#this piece caused me so much trouble

[flailingfrog]

A Reintroduction of Sorts

TW: BBU-adjacent setting, dehumanization, abuse

Holly does her best. Kit knows this, deep and well into her gut. But she does the same thing everyone else does and carries on like there isn’t a crack in her world even when it’s obvious that there’s something there, edging worry into her. It’s obvious, when you know what to look for, and Holly doesn’t wear it the same as Daphne did, but there’s a stress to her hands, a permanent tug at her shoulders and lips. Kit knows Holly well enough to know what they mean.

But Holly doesn’t want to discuss it, so Kit won’t bring it up, at least not directly. She’s very good at side-stepping issues like that—It’s part of what made her a good pet to Daphne. Besides, Daphne always said there were ways to make someone feel better other than talking.

Kit would still like to know what it was—What about looking at her left Holly’s lips thinning. Maybe then the tightness in her chest and threatening pain in her neck disappear.

Part of the anxiety is good, of course. Being anxious means she cares, and she should. After all, today is the day Holly takes her home. Her nerves need this sticky coating of not quite terror.

She’s never met her husband, or her children. And she’s never been to Holly’s house. It’s too messy, which Holly says is the nature of three kids, a husband, and busy lives, and that there’s only so much you can ask Renee to do in a day when she’s also cooking and helping Holly with her Etsy store and the kids. Renee sets off her nerves, too, though that bit she can admit is unreasonable. Renee and her will probably make great friends, if Holly allows it.

She’s settled perfectly for the moment Holly will arrive: Daphne had arranged the living room so that from the largest of the couches you could look straight across the coffee table to the front door. To herself, Kit can admit she’s always thought the furniture clashed with the wall of glass, high ceilings, and large, sparkly tiled black floors. It’s like her, though, and she’d feel warmer about that if Daphne weren’t gone.

Her crochet bag’s by her feet and she works on one of her current projects, one of what was supposed to be a series of rose doilies her and Daphne made as a pair.

The key scratches in the front door’s lock. Kit wills her heart to stop thumping and looks up from her vantage point on the couch. Downstairs, as the door scrapes across the inner floor mat, Paul starts to yap, which Kit forgives even as it stings through her brain.

It doesn’t show in the easy smile she always gives Holly from rising to her face as the door opens, doily slid back into her bag, and that is another success today.

But it’s not Holly at the door. It’s Nikole, Holly trailing after her with a flat face that makes Kit’s heart stutter.

“Does he always bark like that?” Nikole asks over her shoulder to Holly.

“He’s a barky guy,” Holly says, then to Kit. “He still downstairs?”

“Yes, Holly.” She hadn’t asked her to carry him up them. She digs through the words regardless, looking for any sign of what she’d done.

It must’ve been something bad for Holly to bring Nikole. Of course, asking’s out of the question. She shouldn’t have questions, not the kind that wouldn’t leave Daphne with a fond smile to her lips. She should just know what she did. Can she effectively lie about it this time? Her heart is a traitor in her chest.

Nikole looks away from where she’d frozen staring at the quilt on the wall to Kit, and already Kit can see something building in her. “You’re on the couch?”

Kit’s mouth freezes in the smile meant for Holly. She reaches for it, wills it to act for Nikole, but can’t locate her nerve.

Before she can be punished for it, Holly speaks up, sharper than Kit would dare. “Daphne let her on the couch.”

She could melt into her for the defense, press apologetic words into her skin for whatever she’s done.

But Nikole doesn’t so much as tilt towards her, even as Paul reaches a new crescendo. “Even when she wasn’t home?” Her legs carry her in measured steps deeper into the house, and Holly follows, softer.

This is stupid. That’s what Kit thinks. And she would smack herself for it if she were by herself, because that’s not a thought Kit’s supposed to have. The itchiness of annoyance isn’t supposed to be there, either. Under that, there’s an ache. This is different and she misses Daphne. Her face stays in perfect bland pleasantry as she asks, “Do you want me off the couch?”

“Yes,” she says, and Kit’s heart ratchets at how little it gives her.

She slides to her knees. She shouldn’t have asked. Asking would’ve upset Daphne, and Nikole is worse than Daphne. She’s been to the family events, has seen the way Nikole snaps at her daughter and husband over imagined slights.But sitting there, Nikole digging into her as she danced around an issue so easily fixed…

She aches.

On the other side of the table, Nikole stares at her.

She tries to keep her focus on her, face bent to neutrality and care even as her heart beats faster. She keeps waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t.

Her eyes flit past her to Holly, as covert a question as she dares. Holly looks back with something Kit thinks might be guilt, and she barely has time to snap an internal rubber band at the elation that comes with it before Nikole speaks.

“What are you looking at her for?”

She snaps back to attention at the accusation.

Frowns settle easily on Nikole’s face, and this one is no different. “Don’t you think you should focus on your owner?”

“Nikole—“ Holly reaches for her, but Nikole flinches away and Holly follows suit, as strongly as if she hit her, further away from the pair than where she started.

Kit doesn’t dare look at Holly, her eyes stuck somewhere at Nikole’s collarbone. Holly said she was going to take her home. She pretends Paul can understand the terrible fate that’s befallen them from even downstairs and that’s why he won’t stop barking. It’s easier to deal with the pulse of pain brought on by each sharp burst of noise that way. If it made all the other pain easier, she’d never stop pretending.

Eventually, Nikole will be as familiar to her as Holly or her mother. For now she isn’t. The safest option, she tries for as much earnestness as she can spare, as much as she dares, and says, “I’m sorry, Niko—”

*“Miss,” she interrupts, a haziness to her. “You can call me Miss.”

For all intents and purposes, Kit and Nikole are alone. Very soon, that will be the reality, too. Something drips in her at the thought.

*Her face has fallen out of standard, but she puts back on a smile as soon as she can muster and says, “I’m sorry, Miss.”

“Look at me.”

She wouldn’t refuse a direct order.

Nikole holds her gaze for a long second, mouth a thin line, as tightly coiled as a snake. And then she relaxes with a cock of her head, and for half a moment, Kit can almost relax, too.

“What other bad habits did my mother let you develop?” Nikole asks.

For a second, she can’t process the words. There’s something scrambling in her throat, a smokiness to her thoughts that leaves her woozy. If you had asked Kit before Nikole came through the door, she’d have said she didn’t have any bad habits. She was perfectly suited, the best friend an old lady like Daphne could ask for.

Out the corner of her eye, Holly almost says something to Nikole, jittering in an almost-step into Nikole’s space, but then she stops, glancing at Kit. Kit doesn’t dare glance back. She’s too busy trying to answer properly. Her throat’s grown too thick. She searches for any flaws Daphne had pointed out in the last few weeks, but as always, there’s nothing.

Instead of an answer, Paul echoes off the high ceilings and inside her skull.

*“You’re taking too long.”

She’s too aware of her heart in her chest. She ducks her head to fulfill the image of contriteness demanded, hands cupped in her lap. It’s like she’s admitting to some kind of crime when she says, “I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t think of any.”

“Why is Paul downstairs?”

Paul barks his own accusation, a throttle to Kit’s heart.

Her chest squeezes her tighter. She manages to say evenly, “His things are downstairs, and he can’t walk up the stairs.”

“So you didn’t think to carry him?”

It’s an accusation, but she can’t grasp the crime. “No one asked me to.” She doesn’t let it sound like she’s begging for understanding. No one likes when you beg. If she explains calmly enough—

“So you’re lazy.”

The words dunk her in water, and she missteps. “No, Miss, it’s just—”

“And you’re argumentative.”

Her mouth snaps shut, the label tight around her. She focuses on the whorls of her fingertips as she fights to keep her shoulders rounded.

“I want you to say it.”

She chances a glance up at Nikole. From the floor, Nikole towers over her, even when Kit knows her new owner’s shorter than her. She fights the urge to glance at Holly, knowing she’s already pushing her as her stomach clamps. She pushes down the thoughts that she shouldn’t have and instead pushes worse. “Miss?”

“Did you not hear me the first time?” she asks, a snip to the warning. Daphne used that word a lot when describing her daughter. It’s like her chest is aching all over again.

Her mouth tries to do something funny, and she’s not quite sure what it is, only that it makes her temple pulse. She forces her jaw to work out, an even mumble, “I’m argumentative.”

“Louder,” she says, the upper knees of her faded light blue jeans pressing into the coffee table. Nikole doesn’t look at Kit like she could ever love her. She doesn’t think she could even love Paul.

Louder, loud enough to be heard clearly over Paul downstairs, she just manages not to rasp, “I’m argumentative.”

*Nikole leans over, sides of her cardigan brushing against the magazines on the table with a slick noise. “That’s right. And my mother might have tolerated argumentative, but I won’t. If you talk back again, you don’t want to know what I’ll do.” She pauses, and the words sit between them just long enough for Kit to feel sick.

Then she says, “You can pack two bags for you and a smaller one for Paul.”

*It’s nowhere near enough for either of them. But it’s not her place to argue. She should be grateful. She reminds herself that in the death of an owner, several pets have it worse. She could be refurbished if Nikole so chose, and even the thought leaves her damper, but instead she’s just…

Being forced out of her home with far too little for her or the little dog Daphne has always trusted her to care for.

*Kit is not grateful. Instead, she is bad.

She still nods, not daring to try and see what Holly’s doing now that she’s gone quiet.

Nikole stares down at her, and Kit waits for her dismissal.

Finally, she says, “I meant now.”

*“Thank you, Miss,” Kit manages, loud enough she won’t be asked to be repeated, and she leaves the room as quickly as she can.

-

@angst-after-dark @black-hole-cobra

[gender-premium-tm]

luffy and his scary dog privilege (that’s a lie they’re all idiots)

[boimann]

I can't fucking wait to move out and cut ties with my whole entire family, I just want to go live alone in a cave with four dogs and a pack of feral rats

[caged-nights]

🔌✨So fuck it, I'll say BYE BYE buzzing melodies And burn through all the LIE LIE copying machines You lose yourself in what you're pretending to be Can we go back to what we had at the start?✨🎶

I love love love the official English cover of Cyberpunk Dead Boy so much that my hand became possessed and drew Nightingale in the style of the MV. This was incredibly fun to do even if it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing!

[fingertipsmp3]

Swear to god if I was actually a proper reddit user I’d be posting the stupidest AITA posts

[moechies]

toji’s little pregnant wife who’s only pregnancy craving is his thick, bitter cum </3

“but.. i want it..” you pester toji, tugging on his arm. you groan at the way your big, soft belly gets in the way of completely smothering the man, but it doesn’t stop you.

“no,” he grunts back, shaking his hands off as he places back the last dish from your two’s meal prior. “i can’t have y’hurtin’ yourself. i’ll never forgive myself if ya do.”

“i-it’s a craving, toji,” you joke, but truthfully you know you’re serious. looking up at him with watery eyes, you’re undeniably desperate, your plush thighs growing achy and soft cunny growing hot at the thought. “please toji, wan’ y’r cum.” you purr.

he scowls, cursing at the hard bulge that undeniably presses against the countertop. he tried his very best to deny your little pleads , that’s enough right ? if his pregnant wife really insists, wouldn’t it be right to accept so ? he wonders.

“t-toji,” you moan, like a bunny in heat.

“fuck me, princess.”

“i-i wil—“

before you’re able to finish your sentence, he’s hoists you into his arms with no trouble, making his way towards the soft couch displayed in your home’s living room. you giggle uncontrollably when he nuzzles himself against your neck, blowing soft raspberries against your skin, which has grown sensitive throughout the term of your pregnancy.

“ill jus’ finger you, how about it ? i don’t want ya on yer knees , mama.”

“no.. n-not enough.” you mumble into his chest, tugging against his ribbed tank top. “wan’ your cock. in my mouth, your cum—“

he finds it hilarious, you’re so adorable. he thinks the celibacy for the sake of your two’s baby may have have been the cause of all this attention, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“insatiable little dolly, aren’t you ?”

“mhm, i missed you s’much.”

“‘m right here mama.” he lays you against the soft cushion, pressing a kiss against the back of your hand.

“y’sure ya wanna do this ? y’don’t have to.” as if you were doing it for his sake. your legs ache and shiver with anticipation, already able to feel your mouth salivating at the thought. “want to, i want to !”

“shh, don’t get so worked up, now.” he chuckles, “stress is bad for the baby.” he drops the softest plushie on the ground, and leading your supple body against his lower half. you sit obediently between his legs, sore cunt throbbing erratically at the anticipation.

“take him out, dolly.” he smirks, watching you tug down his thin sweats, huffing at the stiff bulge that presses against his cotton boxers. you fumble your little fingers against his cock, nervous at how he seems to be watching you so intently, watching your each and every move, finding any reason to stop.

your breath is hot against his budge, slithering your hand against his boxer clad cock before pulling the fabric below his plump balls. he groans at the juxtaposition of your soft fingers against his meaty dick; oh how much he missed the mere sight of such.

“‘m gonna cum just like this mama.” he jokes alongside panty groans, twitching when you press your plush lips against his tip without hesitation. you envelop your warmth around his swelling cock head, pink tongue lolling out and dragging through his hefty slit.

you moan at the taste of his salty musk coating your eager tongue, hands fondling at his pudgy balls as you ease yourself further closing in on his base.

“just like that, just like that mama. yer doin’ p-perfect.” he sighs, petting your hair gently. his fingers stroke through your soft locks, curling a finger around the stray pieces that’s fallen in front of your face, and tucking them behind your ear.

“gorgeous lady, my pretty wife, hm?” he watches you fuck your own cheek with his cock, drooling unexpectedly at the overwhelming girth. “juuust like that.”

“pwah—!”

“what’s wrong , dolly ?” he mumbles with a tint of worry. he runs a thumb across your swollen bottom lip, pressing his sticky thumb back into your mouth as you eagerly suck. “‘s-s too g-gud,” you mumble. “wan’ more.”

“s all yours, darling. take yer time.”

your hot breath causes toji to twitch, shoving his cock mindlessly back into your mouth. you press your throat onto the blunt tip, hot tongue swirling around the un-cut tip.

with a few more pumps of your hot mouth assaulting his sensitive tip, he spurts a heavy load into the warmth of your mouth with soft groans, hand leading yours to jerk at the rest of his cock. “fuck, damn.” he groans breathlessly, barely visible beads of sweat crowning at his forehead.

you swirl your nut-covered tongue against his dick, making a mess. it drools down his cock, dirtying his now-soft sack, coating your plush lips in a soft creme white. toji tugs on the cushion tightly, allowing you to have your fun although he’s well beyond overstimulation and close to passing out. not from the simulation itself, but the way you look so innocent below him, yet you’re really so nasty.

definitely his wife.

“that’s it.” he watches you slowly swallow his cum, throat bulging gently every time you take a gulp; just the prettiest sight. although your mouth emptied, lips licked clean, you continue licking at his dirtied shaft, taking everything you can get.

he scruffles your hair, a light tug at your head to pull your suckling lips away from his sensitive cock. he leans down, pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips and pressing your head to close in on him. he sucks on your flavorful tongue, tasting himself. “damn, doll. really haven’t lost yer touch, huh? no wonder we’re perfect f’eachother.”

[sabertoothwalrus]

There’s something I love love loveeee about Laios and how badly he wants to be cool.

Let me preface with this: in general, I believe the harder you try to be cool, the less cool you actually are. The less you care what people think about you, if you’re “cringe” or “weird”, the more likely people will perceive you as confident and self-assured.

There are countless pieces of media where characters try to fit in with some group, change every part of themself to look/act like what they’re “supposed” to be, and end up miserable, often realizing the people they’re trying to impress aren’t worth the trouble.

I’ve experienced this in my own life too! Sometimes when I go out I wear a rainbow propeller cap! Cause I think it’s funny and silly and!! I ALWAYS get compliments!! I don’t wear it to be cool, I wear it because it makes me happy. And people overall have a positive reaction to it. it’s a huge contrast to when I was teenager and didn’t really put as much of myself into my appearance/wardrobe, and barely left any kind of impression on people.

So anyway, let’s get into it.

Laios… he’s been hurt so badly by people. He resented humanity for it. And yet, he still yearns for the approval of others. He wants FRIENDS!!!! and was angry and frustrated to learn his perception of his relationship with Shuro was so drastically different than Shuro’s!!!!

He KNEW that people were put-off by his love of monsters. Up until Falin got eaten, he deliberately suppressed how much he talked about it with others. He probably thought by not talking about monsters so much, it was working!! He was doing all the Right Things now! So Shuro confessing he always hated him was a huge blow.

But the reality is, he loves monsters. And most importantly, he loves cool monsters. He fantasizes about what would make the Ultimate Monster.

He feels very strongly about what he considers “cool” as well. He finds all aspects of monsters fascinating, but can still be HORRIBLY underwhelmed when they look too lame for his tastes.

He knows most people don’t feel the same way he does. He knows his “cool” is everyone else’s “weird”. It’s so tragically sweet how he latches onto Kabru the moment he shows interest in monsters, and takes every opportunity to infodump about them to him.

He wants people to find monsters as cool as he does!! But, he also wants people to think he’s as cool as he finds monsters.

Like!!! djkfghadkfjg IT DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER HIM WHEN PEOPLE HAVE A WRONG IMPRESSION OF HIM! He's FLATTERED by it. It's almost like, at this point, it doesn't matter to him if people don't like him. People can not like him and still think he's cool.

And my favorite thing is, it works. Laios IS cool as fuck. You KNOW he thought he looked so badass when he did this and he was RIGHT:

And yet, this is him trying very hard to look cool. But it's Laios's version of cool. It's almost contradictory, in that sense. Cause he knows people still don't get it. Like. He wants to be cool. He doesn't care about the "normal" ways to be cool. He thinks his cringe thing is cool. He does his cringe thing, that people very much do still think is cringe. So you would think that, since he wants people to think he's cool, he would not do the cringe thing. But he wore the pelt because he thought it was cool. And people clapped and cheered for him anyway.

is what he's doing really so different than this? ^

YAYYYYY WOOO GO LAIOS YOURE SO COOL!!!!!!!

[bodybaggage]

Ghostly Heir or Batty Custody?

DP X DC

———

The Justice League Watchtower was an advanced piece of technology, housing the world’s greatest heroes. But even in a place dedicated to protecting the Earth, some things were simply unavoidable—like gossip.

It had started innocently enough, as these things often do. Superman, having just returned from Gotham, was discussing the latest developments in the Batcave with Wonder Woman over a cup of coffee. The conversation was meant to be private, but when you have people like the Flash who can be in and out of a room before anyone notices, privacy is a relative term.

“So, Batman has another kid?” Superman had said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. “Another one? Are we running a daycare now?”

Superman shrugged. “Not sure. But he’s different from the others. White hair, glows a little. Bruce is being… secretive.”

“Bruce is always secretive,” Wonder Woman pointed out.

“Yeah, but this one seems—” Superman’s words were cut off as the Flash zoomed by, pretending to be busy with something else. The two superhumans exchanged a glance but said nothing more, knowing that once the speedster got wind of something, the whole League would know within the hour.

And they did.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne—better known as Batman—was oblivious to the brewing storm. He sat in the Batcave, going over the latest reports on Gotham’s criminal activity with his usual intensity. Beside him, a ghostly figure floated lazily, occasionally glancing at the screens with mild interest.

Danny Fenton—known to most as Danny Phantom—had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, lying low while he figured out how to deal with some supernatural issues back in Amity Park. Clockwork had suggested Gotham as a good place to lay low, citing the city’s reputation for attracting all sorts of weirdos. Besides, Clockwork had argued, Batman wouldn’t care as long as Danny didn’t cause trouble.

And for the most part, Danny hadn’t. He’d stayed out of Gotham’s wayward criminal elements, kept his ghostly powers under wraps, and only occasionally wandered the streets at night to stretch his legs (or float, as it were).

Of course, he hadn’t counted on the Bat Family.

Damian had challenged him to a duel within minutes of their first meeting, insisting that he prove himself worthy of staying in the Batcave. Danny had countered by turning intangible and letting Damian tire himself out, which only seemed to frustrate the young Robin more.

Tim had interrogated him about the nature of ectoplasm and ghost powers, scribbling notes furiously as Danny tried his best to explain without giving too much away.

Jason had simply grunted, muttering something about “another brat” before disappearing on his motorcycle, while Dick had been the only one to offer a somewhat normal welcome.

“You’re like, what, the seventh kid Bruce has taken in?” Dick had said, clapping Danny on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying here permanently,” Danny had replied, but Dick had just laughed, as if Danny’s words were the punchline to a joke only he understood.

Things had been relatively quiet since then—until now.

It started as a low hum, a barely noticeable vibration in the air. Alfred, the ever-watchful butler, was the first to notice something amiss.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said calmly, setting down the tray of tea he’d just brought in. “We appear to have… company.”

Bruce looked up from the Batcomputer, his eyes narrowing as the hum grew louder, evolving into a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Batcave. Danny, who had been floating upside down, lazily spinning in midair, suddenly snapped to attention.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Danny muttered, his expression turning from bored to annoyed in seconds.

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Alfred replied, his tone as even as ever, despite the growing disturbance.

The rumble turned into a roar, and suddenly, with a burst of green light, a swirling portal opened up in the middle of the Batcave. The vortex crackled with energy, and from it stepped a towering figure clad in ghostly armor, a crown of ectoplasmic fire atop his head.

Pariah Dark, the Ghost King, had arrived.

“BATMAN!” Pariah’s voice boomed through the cave, rattling the glass cases that held the old Robin suits. “I, Pariah Dark, King of the Infinite Realms, have come to challenge you for the custody of my heir!”

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air. Danny facepalmed, groaning audibly. “This is not happening.”

Bruce, for his part, remained as stoic as ever, though his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “Your heir?”

“Yes, my heir!” Pariah bellowed, his eyes glowing with ectoplasmic energy. “The boy you have taken into your care! I will not allow this—this mortal to usurp my claim!”

Bruce’s gaze flicked to Danny, who looked thoroughly unamused. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“Oh, come on!��� Danny threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t what it looks like! I’m not his heir, and I’m definitely not up for custody!”

Pariah seemed undeterred by Danny’s protests. “You defeated me in battle, boy. By the laws of the Infinite Realms, that makes you my heir! And now this Bat-creature seeks to claim you as his own! I will not stand for it!”

Bruce’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not trying to claim him.”

“See?” Danny gestured to Bruce. “Totally not trying to claim me. So you can just go back to the Ghost Zone, Pariah. No custody battle needed.”

Pariah’s eyes narrowed, his fiery crown flaring. “The only way to resolve this is through combat! Batman, I challenge you to a duel for the boy!”

Bruce glanced at the portal, calculating the odds. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will take the boy by force!” Pariah declared, raising his massive sword, which seemed to materialize out of thin air, crackling with ectoplasmic energy.

Danny floated down between the two, trying to keep the peace. “Guys, let’s just calm down. No need for a duel. I’m fine. No one’s taking anyone by force.”

Pariah looked down at Danny, his expression a mix of paternal concern and royal indignation. “Do not worry, my heir. I will defend your honor.”

Danny groaned again. “I don’t need my honor defended. I need you to stop making this weird.”

Before Danny could protest further, Bruce stepped forward, his voice as calm as ever. “Very well. A duel, then.”

“Seriously?” Danny looked at Bruce, incredulous. “You’re just going to agree to this?”

“If it ends the situation quickly, yes,” Bruce replied, his tone as dry as ever. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with an overprotective guardian.”

Pariah raised his sword, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Prepare yourself, mortal! I will not hold back!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Danny zipped between them again, clearly exasperated. “We don’t need to do this! Pariah, go back to the Ghost Zone. Batman, you don’t have to fight him.”

Pariah looked genuinely perplexed. “But… the honor of the Infinite Realms demands it.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Danny insisted. “The Infinite Realms don’t care about some weird custody battle! Besides, I’m not a kid, and I’m not staying here permanently! I’m just crashing for a bit!”

Pariah frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You… are not staying?”

“No!” Danny said, exasperated. “I’m not staying! I’m not your heir! I’m just Danny, okay?”

The Ghost King looked around, as if trying to process this information. “But… you are under his care. It was reported by reliable sources.”

“Reliable sources?” Danny echoed. “Who told you that?”

Pariah seemed to hesitate for the first time. “A rather talkative sorcerer in a trench coat. He mentioned it while muttering about ‘bloody bats’ and ‘undead nuisances.’”

Danny blinked, realization dawning. “Constantine. Of course.”

Bruce’s expression remained unchanged, though there was a faint glimmer of irritation in his eyes. “This… Constantine has been spreading rumors?”

Danny sighed heavily, feeling more tired by the minute. “Look, can we just forget this whole thing happened? Pariah, you go back to ruling the Ghost Zone. I’ll handle Constantine. And Batman, you can go back to doing… whatever it is you do.”

Pariah Dark seemed to mull this over for a moment before finally lowering his sword completely. “Very well. But know this, boy—if ever you require my assistance, you have but to call.”

“Sure, sure,” Danny muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last, dramatic sweep of his cape, Pariah Dark stepped back into the swirling green portal, which closed behind him with a final, ominous crackle.

For a moment, the Batcave was silent. Then Danny turned to Bruce, looking both sheepish and annoyed. “So… I guess I should have warned you about that.”

Bruce simply nodded, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Next time, try to keep your interdimensional family disputes to a minimum.”

“I’ll do my best,” Danny promised, floating back toward the Batcomputer. “But with my luck, that’s not gonna be easy.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bruce replied dryly, already turning back to his work. “And tell Constantine to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he floated back to his usual spot, thinking about the supernatural messes that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

As the Batcave returned to its usual state of brooding silence, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Gotham wasn’t the best place to lay low after all. But with the alternative being another encounter with Pariah, he figured the Batcave wasn’t so bad—at least, not until the next interdimensional incident.

[hysteria-things]

Can you make a song image with the song older by Isabel LaRosa or even kiss me more with doja and sza?

NEEDY, ARE WE? (part two)

read part one here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the night started with only kisses, but you’ve never craved something so bad in your life. that something is your best friend chris sturniolo.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY ASF, swearing, begging kink, teasing, making out, oral (male & female receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (SON’T EVEN TRY IT), marking, finger sucking, choking, slight spanking, praising, degradation, stomach bulge, overstimulation, dumbification, cream pie, cockwarming

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,713

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: sorry for the 3 AM post… but hello🥰

y/n is a whiny bitch in this LMAO

“what did i say?” chris whispers sternly, smacking your hand away when it reaches down to his pajama pants string for the third time.

another fifteen minutes went by, and your panties are soaked from the orgasm that washed over you not long ago. chris’ dick fucking hurts, but he enjoys seeing this side of you: needy and desperate. “i’m begging you.” you pout. “i need you inside me. please.”

you seriously don’t know what’s gotten into you. you’d never thought of your best friend this way, but tonight feels different. you’re so dick-deprived that you’ve turned into a whiny mess.

he sighs in defeat, untying his pants and pulling them down. your eyes lock in on the boner in his boxers, beaming once his aching cock slaps against his stomach.

licking your lips, you go to hover over his tip, but he beats you to it and instead pushes your head down. you look up at him with sad eyes.

“what?” he questions, even though he knows the problem. he knows you meant inside you the other way, but what’s the fun in not teasing first? “you said you needed me inside you.”

“that’s not what i—” he cuts you off by pushing your head down, gagging when he forces himself down your throat. you hum, bobbing your head while his grip stays in your hair.

he chuckles, using his free hand to move the pieces of hair out of your face so he can see you looking up at him through hooded eyes. “you’re talking too much. if one of them wakes up you’re going to be in big trouble.” he points to his brothers who are still peacefully sleeping on the couch in front of you.

it doesn’t take long for your throat to morph into the shape of his dick. he licks his lips and smiles menacingly, seeing how you suck his cock so casually. your cheeks hollow, causing chris to exhale to not make a loud noise.

your tongue kitty licks his red tip, pre-cum threatening to spill out. starting to suck, your hand pumps up and down his shaft. his eyebrows furrow, mouth hanging open as he watches your every move. the grasp on your head loosens, and before you know it, chris is pulling you up to where you’re hovering over his lap.

taking his thumbs, he spreads your folds to see the glistening silk in the dim light. your arousal coats the inside of your thighs, some of it dripping down your leg. he takes his pointer finger and slowly moves it up your slit. you flinch at the feeling. “what a needy pussy.” he mumbles, his finger easily sliding into your cunt from the wetness.

you barely give him time to add another when you rut your hips repeatedly, fucking yourself on his fingers. you’ve never felt so pathetic in your life, but you also never felt so turned on. it’s like he read your mind. “pathetic slut; becoming stupid on just my fingers.”

the degrading nickname has you whining, only to start humping his hand faster. he looks as you sink perfectly on his digits… in and out, in and out, your pussy stretching the more you move until—

he removes the two fingers, now soaked with your juices. chris grabs your thighs, sliding his body down so now that his mouth is directly under your cunt. his dick twitches as he groans, seeing it at this angle.

immediately, he sits you down on his face and starts to eat you out like he’s on a time limit, which he technically is. the way his tongue moves so deliciously has you seeing stars, gasping and tugging at the brown strands that lay on his head.

“no, please.” you cry quietly. yes, you love the pleasure your body is going through, but this isn’t what you want. he’s teasing you to tears, and it’s making you sexually frustrated. nonetheless, it only makes you want him more. “th-this isn’t what i want.”

chris hums, making a tiny moan slip from the vibration. his hand gently smacks the outside of your thigh to remind you to keep quiet. “i’m sorry.” you mumble, shutting your eyes tight and biting down hard on your bottom lip that you won’t be surprised if it draws blood.

again a moan falls from your mouth, but this time it’s louder than before. his palm hits you harder this time, and you take your hand to cover your mouth instead. each time you twitch or try to move away from being so overstimulated, his nose still manages to nudge at just the right spot on your clit.

not only are your shoulders shaking from your sobs, but your legs quiver when you feel the heat in your lower belly. mumbling out a few words, chris lets out a questionable hum while speeding up his movements. he wants you to be loud and clear.

“i’m gonna cum, chris.” you cry, thanking every god out there that his brothers are the heaviest sleepers on earth.

he flattens his tongue, smiling in the process while your legs squeeze around his head, cum dripping down onto his tastebuds. a grunt leaves his throat, your pussy tasting exactly the way it’s supposed to. it’s by far the best meal he’s ever eaten.

sitting up again, you guys are back at the position you were at when this all started. chris enjoys the teasing, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can take. dick hard to the point where it hurts; pre-cum starting to leak from the tip. it’s unbearable.

eyes scanning his face, you bite your lip seductively. some strands stick to his forehead from the sweat, mouth is puffy and wet from your cum. how can you possibly be more horny? you have no idea.

leaning in, he pulls away when you’re centimeters apart. you pout, repeating the action when this time he turns his head with a chuckle. “stop teasing me.” you punch his chest lightly out of brattiness. “i need to get fucked by your cock. please, chris.”

raising his eyebrows, he smirks before grabbing your thighs that are still shaking from your high. “see? that wasn’t hard, now, was it?”

he helps you lift yourself to hover over his tip, his grip releasing from your flesh but still grazing it while you slowly start to sink onto his dick. your back arches, eyelids fluttering as you feel every crevice stretch from his size. it’s like your entire body was made for chris and chris only.

“—fucking birds stealing my shit.” the end of the sentence is a grumble, rustling coming from across the room. chris jumps into action and covers where you two are conjoined with your nightgown, being that you still have it on.

still, you decide to roll your hips, feeling his cock rubbing at your walls and insides just right. to keep a moan from coming, you nuzzle your head into his neck and bite at it.

nick sits up, eyes still closed but looking over nonetheless. “fucking birds.” he repeats.

“tell those birds, nick.” chris says, the hickey forming on his neck while you nibble down on another empty spot.

nick nods. “i’ll tell them. yeah, i’ll tell them. i’ll tell them…” then, he lays back down, the soft snores continuing as if he didn’t wake up at all.

you lift your head, chris now face to face with your tear-stained one. “wanna kiss you.” you whisper, starting to plop up and down on him. he doesn’t say anything, only grabs your throat gently to pull you in. from the way your tongues intertwine, you can taste yourself.

at this point, your bouncing so fast that whenever the couch starts to creak he has to grip on your ass for you to slow down. you whimper softly. “feels so good!”

“shit.” he exhales, mouth agape as he watches the bulge in your lower abdomen peek out whenever you sit, your pussy swallowing his fat cock whole. you were, without a doubt, fucking made for him.

accidentally letting out a scream when your g-spot gets hit, it’s cut off by the hand squeezing tighter around your throat. he glances at his brothers to make sure there are no signs of movement before speaking. “don’t have them wake up or we’re going to be in deep shit, and i won’t be able to fuck you again. is that what you want?”

“no!” you choke out, his thumb grazing your bottom lip while he looks at it.

“then you have to be quiet.”

without thinking, you nod and open your mouth, inviting his thumb inside for you to suck on. he smirks with a whisper. “that’s my good girl.”

he removes his thumb from your mouth, now holding your jaw in place. hickeys decorate one side of his neck.

you don’t know how long you’ve been going at it, but you can’t take it anymore. your breathing is becoming heavier the more his dick hits that angle inside you, eyes rolling back having your vision almost fade to black.

clenching so tight to the point where you could barely move up on him, your nth orgasm of the night washes over you, dripping down his thighs and onto the sofa. alas, you don’t make a peep, because you're chris’s good girl. you will always listen to him.

to ride out your high, you still move when you talk into his ear. “cum in me, please.” you gasp, your brain officially shutting off. your face portrays different waves of pleasure all at once, drool dribbling from your chin. you didn’t even notice releasing a-fucking-gain.

ropes of cum shoot up into you with a thrust of his hips, grunting each time he does so. he throws his head back with his eyes slammed shut, waiting ten seconds until he’s done planting his seed into your womb.

“thank you… thank you…” you repeat. he grabs your hips to lift you, but you whimper and nuzzle yourself closer.

exhausted is an understatement, hence why you fell asleep in mere seconds with his cock deep within your cunt. all chris can doze off to is think about how he has to clean this up before morning.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @tylerthecreatorsbf @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2 @sturnsjtop @luverboychris @yapperchris @imaslutforoldermen @madisonlovesyouu @poetatorturadaa @chr1sgirl4life @hiimolivia @jo-777 @sturnskiss @st4rgrlll @mattyblover07 @sm-ec @mattluvsmarni @knowingnothingnoel @mattsgirlfrieeend @bambi-slxt @selenascorner @sturnstvr @sturnclouds

[sapphicmsmarvel]

azriel crack headcannons!

im alive!

note: use of “tits” instead of “breasts”, i hate that word yall. 

-You love being mushy with him. Complimenting his eyes, his hands, his voice. He gets all blushy and squeaky and it’s so cute. 

-He activated cuteness aggression which confused him at first but he secretly loves how obsessed you are with him. (he’s never had anyone be so obsessed with him) 

-You both give each other flowers. The first time you gave him his own bouquet he was giggling and kicking his feet in private. 

-You have trouble trying new food, so he will let you try a bit of his meal if he gets something new. That way you don't “waste” (even though he has enough money to buy velaris at this point) money. Even if he insists you don't need to worry about money. 

-You like asking him insane questions. 

“How do you feel about me wearing revealing clothes in public?” 

He shrugged. “I can fight and you look beautiful in anything.”

“If i got a new piercing-“

“My love, it’s your body. But if you pierce your nipples i’m going to have so much fun.”

-You got your nipples pierced. You couldn’t decide on what jewelry to get. So you bought two pairs. One, for the healing process that were barbells with blue gems. 

For after, barbells with an ‘A’ on both ends of the jewelry. That man audibly moaned when he saw that specific piece of jewelry. 

-He has loud sneezes. 

-He’s afraid of spiders. 

-You two 100% gossip. 

-You’ll read smutty novels to each other in funny voices. This is the only way Azriel discovered that he can make an incredible high pitched voice. 

-He gets the zoomies at random times. You know it’s brewing when the shadows start to practically vibrate in the air. 

-If you have your hair up, he or his shadows will play with your baby hairs that escape the hairstyle. 

-Speaking of the shadows, they’ll just sit on your waist like a belt and just be part of whatever outfit you have on. Or a necklace (not in a kinky way you dirty birds) 

((but like, that too))

-Speaking of things being taken as kinky. He stretches you out. You have a disability that worsens when you don't do your daily stretches (sciatica nerve damage gang rise up) so he forces you to do them. 

-As in pins you down and forces your body to stretch out the nerve. 

“It’s almost like you like to be in pain.” He admonishes as he pushed on your glute. 

“I’m just lazy.” You admit. 

He smacks your ass, causing you to yelp. “Well, I don't like seeing my love in pain, so stop being lazy.” 

-He may be a stoic warrior, but he’s also a guy. He loves titties. 

-He’ll burrow into them when he’s upset. 

-When your cycle happens, your tits get sore and swollen. So he’ll massage them, suck on them, anything. 

-You wear lip balm a lot. You just have a thing where a tube needs to be on you at all times. He personally prefers when you wear a balm that’s vanilla or like a baked good. The minty balms he really doesn’t like the taste of.  

-Usually, he is the exact opposite of lazy. However, you’ve turned him into a lazy sunday morning man. Or really, any day he wants to sleep in, he does now. You’re just so warm and sweet and sleepy he can’t resist it! 

-You sprawl out in bed. You starfish over the entire bed if he gets up for the bathroom or water in the middle of the night. To get you back to your side, all he has to do is poke your side and you curl in on yourself. 

He giggles (yes, giggles) every single time. 

-He already is a mischievous man, but with you the silliness hits an all time high. 

-Random ass spankings, he bean dips you, when he works out wearing a shirt, he’ll take the shirt off and throw it at you. So you have a musty sweaty ass shirt coming at you. 

-You always call his shadows “little stinkers” and he loves it. 

-They’ll move things to higher shelves to force you to ask Azriel for help getting them.  

The man loves leaning over you, your sweet ass pressed against him as he reaches. 

-Sometimes, you’ll just stare at him and wonder how this beautiful man is yours. 

But that’s okay, because he stares at you the same way. 

[bahablastplz]

Canvas: Hyunjin x Reader

Content: A late night with your boyfriend turns into something more as you both try something you had only talked about before; smut and fluff Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, heavy heavy praise WC: 2500 Happy birthday Hyunjin <3

Hyunjin was painting again. 

As you roll out of bed in the middle of the night, this fact is apparent. The smell of paint wafts from the living room where he has his work space set up. A large tarp on the floor, a small easel propped up and a lamp set to illuminate his latest work. Paints lay haphazardly around him, a blend of colors and shades of hues mushed across the palette. The rest of the room was dimly lit, moonlight shimmering through the curtains and shining on your boyfriend’s face. God, he was breathtaking. One paintbrush is in his mouth and the other in his hand, gliding across the canvas. The sight makes you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Love?” He looks up at you now, watching your frame as you admire him from the wall. The lamp light reflects onto his dark-framed glasses when his gaze meets yours, and you smile at how the yellow and orange lights glow across his features. He smiles back. It’s a small gesture, and even though you’ve seen him smile hundreds of times the gesture warms your heart. 

You cross the room in your nightgown, the cold breeze from the air-conditioning causing you to curl into yourself slightly. Hyunjin beckons to the spot on the floor beside him and you take it eagerly, body curling around him and head resting on his lap. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him. He has the habit of sneaking away in the night, so as to not wake you, and painting until the sun starts to creep through the windows. It’s cathartic for him, a way for him to get away from his thoughts that trouble him in the night. In moments like this you love to watch him, how his brows furrow in concentration and his lips get caught between his teeth. Hyunjin was the most in his element when he had a canvas in front of him. 

“Mm,” he confirms. He checks his hand to make sure no paint dirties it before he rests it on your hip, drawing soothing circles on top of your nightgown. Your head nuzzles deeper into him and you breathe in his scent, letting out a content hum. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks a moment later. His hand moves effortlessly across canvas, dappling acrylic paint across a vision of flowers that was already the picture of perfection to you–but would probably take him at least a few more hours to complete. He was a perfectionist like that; he could point out every absence of color, needed highlight or small imperfection of his work that was near imperceivable to you. 

“No, the bed was just cold. I wanted to see where you were,” you hum against his skin. Your words were true, of course; because you get so hot when you sleep next to your boyfriend, the house usually stays a bit chillier but you notice his absence sometimes when he leaves the bed late at night. He now wears a dark colored hoodie that swallows his features, meant for his comfort when lounging around the house like this. His pants are also meant for lounging, the gray sweatpants soft but covered in remnants of previous art projects known lovingly as his ‘painting pants.’ 

“Do you want me to warm you up?” You nod and crawl into his lap, nuzzling your face right into the crook of his neck. He lets out a breathy laugh underneath you, arms wrapping around your frame to bring you closer as he continues to work. After a few minutes your boyfriend leans closer to the canvas, examining a piece of his work that must have not looked right to him. This action shifts your position, however, your core now pressed right against his clothed length. You tense against him and your breath hitches slightly, and you know that he’s caught on to your arousal. 

“How much longer?” You whine against him. He lets out a laugh and uses his free hand to stroke your back, long fingers moving languidly across your spine. The action is meant to soothe you but has the opposite effect, sending an electrical shock down your body and causing you to let out a small breath. 

“Why, love? Are you feeling needy for me?” You nod almost embarrassingly fast. While you love watching Hyunjin paint and could for hours, you can’t help the want that settles deep in your gut that begs for his touch, his attention, and his desire to be released toward you. 

“I was hoping to paint for a while more,” he confesses. You try not to let your disappointment show, but you let out a moan as the man’s hand finds your hips, pushing you harder against him. The friction that meets your core has you feeling more desperate and you buck into him and he’s smiling, and it infuriates you to know he’s intentionally trying to work you up. He has always loved seeing you pliant, needy and desperate for him, and you were unfortunately already in that state somehow. “Do you want to sit on my cock baby?” Your head reels back to look at him with wide eyes. “You can sit on my cock while I paint but you have to be good and promise not to move, okay?” 

You had talked with him about cock-warming before but it was never something you had actually done. Now, it must be just past 3 a.m., and you were finally turning the hypothetical into reality–it felt unreal. You let out an affirmative sound and nod your head, and he’s maneuvering your bodies to get you set up. He repositions you so that you’re on your knees above him, slightly towering over him where he sits on the floor. He’s lifting his hips up and pushing his pants down just past his thighs, releasing his cock and pumping it one, two times. He’s hard already, and you watch him in awe as he works to pleasure himself in front of you. It’s just for a second, but enough for him to have your breath come to a stop, which is exactly what he was waiting for. 

His hands find place on your waist. He’s hitching your nightgown up above your hips, leaving you bare for him. It’s no secret that sometimes you sleep without underwear on, but he smirks at you and stares in a way that leaves you feeling utterly exposed despite him having seen you like this hundreds of times. His fingers come up to your core, rubbing it and gathering your wetness to spread it around your folds. You let out a moan at the action, thankful for the contact before he’s dragging you down and placing his cock at your entrance. 

He leans back on his hands and looks up at you, waiting for you to do the rest. And so you do, piercing yourself onto him and sliding down his length, inch by inch. Hyunjin was well-endowed, so to speak, so it was never an easy fit to take him but it felt pleasurable nonetheless. Finally he is fully inside you, and your breathing and each moan is completely synced with one another. A hand comes up to bring a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the movement is so domestic and loving that it makes your heart pang in your chest. 

“Beautiful,” is all he says. 

He brings your nightgown back down so that it covers you up, remembering your recent complaint about being cold. Your head finds its place back on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck like it’s your home. 

And, he continues painting. 

You’re not sure why you’re surprised–that’s exactly what he said he was going to do. Your boyfriend has a lot of self-control and restraint that you did not, and it was especially evident when you were intimate. While you often become wrecked from the start, he would let his pleasure build up and would reel from the delayed gratification of it all. 

Your knees find the ground and before you can help yourself, you put your weight on them. You’re propping yourself up, sliding up his length about halfway, before crashing back down. Your clit drags deliciously across his abdomen in the process, causing you to let out a heavy sigh of pleasure. You rock against him only one more time before strong hands find your shoulders, pushing you down hard. You try to bounce up again and find that you’re unable, his grip keeping you in place so firmly that you cannot budge despite your attempts. 

“Don’t,” he scolds. His words are sharp, not laced with venom but to remind you of his earlier demands. 

At this angle, his hands pushing you down causes his cock to be seated deeper inside you than before and you let out an embarrassing squeak. You feel so full, and you tell him so. 

He has an idea; he grabs you and leans forward, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso. When he sits back down, you are now unable to give yourself the momentum needed to move your hips or rock against his length. You are fully seated on him and he is fully inside you, his arms wrapping around you and holding you flush against him as he continues his work. 

It’s silent, now, with the exception of your shallow and uneven breathing. You find yourself clenching against him over and over again, reeling in the sensation of him inside you. And it’s just that–you can really feel him like this, every ridge and vein, every pulse of him inside you, and it has you feeling lightheaded. 

“God, baby, you’re gushing around me,” he whispers into your hair. “Taking me so good.” His praise makes you smile and squeeze tighter around him and he groans. You feel smug to finally get him to lose his composure, but he starts spouting more praise that makes all thoughts vanish in an instant.

“So good for me, baby, you know that? Such a good pussy. You’re the love of my life, God, you were made just for me. You were made for me to love you, to hold you like this… So pretty for me. You’re all mine, meant to take my cock, yeah?” You whimper against him, the mixture of sweet nothings and sexual praise whispered to you making you feel dizzy. 

It’s several more minutes before you say something, finally coming to the conclusion that you would have to be the one to initiate it further, if he would even let you. 

“Please…” It’s all you can say at first. 

“What, love?” He teases. He knows exactly what you want. 

“Need you to move, please, Hyune… It’s too much. Need to cum,” You beg. You’re sure you sound pathetic but you can’t find it in you to care. If there’s anyone who’s not only willing but wanting to see you in your most pathetic and vulnerable states, it’s Hyunjin. 

“Poor thing, does it feel that good?” His voice asks with a small lilt in it. You’re sniffling now, embarrassed about the tears starting to spill down your cheeks but so overcome in pleasure and sensitivity; you can both feel it in the ways that you clench around him unabashedly. He brings his head back to see your face, to examine your tears. He’s seen you on the verge of tears a few times while having sex from being overwhelmed by pleasure, and though it always makes his heart tighten because he’s the one that’s doing that to you, he’s the one making you feel that good,  he knows it’s about time you’ve reached your limit. He wipes a stray tear away and you don’t even realize that he has dropped his paintbrush until he’s picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. 

He leans back, enraptured by you, and brings you in for a sweet but messy kiss. It’s open-mouthed and hot, and it feels like you’re breathing into him and filling up his lungs. Your tongues meet and you’re covered in spit, a mixture of yours and his, and suddenly his hands are on your hips and his feet are planted strongly on the ground. He doesn’t disconnect his mouth from yours as he thrusts up into you long and hard, but any coherence is long since gone and you’re not sure you’re even kissing back anymore, instead giving loud, high-pitched moans into his mouth. 

His hands move to the undersides of your thighs and he uses his strength to piston into you. In this way, you can only take what he gives but it’s more than enough, as he knows your body better than you do. 

“I’m close, love,” he confesses. He lets his head fall back onto the couch but his eyes never leave yours, drinking up your scrunched up face and open-mouthed pants. It’s no surprise that you’re both close to your arrival so soon, after sitting on him for so long your pleasure feels like it’s increased tenfold. 

“Me too,” you say, struggling to get the words out. You didn’t have to tell him, though. He could tell by the way you were starting to tighten around him. 

“Go ahead and touch your pretty clit for me, make yourself come.” You follow his command, hand snaking down to where your bodies meet. He was right, you were absolutely soaked, and you use this wetness to shakily circle around your clit. His thrusts get harder, deeper, the way they do right before he cums. Unsurprisingly, you beat him to it, clenching all over his length and throwing your head back as you release. 

He follows suit, thrusting into you a few more times before he finds his release, spilling deep inside of you. He holds you close, rutting into you now slowly and working you both through your intense orgasms. When he stills, you collapse into his arms and he holds you tight, embracing you and running a hand through your hair as he praises you. When he finally pulls you off of him you feel empty and this makes you whine. Hyunjin pulls up his sweatpants and carries you to your shared bathroom, placing you onto the sink as he runs the bath. It’s late, but you feel grimy and covered in sweat so the bath is more than welcomed. 

When you look into the mirror, you can’t help but laugh. Your nightgown is covered in paint at your hips and your waist. Though he had tried to be so careful, you suppose it was the risk that came with the reward. When Hyunjin sees the target of your laughter, he joins you and apologizes sheepishly, promising to buy you another. 

“It’s okay, this can just be my paint nightgown,” you joke. “I’ll wear it the next time we have sex while you’re painting.” He smiles at you affectionately, and when you finally get back to sleep it’s in his arms and your bed is warm again.

*** Masterlist Recs

[ellecdc]

Mother, im sitting here at 4am, eating mini easter eggs and ive had tge most brilliant idea!! (Inspired by @inkdrinkerworld 's fic)

Okay so, poly!moonwater and readers been having trouble sleeping due to tensions/problems with her pureblood family. As a result shes been taking more naps, but they arent restful. So reader were napping in Rems bed (the dungeons were too cold) but after a fitful 30 minutes she gets up groggy, sleep deprived and beyond frustrated. She stumbles her way down to the common room, pin point Sirius lounging across the couch and promptly throws herself down to cuddle with him and continue her nap. Everyone (minus Siri) is shook. Jamie even asks if she got the wrong person because Reggie was sitting over there (in which he got a one eyed death glare before she burrowed into Siris chest and passed out).

Now, what everybody else didnt know was that Siri had more or less adopted reader as his own (she remined him so much of Reggie, being her big brother was 2nd nature). And while Barty was her person, he was a little too crazy to be comforting in this situation ("y/n, i'll get rid of them for you. Its not hard to do so" "Barty, no."). And of course Siri nows how bad their kind of familys are so he'd been taking care of reader on the down low as an older brother would.

Bonus if Reggie then decides that looks warm and fuzzy and wants Siri cuddles too so he joins ( it took him so long to get to a point where he could let himself be vunerable enough to openly allow Siri to take care of him 😭)

aweeee poor reader. this ended up being way more serious than I thought it would be? like it's not funny at all, there's no humour (which feels odd to me, usually I can throw some jokes or banter in there) but plenty of hurt comfort???.......idk, I can't tell if this is any good, it feels very different from my usual pieces

poly!moonwater x fem!reader whose family sucks (but it's very Sirius-centric)

CW: mentions of insomnia, mentions of abusive families, making fun of only children (sorry), hurt/comfort

You were miserable to say the least; you couldn’t remember when the last time you had a restful sleep was, and nothing you did seemed to help.

The closer it got to the Winter Holidays, the more your mind seemed to spiral. Every time you began to relax, your heart pounded as if you’d accidentally leaned too far back in your chair, reminding you of your upcoming visit home. Every time you closed your eyes, you were bombarded with images of angry faces and violent curses being shot at you.

The Slytherin dungeons were too cold, and every time you found your way into Regulus’ dorm, Barty insisted on butting in, and though you appreciated his support, you couldn’t handle his threats promises to burn down your home with your parents in it. 

Remus and Regulus both suggested you perhaps talk to Madame Pomfrey about getting some dreamless sleep or sleeping draught, but you were too embarrassed to admit to your two overprotective boyfriends that you’ve used them so frequently during your life for this very reason that they had lost all efficacy. 

It had gotten to the point that you managed to get the most sleep in the library bent over the table with your face on your book whilst Remus and Regulus did their work (and sometimes yours), and that honestly left you feeling more painfully tired than you had been before your nap.

So, you were nearly falling asleep at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall over your chicken and roast potatoes when Remus gently nudged you and suggested you go lie down for a bit and you wanted to weep into your potatoes which was only slightly less embarrassing than sleeping in them, causing him and Regulus to bring you up to Gryffindor tower.

You’d kicked them both out of the Marauders’ dorm room after some time – Remus for snoring and Regulus because the sound of him turning the pages of his book was distracting you. He promised to stop reading, but then he breathed too loudly and you started crying.

You were overtired, emotional, and running on fumes.

You’d counted puffskeins, you’d had a warm glass of milk, you’d taken off articles of clothing and reconfigured your outfit numerous times (which was currently Remus’ jumper and no pants), and you’d tried every position imaginable to no avail. 

You think you might have perhaps gotten five minutes of sleep before you woke up with a start, a barely repressed scream grating through your teeth.

Feeling disturbingly weepy and no less groggy from your horrid sleep, you pulled on a pair of your sweatpants and grabbed the throw blanket from the end Remus’ bed before trudging down the stairs to the common room.

“You should have seen the look on Filch’s face- oh! Hi Y/N!” James called as you made your way over to the three-seater and stood over the black-haired boy currently occupying it.

“Oh, Trouble.” He cooed sympathetically at you before kicking his feet out, laying back, and opening his arms for you to join him. You quickly climbed on top of him, and he tucked you in between the back of the sofa and his side, bending your knee so that your thigh rested on top of his, and pulled the blanket over the two of you.

You let out a shaky sigh and felt the first few tears fall from your eyes and onto Sirius’ chest.

“Uhm...” James said loudly, looking over to both Regulus and Remus cuddled in a large plush chair from his place on the loveseat with Lily like ‘are you seeing this right now?’. “I think you’ve got the wrong wizard there, L/N.” He said with a nervous laugh.

“No, she’s quite alright.” Sirius gritted back at him, looking far more severe than James thought the situation called for as he rubbed his hand consolingly up and down your arm. 

James looked to your boyfriends, his face clearly asking all the questions that his mouth wasn’t.

“He helps, sometimes.” Regulus admitted, not looking particularly happy that you chose his brother over him, but not nearly as murderous as James figured he might look if he’d found Lily snuggled up like that with some other bloke. And it appeared as though the look of heartbreak on Remus’ face was caused more by your current sorry state and less about your current cuddle partner.

“But...your brother?” James asked, still befuddled over this development. “Doesn’t she usually go to Junior for things like this?”

Sirius scoffed. “Junior’s solution to almost anything is fire or murder.”

“Or both.” You whimpered quietly, causing Sirius to tighten his arm around you and bring his other hand up to continue stroking your arm.

“Besides, Barty’s an only child.” Regulus said flippantly.

“What’s that got to do with it?” James asked, slightly offended at the insinuation that anything may be wrong with him on account of his only child-ness. 

Regulus’ irritable demeanor over Sirius usurping you was quickly replaced by a cocky smirk at getting under James’ skin.

“Let me ask you this, Potter: last summer when Lily returned your letters unopened and called you an arrogant toerag after saying she’d rather date the giant squid, whose arms did you cry into?”

“He didn’t cry.” Lily laughed at the same time as James answered “Sirius’” without any hesitation.

“What?” Lily asked, looking slightly horrified that she may have actually hurt James’ feelings.

“Oh, all the time, every time, actually.” James said readily. 

“He got snot on so many of my favourite band-tee’s, Red. As a matter of fact, I expect retribution.” Sirius commented.

“And why do you think you cried into Sirius’ arms?” Regulus continued.

“Well...because he’s my best mate.” James said simply.

“You may think that’s the reason, but you’re wrong. It’s because Sirius is an older brother.”

James scoffed at that. “Please, that has nothing to do with it!”

“Have you ever cried in Remus’ arms?”

“No, but-”

“Pettigrew’s?”

James grimaced but answered honestly. “No.”

“No. Because they’re not older brothers.” Regulus said definitively.

“That actually makes sense...” Lily mused aloud. 

“You say that like you’re surprised, Evans. I know you’re not used to good idea’s coming out of men’s mouths, but I do assure you it happens more frequently than you might imagine.” Regulus taunted, earning him a pillow being hurled at his head. 

Much to James’ chagrin, his seeker reflexes caught the pillow before it made impact with his face. 

“Tosser.” James grumbled. 

“Would you guys shut up.” Sirius whispered, causing everyone to look over at you. 

Regulus couldn’t even find it in him to be miffed when he saw you sleeping what looked to be quite peacefully in Sirius’ arms. Your eyes were slightly swollen from your tears, and he could see the tracks they had left on your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose, but you looked so content. 

“So... all big brothers know how to do that?” James asked incredulously.

“I doubt it.” Sirius commented quietly.

“Only ones who know what it’s like to live in a Pureblood hellscape and needed to share his bed with his younger brother who was too scared to sleep on his own for years.” Regulus added quietly, staring unseeingly towards you and Sirius. Remus pulled Regulus tighter into his side and began rubbing his arm consolingly.

Suddenly, things started to make a little more sense to James. 

“I’ll write to mum.” James stated, causing both brothers, Lily, and Remus to look at him bemusedly.

“About what?” Remus asked finally.

“Y/N staying with us.” James said simply.

Regulus opened his mouth ready to argue; to argue that James didn’t have to and that he already took in both Sirius and Regulus. James didn’t owe Regulus anything. 

But Sirius spoke first.

“She should be with her big brother, Reggie.” Sirius said, shooting him an encouraging smile and wink.

And seeing how your breathing had fallen even with your mouth slightly ajar as you clutched to the fabric of Sirius’ jumper like it was a lifeline, who was Regulus to argue?

[bamfkeeper]

Bamf Who Cried Bamf.

RQ: 'Hear me out: one of the Bamfs gets hurt so you give it a lil extra attention and it just soaks the love straight up. Lookin all smug at the other Bamfs all curled up in your arms and being all snuggly-Next thing you know when you see Kurt and the Bamfs next all the little guys are pretending to be hurt to get special treatment.' - @dinogoofy

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader | Warnings: Light description of injuries, I use it/he/they pronouns for the bamfs.

A/N: This is so sweet! I love the little bamfs getting jealous~ But I also like the idea of caring for one and it needing you. Unedited I'm lazy. | WC: 2.8k

The bamfs were unruly most days, their mischievous souls often getting the better of them. They were quite the handful, like terrible toddlers in their behavior and demands for attention, making them even more challenging to manage.

With teleportation powers at their disposal, these little creatures could appear and disappear at any time, often causing chaos in their wake.

Great. Sometimes you forget they can teleport.

Most days, you found yourself playing the role of 'mother hen' so to speak. Kurt often took on the role of playmate, engaging the bamfs in games and keeping them entertained, you were the one who actually took care of their day-to-day needs. This division of labor seemed to work well, with each of you contributing in your own way to the bamfs' well-being. Despite the occasional frustrations, you didn't mind your caretaker role.

As terrible as they could be sometimes with their sudden appearances and disappearances causing no end of trouble, they were equally as sweet in their affectionate moments. Curling up with them felt so natural to you, a comforting routine that brought joy to both you and the bamfs. You loved holding them close, feeling their small bodies nestled against you, and placing gentle kisses on their tiny heads. The soft purrs they emitted during these quiet moments were incredibly relaxing for you, a soothing balm after the chaos of the day.

The current day felt wonderfully lazy, a much-needed respite from the hectic pace of life you and Kurt had been maintaining lately. This afternoon of relaxation was essential, a well-deserved break from the constant hustle and bustle. The bamfs, ever-energetic, were engaged in their usual playful antics, either scampering about the room or deeply absorbed in one of the numerous activities you had provided for them.

You and Kurt had settled comfortably on the couch, your bodies finding that perfect position of relaxation. Kurt's hand moved in a soothing rhythm up and down your back, his touch both comforting and intimate. The gentle caress lulled you both into a state of peaceful semi-consciousness, hovering between wakefulness and sleep. His hand slipping under your shirt to feel your warm skin, soothingly tracing gentle patterns with no direction or meaning.

The serene quiet was abruptly shattered by a resounding bang emanating from the adjacent room. The sudden noise jolted you both from your peaceful reverie, your eyes snapping open in surprise. Your body tensed instinctively as you jerked upright, instantly alert. Exchanging a quick glance with Kurt, you both sprang into action without a word. You swiftly disentangled yourself from Kurt's embrace and the comfort of the couch, your movements mirrored by his own.

As you and Kurt entered the room, you were immediately struck by the sight of several bamfs, their large eyes filled with concern and apprehension. It was clear that something was wrong. Suddenly, the air was pierced by the faint, distressed cries of a bamf. Without hesitation, you found yourself instinctively drawn towards the source of the sound.

Venturing further into the room, your eyes were drawn to movement near a large, ornate dresser. A small, blue figure emerged from beneath it, struggling to free itself. The heavy, wooden piece of furniture had toppled over, trapping one of the unfortunate bamfs underneath its considerable weight. The trapped bamf’s lower body was pinned beneath the dresser, it struggled and pulled frantically, desperate to escape.

You immediately rushed to the bamf's aid, your heart racing with urgency, Kurt was right beside you. Kurt grasped the edge of the dresser and began to lift, the muscles in his arms strained as he raised the heavy furniture just enough to create a small gap. You reached under the dresser and grasped the bamf's small form, pulling the creature out from its trapped position.

The bamf's anguished wails pierced the air, its tiny leg displaying an alarming deep violet bruise and an unsettling twist. Your voice was a mixture of concern and urgency, "Kurt, look at his leg…" You gestured towards the injured limb as the bamf continued to emit heart-wrenching cries against your chest. Kurt's face immediately contorted with worry, his hands reaching out instinctively towards the distressed creature.

"I've got him, liebling..." Kurt murmured softly, his arms gently enveloping the bamf as he carefully lifted it from your embrace. The moment the transfer occurred, the bamf's cries escalated dramatically. Its small face flushed a disconcerting shade of purple as its wails intensified, mimicking an exceptionally irate newborn. Kurt's golden eyes widened in shock, darting between you and the bamf before swiftly returning the distraught creature to your arms.

You instinctively cradled the bamf against you once more, your face a mirror of Kurt's concern. "Shh, sh, it's okay, shh..." you cooed soothingly, your voice a gentle whisper as you began to rock the little one in your arms. Your movements were slow and deliberate, hoping to provide comfort to the distressed creature. The bamf's cries began to soften ever so slightly in response to your tender ministrations, though its injured leg still twitched occasionally, reminding you the poor thing was in immense pain.

"We have to get him to Hank immediately. He can make a small cast for the little one, right?" You asked Kurt with a furrowed brow, your voice laced with concern for the injured bamf cradled gently in your arms. Kurt nodded solemnly, his expression full of worry. You carried the wounded bamf out of the room, heading towards Hank's state-of-the-art laboratory. The atmosphere was thick with tension as the other bamfs followed in complete silence. Their typically vibrant bodies seemed to have shrunk slightly, a physical manifestation of their collective anxiety for their injured companion, perhaps some guilt swirled in their guts, but mostly worry.

Upon reaching the lab, Hank immediately set to work. His nimble fingers and vast expertise allowed him to craft a perfectly sized cast with remarkable efficiency, you expected nothing less from the scientist. The injured bamf, clearly overwhelmed by the unfamiliar situation, alternated between curious glances at the cast and apprehensive looks at his surroundings.

Hank's thorough examination revealed the full extent of the injuries: the little one's leg was fractured in multiple places, necessitating complete rest to heal properly. Additionally, a myriad of bruises peppered its small body, and several other minor fractures were identified. It was clear that the bamf would require an extended period of intensive care and attention, far beyond what was typically needed for these resilient creatures.

You carefully cradled the injured bamf back in your arms, a gentle smile spread across your face, the soft, blue fuzz of the creature tickled your skin. You were more than prepared to provide the extra care and attention this little one would need.

Several days had passed since the unfortunate incident, and a noticeable change had come over the other bamfs. Their usual exuberance had been tempered, replaced with concern for their injured companion. They watched with worried eyes as their weakened brethren spent most of its time resting on the couch in your company. The injured bamf found solace either cradled in your arms or nestled in the cozy nest you had fashioned from cushioned blankets, specially arranged for its comfort.

The bond between you and the injured bamf had grown increasingly strong. It had become deeply attached to your presence, emitting plaintive cries whenever you strayed too far from its side. Your nurturing instincts had fully awakened, and you found yourself constantly fussing over the little creature. You spoon-fed the bamf its meals, ensuring it received proper nourishment, even though it could fully chew and eat on its own. You applied soothing, numbing cream to its sore spots, your fingers moving with delicately avoid causing any additional discomfort.

The days progressed, the sweet blue creature seemed to crave your nearness more and more. It often curled up against you, seeking the warmth and security of your embrace. It bore a striking resemblance to a needy infant, completely dependent on your care and affection. Your instincts were extremely high and you couldn’t help but tend to it like it were your own offspring.

The bamf's condition was steadily improving as time passed. Initially, its movements were tentative and unsteady, but it gradually regained the ability to walk and engage in playful activities, albeit with a noticeable slowness and slight wobble. As the days went by, its progress accelerated remarkably. Soon enough, the little creature was able to crawl with increasing confidence, walk, and eventually run with newfound energy.

Your unwavering attention and care had been solely focused on nurturing the injured bamf back to health. You inadvertently overlooked the growing sense of jealousy emanating from the other bamfs. Their longing gazes went unnoticed as they silently yearned for your affection and attention. Even the injured bamf, who had been the center of your care, began to sense a shift in your attentiveness as its need for constant care diminished with its improving health.

The day finally arrived when the bamf's cast was removed, marking a significant milestone in its recovery. It was exciting for you and Kurt, and a big relief since that meant the bamf was fully recovered. Instead of feeling elated, the little creature was overcome with a wave of sadness. It couldn't help but worry that this meant you would no longer shower it with the same level of care and attention it had grown accustomed to. It gazed up at you with its big, expressive eyes and extended its tiny arms upward, silently pleading to be picked up and held close.

You sighed, knowing it was feeling a bit strange now that the cast was off. You responded with gentle encouragement, "Now, darling," you said in a sweet, soothing tone, "You've got to walk on your leg to make sure it's properly healed and strong." You helped the bamf down from the examination table, gently supporting it as you guided its feet to the floor.

The bamf, still clinging to its desire for continued attention, stubbornly began to walk around the room. Its gait was accompanied by an adorable pout, a clear indication of its reluctance to accept that its leg was indeed healed and no longer required your constant care.

You smiled at the bamf, despite its apparent distress. You reasoned that it was likely just adjusting to life without the cast. It began to slowly engage in play once more, albeit with a noticeable reservation in its demeanor. Occasionally it would emit a plaintive cry in your direction, seeking your comfort. However, Kurt gently reminded you of the importance of allowing it to regain independence. "Liebling, there's no need to coddle it anymore," he explained softly. "Hank said it’s important to let it become accustomed to moving freely now that the cast has been removed. It's just part of the recovery process."

"I understand, I really do," you replied, your voice tinged with concern. "But... just look at him over there. He seems so isolated." Your gaze drifted to where the bamf sat, a solitary figure observing the playful antics of its companions from a distance. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, making it difficult to resist the urge to intervene.

Kurt's expression softened as he followed your line of sight. "I know it's hard to watch," he acknowledged, his tone empathetic yet reassuring. "But try to see it from a different perspective. He's not necessarily sad - he's just... exercising caution, you know? It's a natural response after what he's been through." Kurt offered a gentle shrug, his words aimed at alleviating your worries. "He's alright, truly. There's no need for concern. This is all part of his journey back to full health and confidence." He grinned, his tail curling around your ankle affectionately.

A few days later, you began to notice a peculiar change in its behavior. The small bamf seemed to be constantly in distress, it would cry out frequently, its voice filled with what appeared to be genuine anguish, and it seemed to have become remarkably accident-prone. The bamf would wail and whine, calling for you specifically, its voice tinged with desperation. Your natural response was to rush to its side, gently cradling the seemingly distressed creature in your arms. You'd whisper soothing words, trying to calm its apparent fears and alleviate its discomfort, always ensuring it was physically unharmed.

However, these incidents of minor injuries and emotional outbursts continued to occur with alarming regularity, causing your worry to deepen with each passing day. The bamf's cries for attention grew more frequent and intense, with large, glistening tears streaming down its fuzzy cheeks as you held it close, attempting to provide comfort and reassurance.

Kurt, however, maintained a skeptical stance throughout these occurrences. His suspicions were aroused by the bamf's behavior, which seemed oddly calculated to him.

Kurt found himself crossing his arms, his gaze fixed intently on the bamf. His keen eyes didn't miss the fleeting, but unmistakable, prideful smile that the creature flashed to its fellow bamfs when it thought no one was watching. Kurt realized with growing certainty that those big, heart-wrenching tears were nothing more than an elaborate act – as fake as they were effective.

The bamf had masterfully crafted this performance, taking full advantage of your nurturing nature. You, in your kindness and genuine concern, were simply too caring and empathetic to see through the clever ruse that the mischievous creature had concocted to garner your undivided attention and affection.

Those crocodile tears worked every time.

"Liebling, he's faking it," Kurt attempted to explain, his brow furrowing as he gazed at you with concern. "He's not actually hurt; he's perfectly fine. Have you ever seen any of these supposed accidents?" He inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. In response, you found yourself slowly shaking your head, uncertainty creeping into your expression.

"Well, no..." you admitted hesitantly, your own frown deepening as you considered his words. "But you have to remember, he's only recently recovered from a serious injury! There's a possibility that he could be experiencing some lingering effects or complications," you reasoned, your voice filled with genuine concern for the little creature's well-being.

Kurt's expression softened slightly, but the puzzlement remained evident in his eyes. "I'm struggling to understand why he would engage in such behavior," he mused, his gaze shifting to the bamf nestled in your arms. With a gentle but firm tone, he addressed the small creature directly. "Now, listen carefully, little one. This deception cannot continue. I believe I understand why you are behaving this way…you enjoy the attention and care that liebe lavishes upon you, don't you? I must admit, I too appreciate when they tend to me with such devotion." Kurt carefully lifted the bamf from your embrace, and to your surprise, the little creature offered no resistance.

The bamf's large, expressive eyes blinked up at Kurt, a mixture of guilt and sadness evident in its gaze. It then glanced towards you, its tiny features contorting into a remorseful frown. The sight of its drooping ears and that unmistakable pout tugged at your heartstrings, silently communicating that the little creature had indeed understood the gravity of its actions.

"Aww, is that really what's been bothering you? You've been craving attention like you used to get, haven't you?" you cooed softly to the bamf, gently scooping it back into your arms. Your voice was filled with warmth, "Just because I'm not fussing as much, doesn't mean I love you any less, sweet baby."

You cradled the bamf close to your chest, feeling its small body relax against you. "I love you just as much as I always have, even if I'm not able to tend to your every need 24/7 anymore," you reassured, your fingers finding their way to its belly. You began to tickle gently, your touch light and playful. "See? We can still have our special moments," you murmured, watching with delight as the bamf's pout slowly transformed into a happy, toothy smile.

Kurt observed the scene with a sense of relief washing over him. It seemed the troublesome behavior might finally come to an end, which was a welcome development. Leaning in, he affectionately ruffled the bamf's hair, eliciting a small giggle from the creature. "No more crying wolf, you hear little one?" Kurt added with a wink, his voice carrying a gentle note of admonishment and obvious fondness.

"Bamf!"

A sudden noise from the adjacent room caused your heart to race, prompting you and Kurt to rush into the living room. Upon entering, your eyes widened as a sense of déjà vu washed over you along with that urge to nurture, coming back full force. The collective distress of these tiny creatures filled the room with urgency and concern.

You saw all of the bamfs scattered across the floor, their small bodies sprawled out in various positions. They were emitting pitiful cries and mewling sounds, clearly seeking your attention and comfort. Just like the first one.

No obvious cause of injury.

Kurt sighed, his hand moving over his face as he sighed heavily, "Oh, großartig..."

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedbylight & @/strangergraphics

Cover Image: Nightcrawler (2014) #5

[supercutszns]

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth. 

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying. 

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known. 

Meet me tomorrow. 

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be. 

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest. 

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces. 

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. 

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows. 

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is. 

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off. 

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.” 

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed. 

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly. 

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck. 

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare. 

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then? 

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.” 

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you. 

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it. 

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip. 

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz. 

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back. 

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used. 

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it? 

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it. 

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth. 

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom. 

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open. 

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin. 

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince. 

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A  gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games. 

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry. 

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees. 

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter. 

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on. 

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling. 

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills. 

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.” 

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday. 

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else. 

Until he pulls away. Like a dick. 

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out. 

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him. 

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake. 

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him. 

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie. 

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy! 

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you. 

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges. 

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers. 

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night. 

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees. 

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain. 

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms. 

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe. 

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.” 

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel. 

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air. 

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin. 

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.” 

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids. 

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises. 

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake. 

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you. 

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree. 

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real. 

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which. 

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.” 

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever. 

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.” 

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?” 

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side. 

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood. 

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together. 

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway. 

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you. 

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol. 

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you. 

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side. 

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad. 

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away. 

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!” 

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth. 

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.��

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?” 

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar. 

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.” 

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing. 

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart. 

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong. 

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply. 

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame. 

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely. 

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

[neverendingford]

.

[novemberheart]

{overview} you and the boys decide where to go on leave. You sit in on a training session and Simon attempts to make further amends

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, mentions of being horny, slight sexual innuendos

Chapter 18 <- Chapter 19 -> Chapter 20

“Beach?”

“Nah, not too fond of it.”

“Who doesn't like the beach, mate?”

“I’ll go for you peaches.”

“I don't want to go if you don't want to go,” you sighed.

“The beaches here aren't even nice, Bon. Could save a beach trip for the Bahamas or the Mediterranean or something. How about mountains?”

“That's boring.”

“Not asking you city boy.”

“It's almost summer. It'll probably be pretty,” you commented.

“See, our girl likes it. That's all that matters.”

“Lovie, I mean this in the nicest way possible. You don't know what's good for you when it comes to vacation.”

You rolled your eyes as Johnny and Kyle continued to bicker. You still weren't clear if they were putting this much thought into it because they wanted to make it special for you or because they wanted to make it special for them. Either way, you would be a recipient.

“I know!” an idea suddenly popped into your head. They stopped immediately turning their attention to you. John had pointed that out to you a few weeks ago. They had been arguing over some weird fact about koalas when you sniffled. They stopped immediately thinking they had upset you, not taking into account that you were still trying to adjust to the spring air. Ever since then, it's been your little superpower. “What if all of you pick a place, write it down on a piece of paper and we put it into a hat and shake it?” you beamed.

“Not bad, Bonnie.”

“Just can't use Caps hat, it'll ruin the paper.”

“Like yours is any better.”

“You been avoiding me?” you jumped. Simon grunted, skidding his back against the wall so he was sitting on the floor, next to you. He had too much leg for his own good.

“Not purposefully,” you assured, scooting back. “We just haven’t had much luck with our conversations lately.

“Meaning”……

“We’ve been fighting Simon,” you reminded.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours. For being moody.”

“I think you're the moody one.”

“You know”- you cut yourself off. “See,” you grumbled. He chuckled and you quickly caught that he had been pushing your buttons.

“I think you're still a bit upset over what I said that night- the night you overheard me and Johnny talking,” he suggested. “I wouldn't blame you if you were, pup. I still think about it too.”

You hadn’t thought about it like that. His words have been in the back of your mind since it happened. It made the other things he had done or said to you since then seem……fake.

“Do you think I'm useless? Really not worth the trouble all of you are putting in?” You thought about the most recent fight with Simon. He had gotten onto you about causing trouble, again. Maybe he was right. It wasn't like you had improved their life drastically. Sure, they reaped the benefits of your healing, but they could get that with any omega. One that was easy. One that didn't seem to be constantly fucking up.

“Easy, pup,” Simon brought you back down to earth. Even outside the smell of bitter lemons seeped through his mask. “Want the truth?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I want what won't make me cry,” you pleaded.

“You are a lot of work,” Simon admitted. You turned your head away from him. “But good things never come easy to me.”

You gasped your head whipping around.

“Oh, Simon,” you nearly whimpered. You leaned closer to him and wrapped your arms around him as best you could, your head resting against his thigh. “That's the most romantic thing”-

“Let's stop right there.”

You reached your hand into one of John’s beanies, gripping on to a tiny piece of paper and pulling it out.

Scotland

“Johnny, you can't just write Scotland,” you whined. “That's a whole country.”

The others rolled their eyes a little disappointed that their paper hadn't been picked- but the sparkle in Johnny's eyes quickly changed that.

“It's a surprise, Hen. Can't have you lookin’ it up before we get there,” he smiled. Every time he smiled at you like that you just wanted to kiss him. It wasn't fair. You pulled the rest of the papers out taking a peek at each of them.

Cornwall

York

London

You knew Gaz was London, but you couldn't figure out who was who for the other two.

“Where’s Cornwall?” you questioned.

“It's on the beach,” Simon explained. “Said you've never been and it's one of the nicer ones.”

“Well now I feel bad,” Johnny huffed. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his bicep.

“I can't wait to see Scotland,” you assured, making the glint reappear in his eyes. He bent down planting a quick kiss against your lips. “Thank you, Simon. I still want to go one day. And to London and to York,” you added quickly.

“No reason we can't get to all of them,” John smiled, running a hand down your back. “Time to get back to business,” John commanded. They all moved from the stools, grabbing some drinks, snacks and using the bathroom one last time. You smiled, pulling his beanie on your head. It was too stretched out but you didn't care. “Now that's a sight,” John grumbled, rolling the edges up so he could see your eyes. “We have one of the gyms to ourselves today. There's a yoga ball,” he hinted, causing your eyes to go wide.

“I can come?” you beamed.

“Course, only if you keep the hat on,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against your neck. You erupted in a purr before you could stop yourself, jumping at the noise. “Go put some comfy clothes on,” he chuckled at your reaction but found it challenging to pull himself away from you. Especially after you purred so pretty for him.

You had been occupying yourself on the high-tech bicycle when Johnny and Kyle sparring on the mat caught your attention. Now it was all you could focus on. John had called it sparring, but it looked like grinding to you.

You could take a guess as to why they got this room to themselves.

Johnny hissed suddenly, pulling his hand away.

“Bastard bit me,” he growled.

“You stuck your hand in my mouth, mate. That's not in any handbook anywhere,” Kyle smirked. You loved when Kyle was cocky. His normally melted eyes transformed into sharp ones, his lips pursed ever so slightly like he already knew he had won. Johnny sprang forward slamming the other beta onto the mat, the sound making you jump. It didn't seem to have the slightest effect on Kyle, who quickly gripped Johnny's shirt, and used his leg to switch the position so he was on top.

This continued for a few turns neither one of them able to get complete control over the other.

“Think they need someone to show them how it's done?” Simon asked, eyeing John up and down.

“What do you think, pretty girl?” John hummed. Your mouth went dry at the thought.

“That's a good idea…I think I could benefit from a demonstration too,” you faltered, making both of them chuckle.

“Can’t say no to that, ay?” John smiled, clapping his hands. Johnny and Kyle rolled away from each other, low growls still rumbling in their chest. “Cool it. Like feral dogs chasin’ their tails. I know both of you wanted to win to look good to our girl. So next time, win,” he said, patting both of them on the shoulder.

Kyle and Johnny hid their smiles bounding over to where you were. Johnny grabbed you off the bike, sitting down with you so you were between his legs.

“This’ll be good, babygirl,” Kyle chuckled, knowing something you definitely didn't. Johnny squeezed you with his legs, resting back on his hands. You weren't sure how much more you could handle, your mind still reeling from John’s “our girl” comment.

Holy shit.

Your hands gripped onto Johnny’s shorts, the only thing keeping you from floating off into the atmosphere. You had to move to sit on your knees, hoping to catch some distance so you wouldn't leave a wet spot on the floor. It felt cruel actually, making you watch something like this.

Four hundred plus pounds of raw muscle and experience going at it. Arms and legs tangled, the floor practically shaking as they threw each other to the ground. It was violent not in the way Johnny and Kyles had been. If you didn't know any better you would think they were trying to kill each other. Simon groaned as a particularly hard jab was thrown at him. You put a hand against your lips to keep from whimpering at the sound.

God, you were pathetic.

You didn't hide it very well, the sound spurring both of them on. They grunted and growled things in each other's ears, too quiet for you to hear.

“Smell that?” John taunted, his beard scratching against Simon’s mask.

“Don't get too excited, old man. She's all warm for me,” Simon growled. The smell of melted peaches and vanilla in the air was mouth-watering, it vibrated through their bodies as the prehistoric parts of their brains roll over. Their mate was in the room, one that needed providing and protecting. What better way to prove they could be that for you than to beat each other?

Besides it making you needy, it was impressive to watch. Simon’s moves were calculating, he put a lot of thought behind them. John’s moves seemed natural, like this was just a warm-up for him. It also didn't help that they seemed to know what the other was going to do before they did it.

“They’re showing off for you,” Johnny whispered, his nose tickling you behind your ear. The thought made you clench. You weren't sure who was winning, every time one pulled ahead the other one quickly caught up and beat them.

“Does it normally last this long?” You hummed, looking over at Kyle.

“Oh, lovie,” Kyle sighed. “These two can go all night.”

You didn't bother holding back a whimper that time.

John had Simon right where he wanted him. They had thrown each other off the mat, John sandwiching Simon between him and the wall, his arm bent backward in a headlock. Simon tried to get out of it but there was no place to move. The experienced alpha reminding him of his mastery. John knew Simon would never tap out, especially with you there, but all four men knew who won.

“Nice work, Cap!” Kyle and Johnny cheered, clapping. You quickly joined in, although you were too busy watching their chest heave up and down to really care who won.

“Rematch, later?” Simon questioned, patting his alpha on the back. There was only one person in the world he wouldn't mind losing to.

“How about next month,” John chuckled.

“Alright, let's get the pup peeled off the floor and get some food in her,” Simon chuckled, taking in your flushed appearance.

“I don't think she's here with us,” John whispered, looking at your spaced-out eyes.

“I am. Just trying to commit everything to memory,” you whispered, eyes still trained on their twitching muscles.

You yawned your eyes coming up to rub at your eye.

“My turn,” Kyle said, tossing a look at Johnny. The other beta huffed, sliding even further down the couch. Kyle put his arms under your tired frame, carrying you bridal style towards your bedroom.

“I can walk,” you murmured, cuddling your head into his neck.

“What's the fun in that?” He smiled. You thought he was going to your room but he went past it into John’s room. A happy rumble leaves you as the smell of campfire and tobacco hits you. John had been careful to preserve your nest, hoping it would encourage you to wander into his bed. He was lying in bed already, your eyes widening once you realized he was without a shirt. The wide expansion of his chest was covered in dark curly hair that trailed all the way down below the sheets. His body was bulky and strong in his chest and arms but narrowed down around his waist. He was covered in a layer of fat but one slightest movement had his muscles peeking through his skin. Your nails itched to dig into his strong shoulders. His arms flexed as he took you from Kyle, resting you against the part of him you were just drooling over.

You purred gently, pressing yourself against him. The hair was a bit coarser than you thought it would be, but you didn't mind. John matched your purr, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, carefully sliding under your shirt.

“So soft,” he murmured, against your head. His large hands took up your whole back, one resting on your upper the other resting on your lower. You couldn't help but shiver at the callous’ on his fingertips. His palms were a bit smoother- he must wear gloves- but not by much. That was a theme with all of them. Kyle moved one of the walls of your nest, hoping you wouldn't be too upset, and crawled right in next to John. You smiled, your hand already darting out to grip his shirt. One of John's hands left you, to worm its way under Kyle, tugging him even closer. Kyle rested his head on the alpha's shoulder, his hand taking a place on your back as well. Kyle had been fortunate enough to feel your softness many times, but it always made his chest rumble.

Your warming scent reminded John of something he had been meaning to ask you.

“Sweetheart,” he started. “Your heats comin’ up in a few weeks.” around two to be exact. He faltered when he felt you and Kyle stiffen. “Don’t need to discuss it, just wanted you to know I hadn't forgotten. It's all your choice,” he assured, causing you to relax. You said nothing but planted a kiss against his cheek, curling back up against him.

“You take anymore time, we'll leave you here,” Simon shouted from the couch.

“Could help her pack, mate,” Kyle shot him a look, heading towards your room to help.

“Am I always the asshole?” Simon grunted, kicking his feet on the coffee table.

“That's very good self-awareness, Simon,” John chuckled, moving so he was standing in your doorway. John whistled at you causing Simon's head to snap to your door. “You’ll be breakin’ necks, sweetheart,” the alpha chuckled.

Johnny heard from the kitchen weaseling his way into your room. He could hear the Scotsman swallow harshly.

“Deadly, Bonnie, deadly,” he tsked his eyes wracking over your form. You weren’t sure what the big deal was, it was just a skirt with a sweater. Maybe it was the tights you had on underneath? You rolled your eyes beginning to pick up your bag, and all three of them quickly swooped in to grab it. Kyle won, smirking as he flung the duffel over his shoulder.

“See you in the car,” Kyle brushed the two members of his pack off, heading out the door.

“Are you sure no one is going to come here while we’re away?” you asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure, pretty girl. Besides, things like that are for me and Simon to worry about, not you.”

“I would recommend bringing all your undies though, Bon. Wouldn't want anything happening to those,” Johnny said- a little too seriously.

“I think my boring white undies will be fine Johnny. Besides I feel like they’re more at risk if they come with us,” you chuckled.

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this next installment! Chapter 20 (omg) will be posted tomorrow!!!! 🧡