as if it had burned her. She had been holding the wrong woman. Comforting the wrong woman. Calling her...

She had called the wrong woman sweet girl.

Hyun-ju looks over to Young-Mi, a tear falling. She had made the love of her life question her love.

She had been at fault for her sweet girl's death. Not 333. Not even the guards. Hyun-ju was the reason.

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing her again, " the shaman says. "A lot sooner than you think."

For the next game... was human chess.

I'm scared.... what do we think?

[solvisun]

tender is the hand.

your hands have a strange clarity, have you been walking among the stars?

dulce maría loynaz, tr. james o’ connor, from absolute solitude: selected poems

cw. angst no happy ending. 1.4k wc. less dialogues.

with you, or rather, through you, tsukishima kei understands how important the hands could be.

before anything else, he takes care of his own. one that’s littered in dried or broken skin, visible scars, rougher palms and long, callous fingers. has the purpose to block to secure his win, with tight, determined fists. and this is how he’s known that to find meaning, doesn’t necessarily have to be rational.

sometimes, the passion comes in the form of a child still believing stars can fall from the sky, or in each night one can pluck the moon and let it glow on the ceiling before they sleep. sometimes, you find love in the most mundane, and incomprehensible ways.

from simpler things like, patting yamaguchi through his anxiety, writing with his penmanship you always ogle in awe—it’s so pretty and neat, you’d mumble under your breath—as well as helping his mother through the kitchen even though he finds them tedious (he can’t admit that he sucks). where the first was to offer support to a friend, the other a basic skill taught since three, and the last his responsibility as a younger sibling. they’re all incredibly common, something that he perhaps could never in his lifetime wonder; who would even notice these things?

the answer arrives at eighteen and he’s holding your hand for the first time on new year’s eve, where there are fireworks in the making inside his melting ribcage, where your palms are pressed warm and— fuck, why are you so soft?

suddenly it becomes so apparent in the face of something new that there’s so much more he can do with the hands, so much more he can learn because of you.

with you, they become something else entirely. in brushing your hair out of your face when you doze off on the couch. in rubbing slow, absentminded circles on your back when you lean against him after a long day. in discerning and memorizing by heart the way you like your drink. adjusting the way he kneads dough when you try baking together. in picking up the softest, warmest gloves for you when winter rolls around.

he used to think that strength was only in how firm his grip was, in how tightly he could hold onto things he’s afraid to lose just to keep it from slipping. but oh, with you, he learns that strength is sometimes weaved in your name, in the feeling of your pulse on your wrist against his thumb when you pass him his glasses, hands lingering on the taste of your tangible presence, in the way he turns goo for no reason other than you call him kei so intimately, in the way he loves without restraint, without any fear of losing.

that the most meaningful victories aren’t about blocking something out—but about letting something in.

at nineteen, and then twenty. he commits himself and permits his hands to become instruments of care, of love. they wipe away stray tears, thread through your hair, adjust the blanket over your shoulders when you’re sick. or when you threaten him to wake you up after 30 minutes to continue your studying, only to grace you a forehead kiss and leave you snoring soundly.

at twenty-one, he almost forgets what life was like before you.

it’s second nature now, the way his hands search for yours, the way he instinctively reaches out—to fix your scarf, brush an eyelash off your cheek, squeeze your fingers when you mumble about a long day. his hands soften overtime, you comment, even though he's still playing volleyball and his skin still bleeds and he's still so humanly and awkwardly tender. you say, as if forever is a thing that exists with you, that he'll always remain soft in your heart.

he wonders when exactly he decided he would marry you. maybe it was the first time you said that to him on a random tuesday, or the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder, or when you sat on the floor with him after a rough game, your shoes and his shoes and all the stuff in your apartment haphazardly thrown everywhere, too tired to clean up tonight, linking your pinkies together in quiet communication. i’m proud of you through and through. i root for you. i love you.

maybe it was always meant to be you.

the ring is in his pocket. has been for months.

but there’s time.

(there’s always time.)

until there wasn’t.

life doesn’t pause for him to find the confidence to be ready—dreaming is nothing compared to having the will to chase it. and he dreams of a life with you, had a future laid out, tucked away in the lines of his palm as if it will preserve you too, he dreams so much that he takes time for granted, and time has come to bite him next.

because a week later, he was kneeling on cold hospital tiles, hands gripping onto yours, desperate, trembling. he wasn’t sure what he was praying to—science, fate, some cruel god—but he was praying, because your fingers were limp in his, and this wasn’t supposed to happen, not now.

he didn’t even notice anything at first. you’re so you—still laughing, still teasing, still fitting against his side like you were meant to be there. but the signs are there. a cough that lingers too long. the way you press your fingers into your temples as if trying to will away the exhaustion. the quiet, tired smiles.

and then there’s your hands.

the ones that have always known him. the ones that traced over his knuckles absentmindedly, the ones that fit so easily in his own. they’re colder now. thinner. your grip not as strong as before.

something in him starts to panic. but you smile, and you kiss the inside of his wrist, and you tell him,

don’t look at me like that, kei.

but how could he not?

when the hospital visits start, it becomes real. and kei, at twenty-one, who is committed to love you and have your tomorrows and maybe forever and hopefully forever, realizes that nothing he does can stop what’s coming. he can hold you. he can lace his fingers through yours. he can press his hand against your back as you sit through test after test, but he can’t fix this.

he asks you anyway.

because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that you are the only person who has ever made him want more. more than just the court, more than just winning, more than just the quiet loneliness he once thought was enough.

he asks. maybe he does it in the hospital room, voice quiet and firm, surprisingly calm despite the quiver of his lips and his dry mouth and tight chest, and cold, shivering fingers. trying to pretend like things are normal. maybe he doesn’t even get the words out, just slides the ring onto your finger with the softest touch and watches the way your eyes widen.

and you smile.

and you kiss him.

and you say yes.

and for a little while, he lets himself believe in forever. in your existence where forever is a thing. in your eyes that held him captive since the fireworks burst his chest. since he was eighteen and navigating how love can be both easy and not.

you grow weaker. your hands—your hands, the ones that have always reached for him, always held him steady—can barely grasp his own anymore. because there are nights when he watches you sleep, watches your chest rise and fall, and prays to a god he doesn’t even believe in to let you stay a little longer.

he wakes up to god’s answer that forever is cruel.

just like that.

and tsukishima kei, who has always known the weight of losing, has never felt anything like this. because no loss on the court, no failed block, no missed point, nothing could ever compare to the unbearable emptiness of his hands without yours in them.

and the ring. the ring is still on your finger. maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t take it off. he lets them. because you said yes. because with you, he learns that he doesn’t have to clench his fist to keep something that’s already his.

he does tighten his grip at some point, through the pool of tears, as if holding on hard enough might somehow bring you back.

the last thing tsukishima kei learns from you is the unbearable, stabbing beauty of hands. they hold things. and they let things go.

pls don’t kill me i’ll write a happier version of this 🥹 if u wish

[covenofagatha]

holy fuck Another Kind of Workout is so hot i spontaneously combusted in the middle of my lecture. i genuinely forgot about that brainworm so now it's hitting me with full force all over again.... god

as a reward for that (holy shit holy shit) and your other recent posts (you've been hard at work dear please rest I'm a little concerned at how fast you write sometimes), in line with what you've replied to me, here's a brainworm inspired by my chat with my art friend:

dom!mommy!reader and sub!desperate!g!p agatha, ft. nudism, exhibitionism, praise, dryhumping, kind of dumbification, defiling of a paintbrush i guess, rio mention i miss my wife tails

teasing agatha at a nude art class. you hold lessons there, and this time you're holding one with a nude subject - you.

you edged her twice this morning before rushing her off to your art class, and she'd followed behind, all desperate and needy.

you don't tell her, and she realises only when you start stripping that she and many others are meant to sketch your naked body. at least you're keeping your panties on. she's flaring with jealousy and possessiveness, not liking how the other students ogle you, not realizing that most of them are too busy getting irritated at the way you keep fidgeting just to tease her.

its when she trails her eyes down that her cock grows embarrassingly hard, because your body is littered with marks. hickey after hickey across your tits, your neck, soft scars from where she'd scratched your neck with her nails while you rode her, and it's like she's reliving every single experience. you can see it in her eyes, in the way she shuffles to put the palette over the throbbing bulge in her pants.

you strike poses - everyone else heeding you no mind, but agatha knows. agatha knows the positions you're taking *very* well. getting more and more desperate with every one, she squeezes her eyes shut, but you laying on your back, back arched, is exactly the image that comes up in her mind. except it's on your shared bed, and she's pounding you relentlessly, while you praise how she fills you up, how she's "such a good girl for mommy", and she's almost certain now that her boxers are ruined.

she curses under her breath when she accidentally rolls her hips against the stool and the tip of her cock brushes against the material. fuck, it feels good. it's not enough, but with how hooded your gaze is, and the ghost of your words from last night echoing in her ears, she's almost already on the edge. you tease her a little more with each pose, eyes always fixed on her, and with the final pose you part your legs in her direction, and she alone sees the way your underwear is positively drenched. it's not her fault, truly, and she strains her clothed bulge against the stool, willing it for just a little more friction.

you watch her carefully. she's blocked by the large canvas for the most part, but if you turn the right angle you can see her palm her dick desperately through her jeans, her eyes practically fucking you already. you motion with your head to her easel carrying a definitely blank canvas, urging her to pick up her brush, and raise an eyebrow when she shakes her head furiously.

your eyes narrow in warning at her, and its perfect timing when your alarm rings to signal that class is over. you hum goodbyes to your friends-slash-students, them sending knowing looks in agatha's direction. you move wordlessly over to her, tutting disapprovingly at her flushed face and blank canvas. she whines softly at your proximity, and you press a chaste kiss at her neck that she shivers at.

slotting yourself behind her, you lean over her, your pebbles tits brushing into her back and she squirms again. "i thought you were gonna be good for me, baby," you huff gently, the puff of breath making her eyes flit down at the wet spot that's seen through her pants. "couldn't draw anything, darling? couldn't even cum on your own, could you? my dumb little girl. need mommy to help you for everything, don't you?" you say, reaching over to pick her paintbrush from between her trembling fingers, from the hands that are gripping the front of the stool so tightly her knuckles have gone white.

the proximity drives her insane, and she whimpers out loud when you cup her cock, sliding the paintbrush horizontally under it. it forms a little T, and you have to slap a hand over her mouth so the last few people filing out don't hear. the cool touch of the plastic drives her insane, and with your soft coos of "so desperate, baby, let mommy empty the pretty thoughts from your head," and "just move, sweeteheart, feel it roll under your wet cock, you're doing so well for mommy, yeah?"

the thrill lies of course in the fact that to anyone who's looking from the entrance, it looks like you're just guiding her in her brush strokes. but the moment they step to the side, they'd see agatha frantically rocking her hips against the wooden paintbrush, your hands snaking up her sides as you take a dip into yourself and spread your sticky wetness across her body, her head bent as muffled moans and whines of "mommy" erupt from her mouth.

a familiar voice calls you, and you look up, nipping at her neck gently in apology, before patting her shoulder and dusting yourself off. you tell her to keep going, her eyes widening because if rio vidal sees her in this state, she'll never live it down. but at the end of the day, she's your dumb, obedient girl, and she obliges.

rio shows you her sketches of you, and you sing her praises just to rile agatha up even more. the turning point is when, in the midst of clearing up after looking at Rio's work, you bend over, and agatha gets a first hand view of your dripping cunt.

Rio's only taken a few steps away from you when she hears a loud keen, then a loud, wet splat of agatha finally painting her canvas. she snorts in amusement, and you wink at her before turning back to deal with your silly doll, who was most definitely not supposed to cum without your permission. she looks at you with the glassiest eyes, and you know you're in for a treat.

i hope you enjoyed this lol it's filled my mind all day, and now i will go home and stuff a finger or two in me when i re read the workout fic again. god i love your mind and your writing so much. it's been very nice chatting with you (and i will continue as long as you let me) but I'm always happy to return to my roots as a perpetual horndog. as always though, please don't feel obliged to write this as a request and do take care 💜

-lots of love, worm anon

I am SO glad you liked because god I haven't been able to stop thinking about that brainworm since you sent it

Sometimes the mania just hits and my brain is like writewritewrite but eventually it chills out and I take a few days off but I am taking care of myself thank you for the concern 💜

I VERY much enjoyed this (and I really do need to work on more agathario x reader there's just too much in my mind but I will get to them I promise) I am OBSESSED with Agatha cumming on the canvas and now I'm thinking about her turning that in with her stains/smell still on it and then reader getting all desperate and touching herself because they are both perverts and I stand by that

I LOVE your mind too and I also really enjoy chatting with you and I hope you have a great rest of the day/night (timezones are hard)

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man -Part 2 Oneshot

One of my lovely little darlings asked for a part 2 of this one. Hope y'all like it! Word count: 4834 Warnings: talk of past abuse, scarring

Part 1

“What’s that?” Bucky asked as he walked into Y/N’s room.

“Another letter from my parents,” she sighed, handing it over to him when he sat next to her on her bed.  

He read through it quickly, then scowled.  “Jesus, what is their problem?”

“I’ve been seen with the Avengers, Buck, which must mean I’m rich now, and that obviously means I owe them something since they are the reason I’m alive,” she scoffed, rubbing her eyes harshly with her fingers.  

He crumpled the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket before leaning forward and hugging her tight.  “You don’t owe them shit, babycakes, you know that right?” he said reassuringly.

Y/N smiled as she hugged him back.  “I know,” she said quietly.  “I just wish they would do what they’ve done for twenty years and just leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed heavily, then pulled back to look at her.  “Ignore them.  There’s nothing they can do to hurt you now.”  She nodded and leaned in to kiss him.  He playfully bit her lower lip and she whined at him, making him laugh.  “Come on, let’s go down to the pool with everybody else,” he said.  “The party has already started.”

Y/N’s anxiety spiked at that, but she kept a neutral face.  “Okay, um, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right down,” she said nonchalantly.

Bucky’s eyes slightly narrowed at her, waiting a beat to see if he could read what was wrong, before he smiled wider and nodded.  “Alright, don’t take too long!” he said, kissing her once more before getting up and leaving her room.

Y/N waited for his footsteps to go further down the hallway before she let out a shaky breath.  She hadn’t worn a tank top or anything revealing enough to show her back in years, and even during sex with Bucky she was always on her back, making it so he wouldn’t be able to see or feel it if he tried to wrap his arms under her.  How was she going to hide it from the entire team?

***

Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Yelena were in the pool, splashing each other until Steve and Bucky raced each other across the pool to see who was faster.  With the super soldier serum in their blood it was definitely impressive to watch.  Y/N was sitting on one of the beach chairs with Wanda next to her while Tony and Bruce were grilling burgers further away.

“Aren’t you hot?” Wanda asked her after a moment.  “It’s 92 degrees and you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N waved her off.  “It’s a white t-shirt, and it’s not that hot.”

“Says the girl who is literally sweating through her hair,” Wanda said, reaching over and swiping off a bead of sweat from Y/N’s temple.  “Come on, just take it off, you’ll feel better.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Y/N said, taking a long sip of her water.

“Babycakes, come on in!” Bucky called to her from the pool.  

“I’m good, thank you!” she replied, trying to keep the air of nonchalance in her voice even as her frustration grew.  

Why won’t she come in?

What’s going on?

Does she not feel good about herself?

Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her sunglasses hiding the tightness around her eyes.  She was panicking, which made it so her mental blocks weren’t as strong as usual and she would hear people’s thoughts again.  She heard Bucky pull himself out of the pool, water dripping heavily from him as he walked over to her chair and sat on it by her legs.  “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly as he leaned over her.  “Why won’t you come in?”

“I don’t feel like it,” she said quickly.  “Just wanna get some sun.”

He frowned at her, then looked at Wanda.  “Don’t ask me,” Wanda said, throwing her hands up.

Bucky leaned in closer to her ear so no one else could hear.  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off, Buck,” Y/N said, silently begging him to understand.

“Why not?  You look amazing,” he asked, looking shocked at her confession.  

“Please just trust me,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking at him.  “Please?”

He looked surprised, his frown deepening, but he nodded.  “Okay,” he said simply before giving her a quick kiss and getting up from the chair.  She took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself as she turned on her electric fan and fanned her face.  

A little while later as she was standing by the other end of the pool after eating a burger, she was sipping on a cocktail when Sam came up out of nowhere and lifted her off her feet, heading toward the pool.

“Sam!  Stop!” she yelled, trying not to let her sonic scream overtake her voice.  “Don’t!”

“Oh come on, Y/N, have some fun!” he said, laughing as she kicked and squirmed in his hold.  The others started laughing at his antics, but Y/N was freaking out.  No, please, not this, not now…

He suddenly maneuvered her into a position at the edge of the pool so that he grabbed her shirt and lifted it over herself before dropping her into the water.  Y/N squealed, trying to twist her body as she hit the water.  When she resurfaced she spat out the water that rushed into her mouth and nose before glaring at Sam.  “Fuck you Sam!” she screamed, part of her ability slipping out and making the water ripple toward him.  It splashed his feet and legs, making him laugh harder as she tried backstroke swimming to the opposite side of the pool away from him.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Bucky said, swimming toward her with a smile.  

“I’m not staying,” Y/N said, keeping her back beneath the water as best as she could, facing him so he couldn’t see.

“What?  Y/N–” he started.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice carried over from her chair.  “What’s on your back?”

Y/N stiffened, shutting her eyes tight.  “Nothing,” she said loudly as she continued trying to get away.

Bucky frowned.  “What?  What’s on your back?” he asked, trying to swim around her.  

“No, Bucky, no,” she said, holding her hands out to him.  Her constant protests were getting the attention of everybody by the pool, all of them watching on with frowns on their faces as well.  “Just let me leave.”

“Okay, you’re scaring me now, babycakes,” he said, his eyes conveying his worry.  He got close to her and reached for her shoulders.  “Just let me see–”

“NO!” she yelped as she turned her sharply.  The second he saw it he froze, his fingers tightening on her shoulders.  She held her breath, hanging her face into her hands in shame.

“What is it—oh my god,” Wanda said when she walked around the edge of the pool to see.  “Y/N…what…how did you get that?”

She could hear the rest of them all coming over to look, each of them reacting with some type of gasp or sound of surprise.  “Y/N,” Bucky whispered.  “What is this?”

“Scars,” she whispered, pulling away from his touch.  “Please let me go.”

His hands fell away, and she swam to the side of the pool with the stairs and climbed out.  She ran into the building without looking back, her tears pouring down her face as she raced to her room barefoot in a swim top and short shorts.  She didn’t want it to happen like this.  Of course she wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, especially from Bucky, but she couldn’t stand the fact that this was how everybody found out.  When she reached her room she locked the door and instructed Friday to keep it locked before going to her bathroom and turning on the shower.  She turned the water cold to try and cool down her feverish skin, the scars feeling like they were burning along her back.  She washed off the sunscreen smell and let the water relax her as she cried heavily.  Another lovely reminder of her parents’ anger and transgressions, permanently etched into her skin.

***

“It’s been four days and she won’t come out,” Bucky explained to her uncle Teddy as they walked down the hallway to her room.  “She won’t talk to anyone, not even me.”

Teddy sighed heavily when they reached her door then turned to Bucky.  “Thank you for calling me,” he said quickly.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky nodded, looking at her door sadly before walking back down the hallway.  Teddy turned to the door and knocked.  “Y/N?  It’s Ted–”

The door ripped open and Y/N gaped at him.  “Teddy?” she cried, then threw herself into his arms.  “Teddy, what are you doing here?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.

“Your boyfriend called me,” he said with a sad chuckle.  “What’s this about you holing yourself away in here?”

Y/N let him go and gave him a pitiful sniffle.  “He saw,” she said quietly.  He frowned but nodded.  “They all saw,” she said, trying to bite back more tears.

“Come on, let’s talk,” Teddy said, pushing her back into her room and closing the door behind him.  “You look a mess, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed, flopping back down on her bed with him sitting next to her.  “I just couldn’t face it.  The looks they all gave me,” she said, her voice starting to raise in pitch as her emotions overwhelmed her again.  

“Well they were going to find out eventually anyway, right?” Teddy reasoned.  “What did you expect to do exactly?  Hide away a huge part of yourself, even from him?”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “It was working for a little while.”

“Sounds like you still have a bit of therapy to get through,” Teddy joked halfheartedly.  “You’re surrounded by the most extraordinary but traumatized people in the world.  They of all people would not judge you for what has happened in your past and the literal and metaphorical scars you hold from that.  Why did you feel the need to hide them?”

Y/N knew he was right.  Everyone on the team had been through some type of shit in their lives, some worse than her, especially Bucky.  Why was she so afraid?  “I guess I just wasn’t ready to face it myself,” she said finally.  “They’re just a constant reminder that I wasn’t…wanted.  That I was wrong.  Bad.  Abnormal.”

“Do you think I’m bad?” Teddy asked.

“What?  No, of course not!” Y/N retorted, looking at him incredulously.

“Am I wrong for having my ability?” he continued.  “Am I abnormal?  Unwanted?”

“No!  How could you say that?” she frowned.

“Because I feel the same about you,” Teddy said, reaching for and holding her hands.  “You aren’t bad, you’re good.  There’s nothing wrong with you for having a mutated gene that gives you abilities, just different.  Does that make us abnormal?  Sure.  But so what?  None of that means that you aren’t appreciated, wanted and loved.”  He pulled her into a hug, which she quickly reciprocated.  “Bucky wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t love and want you, scars and all.”

That made her cry all over again.  She had really sold him and the others short.  They had shown no signs of fear, hesitation or hate towards her the entire time she had been here, so why would a few scars make any difference?  “Thank you,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“Anytime,” Teddy said, his teasing tone coming back in his voice.  “But before you talk to everybody, you need to shower.  You stink.”

“Teddy!”

***

Y/N was sitting on a lone chair facing the rest of the Avengers who were all sitting on the couches and chairs across the common room, watching her intently.  “Um, firstly, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she started, wringing her hands in her lap.  “And secondly, I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Wanda said quickly.  The others all nodded in agreement.

“I appreciate that, but I think I do,” Y/N said, giving them all a small smile.  She took a deep breath then stood.  “So, uh, this is what I was hiding,” she said, unzipping her jacket and turning around.  She had a sports bra on so she wouldn’t be completely naked, but she shrugged the jacket off for them all to see.  There was a chorus of gasps and sounds of surprise.  Y/N let them look for a long moment before putting her jacket on and zipping it before she turned to sit back down and look at them.  Wanda was crying, Yelena’s frown was the deepest she’d ever seen, and Peter, Sam, Tony, Bruce and Steve were all upset.  But the worst was Bucky’s look of despair, a look that she’d only ever seen when he was coming out of his worst nightmares.

“My parents didn’t know how to handle my abilities when they manifested themselves,” she explained.  “I was seven when I first heard my mom’s thoughts.  I caught her in a lie, and she freaked out when she realized it was because I could hear her.  Then as she was spanking me I screamed, and it shattered the kitchen window.”  She swallowed, trying to not let it all make her cry again.  “I tried not to let the constant voices get to me, but I didn’t know how to tune them out like I do now.  My dad couldn’t handle the fact that I had inherited the mutant gene, that I was a ‘freak like his brother,’” she quoted with a scoff.  “After a pretty bad day he lost it on me, and hit me with his belt until I stopped screaming.”  She sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes before smiling.  “They shipped me off to Uncle Teddy so he could deal with me, and uh…long story short, I’m scarred, physically and mentally, and it sucks but it is what it is.  And I’m sorry I wasn’t trusting enough in all of you to be understanding about it–”

Wanda stood and walked over to her, kneeling down and hugging her tight.  “It wasn’t any of our business until you felt it was, dearest.  I’m sorry we all pushed you, we just didn’t know.  But we should have accepted your refusal from the start.  I’m sorry.”

Y/N hugged her back.  “Thank you.”

They each approached her with hugs and apologies, Sam especially feeling horrible for being the one to force her to show her scars, but Y/N felt lighter than she had in years at the way they all accepted it and didn’t judge or treat her any differently than normal.  Last to approach her was Bucky, who silently took her hand and pulled her out of the common room and towards her room.  Y/N let him lead her, knowing that they would need to have their own conversation about everything.  He closed her door behind her when she walked in then locked the door, and turned to face her.  Tears were brimming in his eyes and she panicked at the sight.

“Bucky,” she said, reaching up and cupping his face.  “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.  “I’m sorry I didn’t see, that I wasn’t someone you felt safe enough with to talk to about it–”

“No, oh my god, no, Buck,” Y/N shook her head fervently.  “I do feel safe with you.  I do trust you.  I just wasn’t ready yet, do you hear me?”  Bucky bit his lower lip to bite back more crying, sniffling as she wiped his tears away.  “I love you,” she confessed.

His eyes widened at that.  They hadn’t said it to each other yet, but Y/N knew what she felt and didn’t want to keep anything else from him.  He released his lip and his lips trembled as he smiled at her.  “I love you, too, babycakes,” he breathed.  He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, then leaned down and kissed her gently.  Y/N let herself melt into the kiss, but after a minute or two Bucky’s hands shifted down her back to the front of her jacket.  His fingers gripped the zipper and he pulled away to look at her.  “May I see?” he asked, a look of sadness and determination in his eyes.

Y/N nodded and took a deep breath.  Bucky getting up close and personal with her scars had worried her before, but now she knew he was just curious and wanting to make it better somehow for her.  He nodded then pulled the zipper down slowly, helping her pull it off and letting it fall to the floor before his fingers traced up her stomach to her sports bra.  She nodded permission, and he helped her take it off, leaving her top naked.  He kissed her again, pushing her back towards her bed until the back of her legs hit the mattress.  His fingers pulled her bottoms down and off, then pushed her to lay down on the bed.  “Turn over for me,” he said.  

She took a deep breath to steady her heartbeat, then turned herself over to lay on her stomach.  There was a beat of silence, then Bucky’s flesh fingers touched the base of her spine where the scars began.  Most of them were small gashes from the belt buckle and prong, but there were two long ones that stretched along her spine from the length of the leather belt hitting her skin just right so that it made the skin split.  His fingers traced along those two, the worst ones that had stretched her skin and pinkened it.  She heard his clothes jostling for a moment and then the bed dipped as he climbed up, kneeling between her legs.  Both of his hands were now on her back, almost massaging along her spine, until he leaned down and he kissed the first small scar near her ass.

Bucky’s kisses traveled over her back, making sure he touched and kissed every scar reverently before moving on to the next one.  It was overwhelming for Y/N, a fresh wave of tears silently falling down her face.  He was being so gentle, so sweet, and she couldn’t help the emotional reaction she was having.  She took another shaky breath as he finally reached the top of her longest scar in between her shoulder blades.  

“My pretty babycakes,” he whispered against her skin.  “I’m so sorry you weren’t loved the way you deserve.  Thank you for trusting me.”  His hands spread her legs further apart, his metal fingers moved in between her legs, his fingers slipping through her slit slowly.  “Thank you for loving me,” he continued.  “Can I make love to you like this, Y/N?”

She turned her head to look back at him.  His eyes were focused on her pussy, then glancing up at her back until he met her gaze.  “You want to see them while we…?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning over so he could kiss her again.  “You accepted me, scars and all.  Let me return the favor.”  Her breath hitched, her chin wobbling as she bit back a sob.  She nodded with a small smile and he smiled back at her.  “Thank you.”

His first two metal fingers dipped inside her, making her moan and her head flop back onto the bed.  She didn’t realize she had gotten so wet just from his kisses across her back, but she had, and as he worked her up she couldn’t stop the tears as she thought about how wonderful this man of hers was.   Bucky pumped his fingers in and out of her slowly, taking his sweet time in pulling any and all sounds he could from her until her legs started shaking.  “That’s it, babycakes.”

She stiffened after a moment, then her body fell off that last precipice and she came, a small gush coating his fingers as she moaned into the blankets, her fingers gripping them tightly.  Bucky’s fingers fucked her through it until she stopped shaking, then he pulled them out and she could hear him lick his fingers clean.  “So good,” he mumbled.  “Get on your knees for me.”  Y/N struggled to shift up on her knees, leaning on her elbows as the side of her face rested against the bed.  “Aw, still sensitive?” he asked teasingly, then she felt the tip of his cock rub through her pussy lips. 

She jiggled her ass at him, and he chuckled, his flesh hand giving her right ass cheek a quick smack.  “Good girl,” he said, then started pushing in.  Y/N moaned into the bed, her legs slightly spreading even more to be able to take him in.  She would never get used to this, just how perfect he felt inside her, but now in this position he felt even deeper somehow, making her eyes roll back.  

“Buckyyyy…” she groaned when he was balls deep.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned with her.  “God, as much as I love the way we’ve always done it, this is…fuck,” he huffed, his hips trembling with how far inside he felt.  “This is different.”  She nodded, her arms moving above her head to grip at the blankets more firmly.  “And seeing your pretty ass raised like this for me,” he said, smacking her ass cheeks again, making her squeak.  “I didn’t know what I was missing.  And these,” his fingers traced up her scars again, his hips starting a steady pace in and out of her, “proving just how strong and good and beautiful my baby is.  I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Y/N was overcome with emotion, her tears falling harder and her breaths heavy with sobs.  “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, keeping up the pace as he leaned over and across her back, positioning himself so he was basically mounting her.  “Let it all out while I love you.  I’ve got you.  I’ve got you.”

It felt like he was everywhere, his face tucked into the back of her neck, his huffed breaths heating her skin and his deep, low voice in her ear and vibrating from his chest onto her back, his metal arm holding around her waist while his flesh arm kept him up so he couldn’t crush her.  Feeling his front against her scarred back was somehow relieving, healing, like the skin to skin contact stitched together those last few pieces of her heart from when she was a child.  Her orgasm was fast approaching again, her legs shaking under him as he fucked her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every little thing.  Her mental block slipped and she could hear him…

My strong girl.

My pretty babycakes.

“Atta girl, cum on me,” he said, kissing and licking her shoulder and the top of the longest scar.  “I can feel you.  Let go.  Let it all go, babycakes.”

Y/N’s breathing picked up even faster, her fingers scratching at the bed until the pressure built up impossibly high, then she was cumming again.  She squealed loudly as her pussy constricted around him, another gush spilling from her as she shook beneath him.  Bucky whimpered at how tight she was around his cock, fucking deep into her a few more times until he stiffened and came, his hips trembling harder as he let it all out inside of her.

They sat like that for another minute or two as their combined highs calmed down.  Bucky nuzzled his face into her hair before pulling himself up. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself out of her then turned her over so he could see her.  Y/N felt like jelly as she slumped to her back, her eyes feeling heavy as she looked up at Bucky.  He smirked at the look on her face, leaning down to kiss her deeply.  She lazily kissed him back, and when his lips moved from her mouth and down her neck she moved herself any way he wanted her to as he kissed across her skin.  “Mmh, sweetness,” she moaned lightly.

Bucky kissed back up to her face, kissing her cheek chastely before wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks.  “I hope those are good tears,” he said quietly.  

“Yes,” Y/N quickly nodded.  “Yes.  Thank you Bucky.  That was incredibly…healing,” she said, sniffling before any more emotions could overwhelm her again.

He gave her a wide smile.  “Please talk to me if you’re struggling, Y/N. Please don’t hide things from me.  Nothing you say or do could make me judge or hate you.  I love you too much,” he joked, nipping at her bottom lip.  

She huffed a laugh at him, running her fingers through his hair affectionately.  “I will, I promise,” she agreed.  “I love you, sweetness.”

***

Bucky sat at the small kitchen table in the old house, waiting as the sounds of bustling movement came from the garage.

“Harry, stop being such an idiot!” 

“Fuck off, Julia!”

Their shrill voices carried through the hallway, making Bucky grimace as he pointed the gun in his right hand, keeping it visible on top of the table for them to see as they walked in.

“How do you fuck up grabbing the bread I asked you to get?  It’s the same bread we’ve bought for thirty years!” Julia yelled as she walked through the door, her arms heavy laden with grocery bags.  She didn’t see him at first, plopping the bags on the floor before straightening herself up with a sigh, and as she turned to walk back out of the kitchen she did a double take of him.  Her eyes widened, and just as she opened her mouth to scream Bucky held up the gun, his eyebrows raising in a dare.  She cut herself off, her mouth shutting fast as she froze on the spot.

Harry walked through the door a moment later with a few bags in his hands.  “Jesus, woman, will you just leave me alo–” he froze when he saw Bucky, glancing at Julia before dropping his bags.  “What the fuck?!” he yelled.  “Who are you?”

“Shut up and sit down,” Bucky snarled, cocking the gun toward the last empty seat at the table.  Harry looked defiant but fearful, his jaw ticking as he slowly walked forward and sat down.  Bucky could see Julia inching towards the sink.  “I already grabbed that gun earlier,” he said to her.  “And you could try the knife block, but it won’t end well for either of you.”  Julia froze again, her eyes staying comically wide.  Bucky focused back on Harry.  “I’m not here to kill you,” he said.

Harry’s frown deepened.  “Then what do you want?  We don’t have any money.”

“Right, you’re just trying to get it from your daughter,” Bucky said, revealing his left arm as he let it fall on the table with a heavy thud that made a crack in the tabletop.  Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open and Julia whimpered behind him as they recognized him.  “Let me just make something abundantly clear,” he continued.  “You will not contact her again.  No calls, no emails, no more pathetic letters,” he said, unfurling his closed metal fist and letting the crumpled letter he’d taken fall on the table.  “She owes you nothing.  Don’t you ever bother her or interrupt her happiness again.  Do as you have done for the past 20 years, and leave her alone.”

“You have no right–” Harry started.

*BANG*

Julia screamed, cowering in the corner of the kitchen while Harry sat shaking, breathing heavily as blood trickled down from where the top of his left ear had been grazed.  Bucky glared at him, pointing the gun more toward his face.  “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked dangerously.  Harry shook his head fast.  “Answer me,” Bucky grumbled.  

“N-n-no,” Harry stammered.

“No, what?” Bucky asked, tilting his head at him.

“No s-sir,” Harry said, his chin wobbling as his eyes brimmed with tears.

Bucky glanced at Julia, who quickly nodded and held her hands up.  “No sir,” she cried.

He glared at them both for another moment before nodding.  He stood from the table, putting his gun away before walking toward the door they had come through.  He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at Julia.  “If I ever even hear of either of you again, I’ll end you.  Slowly,” he warned, his metal arm whirring as he clenched his fist.  Julia sniffled sadly, nodding again.  Bucky huffed a laugh at how pathetic they were, then walked out of the house.  If there was anything he could do to protect his babycakes, he would do it.  

[finemadeline]

𝙰 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢

Rating: G

Words: 3.3k

Description: Curiosity killed the cat. (But satisfaction brought it back)

Thank you so much to @bi-writes for being the inspiration of this, please check their account out!

You were nervous. Bile built into the back of your throat anytime your mind drifted away from the preparations, your hands fidgety the moment you put a decoration down. You paced around, making sure everything was in place for tonight.

Simon’s birthday.

Something you should’ve never found out about, most likely. Your inquisitive hands and far more inquisitive mind would get you in trouble, definitely. But when you opened his side of the dresser looking for something of his to wear, a small reminder of him while he was deployed, and saw Simon Riley in all caps, signed by a doctor from a hospital in Manchester, you knew.

Simon’s birthday.

An event long forgotten, let alone celebrated. Your curiosity was first piqued when his age would change at random times of the year. 33 two years ago, in May. 34 last year in October. And this year, a definite 36 in December.

A winter baby. Fitting for him, you think. All rosy cheeks and pale skin. Scarred, and perfect. Perfect. Ghost was perfect. In every shape and every form, he was perfect. And he deserved this.

The thought of a smaller, more wide-eyed Simon scrunching his face at the cold made you smile. Sent a sense of calamity through you, anxiety forgotten for a second. His rosy cheeks rosier, honeyed-eyes staring at the snow covered ground with a scowl on his face. Clothes likely a bit too thin to withstand the bite of the frigid air.

A more reserved, quiet part of you thought he deserved this too.

Months of preparation went into this very day. British recipes tested every time he was gone, and the decorations purchased in August. The bolded words “BOGO” all too tempting to you. Secretly testing out new baking tips to get the perfect dessert in the kitchen he got you only a year ago, to have the perfect day. The recipes were perfected in September, and the dress was bought in October. Perhaps you were getting too ahead of yourself, but you couldn’t help it.

When he prepared for work this morning, you couldn’t help but bite your lips anxiously as you lay in bed, absentmindedly staring at where he stood just moments prior. Not noticing his heavy footsteps coming closer to you.

“Go’ somethin’ on ‘ur mind, love?” His voice mumbles quietly, tiredness still present in his voice. Of course, Simon would notice your nervousness. Too attuned to you to miss anything. He’d been watching you, as always, trying to gauge your mood.

You look up at him as his thumb sweeps your lip, pulling it from beneath your teeth, and pulling you closer to press chaste kisses on your face.

You shake your head no, leaning into his touch. “You’ll be here at 7 tonight?”

Simon hums into his kisses, leaving one last kiss on your nose before pulling away. “Should be. Y’know ‘ll text if I’m caugh’ up.”

You stare up at him and trace the cords along his arms, silently appreciating the bulk there. “Are you off tomorrow?”

Simon’s head tilts to the left, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Y’miss me?”

Your lip twitches slightly, as a puff of air escapes you. “Always.”

Simon hums again, his chest puffing slightly at your answer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After you sent him off with a few more kisses and a packed lunch, smiling at yourself that you’ve played everything off thus far. Secrets were never a thing between you and Simon.

You quietly finished icing the number thirty-six on the tart, listening to the playlist you created for the night one last time, not one song out of order, as your bare feet padded through the kitchen. You’d put on your heels before Simon came home, you remembered. His favorite pair.

Humming quietly, you reached down placed it on the table and glanced at the window absentmindedly, taking note of the fresh coat of snow on the ground.

Your head whipped back when you saw a familiar pair of headlights pull into the driveway.

Fuck.

You shot up, rushing to finish the last bit of preparations. He’s right on time, just as you expected, but it never felt so sudden.

Tripping over your own feet, you hastily turn off the lights leaving the lit candles to be the only light to guide Simon to you. Slipping your heels on quickly as you turn on the music a little louder, you stand anxiously in the dining room waiting for Simon to come in. Time drawled on, dragging with its feet behind itself. Was Simon taking his time or were your thoughts just all that consuming?

Hearing the car door slam shut, you wait with bated breath as you hear the front door open.

The first thing Simon notices is the song. Your couple song, you’ve deemed it. He hums contently as the music plays, letting his shoulders drop. You must be in a good mood.

Then, the smell. Instead of the sharp lavender and saccharine vanilla candles, his senses were filled with warm shepherd's pie, and fried fish. Crispy potatoes and a salty smell reminiscent of a Sunday dinner’s malted gravy. It aroused his senses and made his eyes close in comfort.

But the most noticeable, the most patent, was the buttery crust and encompassing smell of toasted coconut, and tart raspberry jam - A Manchester tart.

Something his mother made for him.

Fuck, he hasn’t had that since he was a boy. Since his-

Simon hesitates, his head turning to the only lit room in the house. It coaxes him closer as a warm familiarity surrounds him, making his hands itchy and teeth ache in his gums. He swallows slowly, an all too foreign, long forgotten feeling encapsulating him.

You wait for him to come closer, tart shaking slightly in your hands. As he walks in slowly his gaze follows the scene. The meticulously crafted food, all his favorites, to the long thin candles illuminating the carefully crafted and placed decorations. The table was adorned with dark flowers of varying colors and little trinkets, with two plates ready to be filled. Then you. Skin tinted slightly orange, the candlelight’s handiwork, and wearing his favorite color. Even his favorite heels. You look perfect, he thinks. Beautiful. Ethereal.

He stares, holding his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to avoid the heavy feeling in his chest and the even heavier lump growing in his throat.

The silence is deafening, as you stare into each other's eyes, words from Simon still unspoken. You fidget slightly before placing the tart down and grabbing Ghost’s hand, leading him to the table.

“Here…” you sit Simon down before wrangling your pets together so the whole family can be there. Silly party hats atop each of their heads, the youngest one not even attempting to whack it off. Perhaps she knew how special the day was. How important it was to both of you. You then placed yours and grinned as you earned a chuff from Simon. That was something. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely displeased with this.

After lighting the candles you hold your two cats in your hands as your dog sits obediently next to Ghost, placing her head in his lap, almost sensing the emotion pouring from him. You kiss his cheek, the color of your lip gloss staining it, before you sing softly to him.

You wait a bit after finishing and finally glance at Simon who still hasn’t uttered a word, or looked away from the candles illuminating the numbers thirty-six meticulously piped to the best of your ability atop the decimated coconut.

“Simon..?”

Then, you notice. Misty eyes and cheeks damp with tears. Heavy, fat tears that haven’t been shed in years. Tears that stung his eyes, and made them red. Tears that dripped down his face, onto his hands that were clenching each other tightly. You pause before placing another soft kiss on his cheek, setting your cats down to stoke the back of his neck, your fingers cording through his hair. You hesitate to touch his face, but your heart immediately swells when he leans into it, his hand moving to place itself over yours.

You bite your lip, your own tears forming at the sight. When he leans into your touch you feel the vulnerability in it. The softness.

“Too much?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb along his cheek to gather the tears still falling.

He swallows, taking a second to gather himself before attempting to speak, “Wha’-“ His mouth shuts as soon as he opens it. Voice too ridden with emotion, heart three sizes too big in his chest. If he could, he would’ve told you this is all he needed. All he could ever wish for. Perhaps his wish would be a ring to fall onto his lap, already made to fit your finger.

Your eyes soften, noticing his accent is thicker when his emotions are too. You pull your hand from his cheek, his hand in yours, and kiss each of his knuckles gently.

“After we can take a bath, or watch one of your favorite movies… whatever you want.” You say quietly, eyeing him to gauge his emotions. When he finally turns to look at you, you pause. Pinned to your seat. You hold his gaze for a little longer before looking away, drawing little figures on his hand.

“What…?”

Simon moves, pushing farther away from the table as he moves to place one hand on your hip, the other on your arm, pulling you closer.

“C’mere.” He speaks in a tone so quiet, your heart clenches. When you look at him again it pounds harder in your chest.

You let Simon tug you into him, sitting atop one of his thighs as he wraps his arms around you. You feel him burying his face into your neck, his hands moving to grip you a little tighter and pull impossibly closer.

Simon hadn’t even remembered it was his birthday. It was a normal day for him, really. Waking up to you, then paperwork, and a meeting afterward if necessary. No training with privates today, thankfully. Then home, back to you again. He hadn’t expected this. Couldn’t even remember the last time something was this meticulously planned for him if it wasn’t a deployment. Couldn’t remember the last time a birthday dinner was made for him, let alone celebrated. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted a Manchester Tart.

He inhaled deeply, his breath coming out as a shudder. He nuzzled his face into the nook of your neck, hoping for something to ground him. To take the fuzzy feeling out of his chest, and ease the lump in his throat. He was a December baby, he remembered. All stuffy nosed and rosy cheeked. Clothes too thin for the weather.

A small part of him craved this. Needed it.

He kept himself nuzzled into you, watching as the candle wax slowly dripped onto his tart. When you pulled away from him he groaned in protest.

“Here, love…”You shuffle a little more, giving him more space, as you pull the cake a little closer, smiling when you watch him finally bend down, blowing out his candles.

You clap your hands together and smile, turning up the music a little more before moving to grab serving tongs and spoons, humming softly as the soft music fills the room.

He watched as you filled his plate with heaping amounts of food, with extra fish and chips, satisfactory for a man his size. Your rambles filled his ears as you talk about perfecting recipes and testing out new foods to make them perfect for tonight.

Even if he came home to an empty table tonight would still be perfect, he thinks. Perfect because you’re here.

You quickly grab a beer, some Manchester Lager that he spoke briefly of in the past, and he bites the side of his mouth. He can tell how much thought you put into tonight. His eyes water again at the thought.

You watch with a smile as he grabs the plate, and reach to grab your own spoon, pausing when he brings a bite of shepherd's pie to your lips instead of his. You notice his eyes, watery and desperate, and bend to take the bite before you move to fill your spoon, holding it out to him. Simon takes the bite, eyes still on yours, as familiar flavors coat his tongue, making him savor it a little longer.

“‘S perfect.”

You smile, moving to fill up your spoon again happily.

“Really? You like it?”

Simon hums, taking your spoonful again. “Jus’ like.. like my mums.”

You smile softly at that and place your spoon down, moving to caress his shoulder instead. A soft giggle escapes your lips when Simon pulls you into his lap again, his attention rapt on feeding you. Expressing the overflowing love he had for you in some way. He feeds you spoonful after spoonful, squeezing your hips when quiet giggles escape your mouth as he presses kisses to your skin. You feed him too, heartwarming at the sight of Simon taking bites of food from your hand, relishing each one.

When you turn to cut the tart, a big slice for him and a smaller one for you, he watches you carefully, his eyes softening.

“‘Aven’t had one o’ these in a long time.”

You hum, nodding. “The internet said it wasn’t something people eat often…” You place the slice in front of him and hand him a clean spoon, laying your head on his shoulder. “…I think it’s fitting though.”

Ghost hums, caressing you, as he tries to keep composed. You don’t even know what you’ve done. How sentimental it is for him. Don’t know his mother would make him a tart for him and his brother’s birthday when she could. You even placed two cherries on his slice, like she would. You glance up when Simon clears his throat, his attention never wavering from the dessert. Grabbing his spoon, you take a chunk from yours and take a small bite before placing the spoon in front of Simon’s lips.

“I think you’ll like it,” you say quietly, words as sugary sweet as the tart in front of him. He leans down and takes the bite, eyes closing in the intimacy of it all. When he opens his eyes he feels his heart open with it. Raw and vulnerable, beating faster as he looks at you.

Familiarity. Overwhelming love. Home.

His mother. His brother, his nephew, and now you.

“Did well on it, love.”

You smile widely, getting another spoonful to feed him.

When you finish, Simon’s stomach full and his heart fuller, you let him pull you to the bathroom gently, already moving to take off your clothes.

You lean closer as he presses your exposed skin as he does, cooing in your ear about how perfect you are, how thankful he is.

You then turned to him, taking off his layers, and breaking down his walls until the rawest most vulnerable version of him stood in front of you. And you loved him all the same.

As he sits you on the cool counter, nuzzling himself in your neck, you tap his arm to grab his attention.

“I have something for you..” you say, the sound of the bath filling with water filling your ears.

Simon hums, nuzzling into you before pulling away. “Don’ you think you’ve done enough?”

You smile softly, your fingers running over his knuckles. “No, never. Not when it comes to you.”

As he moved to kiss your cheek, you grab the small black box from the pocket of your clothes, and hand it to him timidly, watching him carefully to gauge his reaction.

He pauses as you place it in his hand, taking note of the intricate details. A small black box, with silver letters carefully engraved on the top. As he opens the box, his eyes soften and his tongue finds the roof of his mouth again.

A promise ring. A simple silver band, with engravings on the inside. You move to grab the matching ring in your other pocket and place it on your ring finger to show him yours.

Simon looks at your hand, and brings it to his lips, pressing kisses along your ring finger. “Think you like t’see me cry, sweet’eart.”

You puff out a laugh at his remark, rolling your tongue in your mouth. “It’s a shared interest, it seems.”

He hums, smiling, and moves to put it on, comparing the two, before grabbing your hand tightly.

Nothing could describe this feeling.

Love so pure, and so deep it makes his heart heavy in his chest. Makes his eyes flutter close, and all he could see is you. Perfect, ethereal you. For all he knew, that could be all he would see. For as long as he could, that was all he wanted to see.

He moves your hand to his lips, pressing another kiss to it, as you ushered him to the bathtub. The warm water soothed his aches as dried flowers and rose petals of varying colors stuck to his skin, and he relaxed further when you reached to rubbed off his eye makeup before stepping inside. He sighed, long and deep, as he widened his legs to make more space for you, letting himself relax in the water, the water sloshing at his movement. His eyes roved over you as the thick layer of foamy bubbles and petals stuck to your skin as you stepped inside.

Simons hands dragged along your body, tracing each curve and dip, until his hand rested on your chin, tilting your face so he could finally kiss you. You hummed into his ministrations, Simon moving to deepen the kiss. His tongue moved with yours, shifting to consume you, only pulling away when he could hear you getting breathless.

If it were humanly possible, Simon would have hearts in his eyes.

You trace his thighs as you rest your head on his chest, looking up at him.

“Thank you…” you say quietly, shifting to get a better angle of his face.

Simon huffed and took the opportunity to lean down and press kisses to your neck and shoulders, dragging his lips along the tender flesh. “Think I should be the one saying tha’, baby.”

“Did you like it?”

“‘T was perfect. Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You smile at that and giggle when he bites you softly. Your hand reaches for his jaw to feel the angularity of it, biting your lip when he moves away from your skin to look at you.

“I love you, Simon.” You say quietly, tracing his features.

His heart swells as he looked down at you, words stuck in his throat. He’d tell you he’d do anything for you if he could. That he couldn’t live without you if his throat permitted. Instead, he leans down to rub his nose on yours, closing his eyes at the warmth you give him. Words could never describe the feeling you gave him. A peace he never needed. A need so deep it made his bones ache and jaw vibrate. It crawled beneath his skin, making a home. And he let it.

“Love you too, sweet girl. More than anything.”

As his lips found you’re again he kept his eyes open to stare at you for a little longer. Simon couldn’t remember the last time he felt this loved. This cherished. He wondered if he even deserved it. But he knows you’d give him everything regardless.

You pulled away, moving to press small kisses along his throat and jaw.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You say sweetly, nuzzling your face into him.

Simon hummed, grasping your hand to stare at the matching rings among them. When he brought it to his lips, he swore that he would get you another soon. One more permanent. Perhaps bigger too.

He wouldn’t tell you that he didn’t wish for anything. Not when everything he could ever want was right here in front of him.

[zenyyyluvyuu]

Depth of the ocean {1}

[Yandere romantic jason todd x mermaid reader + platonic yandere batfam]

You saw it. You saw the human fall from the bridge. The human with a red helmet on his head.

You dive forward to where he falls. And there he is, body limp and suffocating. you hold his body, you hold it tight. You struggled to take his body to the shore. His body is big but you manage to take him to the land.

You gaze at his red helmet. Still no movement, is he really dead? You webbed hands touch his helmet. You don't know how to free him from the helmet, you saw a button on his helmet and you press it thinking it was the button to open his helmet.

It really does open his helmet, revealing the human face. You frowned. His face is drenched with water but there are so many scars on his face even the j mark on his cheek. You stroke his face.

You remember that you saw a bunch of kids trying to save their friend from the water. You saw how they press his chest up and down, and give an air to his mouth. With that their friends woke up and threw up a bunch of water from their mouth.

You press his chest, you don't know if you do it right, Up and down. You repeat it. But nothing comes out and there's no movement from the man. You frown.

It didn't work? Then maybe you switch to the mouth. Your webbed hands hold his face. Your gaze meets his close one. With that you pinch his nose and your mouth is connected with him. You gently blow an air into it.

With that his hands shake. You saw it. It worked! You tried to put more air into his mouth. The color on his face is coming back. He trembled. You back off from his body.

The man opened his eyes. He turned to the side to throw up the remaining water inside him. You gaze at him. Not knowing what to do. He coughed. His eyes are bloodshot. He frantically looked around trying to find who saved him. And then he saw you. The mermaid.

You tilt your head as his mouth drops. Your long hair is Slightly drying. He saw you like you're a ghost. He manages to utter a few words. "W-who" his voice was slightly hoarse.

You don't know how to say human words but know what they're saying. You let out a voice "hungh" barely audible. Then your ear fins perked up. You hear a voice. You look at the dark around you both. You look back at the man still trying to gather his thoughts. You swim back to the ocean. Your tail flipping.

"wait-!" with that you manage to swim back to the depth. The man you have been saving tried to call you back but you has vanished to the ocean. His expression is blank. Not until someone called for him from behind.

"jason!" A deep voice echoes to the man that called jason. His shoulder tenses. He looks back at the source of the sound calling him.

The batman beside him was Nightwing. Nightwing's expression was full of concern as he came closer to the man that named jason. "Are you alright? Is that a mermaid??..did she just save you?.." Nightwing holds his shoulder.

"yeah..i didn't know mermaids existed.." his voice was rough. He looks at batman who stands tall at him. He can't read the expression behind his mask.

"did she hurt you?.." the batman voice came out deep. He observes the water that you dive in. Taking a metal note to check later, now he has to take jason to the batcave to check him if you got any injury. Batman comes closer to jason as Nightwing helps him stand up by putting his hand on his shoulder.

"no.. but she saved me.." jason also looked at the water. The face of you was still fresh in his mind. Your long wet hair. Your ear fins. Your eyes. Your webbed hand that held him. Your skin texture. And your beautiful tails.

He still remembers the feeling of your webbed hands on his face. Stroking his scarred face. His mind wandered as Nightwing helped him to the batmobile for him to be checked at the medbay.

________

You swim further to the depth of the ocean. Your tails move faster. Your heart is beating fast. Your face is warm, you didn't believe it. You just kiss him, his lips and yours are connected.

But that's actually saving him. Your mind wandered as you swam further. He's handsome, but how could he have so many scars? Did someone do that to him.

Finally you are back in your cave, you jumped into your makeshift bed. Snuggling in it, you look at the ceiling. Your face is still warm. Your pet fish swims to you, happy to have you back. You pet your fish.

Your mind is still fresh about that man. His chopped lips. His scar. His thick eyebrows. His rough skin. It's completely different from you. Humans were so fascinating.

But you also didn't forget to check his body too. He kinda big. You wonder if you have legs, how tall you would be? You huff as you play with your fish.

________

Meanwhile the condition in the wayne manor. The batcave was like a Shipwreck. The bat family is trying to find information about you and your species. The more focused one was Bruce, jason and dick, the rest was not too focused.

They still didn't believe the story Jason told them even dick or bruce. Tim thought they were hallucinating. Damian thought it was a joke. Barbara was between believing or not believing them. Steph laughing. Cassandra was silent. Duke was still confused and also thought they were hallucinating too.

The night ends with you cuddling with your pet fish. And the batfamilly sleepless night.

Ehehe i make another series... It also rot in my brain 😁😁 i hope you like my new series, and I'm sorry for the short chapter. I'm sorry for the cringe or broken English. And I'm sorry if the method of saving drowning people was wrong, I'm really sorry.

[nebuliias]

SYNOPSIS. . . Mindless with a high fever, delirium overtakes you as you struggle to fall asleep in the hollow darkness, until your significant other comes in to tranquil your worries.

CHARACTER FEATURED. . . Blade

CW: gender-neutral reader, not proofread, hurt/comfort, mentions of hallucinations and derealization in case that bugs anyone, idk what else to add so lemme know if smth bothers you

A/N's note: GUESS WHO IS BACK BABYYY. at least for now until i vanish for another year lmao. so fucking sorry for the extreme lack of updates; here's a blade fic for you to feed on.

January 3rd, the year 8000-something.

It was only the third day of the new year, and you had already fallen with a high fever without being able to care for yourself—especially with your lover out of town.

Everyone else had gone along with the new 'script' Elio had assigned them. All except. That damned Destiny's Slave had left you out of it, whether on purpose or not. Anyway, you were left to your own devices with only the black cat as company, though you suppose he did try his best to treat you.

The situation was kind of funny. You rarely ever got sick, thanks to your well-built constitution, but when you did, it was always came in bad. You couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you drenched yourself in the cold shower, the fresh water soothing against your burning skin.

Blade. You wanted to see Blade. Bladie, Yingxing, your Blade. But you probably had to wait another few days or so until he came back.

But you really, really, really, did wanted to see him again. To be in his arms and trace the scars decorating his body and kiss them all the while. To play and braid his ombre hair. To sit in silence alongside him while stargazing on the terrace.

Ugh. Destiny's Slave truly was cruel.

You turned off the water, got out of the shower and clumsily dried yourself off, unknowingly leaving droplets of aqua in your hair to drip onto the marble tiled floor. Putting on your nightclothes, you staggered to your bedroom just wanting to be put to rest. You'd be lucky if it was for eternity.

For some reason, you started to feel sad. Maybe it was the absence of Blade's presence or the overall silence—which you hated—of the opulent shared penthouse, but your eyes began to turn teary.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you dried your hair more aggressively this time and wiped away your incoming tears, raking your fingers through your tangled locks of hair, but a knot blocked your trail, forcing you to get a hairbrush to rip it out. With your vision being all swirly, you groped around your vanity in hopes of finding the necklace your lover gifted you when he returned from the Xianzhou to put on, but it was a futile search.

Now on the verge of breaking down into hysterics, you attempted to turn on the glass-stained lamp on your nightstand, but due to the barely visible moonlight seeping through the window, you failed to do so. In an abrupt fit of frustration, you slapped the lamp, causing to tremble slightly.

Then, you collapsed into your bed, weeping into your silk pillowcase.

Everything suddenly appeared terrifying. It frightened you how you weren't able to differentiate between illusions and reality, causing you to repeatedly check your surroundings to make sure you weren't in some cluttered cellar being held hostage for whatever reason.

Blade. You wanted to be with Blade.

Your heart hurt. It felt as if some unknown being's hands were beginning to squeeze the blood out of the organ, vermilion liquid flowing through your sweaty body. It felt as if a metal wrecking ball had slammed into your skull, for a throbbing migraine had spread throughout your head.

You ended up bursting into sobs, your shivering frame curling up against the soft quilt on your bed. You swore there were shadowy figures standing in the corners of your room, watching you agonize in your suffering while they did nothing, but the fever had gotten a strong grip on you before you could discover it was just a hallucination.

You missed Blade. You wanted to tell him "I love you," but unfortunately, telepathy didn't exist just yet. And who knew where your phone was...

Helpless, unknowing of what to do, you muttered, "I'm sorry, Blade... I'm really sorry," over and over again your pneuma was slowly being drained out of you.

Your throat felt too dry, but your legs felt like jelly when you tried to get on the move. You would get painkillers for the migraine, but you didn't know where they were, let alone if there were any in the infirmary. Perhaps a bit of classical music would do you some good. After all, the saying went like this: "Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."

So exhausted. You just wanted to—

Out of nowhere, you heard your bedroom door click open, the ominous creak only deepening your anxiety—and then a deep yet quiet sigh was heard.

Your sobs cut off instantaneuosly, and your eyes burned as you squinted in the dark to make out the versimilatude tall figure amongst the fading shadowy figures. His tailcoat swayed slightly, and his arms were crossed as he stopped right at your bedside.

You grinned, still in the clutches of your delirium, believing he was another trick from your mind, even though you wanted to see him.

He wasn't an illusion though.

"Bladie," you called out, almost relieved at the sight of him.

The man said nothing in response to the nickname. Instead, his hand moved to turn on the glass-stained lamp you had somehow struggled to turn on, the ambience now softly illuminated by the warm golden glow of the artificial light.

He faced you once more, flame-colored eyes looking down at your flushed face. He reached out to push out the stray strands of hair sticking to the sweat, his touch as light as a butterfly's. It was as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you. Heh, how considerate.

"Rest. Go to sleep."

Aeons, the migraine pounded so terribly it felt like your head was going to break apart into smithereens; however, his words managed to still your crazed state, even if merely for a short time. Your hands were gripping onto the quilt, eyes hazy as you silently gazed back at him like he was an undiscovered species.

Seeing that you weren't able to rest properly, Blade left your room, returning quickly with a white cloth and a bottle of medicine. He went to sit on the edge of your bed, lifting your head up slightly so you could take a few sips of the bittersweet medicine. Seemingly satisfied now, he lowered your head and set the wet cloth on your forehead, hoping that it would help lower your fever down a bit.

"Don't go," your voice managed to rasp out, a trembling hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and planted a kiss on your knuckles. He patted the limb, setting it on his chest where his heart was located so you could be reassured that he was real; that he was here, alive and well.

"I won't go," he replied.

Your crying had resumed. You didn't even know why you were genuinely sad. Maybe the woes of bygone memories had come to enact vengeance while you were in this fragile state, or perchance the wintry weather outside had taken a toll on your emotional well-being, considering how much it bothered you that it snowed too much, knowing how you couldn't curse Mother Nature for it. Or was it how careful Blade was being with you? No one in your early life has ever been so...sweet with you.

"Blade," you called out again, your grip tightening on his hand. No more words needed to be said to express your emotions.

The swordsman shushed you, his free hand stroking your hair, the action giving off a tingly sensation throughout your scalp. "I'm here," he reassured you. "I'm not going anywhere. Not here, not now."

"Everything will be alright."

He wiped away your tears, both the recent and dried ones. Letting go of you, he lifted the quilt and tucked you in, making sure the warmth wasn't too overwhelming. Once he made sure of it, he leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, his thumb stroking the skin.

"Don't worry about me leaving," Blade comforted. "Sleep in peace. I will remain here until you wake up."

[padsmoony04]

I don't know if someone had done it, but if they had, PLEASE tag me! But I needed to share this little thought I had about a JasonTodd×Reader little angst to comfort that is inspired to the master piece that "Would you fall in love with me again" is.

☆......................................☆.........................................☆

So what came to my mind was something in between the lines of...

☆......................................☆.........................................☆

RobinJason met the reader on his first day of high school after being adopted by Bruce. And that they became friends, but with time, Jason developed a crush on the reader and clinche enough they started daiting time afterward (Yes, high school sweethearts, friends to lovers, what about it?).

Everything was so sweet, Jason being all cute and loving and chamirn, thinking that the reader was really the love of his life at his only sixteen years old or whatever. But then, oh disgrace, Joker and his crowbar show up, and Jason dies, then his hole classic lore.

After his resurrection and everything that happened from then on, stop him from seeing the reader cause he was scared. He knew she saw the news or what people think about Red Hood, about his methods. So what if when he showed himself and the reader hated him and disliked him so much for who he is now? What if they rejected him? No, his already fragile and broken heart wouldn't be able to take that pain. It would truly be his last straw. He couldn't do it.

But well, he's a naturally and emotional, touched starved man. So at the end, his heart can't take it anyone, he needs to go and see reader, at least to say goodbye properly (or that's what he tried to fool himself into believing) cause the reality was that a small part of him just hoped and wanted to see if they would even, by any chance, take him back.

So there he is, sneaking into her place late hours. He knew she was awake cause the small light of her bedside table was on. (And here comes the most obvious part that it shows is epic inspired.)

With shaky and sweaty hands, a now tall, full of muscles, scars, and more broken than ever, Jason Todd is standing in front of the person he always saw as the love of his life. His voice was small, almost scared, saying her name. Reader turned around, startled not believing her eyes. "Jason? Is it really you?" And just like the song or very similar everything starts to unfold. He wanted to say goodbye, but he also felt like falling on his knees and crying and asking for forgiveness even though he didn't do anything wrong, at least not towards them. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, he wanted to kiss and hug them and tell them how much he missed them.

But apart of him, the insecure and broken part of him was stronger, so he just stood a few feet away and spilled it all, how, according to himself he wasn't the same boy they felt in love with, how much of a moster he was, how undeserving he was but even so, he couldn't help but asked, all bitterness and self-hatred he had inside, "Would you even fall in love with me again? If you knew all I've done. The things I can't undo, would you even love me the same?"

With emotions bubbling up and the need to just hold him tight and shower him with the love and put his pieces back together, they did just that. Reader moved forward, slow and careful steps, saying so gently and so reassuring how much Jason meant and means to her poor heart. Maybe he wasn't perfect. Maybe he had done things he didn't feel very proud of but found necessary. Maybe he wasn't that cheeky boy with his few scars and bruises with a hopeful look to life that Robin brought, and Joker took away. It didn't matter at the end, when he had them and they would love him, no matter what.

☆......................................☆.........................................☆

ANYWAY, shitty ending, but that's the thought, if you are a writer and want and have the time and passion to take this rambling and turning into a masterpiece, feel free to do so.

Bye! ♡

☆......................................☆.........................................☆

[tchtokyo]

Gaz angst part 2??? (141 side)

Soap didn't even get a goodbye or a text from Kyle. He heard from Price that Kyle had been requested to Farah temporarily, meaning it was when Farah said he could come back.

Soap was sad and hurt. Why hadn't Kyle said anything to him? They were best friends! They shared everything with each other. But, apparently not everything was said. He had thought that them finally being in a romantic relationship would bring them together even more, closer than ever.

It had the opposite effect.

Soap and Kyle remained...stagnant. while he got closer to Ghost and even more closer to Price, with Kyle nothing changed besides the adding the sex and the kissing. There was no new findings or sudden revelations, nothing the way that happened with the other two.

It reached a point, when the new sergeant appeared, that Kyle started to hide. He didn't spend much time together with the others, it got to a point that suddenly who was soap prank partner was the new sergeant, the one that went to the club was the new sergeant, and every single activity that he used to do with Kyle, it was done with the new sergeant.

And now...Kyle was already on the plane when Soap got to the departing zone. No words left for him, just a mere "I don't think so" said to Price.

Although Soap was perceptive, quite observant, and always in tune with his loves emotions, Soap cannot find what happened, what led to this moment, what did they do to end up like this.

Ghost knew the reason for this, but he didn't do anything about, so he was as much guilty as the other two.

And it was crushing him inside.

Ghost saw how while soap, him and Price were getting closer, keeping already formed and constructed old bonds, Kyle was being left behind, with no ways of bonding the same way they did.

The 3 of them bonded over past interactions that led to friendships, over traumas and dark moments because they had them, over being men with scars so deep. They had foundation to bond even more, but Kyle hadn't, Kyle appeared at that moment, Kyle went through the normal processes of military, Kyle had a good family, Kyle had lively a fairly uneventful life and that made him the sore thumb in their relationship because...how could they bond.

Kyle tried, oh how ghost saw the youngest sergeant try every book in the game, but the fruit of his efforts could no grow because they didn't allow him to. Ghost realized that he didn't know anything about Kyle besides what his file said. He didn't know what the man liked, what he did in his free time, his interests, his talents, his flaws. Ghost realized, as the new sergeant made way and fitted exactly in Kyle's spot, that Ghost only saw Kyle as a military asset, not as his lover or friend, he only saw Kyle's performance, nothing more.

As he watched the plane go, slightly behind soap, that they deserved this, they deserved a silent disappearance from Kyle.

Ghost heart silently crushed as he saw what they had done.

Price didn't even go see Kyle depart.

Alex had called him, scolded him that almost asked for a write up, but Price it was coming from a close friend to another, and the captain knew that he deserved that scolding and much more. Alex then passed the phone to Farah, but she spoke calmly and short, which made Price feel even worse.

"I warned you about Kyle, and I gave u an out because I would act if u hurt him and you did, I hope all that stupid effort you did was worth this out come."

He should had gone and seen Kyle depart, but he didn't feel dignified or even worth of it. Price had hurt the most fragile member of their four way relationship, after many warned about it.

He needed to get ready for Laswell disappointment, she being the one person that cautioned him the most.

Price had sworn to protect Kyle heart and mind. Kyle's anxiety was a constant barrier in his life, a reminder that he wasn't as strong as he thought he was, his feelings always easily coming to the surface. He was fragile, more than the others thought he was, and Price promise the young man that he would protect.

Look what happened.

They pushed him away, consciously or not put him in a category under them because his live was not as complicated as theirs. They created his relationship where it was 3 plus Kyle because they sometimes remember he existed. The new sergeant worsen that because this man had a similar life as them, broken by other and scarred as much them, so they pushed Kyle back fully.

They broke Kyle enough to make him excited to leave them, to not believe they loved him.

As the plane flew, Price sat on his office, tears silently running down his face, knowing that he broke a promise made to his love.

[s7nnydrop-flower]

EPIC: The After Story... | Chapter 1: She's Back!

*Ithaca was back to normal... The suitors, gone. Odysseus, home. Telemachus, and Penelope, happy... It was mostly calm now... Besides the fact that Odysseus had brought back the child of Prince Hector, from Troy... Yet, the kid wasn't all that bad, to be honest.*

*Today, Astyanax's and Telemachus' sister, Kaliza, was coming back from a few years trip she had went on. She had been gone for two years...*

*So, at about 8:00 A.M, when the sun was rising distantly on the horizon, Telemachus went to wake his parents from their sleep.*

"MOM! DADDD!"

*He shouted, as he kicked open the door.*

*Both of them jerked awake, Penelope hugging Odysseus for a moment, before relaxing. Ody sighed, and spoke,*

"Yes, son?"

"Kaliza's coming home today, remember?!"

*Telemachus was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.*

"Relax, Telemachus, we know,"

*Penelope laughed, softly, amused.*

"Now, I'll get your brother... You and your father should go to the docks and wait, we'll be down soon."

*Telemachus nodded, and raced out of the room.*

*Odysseus let out a short chuckle, and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. Before slowly getting up, and following after his son. Much slower, and more calm.*

||—————————||

[POV: Penelope]

*I watched, and smiled, before I stood up myself. Firstly getting dressed in a much more appropriate outfit, and brushing my hair. Then exiting into the halls of our palace.*

*I waved to a few servants, said a couple of "hellos", until reaching Astyanax's room. I opened the door, and saw the boy asleep, curled up under a blanket.*

*I walked over, and softly whispered,*

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

*Astyanax opened his eyes, slowly, letting out a tired groan... He turned over, onto his back, and instantly woke up more when he saw his "mother".*

"Mom!"

*He exclaimed, happily, and leaned himself up.*

"There's my little sunshine,"

*I said, as I hugged him, before pulling away. I then said,*

"Your sister's coming home today!"

"I have a sister?..."

*The young ten year old questioned, in confusion...*

*Kaliza had been gone at the time, when a Odysseus had returned. So, she hasn't even really met her father... Nor her other adopted brother.*

*I nodded, with a small laugh,*

"Yes, yes you do! You get to meet her today."

"Yay!"

*Astyanax cheered, with an excited giggle.*

"That's the spirit, my sunshine... Let's get you dressed, and we'll head down to the shore,"

*I said, before looking for some daily clothes for him.*

||—————————||

[POV: Telemachus]

*I had a skip in my step, as I walked beside my father. We were walking on the sandy pavement of the city itself, taking the path to the beaches.*

*I heard my father speak, after moments of silence,*

"What's she like? I've never even met her, so... I'm just wondering how I need to act..."

*I looked at him, thinking a while, as I stared. Before answering,*

"She's tough, and most of the time serious-... That about sums her up?..."

"That doesn't give me much, but, I'll take it..."

*My father sighed, as he and I continued to walk.*

*We eventually reached the sea, quite a few people were gathered there. One being Lily, whom was a servant of ours, and the best friend of my sister. Her husband, Ereu, stood next to her.*

*In the distance, though, someone caught both me, and our father's eyes. Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, me and my sister's mentor, stood far off.*

*She seemed to notice us, and gave a nod. A small smile on her face, as her scar shown in the faint sunlight.*

*I nodded back, and my father gave a bow, before leaning back up straight. I laughed, softly, at how messy and quick the bow was.*

"What-?"

*My father asked, raising an eyebrow.*

"Nothing, nothing-!"

*I couldn't help but grin, as I saw him roll his eyes.*

*I then heard footsteps behind us, and turned. Seeing my mother, and little brother, coming down the path. My father went to meet them halfway, as I continued to watch the water.*

||—————————||

[POV: Odysseus]

*I took my wife's hand, and helped her down the trail the rest of the way. I then stopped, next to Telemachus, and looked out across the water.*

*After a moment, I felt a tug on my cape, and I looked down at Astyanax, who had pulled it.*

"Dad?..."

*He whispered, looking at me with wide, slightly nervous, eyes.*

"Yes, son?"

*I asked, confused, but also concerned.*

"What do I do-?... What do I say-?"

*He questioned, starting to shake uneasily...*

*I chuckled, gently, before crouching infront of him. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and said,*

"Astyanax... Just be you... You'll be the best little brother to her in the world!"

*Astyanax nodded... Looking more reassured... He clinged onto me, and I stood up straight again. I placed a hand on his head, rubbing his head, to calm him more.*

*I suddenly heard Telemachus call out, while jumping up and down,*

"A ship! A ship! I see a ship!!"

*We all looked back towards the water, and, sure enough... There was a ship in the distance... Not far from shore. It was coming straight towards Ithaca, and a figure stood at the head of it. Someone who looked like...*

Kaliza.

||—————————||

<Character Credits!:

Astyanax, an AU where Odysseus brings the infant back to Ithaca, instead of killing him. @/hesjust-a-boy

Kaliza, my OC, what if Telemachus had a younger sister.

The rest are EPIC: The Musical characters! Full credits to Jorge River-Herrans.>

[kittttycakes]

Ooooh kiss on a scar for any pairing involving Hob because I know how you like your Hob with scars!

I HAVE OWED YOU THIS SINCE JUNE OF LAST YEAR  Please enjoy some retired Dream! (Very mildly NSFW at the end, more implied than anything else.)

It was only a matter of time before Hob realized. Morpheus was many things, but he was not subtle in his affections once he let them loose, and Hob had begun to fill in the rough shape of a pattern long before he fully knew quite how much of a thing it had become for him.

Morpheus rolled over in bed, his long limbs splayed half over Hob, taking up far more than his allotted share of the mattress. Hob never complained, although he would occasionally threaten to shove him out of bed; it was an entirely toothless threat, and they both knew it. He was facing Hob, now, affording Hob the perfect view of his face as he woke up in stages: the flutter of his eyelashes, the slight frown and scrunch of his nose that he would resolutely deny if confronted, the slow blink as he opened his eyes. 

“Beloved,” he said, his voice still as low and resonant as it had ever been, unchanged by circumstance. What a pleasure, what a privilege, to have his voice be the first sound he heard in the morning. It took Hob a moment to place the tone of it, the exact same that he had used successfully at least once per week for the past month.

“Absolutely not,” Hob replied, voice still sleep-rough, even as he tightened the grip of his arm around Morpheus, pulling him closer. “I am not popping out to buy you a sausage roll at—” 

Here, he paused, fumbling for his phone on the bedside table with his other hand and squinting at the lit screen. “Five in the bloody morning, why are you even awake?” 

Only half of this interrupted statement was a lie. It actually was just past five in the morning; Hob’s alarm would not sound for another twenty-eight minutes, and a better question was, perhaps, why he himself was awake. 

Rather than replying to anything Hob had said in any human capacity, Morpheus hummed, low in his throat, and pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, directly over the pale, slightly raised scar that resided there. Hob hardly thought of it at all; it had been a part of his face for hundreds of years, and he barely saw it when looking at a mirror, but then, in bed with Morpheus, he realized just how often Morpheus had pressed a similar kiss to that exact spot, and began to wonder.

Twenty minutes later, hastily dressed and on the hunt for sausage rolls, Hob had forgotten all about it. 

-

Morpheus had a minor fascination with Hob’s hands, which Hob was more than happy to indulge him in. If that meant allowing him to map each ridge of them idly as they sat on the sofa, only half watching a documentary that Morpheus had chosen, he would allow it. More than allow it; he would encourage it, offering him his hand whenever he looked like he needed something to do with his own, watching the way the tension seemed to slip for him as he traced the familiar lines of Hob’s palm with his fingertips, his touch light, exploratory even after all this time. It was relaxing, in a way, the pressure never quite enough to be a massage, but soothing, nonetheless. 

He barely realized how intently Morpheus was studying his palm, finally having grown interested in the admittedly complex lives of the tropical fish displayed on the television screen, before his attention was drawn to the base of his thumb by the repetitive motion of Morpheus tracing the same line, over and over, against his skin.

“Taking up palmistry now?” Hob glanced towards Morpheus, smiling; he had no doubt that Morpheus would have Opinions on palmistry and its accuracy or lack thereof, and he looked forward to hearing them. 

“How did you get this?” Morpheus asked, a seeming non-sequitur until Hob realized that he was tracing the scar there. This mark he did remember: he had been awfully young, learning how to properly gut a fish, when his knife had slipped and buried itself in the skin of his palm, bright and sharp and quick as anything. 

Hob answered him, ending with a slight smile. “Nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid.” 

Morpheus hummed again, a sound Hob had grown increasingly familiar with over time. This was his inquisitive hum, an indication that, perhaps, he had more to say on the subject, but would let it lie for the moment. Hob was nearly about to ask him what he was thinking when he raised Hob’s hand and pressed a kiss to the scar there, resuming his earlier posture afterwards as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary at all. He hadn’t, not really; the best part of living with Morpheus was just how many times a day he was allowed to kiss him, and to be kissed in return. 

Hob settled back into the worn cushions of the sofa, and thought again: Morpheus had not kissed the palm of his hand. He had kissed the scar.

-

Hob knew how lucky he was. His body could not be killed or destroyed—the latter an assumption that he was not terribly interested in testing out. This did not mean it was entirely unmarred by the ages; some marks had lingered longer than others, and any he had carried before 1389 never left at all. He rarely thought of it, but Morpheus seemed to have a renewed determination to catalogue each and every mark on him. This goal was not exactly new, but once Hob had noticed, it became impossible to ignore. 

He was running rather late, and needed to shower before he could turn up anywhere respectable people might be misfortunate enough to see him. Hob was often thankful for the size of the shower in the flat, but he was especially thankful that morning as he slipped in behind Morpheus, who was standing directly under the shower head in the near catatonic state that Hob now recognized as something that was not a cause for alarm, but merely the time Morpheus required to fully awaken and become human on some days. There were many ways this could happen, the shower being one of them, but they all shared two qualities in common: they allowed Morpheus a period of near silence in which he was not expected to speak unless he chose to, and they allowed him to stay still in whatever position he may have been in. 

“Don’t mind me, I’ll just be a minute,” Hob said, careful to keep his voice low and soft. He gently nudged Morpheus to one side, enough to share some of the spray. Morpheus did not appear to either notice or care. 

Hob was nearly finished with his important but perfunctory shower when Morpheus seemed at last to come alive. 

“Hob,” he said, just the one word, in yet another tone that Hob recognized, and reached for him, pulling him in to kiss him softly. He hadn’t yet, that morning, Hob realized. Maybe he had missed it. 

Kissing him a second time was Hob’s mistake, one that ended with him irrevocably running late, any time he had gained through the speed of his shower quickly lost. Morpheus had not stopped kissing him; had, in fact, pressed him rather insistently against the tiled wall of the shower and knelt in front of him in a way that Hob knew his knees would not thank him for later, and then promptly proceeded to put his mouth everywhere but where Hob wanted it most. 

He was rather thoroughly investigating a spot on Hob’s hip with lips and teeth and tongue when Hob realized what was underneath his mouth, and reached down, tangling his fingers gently in Morpheus’s hair, pulling in the way he liked, to tilt his head up towards him. 

“So,” Hob said, fighting to keep his tone light in the face of Morpheus on his knees in front of him. “Should we talk about the thing with the scars, or—”

“I do not have a thing,” Morpheus replied, derisive without any real bite. 

“You most certainly do have a thing. Come on, you can tell me. Is it just that it’s a bit of rough or—”

Morpheus looked up at him, long suffering. “It most certainly is not. It is—you are—you have lived through a great many things. Survived them. Outlived them. There is something somewhat—attractive—about this.” 

The look he was giving Hob was enough to make a lesser man give in, and Hob was only human, after all. “I knew it,” he said, breathless, as Morpheus descended on him again, knowing as he did that he had known no such thing. They were so different, and always had been, but nowhere was it more obvious than in their bodies, the smooth unmarked stretch of Morpheus’s now-human skin. He wondered what would mark it first, what minor accident would lay its claim on him; he did not want him to be hurt, but he did want to see how he would change, in time. They had plenty of it.

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