#this is me expressing something ive noticed

[cheynovak]

Fevered Confessions part 2

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ Memory loss/... -> 18+ later on in the series.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

**Y/N’s POV**

Pain lanced through my side when I shifted, drawing a groan from my lips. The light above was too bright, forcing my eyes closed again as I tried to adjust. Slowly, the faintest beeping became clearer—a heart monitor, steady and reassuring in the otherwise sterile silence.

Opening my eyes again, I turned my head, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. My arm was connected to an IV line, a bag of fluid dripping slowly beside me.

A hospital.

My stomach sank as I tried to remember how I got here, but the details were hazy—like pieces of a puzzle scattered too far apart to assemble. The ache in my head made focusing impossible.

And then I saw him.

Crammed awkwardly into a chair that looked about two sizes too small for his broad frame. His head was slumped forward, his arms crossed over his chest like he’d just given up fighting the uncomfortable position. The exhaustion on his face was evident, even as he slept—dark circles under his eyes, a faint furrow in his brow.

I noticed how gorgeous he was. Sharp jaw, scruffy beard, hair slightly mussed as though he’d been running his hand through it endlessly.

Why was he even here? Who was he?

Before I could ask—or even get my own thoughts straight—a bubbly voice interrupted my daze.

“Well, look who’s awake!”

I blinked as an overly cheerful nurse entered the room, practically bouncing. She adjusted the machines near the bed, glancing at me with a wide smile.

“Mrs Jacobs, how are you feeling?”

Jacobs? My brow furrowed. That wasn’t my name, was it? I turned my confused gaze to the man, who was already stirring, woken by the nurse’s voice.

She caught the shift between us and smiled knowingly. “Your husband here hasn’t left your side. Slept for days in that chair, even though we told him he could go home for a bit. We’ve got you covered, honey.” She winked. “He’s a keeper.”

Husband? Home?

I stared at the man, my mind reeling. The nurse noticed my confusion, her cheerful expression softening.

“Oh, you don’t remember yet?” she asked gently. I shook my head slowly, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

He stood up then, rubbing the back of his neck before crossing the room to stand beside me. His hand brushed against mine on the bed, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

Despite the questions piling up in my mind, despite every ounce of confusion I felt, his touch sent a wave of warmth through me. My cheeks flushed instantly, the traitorous blush rising as I met his tired gaze.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, offering a shy smile.

The nurse watched us for a moment, grinning like she’d just witnessed something out of a romance novel. “I’ll give you two some time,” she said, before bustling out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Silence lingered as his thumb brushed faintly against the back of my hand. My heart thudded harder than it should have, and I didn’t know what to say. I was in a hospital, my body was in shambles, but all I could focus on was him.

**Ben’s POV**

"Who are you?"

Her soft scared voice lingered in my mind, didn't she remember anything?

"I'm... Ben."

Her gaze locked on to mine, she had no memory of me... Fuck.

"Maybe I should let you be for a while." I turned towards the door.

The way she grabbed my hand stopped me in my tracks. Her fingers, weak but insistent, curled around mine, and my heart hammered so hard it was almost embarrassing.

“Thank you,” she said softly, smiling that damn smile again—the one that sent my brain into a tailspin every time. “For being here...”

If she only knew. Knew how much I had done, how much guilt was clawing at me every second, and how I hated myself for almost getting her killed in the first place.

She shifted, trying to push herself upright. I was at her side in an instant, helping her sit even before she could ask for it.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my usual sharp tone cutting through. Irritation had always been my safety net around her; it was practically second nature now.

She looked at me her eyes wide, clearly a little upset of my tone, but her voice was light when she replied. “I want to clean myself up. I feel like I’ve been in this bed for a week.”

“Well…” I started, my lips tugging into a faint smirk I didn’t mean, “actually, it’s been a month.”

Her eyes went wide. “A month?”

I nodded. “A month here in the hospital, almost two if you count the motel.”

She was quiet as I helped her stand, her movements slow and careful. I grabbed the IV stand and kept it steady as we made our way toward the bathroom. She didn’t say anything, but I caught the subtle way her hand brushed against mine as she walked, and I tried not to let it drive me crazy.

When she reached the sink, she fumbled for the toothbrush, but I was already handing it to her. She started brushing her teeth, her focus on the task as I stood behind her, unable to keep myself from reaching for her hair.

I didn’t even think about it��it was a habit now. I brushed her hair every day while she was out, gently undoing the tangles, keeping it soft and smooth. It had relaxed me more times than I cared to admit, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.

She didn’t pull away, just kept brushing her teeth as though it were the most normal thing in the world. And when she was finished, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing, I put the brush aside.

That’s when it happened.

At first, I thought she stumbled. I reached out to catch her, steadying her against me. But she wasn’t falling. She leaned back, her body soft against my chest.

I froze.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror, searching, soft and unguarded in a way I’d never seen before. She was looking at me.

And then, her free hand—the one not tied up with the IV—lifted slowly, her fingers brushing against my neck as if testing the moment, her touch as light as a whisper.

**Y/N’s POV**

When 'Ben' started brushing my hair, I thought I must still be dreaming. The sensation was too gentle, too soothing, and too intimate for a stranger.

But it wasn’t a dream.

I couldn’t help myself—it felt too good, too real, and the warmth of his presence behind me only made it harder to think straight. My mind was still foggy.

The rush of heat spreading through me when I looked at him. Must mean we are connected in a way. What did that nurse say... Your husband. Was I married? I didn't see a ring on his or my finger.

Maybe he was my boyfriend? That would explain the sudden need for him. Or was it t just because of how devastatingly handsome he was?

My ovaries had made their decision the moment I saw him cramped up in that stupid hospital chair. And now, with his hand steady in my hair, I had no chance of resisting him.

Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers moved almost on their own. They slid into the hair at the base of his neck, tangling slightly as my palm rested on the side of his neck. His skin was warm under my touch, and I could feel the subtle twitch of tension there.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch his reaction, to see his expression. My heart thudded harder when I saw him already looking down at me—right at my lips.

There was hesitation in his eyes, like he was fighting something. And maybe I should’ve given him time, maybe I should’ve let him sort through whatever mess was going on in his head. But I didn’t.

I tugged him closer, guiding him toward me as my lips met his. Soft, warm, and completely addictive.

For a moment, he didn’t move, frozen as if he couldn’t believe it was happening. Panic shot through me. Had I just ruined everything? But then he groaned, low and deep in his chest, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

He closed his eyes, his hesitation melting as he kissed me back. Firm, slow, and thorough, his lips answered mine like they’d been waiting for this.

**Ben’s POV**

Her lips brushed against mine, and for a second, I swore this was a dream. Everything about her overwhelmed my senses—her warmth, her intoxicating scent, the softness of her lips that tasted sweeter than I ever imagined.

Heaven.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I spun her around so I could properly touch her, hold her as she kissed me again. The second I did, she hissed softly, her face twisting in pain.

“Shit,” I muttered, realizing I’d pressed against her injured side. My hands froze, hovering near her, afraid I’d hurt her even more. “You okay?”

She nodded faintly, her expression forgiving, but we still stood too close—her face inches from mine, her breaths brushing against my skin—when the sound of the door creaking open yanked us both back to reality.

“Mrs. Jacobs?”

The overly cheerful nurse from earlier. She stopped in her tracks, her cheeks pink as she noticed us standing in the small bathroom, and immediately backed away. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but I need to take her for some tests.”

Y/N turned her gaze back to me, and it hit me harder than I expected. Her eyes were softer than I’d ever seen, a quiet smile playing on her lips as she nodded to the nurse.

“Okay,” she murmured. Her voice was still weak, but there was something steady in it, something different.

As she turned away, I couldn’t help but follow her with my eyes, watching as the nurse led her carefully toward the hallway. My chest felt tight, and not in the way it usually did when I was angry or irritated.

No, this was something else entirely, something far more dangerous.

**Y/N’s POV**

I couldn’t believe I’d kissed him. I had just woken up out of what seemed a coma.

But then, I hadn’t really been in control—my body had acted on its own, and the heat still simmering through my veins was proof enough of that.

The way he kissed me back, though… the way his hands had grasped me so carefully, as though I might break, while still pulling me impossibly close? That wasn’t a mistake, not some spur-of-the-moment impulse. That kiss meant something, didn’t it?

But there was so much I still didn’t know.

Were we really married? I couldn’t remember. Where did we live? What did we do? How did I get here? Every detail of my life felt like a blur, just out of reach, and the hole it left was unbearable.

The doctor tried to reassure me, claiming my memory would return over time. “It’s not uncommon, you had blood poisoning, and your fever started to cook you from the inside out, ” she said with an easy smile, as though forgetting your life wasn’t the worst thing imaginable. “It had been a while but just take it easy, one step at a time. You’re clear to go home.”

Home.

The word echoed in my mind as they wheeled me out toward discharge. Where was home? What did it even look like? My gut said it was with Ben—but why? Because of the kiss? Or was it something more?

All I knew for sure was that my life before waking up in this hospital felt like a blank page.

And somehow, the only thing I felt certain about was Ben.

--

Ben’s arm steadied me as he helped me out of the car, his grip strong yet careful. My stomach churned with anxiety as we drove through the countryside, the house we arrived at looking weathered and abandoned, like no one had lived here in years.

“Is this… home?” I asked hesitantly, still unsure what to expect.

Before Ben could answer, the door to the house flew open, and four people rushed out, their faces filled with relief, concern, or something in between. I froze, still seated in the car, eyeing them with caution.

“Who… who are they?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

Ben sighed, clearly anticipating this moment. “That’s Annie and Hughie, M.M. and Kimiko,” he said.

I nodded, trying to commit their names to memory, but it was clear from their faces I should’ve already known them. Something about their familiarity hurt, like a puzzle piece I couldn’t quite fit. Ben had told me I’d lost my memories, but seeing their expressions brought the weight of that reality crashing down.

***Ben’s POV**

She nodded like she understood, but I could see the confusion behind her eyes. She didn’t know who they were, couldn’t place the faces that should’ve meant something.

I’d warned them. I told the group that she’d lost her memories. Frankly, it was a relief Y/N didn’t remember. She didn’t need to remember the blood, the chaos, or the constant fear. She thought she was just an ordinary girl—and for now, I’d let her believe that.

When I helped her out of the car, she clung to me instinctively, one hand wrapped tightly around mine and the other on my biceps for support. I kept her close, letting her lean on me as I guided her toward the makeshift living room.

The others noticed. I could see it on their faces—the way they exchanged glances at how closely she stuck to me.

“M.M. here will come everyday to take care of your wound,” I told her once inside. “He’ll help with anything while it’s still healing.”

She nodded quietly, trusting me in a way that made my chest ache. It was a fragile kind of trust, like I was her anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

M.M. stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor softening even further as he spoke to her gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll keep it private, alright?”

She looked up at me, searching for reassurance, and I gave her a small nod. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “He’s good at this.”

Reluctantly, she released my arm and allowed M.M. to guide her to the bathroom.

The second she was out of sight, Annie’s voice pierced through the air.

“What did you do to her?” she snapped, her tone sharp with accusation. I turned toward her, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s clinging to you, Ben!” Annie fired back, her brows furrowed with suspicion. “What did you do?”

I rolled my eyes, my patience wearing thin. Annie always thought she was in charge, the righteous little hero in every scenario. She made it really hard to ignore her.

**Y/N’s POV**

M.M. was kind, handling me with the sort of care you’d give a glass figurine. He spoke a little as he tended to my wound, his voice calm and measured, like he was trying not to scare me.

“This must be weird for you,” I said, breaking the silence. “Acting like you don’t know me, but… we were friends, right?”

His hands stilled for a second, and he let out a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Yeah, we were.”

The heaviness in his voice told me there was a lot more to it than that, but he kept his eyes on my wound, his careful movements never faltering.

I tilted my head, curiosity tugging at me. “You said you were a medic in the army?” He nodded. “For years. I’ve seen a lot of trauma, memory loss… things like this. But I’m not here to push you, okay? We’ll take it slow.”

The way he said it reassured me, though it didn’t quell the gnawing ache of not remembering who I used to be. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. “Was I in the army? Is that how we met?”

That made him laugh, a genuine, short chuckle that somehow put me at ease. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “We met through Butcher. He, uh… let’s just say he recruited you for his private security gig.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip, turning his words over in my mind. “That’s also how I met Ben?”

“Yeah,” M.M. said, his tone guarded now. I nodded slowly. “Ben…” I echoed, the sound of his name rolling off my tongue feeling natural, instinctive.

“He’s… a nice guy?” The words came out like a tentative declaration, the image of Ben brushing my hair flashing in my mind.

M.M. didn’t agree. His expression didn’t shift much, but I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. If he disagreed, though, he didn’t voice it. Instead, he worked quietly for another moment before straightening up, giving me a small, reassuring smile.

“Alright,” he said, his voice kind. “That should hold you for a bit. Let me know if it feels off, yeah?”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, even as my mind wandered back to Ben. Something about him felt so important, like he was the missing piece in all of this. But if even M.M. had reservations… who was Ben really? And why did my body trust him so instinctively when my mind couldn’t remember?

“There she is,” Hughie said with a cheerful smile as I walked out of the kitchen.

My steps were tentative, still unsure how I fit into this puzzle of strangers who supposedly knew me so well. Before I could respond, Ben was there, standing quickly and rushing to my side, his presence steadying me without a word.

“Do you need anything?” Annie asked, her tone warm but laced with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Food, a drink?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” I said quietly. I wasn’t hungry; everything still felt too strange. I glanced at Ben, my hand instinctively resting on his arm as if that connection grounded me somehow.

“I’d like to sleep a little,” I murmured, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion settle back over me.

Ben nodded immediately. “Of course,” he said, his voice lower, softer. Guiding me gently toward one of the bedrooms, he moved with surprising care for someone as rough around the edges as he appeared.

“Take your time,” he added when we reached the room. There was a slight pause, and his expression shifted as if he were deciding something important.

“I’ll get the others out of the house. If you need me tonight…” He hesitated, his voice faltering before he finished. “My room is down the hall.”

I frowned at that, the subtle emphasis in his words sparking a thought I hadn’t dared explore until now.

As he turned to leave, I stared after him, my hand lingering on the doorway. “So… we’re not married,” I whispered under my breath, the realization hitting me like a jolt.

Everything—the nurse’s earlier assumption, the kiss in the bathroom, the way Ben looked at me like I was the most fragile thing in the world—had me questioning everything I thought I knew.

If we weren’t married, then what were we?

--

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[cypherbxbe]

PART 2/4 - Ghost x Reader

previous part | next part

notes: I’m still a newbie so bare with me pls, slowbuuurn, portrayal of violence tw (blood, weapons, injuries etc.), will contain smut in part 4 so beware lol

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The first thing Simon noticed was the steady beeping of a monitor, faint but persistent, pulling him back into the waking world. His eyes fluttered open, the sterile white of a hospital room filling his vision. The antiseptic smell was sharp, and for a moment, disorientation gripped him.

He blinked a few times, his gaze darting around the room until it landed on a familiar figure sprawled out in a chair in the corner.

You were slouched awkwardly, head tipped to the side, arms crossed over your chest. Even in sleep, there was a stubbornness to your posture, a refusal to let yourself relax completely. The sight pulled an unexpected flicker of warmth through him - though he’d obviously never admit it.

Simon let his head fall back against the pillow, exhaling slowly. For once, he didn’t have the energy to scowl. He was so still, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His skin was ashen, and the room felt cold and sterile, the faint drip of the IV the only sound breaking the silence.

His brown eyes shifted toward you when you stirred, your brows furrowing as if some unspoken instinct had dragged you from sleep. He watched intently as your eyes fluttered open, the sight making something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

Why the hell are you still here? The question burned in his mind, though he wasn’t ready to hear or face the answer.

His gaze followed you as you straightened up, your eyes widening with the realization that he had woken up. “You’re awake,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern that made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He grunted in response, his voice raspy and dry. He tried to push himself up, but a sharp stab of pain in his leg forced him back against the pillow. A low groan escaped his lips, and his jaw clenched.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, glaring down at his leg before his eyes flicked back to you. “You here to gloat?” That familiar smile teased at your lips, and he hated how it made his chest feel too tight. “You look like shit,” you quipped lightly, your voice tinged with amusement.

He shot you a pointed glare, shifting uncomfortably against the mattress. Every movement sent a flare of pain through him, but he wasn’t about to let it show more than it already did. “Thanks for the observation,” he grumbled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Looks like I’ll be stuck in here for days, maybe weeks.” His frustration was impossible to hide, and it bled into every word.

Your eyes widened, the shock in your voice clear as you echoed, “Weeks?” You exhaled, running a hand through your hair, your expression turning almost pensive. “Damn…”

He didn’t respond, just grunted and gave a stiff nod. He hated this - being stuck, bed-bound, and weak. His gaze pinned you like a warning, daring you to pity him. But instead of the sympathy he feared, there was that familiar glint in your eye, and a soft, teasing smile curved your lips. “Ah, think we’ll survive a few weeks without our precious Lieutenant,” you said, your voice laced with mock reassurance.

“You better,” he shot back, his eyes narrowing. The thought of you managing just fine without him made his teeth grind, though he’d obviously deny it. “Otherwise, I’ll come back and knock some sense into you lot myself.” You hummed lightly, your smile growing. “Got ya,” you murmured simply.

Both your heads turned toward the door as the nurse walked in, her brows lifting slightly when her gaze landed on you. “Oh, miss, you’re still here?”

Simon didn’t miss the way your brow twitched at the comment. He couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance, embarrassment, or something else entirely. You pushed yourself up from the chair, and he felt that unexpected tightness in his chest - a sensation he didn’t like one bit.

“Yeah,” you said softly, the concern in your voice clear as your eyes flicked back to him. “Get better soon, yeah?” His gaze met yours, and though his face remained mostly unreadable, there was a faint softening around the edges. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine,” he grumbled, his tone gruff but not harsh. “Now go on, before the nurse tosses you out.”

You lingered, your eyes on him for just a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll come check on you tomorrow,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with a reluctance he could almost feel.

The way you looked at him - like you didn’t want to leave - it did something to him he didn’t want to acknowledge. And yet, he found himself dreading the moment you walked out. “Yeah, yeah, you do that,” he muttered, his tone dismissive, but his eyes stayed on you like a hawk, watching as you made your way to the door.

When it finally closed behind you, the room felt colder somehow, quieter in a way that left him unsettled. His stoic mask stayed firmly in place, but his mind lingered stubbornly on the warmth of your presence. He wouldn’t admit it - not to you, not to himself - but part of him already knew he’d be looking forward to your next visit.

The next few days in the infirmary were a constant test of Simon’s patience. His leg was a persistent reminder of his limits, and he was, unsurprisingly, a terrible patient - grumpy and dismissive whenever the nurses insisted he rest. Yet, despite himself, he’d catch his gaze drifting to the door more often than he cared to admit.

Each time you walked in, he played it off as though he hadn’t been waiting, as though the sight of you didn’t make his chest feel a little less heavy. But you could see through it - the way his shoulders relaxed, the subtle softening of his sharp gaze.

Every visit was the same: the door swinging open to your annoyingly cheerful grin, a small gift or a treat in hand like you’d just won the lottery. “I brought you a sandwich,” you said one day, holding it out like a prized offering. He scoffed, but it wasn’t lost on him how much he looked forward to your little gestures. Coffee one day, sweets the next. Silly things, but somehow, they chipped away at the walls he’d carefully built.

“You’ll spoil me if you keep this up,” he grumbled, though his tone lacked the usual edge. “And don’t think you’re gonna make a habit out of coming here all the time either.”

You leaned back in the chair, your smirk as maddening as ever. “Oh? And here I thought you’d miss me if I didn’t come around.” He huffed, rolling his eyes before biting into the sandwich. “Tch, I don’t need you here every damn day,” he muttered, but the reluctance in his voice betrayed him.

“Well, unfortunately for you, you can’t stop me,” you quipped, your grin softening into something almost fond. He snorted, shaking his head, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation. “Bloody pain in my arse, you are,” he grumbled, though the words lacked any real venom. He paused before adding, quieter this time, “Don’t know why you even bother.”

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze sharp and unwavering, challenging him to look away. “Do you really not though?” The question hung in the air, making his jaw clench as his eyes darted away. He scoffed, the sound low and forced. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” he mumbled, but the vulnerability in his voice was impossible to miss.

The next few days passed much the same as before. You came in, brought snacks, kept him company, annoyed him, and left. Simon scolded himself every damn time he caught himself looking forward to it. It was maddening, the effect you had on him.

The day of his release arrived sooner than expected. Simon could feel your gaze on him as he packed up the few belongings he’d accumulated during his stay, one hand steadying himself on a crutch. When he glanced up, there you were, leaning against the doorframe with that familiar, infuriating smirk. He rolled his eyes, but that only earned a small chuckle from you.

You grabbed a few items off the nightstand and tossed them into his bag, your movements as easy and casual as always. “So, you’re finally free, huh?” you asked, flashing him one of your trademark grins, though this one was softer, almost affectionate.

“Finally,” he muttered, voice tinged with his usual grouchiness. Still, his gaze lingered on you - too long, if he were honest with himself. The way you carried yourself, that air of confidence, always managed to get under his skin.

He zipped up the bag, but before he could reach for it, you snatched it from the bed with an almost teasing ease, slinging it over your shoulder as you sauntered toward the door.

His brows shot up in surprise before narrowing into a scowl. “Hey!” he barked, hobbling after you as fast as his crutch would allow. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You pushed the door open, glancing back at him with an infuriatingly innocent look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not carrying that,” he snapped, stopping in the doorway, his voice sharp with irritation. “I can handle it on my own.” The defiance in his tone was undercut by the obvious strain in his movements. He wasn’t back to full strength, and it showed.

Your gaze stayed fixed on his, calm and unyielding. “Sure you can, big guy,” you said with a knowing smirk. “But I’m still gonna help you anyway.”

“You’re insufferable,” he growled, his fingers tightening around the handle of his crutch. But even as the words left his mouth, he felt a strange sense of comfort at your insistence, though he’d rather bite his tongue than admit it.

You hummed in response, a sing-songy little noise that grated on his nerves and amused him all at once. Without missing a beat, you strode ahead, holding the doors open for him as the two of you made your way through the halls toward the officers’ quarters.

You pushed the door to his room open, Simon‘s eyes following you as you sauntered inside, your movements unhurried. You dropped his bag next to the bed. Hobbling in after you, he lowered himself onto the bed with a grunt, relief washing over him as he sank into the familiar comfort of his own room.

“So, I’m guessing you’ll be alright then, huh?” Your voice cut through the silence, drawing his attention. His gaze snapped to you, sharp and focused.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low, a little gruff. “I’ll manage.” The air between you shifted, heavy with unspoken words. For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face - just for a second - before the familiar hardness settled back in place.

“Well… I’ll leave you to it then,” you said softly, lingering by the door. “See you around.” The words hung in the air, and for the first time in days, the teasing lilt in your tone was missing. He could see it - the reluctance in the way you shifted your weight, the way your eyes darted back to him.

And just like that, the realization hit him. No more daily visits. No more cheeky grins or stupid little gifts. The thought churned in his stomach, leaving a strange, hollow ache behind.

Simon leaned back slightly, his expression neutral, but his jaw clenched. Don’t leave, a part of him thought desperately, though he’d never say it aloud. He was too practiced at keeping things bottled up, at locking away feelings he couldn’t afford to show. Instead, he gave a curt nod, his voice as steady as he could manage. “Yeah… See ya.”

He watched as you hesitated, your hand brushing the doorframe before stepping out. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the silence of the room, and for a moment, he just sat there, staring at the empty space where you’d stood, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him.

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(will post part 3 tmrw, next part will be more action filled lmao, thanks for reading <3)

tag list: @chosolovrrr @larkeyy @lostintransist @matchavulpix

next part

[polyhexian]

Tattooing the removed skin to keep is so fucking cool. Holy shit. That's incredible. Would you have to tan that? Would the ink need to go in while fresh and before it's dry? I know taxidermying humans has always been a problem but would doing just a piece of skin have that problem?

[b4kuch1n]

tdov was like a week ago already but I just wanna say when I came over to vacation slash help my sworn brother move flat he told me, "ever since you said you wanted to get top surgery I've been thinking about it. it's straight up number two on my bucket list"

[babygirlwolverine]

lil change officially made after weeks of soul-searching, hoping my eagle-eyed followers will notice and appreciate, love yall endlessly 💜

[burinazar]

these days i do sometimes see people literally just parrot the western-machismo ideal of 'ewww, feminine men, gross everyone who likes men should want big manly men and if they don't they're wrongheaded. smh silly misguided people' while simultaneously, and here's the rub of it and the part that makes me feel like it's bizarro world, they've truly and genuinely convinced themselves this is a meaningfully anti-bigotry position of some kind. and that liking men who are soft or thin or feminine is an insufficiently-progressive low-key-bigoted position. because it's.... i don't know, inherently fetishizing, or something. fuck if i know. i think this is bizarro-world thinking to a comical degree

i speculate it's one of the many internet phenomena that result from people looking at what's popular in their circles of awareness and going 'well this must be the societally expected default and so the principled position is to advocate for whatever its alternative is (and surely the fact i personally prefer the alternative as a matter of taste is just a coincidence)'

and not realizing that..like.. even though their internet sphere has a lot of Lisa Simpsons reading their own personal fandom version of Non-threatening Boys Magazine the western world at large still definitely eschews non-traditional masculinity and expects everyone to favor manly men rather than willowy bishounen.

so you aren't actually fighting any sort of pressing Good Fight by getting mad that some people like or depict sad wet wimpy thin boys instead of all longing for a big beef-o muscle archetype, and you should inspect whether in fact the issue is just that you dislike that aesthetic/character type (or, in a fandom context, that specific character). which if so is fine and you can enjoy the kind of content you enjoy without making it a smug grandstand

[theautistichalflinghole]

Parents are wild because wdym when my dad finds me crying he tells me to stfu and buckle down to solve my problems and when I have a conversation with my mom about feelings of self loathing and stress she sends me a link to a graphic tee on Facebook messenger

[thimbleb3rries]

ASFSBDJHKHDHAJF me when I

Anyone: /reblogs my art or writing

Me: /fucking RUSHES OVER TO SEE IF ANYTHING IS IN THE TAGS

[lith-myathar]

disordered eating talk in the tags

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ shades of cool ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? and a part three, ultraviolence.

˚ ༘♡ you stirred, the weight of consciousness creeping back in like a slow, unwelcome sensation. the first thing you noticed was the pain, not sharp, but dull and ever-present, pulsing from your leg in as a painful remnant of what had happened. your eyes fluttered open, and the room before you swam into view, blurred and unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ soft, warm light illuminated the bedroom, the golden glow radiating off polished wood and gilded accents. the room was lavish beyond imagination. silk curtains hung in folds along the high windows, their rich, deep hue a stark contrast to the sterile white sheets covering you. the bed beneath you was impossibly soft, its headboard ornate and meticulously carved.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t feel real.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze dropped to your leg, your breath hitching at the sight of thick, pristine bandages wrapped around your injured knee. the ache was dulled, numbed, and for a minute you thought it was a dream, until the frigid tug of an iv in your arm brought you fully into reality. clear tubing snaked its way from the crook of your elbow to a stand beside the bed, the consistent drip of fluid into your veins the only sound in the unnerving quiet.

˚ ༘♡ panic set in as you scanned the room for answers. sleek medical monitors blinked softly in the corner, their digital hum an eerie companion to the slow rhythm of your heartbeat displayed on the screen. the pure cleanliness of it all, no blood, no chaos, no grimy stairwells, was jarring.

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open.

˚ ༘♡ your body tensed instantly, your hands gripping the sheets as you turned toward the sound. standing in the doorway was young-il, but something about him was different. he was dressed head to toe in onyx-black now, the sharp lines of his attire immaculate, his presence nearly unrecognizable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat as a sensation of horror surged through your body. you struggled to push yourself up, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “you bastard,” you spat, your voice hoarse and trembling with both fury and anguish. “what the hell is this? what did you do?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression was undisturbed, his face composed, as though he hadn’t betrayed you, shot you, and left you to bleed out. his voice was soft when he spoke, almost gentle. “you’re safe now.”

˚ ༘♡ safe? the word felt like an insult, a mockery of everything he had done. “safe?” you snapped, your voice rising despite the weakness in your body. “you shot me! you killed them! where are jung-bae and gi-hun? what happened to them?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken truths. “their fate… isn’t yours to worry about,” he said at last, his tone measured, deliberately vague. the non-answer only stoked the fire of your anger, your hands clenching into fists.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t give me that nonsense,” you grimaced. “tell me what happened to them!”

˚ ༘♡ his gaze softened, as if he pitied you. it made your stomach twist. “you’ll have your answers in time,” he said evenly. “but for now, there’s something more important you need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you glared at him, the venom in your gaze meeting his unnervingly tranquil demeanor. “and what’s that?”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor, enveloping you in its reach. “my name isn’t young-il,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made your pallid skin crawl. “it’s hwang in-ho. i am the front man, the overseer of these games.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hit you as though it was a physical blow, the weight of their meaning sinking in too slowly, too horribly. your jaw slackened as confusion, revulsion, and fear collided within you. you shook your head, as if denying the truth could erase it.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “no, that can’t be…”

˚ ༘♡ “it is,” he interrupted, his tone kind, almost soothing, as though he were breaking news to a child. “i know it’s a lot to process, but it’s the truth. everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen, it all leads back to me.”

˚ ༘♡ his serenity, his gentleness, only made it worse. you stared at him, horrified, unable to reconcile the man before you with the one who had saved your life, who had stood by your side, who you thought you could trust. your heart pounded in your chest, a desperate beating of denial as his revelation sent cracks through your already fragile world.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your mind frantically trying to stitch together some coherent explanation for what he was saying. every word felt like a jagged shard, cutting into what little remained of your trust. the man you thought you knew had unraveled into someone monstrous, someone you couldn’t even begin to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “you want answers,” he said quietly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. his hands rested at his sides, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “then let me give them to you.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t reply, your throat too tight to push out words. the tremor in your hands betrayed the dread coursing through you, though you tried to mask it with a glare that had lost its edge.

˚ ༘♡ he let out a desolate breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours. “a long time ago, i was no different from you or any other contestant for these games. i was desperate, clinging to whatever hope i could find. my wife…” his voice caught, for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. “she was pregnant, but she was sick. we didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. i tried everything, loans, work, begging. nothing was enough.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt a pang of unease, the words pulling at a part of you that didn’t want to empathize, didn’t want to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “when i heard about the games, i saw no other choice,” he continued. “i thought… if i could win, i could save her. i convinced myself it was worth it. the blood, the horror, it would all be justified if it meant saving her.” his eyes grew distant, as though he were watching memories play out before him, each one dragging him deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.

˚ ༘♡ “and you won,” you said bitterly, though your voice lacked strength. the image of him standing victorious in those games twisted your stomach, making you sick. “so why are you here? why are you doing this to other people?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “i won,” he admitted, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t name. “despite my efforts, my win and the prize money came too late. she died, and so did the baby… our baby. nothing i had done mattered, not the lives i’d taken, not the suffering i endured. it was all for nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but it was the coldness in his eyes that terrified you. it was as though the memory of that loss had hollowed him out, leaving behind only shards of the man he once was.

˚ ༘♡ “after she died,” he said, “i had nothing. no one. those behind the games saw that. they saw what i had become, angry, empty, ready to do whatever it took to escape the emptiness. they offered me purpose, a chance to rebuild myself in their ideology. and i took it.”

˚ ༘♡ his admission hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. you wanted to scream at him, to ask how he could justify becoming the very thing that destroyed him, but the words wouldn’t leave your lips.

˚ ༘♡ “and you…” his voice mellowed, and for the first time, his mask of stability cracked only slightly. “you remind me of her. not simply for how you look, but… the way you care. the way you fight, even when everything is against you. there’s a tender beauty in you that i haven’t seen in any soul for years.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a chill down your spine. notion idea that he saw any part of his late wife in you was unbearable. you stared at him, horrified, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you saw was the unsettling truth of his sincerity.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you whispered, your voice quivering with rage. “don’t you dare compare me to your dead wife. don’t you dare use her memory to excuse what you’ve done.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t flinch, though something appeared in his expression, regret, perhaps, or something deeper. “i’m not excusing it,” he said quietly. “i know what i’ve become. but it doesn’t change what i see.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words pressed down on you. the man standing before you wasn’t just a stranger, he was a nightmare, a ghost of the person he once was, and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t reconcile the man before you with the one who had pulled you out of the fire so many times before. the one who had shielded you, consoled you when you were hurt, and risked his life to save yours. even as he revealed the truth, this sinister, unfathomable truth, a part of you couldn’t forget the way his hands had steadied you in instances of chaos or the way he had spoken to you with warmth when everything else had been so cold.

˚ ༘♡ yet that part of you, small as it was, waged a bitter war with your anger and disgust. you couldn’t ignore what he’d done, what he was. you had seen him kill without hesitation, betray without remorse. yet somehow, despite everything, the memory of his quiet acts of care gnawed at your resolve, complicating the clarity of your rage.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. “why did you save me if you were just going to do this? why did you act like you cared?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, and for a second, the cold, calculating overseer seemed to fade. in his place was the man who had once held your hand, who had spoken with a gentleness that felt so real you couldn’t dismiss it entirely. “because i do care,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “more than you know.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “you don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice quivering with misery and despair. “not after everything you’ve done. you don’t get to care.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the space between you. you wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. “i know what i am,” he said softly, his tone stable yet tinged with something raw. “i know what i’ve done. but that doesn’t make what i feel for you any less real.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you murmured, though the word came out weak, your anger faltering under the intensity of his dark gaze. “don’t try to make this about me. you’re just trying to justify…”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “i’m not trying to justify anything. i… i couldn’t lose you.”

˚ ༘♡ the confession hung in the air, heavy and morose. you wanted to lash out, to shout at him, to tell him that his words didn’t change anything. but instead, you found yourself searching his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation. and you didn’t find it.

˚ ༘♡ you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you had trusted him, even cared for him, before the truth came crashing down. those memories, tainted by what you knew now, lingered like ghosts, haunting you in ways you couldn’t escape.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t get to feel that way about me,” you said, though your voice wavered, lacking the conviction you wanted it to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “i know,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, his closeness almost unbearable. “but i do.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could think, before you could stop it, he leaned in. the world seemed to still as his face drew closer, his presence overwhelming. you hated him, you loathed him, but the confusion, the anger, the lingering warmth of the man you thought you knew muddled everything.

˚ ༘♡ when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or careful. it was desperate, a confession in itself, and against your better judgment, against every screaming thought in your head, you didn’t pull away. instead, you let the infatuation consume you, the bitterness, the anger, the ache of betrayal melding together into something raw and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ when it broke, you were left shaking, your breaths uneven as you stared at him, your heart pounding with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name. you hated him, but lord, you hated how much you wanted to understand him even more.

a/n: you all asked for another part so i had to write part four!! i had a cosmetic procedure that requires me to stay home for a few days so if you have any requests, this is the time!! i hope you all loved reading!! 🤍

[mekakitsune]

mean!jinx x fem!reader - nsfw - minors dni

request from anon: "Hi love, I would like to request Jinx x Reader. The reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they are at the bar and a guy approaches the reader asking if the reader would like to go out with him and Jinx obviously doesn't like it, can this end with her fucking the reader to show everyone that the reader is hers? Please 😮‍💨"

dates in public really werent jinx's thing, or yours for that matter. she would always say something along the lines of "why go out when we have everything we need here?" by here, she meant her "workshop"– where it was cluttered with mechanical parts and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air constantly. it was more than enough, but sometimes, even you needed a break. had you not been so convincing, jinx would have not let you drag her out to the last drop. she didn't like drinking, nor did she like the usuals at the bar. they were loud, arrogant, and just plain gross.

she sat at the end of the bar, some fruity juice concoction in her cup as she swirled her straw around the glass looking less than interested in what was happening around her.

"i want another drink, ill be right back, kay?" you lean into her, and she nods, watching you hop off the stool and stroll (rather stumble) to the other end of the bar where the bartender stood. she watched as you smiled sweetly at the man, leaning against the bar as you recite your order. he nods and moves to make your drink, leaving you to stand waiting. without notice, a man slinks in beside you, with an unsettling smirk on his lips.

"put the lovely ladies drink on my tab, would ya?" he gruffed at the bartender, sending you a wink as he spoke. you smile politely, shaking your head as you speak up– "hey... im alright but thank yo-"

"nonsense, let me treat a pretty lady to a drink, yeah?" he cut you off. he reeked of booze, and was ultimately too close for comfort.

"okay...its a just a drink, but im a-" he cuts you off again.

"see, knew you'd want it. so hows about we getchu that drink and then ditch this place?" he smirks again, placing a hand on your shoulder, one eye brow cocked like he was waiting for you to agree. before you could utter a word, an arm wraps around your waist, and the mans hand drops from your shoulder immediately.

"sorry to interrupt whatever youre trying to do here, but shes taken."

jinxs sneers at the man, looking like she was ready to pounce any second. the man, stupidly, didnt budge– obviously not seeing your girlfriend as much of a threat. her fingers gripped your hip, hard.

"ohh so its like that? y'know, ive always wanted to see some girl on girl action in real time." the man stands, arrogant and overly confident. the smirk on his lips made your stomach twist. without thinking, per her style, jinx lunges at the man, slamming her fist into his nose.

your eyes go wide as the man stumbles back, hand gripping his now bloody nose. "you little bitch..."

the man moves quickly towards her, but a familiar metallic hand finds his shoulder first.

"you two. out. now."

it was sevika, of course she had been there. she had been watching the two of you since you walked in, knowing trouble was bound to come with you guys around, it seemed like it always did.

"i'll fuckin kill you..." the man spat, trying to remove himself from sevikas grip. she looked at you sternly, and you got the message from the expression on her face.

"pssh, you wish." jinx muttered mockingly, clearly not wanting to leave without finishing what she started, or rather, without killing this guy first. you grab her wrist and speak– "lets just go jinx, cmon.." you pull her towards you, and she follows as you drag her towards the door. shouts from the man can be heard from behind you, and jinx stops in her tracks to flip him off. you bite back a laugh as you tug her along into the cool air outside of the bar.

"what a creep..." she spoke low, eyes ahead of her as she walked, avoiding your gaze completely.

"im sorr–" suddenly she whips around to face you, brows furrowed. "i mean seriously? that perv was all over you, and you were gonna let him buy you a drink!? are you stupid?" she cuts you off to rant, making you shut your mouth.

"he could have done something bad, and you were just gonna let him? the hells wrong with you?" she continued, hands moving dramatically.

"i was just gonna empty his pockets when he wasnt looking, jinx... aren't you the one that always says "if you see an opening, take it?"– you quote her. "its clear he had money..."

this seems to make her head rush, anger and possessiveness rushing through her. before you can process it, shes grabbing your arm and dragging you into the alley on your right. with shocking force, she presses you against the wall, her face dangerously close to yours as her eyes bore into yours.

"that doesn't mean go around and act like some sort of slut." she squints, cocking her head to the side.

"are you kidding? fuck you, jinx. i-" she doesnt let you finish as she smashing her lips into yours, hard enough to bruise, surely. you gasp at her suddenness, and her hands find your hips again, pinning you to the wall behind you.

her tongue wins the easy battle for dominance, completely consuming you as if the two of you werent stood in an alley. the only light was a dingy street lamp, casting a warm glow onto the two of you. the kiss was hot, messy as she took control of every movement, hips pressing into yours. she pulls back from the kiss, chest heaving as her hands find your belt.

"what are you doing?" you pant, watching her as her skilled hands mess with your waistband.

"whats it look like, dollface." her tone is low, and you can tell shes serious about taking you right here in the alley.

"cmon...not here...people could see us." you shift your hips as much as you can, but theres little to no room between you and the wall, so your attempt are deemed useless. ignoring you, her fingers pop the button on your pants, and find their way into your underwear.

her lips are on you again, flush with your neck as she sucks marks into the skin.

"let em'. dont care." her words are muffled against your neck. you gasp quietly as her fingers find your slick folds, a low chuckle coming from her.

"see? slut. all worked up, and from what, hm? some creep sweet talkin you?" she rambles, her words making your skin flush. her fingers circle your clit, making you buck into her as she holds you steady with her other hand. the cool metal of her finger bleeds through the layer of fabric riding up your hips. soon enough, shes moving her fingers and sliding them into your cunt, making you whimper. you feel her smirk against your neck, lips leaving a trail of searing marks with the intention of claiming whats hers.

"or is it that you like the thought of being caught, hm?" her fingers pushed a relentless pace, making your knees shake. "y'like me fuckin you in public baby?" her words are making your head spin, along with her fingers inside of you. her breathing picks up again when she hears you whine, cunt tightening around her fingers.

"m'close, please..." you muttered helplessly, surely dripping down her wrist at this point. she presses a kiss to your lips as she pulls her hand away. you watch in awe, chest moving rapidly as her fingers come to her mouth, sucking them clean.

"what the fuck?" you pant, fingers wrapping around her wrist. she simply smiles, before slipping out of your grasp.

"s'one thing to act like you enjoy being flirted with, but im not about to make you cum where anyone could see." she shrugs, her grin sinister as she turns on her heel.

in disbelief, your shaky hands move to fix your pants and belt. she had it coming once you stepped back into the confines of her workshop, that was one thing for certain.

thank u for the yummy rq i hope u enjoy :3

[thecommunityoftrustworthysinks]

near the start of the essay ooooough this hits hard

(edit) a few more things i wanted to pull out:

(alt text in image description)

basically, supporting trans people means supporting trans men and that means you have to shift your paradigm to fit men into feminism. there's not an alternative

Is there a term for that phenomenon that happens when people tell transmen/transmascs not to go on testosterone/not to try to look more masculine because it'll make them ugly/fat/hairy/bald/whatever negative thing?

I know it's not transmisandry, but does it have a name or is it just general transphobia?

I mean surely that's not NOT transphobia? but I'm also not, like, in charge of how transmasculine people talk about stuff so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[eymie]

PHOTOGRAPHER !

pairing: thomas webb x fem!reader

warnings: smut, nudes?? kinda, alcohol, dry humping, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), thats it i think

summary: you were a new york photoprapher and thomas lived in your apartment. and after one frustrating night you invite him into your room.

a/n: WHERE. IS. THE. MF. CALLUM. TURNER. FICS. i’ve been on this game since fantastic beasts. (ive found a few scrumptious callum fics and yk who u r @willyoubemycherryy) also i have not written in a hot minute and none of you expected this.

You lived on the story above Thomas. Not that you ever really noticed him at first, you were relatively new in the complex too. Sometimes you’d hear him having a conversation on the stairs with the old man from 2B. Mix of words you didn’t bother to put together.

Well, you didn’t care until you saw him for the first time. The old man from 2B liked to talk a lot, often chatting you up when you got home from work. Sometimes bringing up Thomas which you didn’t care for.

"He could use a nice girl like you.”

To which you would’ve scoffed. You heard someone running down the stairs, to which you met eye contact with Thomas. Wavy brown hair, pink cheeks, glasses that sort of turned you on.

The real New York type of guy, to be honest, your type of guy. His lips parted as he looked at you, a small nod and than sliding past you.

“Where you going Thomas,” He called out, to which Thomas turned around laughing.

“I gotta go, meeting up with Mimi.” Thomas turned on his heels to leave until he was stopped again by the man.

“I want you to meet me friend.” The man gestured to you, Thomas smiling at you in return.

“No, it’s alright. I have to get going.” You smiled back, walking to the door where Thomas stood. You brushed past him, your clothes brushing his own.

“Where?” Thomas asked, furrowing his brows.

“Around, I’m a photographer.”

That’s how it started. After that, coincidentally you ran into Thomas a lot more after that. Usually alone, and to that he’d usually greet you and say hi. After a specifically draining day, a frustrating one at that, he ran into you in the front door.

He rubbed his eyes, apologizing and then he started talking. Going off about something you honestly didn’t care much about. You liked hearing him talk. You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Wanna talk about it? In my room.” It came out like word vomit, immediately embarrassed. You watched his eyes for a second, not even processing his nod.

You grabbed his hands pulling him up to your apartment, dragging him close behind you. His hand was big compared to yours, you weren’t surprised you had already noticed he was a lot taller than you.

Your anxiety kicked in when you struggled to unlock the door. Him peering over your neck, watching you struggle with your keys. You felt his lips brush your neck slightly, your panties dampening.

You flung your door open a little too excited, a small laugh leaving his lips. He followed you in, to which you immediately grabbed your alcohol off the shelf.

When you turned around, Thomas caught you off-guard, pressing his lips to yours. It was quick, aggressive a bit, which you assumed was probably from nerves. He was quick to shake his head and apologize.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He mumbles, looking down at his shoes. You examine his face, his expression. You hand him the full bottle of alcohol off your counter, to which he takes from you with ease. "Thanks--"

You pull him back down, pressing your lips harder to his than he had before. You threaded your fingers through his hair, slightly tugging on it making him groan into the kiss. He still held the bottle in his hand, but his free hand slid to your waist.

He had you pressed against your counter, nowhere to move. His tongue slid over your bottom lips, you parted your lips allowing him to slip it in. Pressing and sliding against your own making you moan softly into the kiss.

Thomas pulled away, taking a sip of the alcohol, furrowing his brows at the taste. He placed it back on the counter beside you, who was breathless and needy.

He tilted your chin back up, pulling you back into another heated kiss. Both hands now free, groping whatever he could. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, his kiss was intoxicating.

His hand slid up your skirt, tracing the apex of your thighs. His fingers slowly slide up to the wet patch of your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

"Thomas," You gasp, pulling away from the kiss. He trails down your jawline and neck, leaving soft wet kisses. He hums into your skin, hands pulling your waist closer to his body. "Wait--"

"What?" He was barely audible, too busy tainting your skin with his marks which you would certainly cover up the next day.

"l don’t know," You gasp, his tongue running over the mark he had just left. You feel him smile into your skin, a small laugh leaving his lips. His fingers sliding over your panties, pressing onto your clothed clit.

"Do you want me to stop?" He pulls away looking at your flustered face. His hand pulling away from the apex of your thighs, sliding up your waist and under your shirt.

“No,” You were too quick to answer, a small laugh leaving his lips. The way Thomas kissed you felt urgent, like he needed you now and he could’ve wait. And if you knew any better you would’ve known why.

You walked backwards to your bedroom, never breaking the hungry kiss. His hands were large, pulling at your waist. Your hand pulled back to push the door open further, backing into your small room. He turned you, pushing you against the white door, shutting it with your body weight.

You let out a soft moan as his knee slotted between your thighs, pressing into your clothed his. His hands travelled down to your hip, pulling your cunt harder onto his rough pants.

“Look at you, getting off on my thigh.” You whined at his words, a wet patch forming on the fabric of his pants.

“Thomas, I want you—“

“I know,” He mumbles against your lips. Thomas was usually quick when it came to sex, at least with the foreplay but he wanted to take it slow so bad. Talk you through it. “Don’t worry, gonna fuck you.”

“Now,” You move your head to the side to give him more room to mark your neck. His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, lips attacking your skin.

“Not yet,” His hot breath against your skin, lips pressing to your neck.

Thomas’ hands slid under your thighs, you jump up wrapped your legs around his waist, His fingers press into your skin, holding you up against him. Your arms wrap around his neck as he tosses you down on the mattress.

“Take off your clothes, okay?” You nod in reply and quickly pull off your skirt and panted as he pulls off his shirt. You pull off your own shirt, tossing it onto the hardwood floor next to his discarded clothes.

You look up to see Thomas, pulling off his pants leaving him in his tented boxers. You suddenly feel yourself getting hotter than before.

It was in a flash, he was on top of you, hot skin against yours. His hands pried your thighs apart then slid up to your bra clad chest. He slid his fingers under your bra while he nipped at your jaw. His glasses were still on and pressed into your skin

Your fingers slid up to pull his glasses off his face, to which he tried to resist. “I can’t see without those.”

“Shut up,” You cut him off with a kiss, fingers tangling in his brown hair. His glasses were held in your free hand, falling against the pillow beside you.

He broke the kiss, still brushing his plump lips against yours before speaking. “Put them on.”

You knew what he meant but you ignored him, pushing him on his back instead. You climbed onto his lap, your hands pushing him down against the mattress.

You placed his glasses on your face, they made your vision blurrier and you wanted to see him. You went to pull them off but he gripped your wrist, pulling your hands away from your face.

His cock twitched through the fabric of his boxers, you slowly grinded your hips in return. A small whimper left his lips, his eyes shut. You slid you hand up his body to his lips, your pointer finger slowly parting his lips.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed, parting his lips for you. You roll your hips again and you listen as another soft groan leaves his lip. You smiled, leaning down to press your lips to his. Deep in the kiss, your hands slide to slowly his boxers down allowing his cock to spring out.

Your lips parted at the sight of his hard cock, pre-cum drooling down the tip. His large hands slid up your waist and pulled you down onto his cock. Your wet folds sliding across his length .

“Want you inside,” You whined, nails gripping his chest. He bit back any noises, nodding at your request and let go of your hips. You bit your lip, positioning his tip at your entrance.

“What do you want?” He asked with a smirk, a little too amused for your own liking. You tried to sink down but he had a firm grip on yours hips stopping you.

“Please, need it.” You whine, trying against but his grip on your hips stopped you from it. You clenched your jaw in frustration at his lack of sympathy.

“Want me to fuck your pussy?” He asked with a small laugh, you scoffed in return.

“You’re too vulgar.”

“I’m about to be inside you, what type of vulgarity would you prefer?”

“Shut up—“ You didn’t get to finish before his hands were pulling your hips down, his tip pushing past your entrance. Your mouth fell agape and your eyes were shut closed. You whimpered at the slight sting, he was bigger than you expected.

“Yeah, take it like a slut.” He smirked, watching as he bottomed out, stretching your cunt wide open. God, he wished he had his glasses on to see how your cunt looked around him.

You didn’t noticed his hand fumbling onto the night table, grabbing your old camera you retired from taking photos. The flash made you squint through his glasses.

The small photo came up on the screen, your perfect body sitting on his cock, tits full and being held in his free hand. He was saving that for later. He put the camera back on the nightstand, hands trailing up to steal his glasses back but you grabbed his wrist.

“I don’t think so.” You swatted him away, adjusting his glasses on your face. Your vision still just as blurry as his own.

“I wanna see you.” He whined, leaning back on his elbows, squinting back at you.

“The photo for later wasn’t enough?” You tease.

“Come on, give me my glasses so I can fuck you.”

You pushed him back down on the bed, raising your hips before dropping them. A groan slipping from his lips as his head falls back on the pillow, bucking his hips up.

“Fuck me, Thomas.” You whined, grinding your clit into his pelvis. His nails dug into your hips leaving red crescent shaped marks. His lips were parted, head back as you rode him. "Please."

With that he flipped you onto your back, pressing your legs to your chest. The small room was filled with obscene noises and the slapping of skin. He thrusted his length into you harder, pulling you to meet his thrusts.

"Fucking begging for it," He grunted, his tip pressing into your sweet spot. Strained moans left your lips, despite your best effort to keep quiet. New York apartments had thin walls.

Your hand slapped against your mouth to muffle the loud moan that had just left your lips. His hand slid to your wrist, sloppily grabbing it and pinning it above your head.

"Don't hold back," He ordered, lips connecting to yours to swallow your moans and whines. His free hand travelled down from where he pinned your legs to your clit, pressing your sensitive bud.

"Fuck--" You moaned, the knot in your stomach tightening. His thumb rubbed your clit harshly, pressing his thumb hard against it. "So close."

"Come for me, baby." His lips brushed against yours, his saliva coating your kiss-swollen lips.

A gasp left your lips, then a strained whine. Your walls clenched around his cock, the knot coming undone. Your head thrown back against your pillow as he fucked you through your orgasm.

"Yeah baby, just like that. Come for me." His whispered into your skin, your hips bucking against his thrusts. He pressed soft kisses into your skin as you arched off the mattress. His hands travelled to the arch of your back, rubbing your spine. "So good for me."

You fell back to the mattress, soft whimpers leaving you between your pants. His hand left your sensitive clit instead holding your hips as he neared his own orgasm. Pulling out, his hot seed coating your thighs and stomach.

"Give me back my glasses, I wanna see that photo."

[witherby]

HI HI. SAME ANON :33anon here!!!

omg???? jfc christ? that was so good im shaking my cup for more 😭 i think the fact my ask is being used as a power shower is silly... i love it keep up the good work!

(side note ive done metamorphosis may i be 🎆anon.... i will be yapping at you on a later date o7)

Welcome to the club 🎆 I am smooching ur cheek

Hahaha...wouldn't it be so silly....if I used your ask again.....to post the second part hahahaha.....isn't that the silliest idea hahahaha.........

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 2 of 2)

Masterlist is Here!

"Let me make sure I've got this straight."

Everyone stiffens in their seats. When Batman says things like that, it means he is very, very close to yelling. Batman never yells unless his patience has reached its limit, his emotional threshold has bubbled over, or he hasn't slept in over six consecutive days. Given his usual activities, it could very well be a combination of the three, and the current situation is not helping.

"You —" he points a gauntleted finger at Manhunter, "— realized my child was showing signs of developing their powers six weeks ago, and told no one."

He turns to Superman and Diana next, talking through clenched teeth.

"And then you two, today, realized the same thing, indirectly told them they would no longer have a place in my home, and then they vanished under your cape."

He places his hands on the meeting table. Inhales. Exhales.

"No one attempted to reach out and express their concerns to me, the father, in either incident."

He slams his fists on the table. The wood splinters under the impact. Everyone flinches with it.

"AND NOW MY CHILD IS MISSING! DID I FORGET ANYTHING? DID I LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!?"

The silence afterwards is deafening. Bruce yanks his cowl off and slams it to the floor, running his hands through his hair.

"The Watchtower is under lockdown until further notice. We do not leave until either I find my kid, or I figure out how to track them down."

"Batman," the Flash chimes in, "I feel for you. This is a bad situation, but we can't all stay here; I have to —"

Bruce rounds the table and crowds Barry into his seat with near-inhuman speed. His eyes are wide and wild and his teeth are bared.

"We do not leave until I find them."

The lights briefly turn red and an automated voice comes over the intercom, alerting them that lockdown protocols have initiated. The heroes watch as blast shields cover the windows and the Zeta tubes deactivate, effectively blocking their only ways out.

Green Lantern re-enters the room from the observation deck with a determined expression.

"Checked the monitors and surrounding galaxy. Skies are clear, and earth-side we should be fine for at least a couple hours, so I went ahead and triggered the protocol."

"Hal!" Barry protests. "C'mon, I'm gonna be late to work again! It's not as easy for some of us to maintain our civilian covers, you know!"

"Well, then it sounds like we gotta find our missing Mouse fast."

Bruce presses a button on his gauntlet and pulls a small ball out of it, rolling it to the center of the table. A hologram screen pops up and shows a picture of you sitting in Tim's lap and enthusiastically looking at something on his computer with him. To the right of the image, a wall of text begins to appear, detailing observations made about your growth, health, and development of your powers.

"You already knew," Diana mutters, like the words have been punched out of her. Clark holds his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell us then, huh?" Oliver frowns. "Didn't think we could benefit from that information?"

"My child, my discretion," Bruce hisses. That shuts Ollie right back up. "This is everything I've been able to passively observe about their ability. They can latch onto any shadows in their immediate vicinity, up to a range of approximately one hundred feet, and until now has only used them for pathfinding, like solving puzzles or looking for small objects. What just happened today with Superman's cape is the first discovered instance of them being able to traverse into darkness itself."

"That's why the Watchtower is locked down," J'onn realizes. "If they can only travel so far with the shadows, chances are high that they're still in here."

"Yes."

"How do we pull them out if we find them?" Arthur speaks up, arms crossed. "Last I checked, no one else has shadow powers."

"Do what you can without risking injury to them or yourselves. If you can talk them out, that will be the ideal tactic. Any more questions?" Bruce waits a few seconds for anyone to speak up, then dismisses the holo-screen and rises to his full height. "Then everyone fan out, cast some shadows, and get to work."

--

Arthur is having no luck. He checks the furniture that was already casting shadows, like tables and beds and appliances, to no avail. Calling to you and feeling around those dark spaces isn't gonna get him anywhere.

Clark and Diana had picked up his cape and hunkered down under the fabric, gingerly asking you to please come out, Uncle Clark and Auntie Di are very sorry they implied what they did, they never meant to scare you, please please please come back.

Barry is zipping around the whole tower, checking high spaces and low, calling for you with a mixture of urgency and concern.

Ollie uses his body to cast a shadow under the fluorescent lighting and Dinah crouches in the space of it, patting the ground gently and urging you to appear. She insists everyone is worried and looking for you because they want you to be safe.

Bruce is frantic. He's visually very composed, but Hal can see the tremble in his hands as he slowly and methodically checks every single shadow he can find or create for signs of you.

"Bruce," Hal mutters, watching him check his cape for the fifteenth time in just as many minutes. "Bruce, sit down and breathe for a bit."

"Don't mention breathing," Bruce snaps. "This is unprecedented. I'm working with zero useful information and three of my teammates contributed to this situation in the first place. Can they just exist in darkness forever, or is there a limit before they get spit back out? Can they even get back out? Is there oxygen wherever they are? Are they safe or in any kind of distress? If you don't have answers to these questions or haven't found them yet, I don't want you talking to me."

He turns to check his cape again and almost runs right into J'onn.

"There was a shadow moving in the training room," he noted. "When I approached to investigate, it melted away. I found it important to tell you that Flittermouse seems to be active and uninjured judging by the ease in which that shadow moved."

The Manhunter leaves them again, phasing through the walls to continue searching for you. Bruce pulls his gloves off and rubs his face, sighing.

"Hal."

"I forgive you," comes the immediate reply. Hal places a hand on Bruce's back and offers him a thin smile. "You're a dad who's scared for your four-year-old kid. I think you're entitled to a little bit of bitchiness."

Bruce hums.

"Just a little bit, though. Like fifteen percent more bitch than your baseline. Which is to say, if you talk to me like that again I'm going to make a giant cartoon hammer and beat you to death with it."

Both men hear you giggle. Their heads whip around in the direction of the sound, and find a small, child-shaped shadow moulded into the corner. It's a strange thing, to look at a shadow with no source. It would be frightening if it wasn't you.

"Mouse?" Bruce immediately calls, stepping towards you. The giggling stops and the shadow shrinks. He crouches down, palms extended. "No no no! Don't go, don't go anywhere, please. Can I talk to you?"

You don't respond. Bruce isn't entirely sure if you can, in your current form. You haven't run away yet, however, so he inches just a bit closer.

"I'm...there's...." He stops and starts, searching for the best words to use. "Mouse, there was a misunderstanding. No one is making you leave. I'm not going to give you up or send you away, I promise."

"...m e t a h u m a n..." you mutter. Both Bruce and Hal shiver. It sounds like darkness itself whispering directly into their ears, faint and echoing and all-encompassing.

"Yes, that's what people with skills like yours are called," he confirms.

Your shadow doesn't move for a while. Bruce shuffles closer, palms extended, and is about to ask you to come out, but then your entire form wobbles and starts shrinking even more.

"...n o m e t a s i n G o t h a m..." you say, and the sadness in your voice is so potent Hal has to brace himself against the wall.

"No!" Bruce says, pressing his palm against the wall just a second too late. You dissolve and disappear. "That's not — ffffffuck."

He presses his forehead to the wall and closes his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to avoid screaming. It takes a while.

"They're not going to talk to me," he eventually says. "They're scared of me, of that damned rule I —"

He cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

"You have to do it."

"Me? Specifically?" Hal asks.

"You're their favorite uncle." Bruce pushes himself off the floor and rests his hand on Hal's forearm. "They adore you. They ask when you're going to visit Gotham again all the time. If anybody's gonna get them to understand that they're not in any trouble or danger of losing their family because of something I did, it's gonna be you."

"Whoa. No pressure," Hal says. He knows it's true though — you absolutely adore Hal, and the feeling is mutual. You feel almost like his own kid. He's just as scared as Bruce is about your current situation. "Okay...alright, I got this. Listen, tell the others that Mouse probably isn't gonna come out for 'em. Go hang out in the meeting room and gimme an hour alone. I'll bring them back."

Bruce nods, but he seems hesitant to leave the part of the hall where they spotted your shadow. Hal gives him a small nudge and he eventually turns away, his boots clocking softly against the floor.

Hal inhales slowly, holds it, then exhales for a count of ten.

He's got this.

--

He does not have this. Hal walked into an empty corridor and flicked all the lights off, choosing to sit in the darkness and try calling out to you for almost thirty minutes. There's been no luck.

He sighs and uses his ring to construct a small bear, illuminating the immediate space around him in green, and makes it walk around.

"Y'know you used to love playing with my constructs," he murmurs. "We had this game I made up, where you would chase after whatever toy I made as fast as you could and try to catch it. I let you win a lot."

He makes a construct of you as a much smaller infant, not yet able to walk, crawling eagerly after the bear.

"You'd grab the little toy and hug it tight, and then come show me you got it. And I'd scoop you up and give you a cookie before we did it all again. We had to really tone down the cookie part because you got sick one time. Bruce made me sleep on the floor for a week. Not even one of the million couches in the manor. The floor. It was the worst."

He hears the surrounding darkness around him giggle. Hal leans against the wall and heaves a large, relieved sigh.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "S'good to hear you."

You don't respond. He tries not to feel discouraged, instead seizing the opportunity presented.

"I'm not gonna ask you to come out, but if you don't mind...I'm kinda lonely. D'you think we could play that game again?"

Hal vanishes the constructs and makes a new one — a small, stuffed bat toy. He makes it flap its little wings and flop in circles.

"Think you can catch it? This one's a bit feisty."

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Hal feels himself growing nervous, and he's about to abandon the idea and suggest something else, but then the bat just vanishes. The construct is sucked up into the shadows, like darkness itself came up and hugged it into the void. A knot in his chest comes undone.

"That," he says, "was awesome. Okay, here's another one. Even feistier than the last."

This goes on for a while. Hal makes something for you to chase, you emerge from the dark just long enough to pull it in with you, and the process is rinse and repeat. Eventually, though, you come out of the shadows more and more, staying out of it longer and longer to chase around the conjured toys, until you're just tossing them into the shadows with gleeful little cheers.

"Got it!" You cry, jumping up to reach another one, this time shaped like an owl. You're panting from exertion and grinning widely at Hal, just standing and hugging it to your chest. "I win?"

"You win again," Hal agrees, expression painfully fond. He adores you wholeheartedly. "C'mere and get a victory hug, kid. Don't have any cookies on me, but we'll do a raincheck on that."

You go to him easily, practically collapsing in his lap, and rest your head against his chest while you idly pet the glowing owl toy. The area is bathed in dim green, enough to see each other without strain but still casting more than enough shadows for you to hide in again if you wanted.

"Fantastic job," Hal murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nuzzle into his chest even more, hiding your face. "We definitely have to do that again some time. Don't you think?"

You start to nod, but the motion is jerky. You hesitate, then shrug, hugging the toy tighter.

"Oh, Mousey," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You didn't think your powers would make Uncle Hal stop wanting to play with you, did ya?"

You slowly nod again, curling in on yourself.

"Well, that's just plain wrong. I love you, honey. Everybody loves you, y'know? You're smart, and adorable, and soooo much fun to be around," Hal insists, giving you a quick squeeze. Your mouth twitches like you're trying not to smile. "And it's gonna be way more fun now that you have cool shadow powers! Hide and seek might get a little challenging, but we'll make it work."

"...and Daddy?" You mutter. "Will he...want to play, too?"

"I know Daddy would love to play any game you wanted," Hal swore. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. And you know what else?"

"What?" You ask, lifting your head. You look at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, hanging onto his every word.

"Sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. Like creating dumb rules he shoulda broke years ago."

You look away, snuggling further into Hal.

"What if...Daddy don't wanna break the rule?" You whisper.

Hal curls around you almost protectively, kissing your head again.

"Then he's a big, smelly dummy, and I'll take care of you instead," he promises. "You can live at my house, and I'll still bring you to the Watchtower to hang out with everyone and play games, and maybe, if you're extra good, I'll take you on vacation in outer space. I'll show you things you've never seen, like planets with four moons, and people as tall as skyscrapers, and space food that turns your hair all different colors. It'll explode your tiny head!"

"Nooo!" You giggle, grinning. "I don't want a exploded head!"

"Hmm...you drive a hard bargain kid," Hal says. "Okay, I won't give you explodey-head food. But only because you said so."

He lets you get your laughter out, then gently pats your back to regain your attention.

"I know you're very scared," he says, "but I promise this doesn't change the fact that you are so, so incredibly loved. I bet if you gave the others a chance, they'd be more than willing to prove it. Especially your dad."

You tighten your grip on the owl in your arms, bottom lip wobbling for a moment.

"Could you give him a chance, Mouse?" Hal asks. "If you don't want to, that's fine. We can work an arrangement out and always try again a different day. But I know he would be really, really excited to see you again."

You stare at Hal, face tight in contemplation. He waits patiently, continuing to rub small circles in your back.

His patience is rewarded when you bury your face in his chest again, nodding.

"Want daddy," you whisper. Hal settles you more securely in his arms and immediately rises to his feet, relishing the burst of satisfaction and relief in his chest.

He takes you back into the meeting room. Bruce immediately stands up from the table when he spots you curled up in Hal's embrace, hands twitching like he wants to hold you himself.

He moves with all the carefulness of someone approaching a wild animal. His face is uncharacteristically open, broadcasting his worry for you and relief that you're unharmed.

"Hi, sweet pea," Bruce mutters, silk-soft, and that's all it takes to make you start sobbing and reach for him. Your father doesn't hesitate, sweeping you up and giving assurance after assurance that you are just as treasured and loved as you've always been, that he is so happy to be your dad, that you belong in Gotham and that will never change no matter what.

The lockdown gets lifted from the Watchtower. Several heroes, after conveying their relief and gratitude over your safety, take their leave. Diana and Clark stay behind to apologize profusely, both to you and Bruce, for implying that you would ever be unwelcome in your own home just for being different. It's easy for you to forgive them, but Bruce is grinding his jaw a bit, so they excuse themselves for the night and take their leave.

"Well." Hal claps his hands together and yawns. "I'm ready for a drink and a bed. What do we say we hit the road, huh? C'mon, B, let's get Flittermouse back home. I've hit my daily quota for adventure."

Bruce nods, walking with you back to the Zeta tubes. You've already nodded off in his arms, drained from your stressful day.

"Thank you, Hal," he says, preparing to warp home. "Come by after the kids are in bed. Let me repay you properly."

"Y'know, normally I'd be all over that," Hal smirks, "but I'm seriously beat. Can I cash my reward in tomorrow?"

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Whenever you want. Come by anyway, if you like. We don't have to do anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then." Hal crosses his arms and relaxes against the corridor wall, smiling down at your dozing form. "You take care. Both of you."

Bruce thanks him again, disappearing in a flash of light. When Hal drops by later that evening, he finds his boyfriend asleep with you in his arms, clinging to his shirt and drooling on his chest as you coast peacefully in Dreamland.

Before joining the cuddle pile, he finds that sitting on the nightstand, written in a combination of pen and crayon, is a contract holding both yours and Bruce's signatures:

The rule against Metahumans in Gotham is hereby null and void forever and ever.

Signed by: Daddy & Mousey

[mysumeow]

ᯓ★ KINKTOBER DAY 6: OVERSTIMULATION

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, overstimulation (receiving), unprotected piv, handholding omg officer this fic right here /j

ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: When you simp so hard...it actually gets you were you want?

ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 2.4k

ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: doneeee with my pending kinktober posts omgggg i thought i could use the whole week to procrastinate my days only playing infinity nikki and but then some stuff came up and ive barely been at home T_T but i really wanted to check this off my list before i lost the inspiration ueueueueue

. . . KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | TWST MASTERLIST

“Ace—“

“Oh, boy. I know where this is going.”

“Did you see Malleus’s—”

“I did, and I don’t want to hear you gush about it.”

“His radiance is unfair, but I’m not even mad about it. And that ponytail? He should wear his hair like that more often, he looks so—”

Fed up with your yapping, Ace forced a spoonful of his lunch into your mouth. “Thank the great seven that the cafeteria's so noisy no one heard anything. I would’ve run away and pretended I didn’t know you.”

You didn’t even bother chewing before you swallowed the lump of food down your throat to continue. “Don’t even let me get started on what I would do if I got my hands in his ponytail.”

Ace groaned in annoyance and opened his mouth to cut you off before you got started, but his face paled when his eyes landed on someone behind you that heard you talk about his liege like that.

“Human! Such unbecoming thoughts…!” was none other than Sebek. Had he not gripped his lunch tray hard enough, it would’ve clattered to the floor. Curse the fae part of his blood that gave him better hearing.

If Sebek was around, then Malleus too…

Was this the end of the renowned Ramshackle prefect? Was this the way your journey into this unknown wonderland would finish? If you were lucky enough, dying was the way to return home…

“Sebek, it’s not polite to interrupt someone’s conversation,” Malleus reprimanded him. “Let’s continue in our way. We’re in the middle of the entrance.”

“Yes, my liege.” Sebek’s infuriated expression calmed down, and he followed him.

“I thought you were a goner!” Ace couldn’t help but laugh, his hands on his tummy.

“Do you think he heard? I don’t think I’ll be able to speak to him ever again.” meanwhile, you hid your face behind your palms.

“That’s what you get for subjecting me to your lovesick babble.” Ace poked your side. “If it serves to console you, he didn’t seem angry. Then again, who knows what a prince is thinking.”

“Maybe I should go apologize.”

“Errh, it’s best not to bring up the topic again, in case he didn’t hear you. Maybe he was thinking of something else and didn’t notice it.” He shrugged and went back to eating his lunch before it got cold. “Do whatever will allow you to sleep better tonight.”

After this, sleeping tonight wasn’t something you were going to be doing much, that’s for certain.

You found yourself at the door of his club before you could decide whether confronting it was a good idea or not. You were just going to say hi and probe his reactions to decipher if he was mad or not. If there was any crackling of lightning happening, you knew that was your cue to run away…

“Prefect.”

Your hand stopped just before you could knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Your hand sweated while you turned the knob and stepped in with caution. You expected a rapid flash of lightning to strike you down the moment you stepped into the empty classroom; instead, Malleus had his hands occupied with stone sculpting tools. His movements ceased when his eyes found yours.

“Come closer. You won’t be able to hear me at that distance.”

You made it inside without being turned into a pile of ash. That was a good start.

“I doubt I’ll have any more visitors other than you this afternoon,” he surveyed you for a second. “You appear to be uneasy. Did something happen?”

“No,” you were quick to deflect. “Uh, you said something about having visitors now?”

“Well, of course. I placed an announcement about a gargoyle tour for today, but, as usual, there’s a lack of invitees. Other than you, that is.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t come here for that—besides, the tour could be interesting. You weren’t against the idea of dipping your toes into the history of gargoyles.

He must’ve noticed your contemplative expression, as he continued with a: “Or did you show up with other intentions?”

“I came here for the tour!” you blurted out. “I’ve always wondered what your club was like, and since you’re knowledgeable about gargoyles, I would like to listen more about them.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Well then, let us begin.”

By the time the tour ended, your worries had gone to the back of your mind, as you were immersed in the eloquent manner Malleus carried his words and shared his vast knowledge in gargoyles.

“I didn’t know there was a difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque. Being honest, they looked pretty much the same to me.”

“Correct, don’t confound the two. Gargoyles are a lot more than mere decoration. Good to know the tour has served as a new acquisition of knowledge for you.”

“I don’t get why people don’t visit your club more often. You’re great at explaining stuff, and I didn’t know gargoyles had this much history behind them. If it were Trein trying to explain this to me in the slow voice he uses during lectures, I wouldn’t have retained half of what I just learned.”

“I agree. The world should appreciate gargoyles more. Now, I’ll hold a pop quiz for you.”

“Oh—”

“It’s in your interest to say the correct answer, or this will be the last time you see me in this hairstyle.”

“Huh?!”

As your thoughts reeled into the implications of his declaration, Malleus threw the first question.

“What does this particular gargoyle represent?”

“A-Ah, that one! The power of metamorphosis, right? The ability to transcend beyond mortal limitations to higher realms of consciousness...something like that.” You were 99% sure that was what Malleus said earlier.

“Why are gargoyle’s expressions, which are commonly regarded as terrifying, like that?”

That was an easier one. “To ward off evil spirits and protect the people.”

“Right answer, although too simple. It also serves as a reminder that actions have consequences,” the way his lips curved with a taunting smile made you think that he did hear you in the cafeteria after all. “Last question: Why do some gargoyles have wings while others don’t?”

This one took longer for you to come up with an answer. You had a faint memory of him explaining it, but it was brief.

“Was it because they’re located in higher to protect places like towers?”

“Interesting observation. They don’t always represent ubication, however. Wings could represent divinity. A lack of wings meant terrestrial creatures.”

“…Did I fail the pop quiz?”

“Even though you could’ve done better, your score is acceptable,” the corners of his mouth quirked up with a barely held back amused smile. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

“I’m sorry for what happened during lunch.”

“Humans are skillful when it comes to deflecting from the truth, even when one’s inquiries are direct. I must admit, I welcome your honest opinion about my hairstyle today. Even if delivered in such an immodest fashion.”

“Did Lilia suggest the change in hairstyle?”

“He did.”

“He’s got a keen eye for this, then,” you nodded. “I… think it suits you. It’s a fresh look on you, which doesn’t take away your princely charms.”

“Princely charms…?” he placed a hand on his chin, in thought.

“I—”

“You sure know how to get in someone’s good graces.” He chuckled. “You’re welcome to thread your fingers into my hair. Just do not dishevel it too much, or I can’t promise what could happen to you if you do.”

Despite his ominous threat, Malleus leaned down to allow you better access to his head. With how close he was, a rush of ardor made you giddy, but you remained calm. You stretched your arm to caress the lush locks, your fingers threading into them. Cautious. His hair was well taken care of, the brush of the strands like silk against your skin.

“Last time anyone dared to caress my head that way was Lilia when I was still a child,” Malleus reminisced in a hushed tone. “Back then, I thought it was patronizing, to an extent. I don’t feel it that way now, however. How peculiar.

Malleus could be rather elusive at times, and, depending on what he would say, you weren’t sure you had understood him right. Yet, on this occasion, he wasn’t against your touches. That’s what you understood.

While in your thoughts, your fingers wandered close to an uncharted zone: the base of his horns.

By the time you noticed, it was late. Malleus raised his head to look at you, the change in his eyes evident.

If not for the pinkish flush taking hold of his cheeks, you would’ve thought you did something you shouldn’t have.

“You may proceed. I don’t…dislike the feeling,” he said, not moving away. If anything, he tilted his head closer to your hand. His throat emitted a low vibration, which you soon discovered was similar to a purr. Dragon fae could do that?

Your hands pressed against his chest when you felt him inch you towards a nearby desk, tools for carving forgotten near its edge.

“It appears that you aren’t aware of it, but my kind doesn’t lower their head to allow just anyone to touch their horns. They’re personal,” His slit pupils stared into yours, unwavering. “Why did you stop your hand? Do you not accept my advancements?”

You felt your mouth go dry with his towering presence. How he caged you in with his bigger figure, looming over you. “I do accept them!” you blurted out.

After you spoke, Malleus’s thumb caressed your lower lip, and his attention shifted there. Mere seconds after, his eyes closed as he leaned in, the message of what was about to happen clear enough. With your quickened heart, you reciprocated the oncoming affection.

It was unfair. Silky hair and soft lips unlike anything you’ve touched before. Typical of a dragon, Malleus soon grew impatient and greedy. Regardless of inexperience, the fervor in his heart made up for it. His fangs were in the way, numerous times threatening to break through your skin despite his efforts to keep the kiss prudent. You were addicted to the feeling of them creating subtle punctures, however.

His hand slithered behind your back to keep you upright; the space between your bodies became none. There was an obvious hardness concealed behind his pants that pushed and grinded against your body. The friction ignited pleasure. You lacked the constraint to avoid grinding against it, the pleasure straight to your clit.

“Does that feel good?”

You nodded, out of breath.

Malleus grabbed your legs and placed them around his hips; the push of his body into yours was stronger now. He moved in tandem with your grinding, the surge in pleasure hooking you to a nonstop movement. Your arms shot to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. His lips and teeth sought your neck to litter it with his own marks. The noise of the desk’s leg creaking against the floor faded to the background; you were close to coming.

His lips engulfed yours, your moan of his name swallowed by him.

In the meantime, you caught your breath and undid the purple belt around his body.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He watched you struggle to undress him, the waves of your orgasm still fresh.

“I need you,” you admitted, finally pushing the coat off his shoulders.

“Glad to oblige.”

He finished the work and nudged your legs open to stand in between them. Thick and long—specially long—his dick was erect with a hefty amount of precum on its head. The size might be a little intimidating, but given how wet you were, it shouldn’t be a problem.

Malleus enclosed you, keeping his arms rigid to prop himself on top of your torso; his ponytail cascaded down his shoulder. You were tempted to reach out and brush your fingers in it. Maybe on another occasion.

A hand went to yours to hold it, which caused you to dart a glance at him, in question. His hand engulfed yours to near completion; if the difference in size wasn’t evident enough from height, this consolidated it. Meanwhile you marveled, Malleus jutted until it was inside of you, pushing your walls to accommodate him. It was no laughing matter—his cock prodded into the deepest part of your cunt, and yet, a couple of inches remained outside.

Malleus squeezed your hand with reassurance, taking note of your breathless state.

Backing down wasn’t an option for you. You needed him. Even if the stretch tiptoed close to pain, this—you wanted it. Even if the buzz from your previous orgasm still thrummed in your body and your clit was tender, you hugged his frame with your legs and offered the final push that remained to take him in until the base. At your encouragement, Malleus huffed from the surge in pleasure, eyes closed to embrace the feeling.

You canted your hips upwards to meet his thrusts; the creaking of the desk’s leg restarted its noise. Malleus gripped your hand with more fervor, lost in pleasure and forgetting about it. In turn, you gave his a firm squeeze. His chest heaved with deep breaths, a low groan making its way out every couple of seconds. He lowered until your chests were squeezed together, the hand that held your hip snaking to the back and grasping your shoulder to impel you harder. The rhythmic onslaught kindled your libido. One step away from the climax.

You came undone beneath him a second time; he didn’t stand a chance with how your pussy clamped down around him. His lips parted with a silent gasp as he came too, viscous cum pumped inside and coating your walls.

“Mal—” Your voice came at a higher pitch than you’re used to. He already came, but his thrusts haven’t stopped. They were slow and deliberate, not allowing a single drop to slip away from your cunt.

He dipped his head to kiss you, his lips encased yours. Albeit less frenetic, it wasn’t any less loving.  Just now, you remember your intertwined hands.

“I’m sorry,” you had dug your nails quite fervently. “I didn’t notice.”

“How do you plan on making it up to me?” 

“Ah…”

“Next time, when you harbor thoughts of such forward nature, I’d appreciate it more if you cofessed them to me only.”

[kaurwreck]

Dead Apple is immensely confusing until you're able to collect enough information about singularities for context (such as by reading Fifteen & Stormbringer, both released years after Dead Apple).

Dead Apple was Kafka Asagiri's first time writing a movie; it's okay for it to be a rough cut gem.

i love dead apple so much it's such a blatant showcase of how the skk brainfog grips so many in bsd nation by the throat. only ever talking about dead apple in context of that specific scene meanwhile the most insane atsushi lore drops happen in this fucking movie. there are FAR more interesting things than a blowjob in here