#tw sailors mouth

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decriminalize having a sailors mouth criminalize ben shapiro talking

[peaches2217]

Untarnished

Chapter 3 (TW: Brief but graphic descriptions of injuries)

AO3 link! | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Beginning

~~~

“P-presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Daisy Nambuthiri of the Sarasaland Empire, Firstborn of Emperor Oleander and Heir Apparent to—”

“Move it!”

The squeak of an unfortunate messenger Toad being knocked against a wall preceded Daisy’s appearance, and not once did she look behind to acknowledge the carnage left in her wake. At some point in the near future, Peach knew she would have to make amends for whatever property destruction and bruised egos she’d doled out in her haste.

For the time being, the shock and joy that came with her arrival far outweighed any sense of responsibility. Peach stood as quickly as she could without getting lightheaded, and Daisy cried her name as she lunged forth, pulling her into a familiar, full-bodied hug, ever-so-slightly uncomfortable hug.

“Sacred Stars!” Daisy cried, her voice cracking. “Hooooly shit! The crazy bastard did it!”

Peach subconsciously filled in the blanks; “the crazy bastard” was Mario, she presumed, and “it” was her successful rescue. For Daisy of all people to consider such a feat foolhardy… Peach felt suddenly dizzy, her stomach heavy. It took a great deal of adversity to dishearten the strong-willed princess. 

Just how hopeless must her inner circle have felt as the weeks dragged on? Would anyone have been able to save her if Mario hadn’t?

She squeezed Daisy back, feebly, yet with all her strength. She was alive. She was alive and she was here and she would restore things to their proper order in due time, and that was all that mattered.

Daisy kept her hands on Peach’s shoulders when she pulled away, just as Luigi had the night before. Perhaps they both worried she would float away if they didn’t keep her grounded. She couldn’t blame them for such an assumption; she had lost most of her “padding,” so to speak, in the past months. Nothing fit the way it was supposed to anymore. Toadette had spent the better part of an hour pinning her into one of her nicer dresses here in her bedroom.

And judging by the distaste with which Daisy’s eyes swept over her attire, Peach guessed that she still didn’t look presentable enough.

“Oh, no,” she muttered, though she sounded more agitated than devastated. Her eyes then swept over the room until they fell upon Toadsworth, standing loosely at attention by the bed’s baseboard… and what joy remained in her face morphed into something far less friendly.

Peach knew exactly what was about to happen. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so joyous either.

“And you! ” She threw an accusatory finger in his direction, so swift and sudden that he stumbled backward a step or two. “Maybe you can give me a good answer here!”

Peach instinctively jerked in his direction, intent on catching him, but he righted himself with a soft Hmph! before she could break from beneath Daisy’s hand. “Daisy,” she implored softly, returning her attention back to her belligerent friend, “this isn’t the time—”

“I had to fight through thousands of Toads and like a hundred different journalists and news crews just to get inside!” Daisy soldiered on. “Everyone’s saying the Princess is gonna give a speech at the top of the hour!”

In spite of Peach’s stuttered protests, Daisy pulled her into a side-hug, so tight that it actually hurt. Daisy’s strongest embraces were capable of bruising, even when Peach was in otherwise good health. She almost dreaded to think what her arms would look like after she was turned loose.

“But that’s crazy, right? She’s been a prisoner of war for the past three months and just got home last night! So that whole crowd’s just misinformed, and you’ve only got her all dressed and made up so you can figure out what she needs in the way of gowns and cosmetics, and the Princess isn’t doing anything that doesn’t involve food or rest for at least the next few weeks.” Daisy squeezed even tighter, and Peach swore she felt something pop. “Right? ”

“Hey! Cool your jets!” It was Toadette who spoke up now, throwing herself in front of the elderly steward with her arms spread wide. “Look, I get it! But do you think we didn’t try talking her outta this?”

“Oh, don’t go pinning this on—”

“She’s right.” Peach made her best effort to pry herself free of Daisy’s arm, wincing as she did so. Stars Almighty, she was still so sore. “Daisy, I agreed to this,” she said, quickly giving up her efforts and refocusing her energy. “Willingly, and against both of their wishes.”

Daisy scoffed, not even looking her way. “Toadsworth, you’re technically still in charge, right? Lay down the law! Tell her to get her butt back to the infirmary!”

Toadsworth’s features, already tense with indignity, turned solemn, betraying the extent of his weariness. Yes, he was still in charge. Yes, he had expressed reluctance at the thought of a press conference so soon. But he’d given her the freedom to choose, because he knew as well as she did what sorts of sacrifices needed to be made. Something burned within Peach, not quite anger, but close enough. Hadn’t he already endured enough?

“N-n-now, Lady Daisy,” he managed to interject, tapping his cane to the floor and gently pushing Toadette aside, “I understand your concern, but you must understand. This has been a difficult time for our kingdom. The people want a statement from their Princess.”

“The people—” Daisy sputtered for a moment, and she finally let go of Peach to engage in a spot of frustrated gesticulation. “Well! In that case, this princess has a statement to make, too…”

“Daisy…”

“The people can go bend over the railings and shove those cameras up their stubby— ”

“Daisy!” That feeling like anger flared into a flashover, granting Peach the strength to turn Daisy in her direction, take firm hold of her shoulders, and glare her into silence. She fell silent alright, but she glared right back at Peach, her turquoise eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed, her cheeks hot with an anger far more indignant than her own.

Peach knew her friend too well to be upset at her behavior. Daisy’s hostility was never random. She was, if Peach had to guess, afraid. Just as Peach was afraid last night, hearing the screams of a loved one she couldn’t reach, helpless to ease his pain; such fear can push even the most level-headed of individuals to rash extremes. No one in such a state could make fully rational decisions.

“I’m going to wave and say a few words of encouragement, then I’m going straight back to the infirmary.” She squeezed Daisy’s shoulders in wordless reassurance. “I promise.” I don’t have the energy for much else, she thought about tacking on, but she decided against it. Best not admit just how tired she truly was.

Granted, she couldn’t pretend the idea thrilled her. To step into the public eye and show her people a Princess that had grown frail and emaciated, her golden hair now a lusterless yellow, a thick caking of makeup barely hiding a countenance burdened with scratches and bruises… she wanted to shed her regalia and wash her face clean. She wanted to crawl into her nightgown, cover herself in fluffy blankets, eat soup and laugh with her friends and just exist for a while.

She longed above all else to be back in Mario’s arms, warm and safe, drifting in and out of blissful sleep. She had promised to be there when he woke up again. Could he forgive her for abandoning him?

But she also longed to see her subjects once more. For three months, they’d lived under constant fear that she would never return, that life as they knew it would be uprooted and set ablaze. She wanted to stand in the sun before them so they could hear her voice and see for themselves that their resilience hadn’t been in vain.

Her duties as a ruler came above all else. She would be the people’s Princess for a few minutes, then she could be Peach again. Poor, pitiful, pathetic Peach. 

It took several seconds more of unbroken eye contact, but finally, Daisy’s face softened.

“You look terrible, Peach Pit,” she said, voice quiet. I don’t want to lose you again.

Peach couldn’t help but smile. “So I’ve been told.” You won’t.

Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! Tinnnnng! The grandfather clock next to her writing desk chimed out the top of the hour. It was time.

“You’re sure about this?” Daisy covered one of Peach’s hands with her own, and the smile she returned was begrudgingly playful, if heavy. “Last chance. We can still bail you out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

With one more quick embrace, Daisy straightened the ruffles of Peach’s bodice, gave her sleeves a quick poof, then nodded in approval. Toadette’s carefree mannerisms and brash mouth belied a delicate touch with both fabric and cosmetics. Though she still didn’t care to look into a mirror, Peach trusted that she looked presentable.

This notion kept her calm as she made her way to the double balcony doors. “Right behind you, Princess,” she heard Toadsworth say as she rested her hands on the brass door handles, and that added an extra layer of mental security. Right. She wasn’t alone. A few words, a smile or two, and then it would be over. Simple enough.

With a quick breath, she gracefully pushed the doors open.

The world outside went still — and then plunged into chaos.

Interlacing her fingers and squeezing as hard as she could was all that stopped her from slapping her hands over her ears. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Cries of “Princess!” and “Oh, thank the stars!”  and a thousand other celebrations merged into a single mass of sound, rumbling and churning and vibrating in her eardrums.

The sunlight that assaulted her as she passed the overhang was equally relentless, and for a moment, it blinded her. All she could see was white. The roar was even louder with one less sense to guide her, and it was hot, she realized, her chilled skin suddenly vulnerable, burning—

His blood soaking into her dress was the first warmth she had felt in three months. Her hands stung when she touched him. When she jerked away at the pain, the top layer of his skin came with her, gooey and red and black. Skin wasn’t supposed to feel like that— he wasn’t supposed to look like that—

“Princess?”

Peach jolted, and it all slammed into focus: rolling green hills. A cloudless blue sky. A sea of colors and caps and polka dots, smiling faces, triumphant pink flags and banners.

No. No, no, this was her reality. This was her present, and this was her kingdom, and these were her people, and she couldn’t afford to lose sight of that, not so publicly.

Her feet stopped when she reached the balcony’s edge, and she held onto the wall for dear life, for fear of collapsing. The stones were warm, having basked all morning in the summer sun. It wasn’t heat of an oppressive or debilitating sort. It was comfortable.

It was home.

She lifted her head, and she raised her hand, and the world went silent once more. And with a disconnect she hadn’t known she was capable of, she closed her eyes, fell back onto a lifetime’s worth of training, and let that training do the talking for her.

.

.

.

.

.

“...so kickass! You did awesome! ”

“We shouldn’t have doubted you for a moment, Peach Pit! Look at you, showin’ ‘em who’s boss!”

“Excellent, my dear. Most excellent.”

It took a few moments for Peach to come back to herself. The sight of blue skies and green hills faded into swaths of white and pink silk, her hands planted in her lap, her eyes fixed on some point between or beyond them. The warmth of the sun had long since left her; once more, a chill settled over her, so familiar by now that she didn’t even shiver. The chair beneath and behind her felt both luxuriously soft and rigid.

Too many hands were on her. There was one on her back, one on her shoulder, one on her knee, one holding hers. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, hold up— give her some space! Give her some space. She needs a minute.” It was Toadette’s voice that made the call, and then all points of contact left her, and her newly-released body pulled in a loud, shuddering gasp of air, so deep and so fast that her lungs burned.

It took a few more breaths for Peach to be able to acknowledge the rest of her surroundings. She was back in her room, surrounded by her steward and two of her closest friends, the balcony doors closed once more.

“You okay?” It was Daisy who asked this, and after another breath, Peach was able to nod.

She had checked out. She had fully, mentally checked out from the moment she spoke until she got back inside. Peach wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the phenomenon; being able to detach herself from her innermost thoughts and feelings and allow her training to take control had allowed her to save face in many a high-stress scenario.

It just… usually wasn’t this… intense.

A knock on the door gave her one more real-word happening to focus on. By the time Toadsworth reached the bedroom door, Peach was able to stand (with minimal wobbling) and collect herself, setting her shoulders back and lifting her chin. One more visitor. Okay. She could handle one more visitor.

The door opened, and suddenly Peach didn’t feel quite so collected anymore.

Luigi ducked his head and stepped into the bedroom, his cap clutched to his chest in a gesture of respect. He smiled at her, but it was an uneasy smile, one that only barely hid a metric ton of uncertainty. His eyes, only slightly less tired than last night, were unreadable.

He had caught her just before she left the medical ward that morning. He had promised he’d come get her if Mario’s condition worsened. He had grinned and promised she wouldn’t see him until she returned, stars willing.

Peach’s knees went weak beneath her. 

“D-don’t panic, Princess, don’t panic!” Luigi was quick to say, reaching out as if preparing to steady her. “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong. Mario’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

Though it was too late to keep her upright, Peach breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair. Too much. Today was just too much. “Nothing’s wrong,” she repeated, both in question and to resettle her nerves. 

But if nothing was wrong…

“Then what are you…?” Peach gestured up at him, letting her hands finish her sentence.

“Actually, there’s, uh… y’see, there’s nothing wrong, per say, but something’s…”  Luigi cracked his neck, his eyes uneasily darting to another corner of the room, and then he pulled his cap back onto his head. “I-I think you need to see for yourself.”

~~~

Sure enough, Mario was okay. Where he’d been swaddled in gauze when she’d left that morning, he was now uncovered, his entire upper half exposed.

And he looked… perfectly healthy. Almost unharmed.

Areas where Peach remembered gashes and deep scratches had faded into clusters of scars, the larger ones pink and fresh, the smaller ones pale, as though he’d attained the original injuries weeks ago. Patches of burnt skin that blistered and oozed the night before now wouldn’t even pass for sunburns, they blended so seamlessly into his skin. His face, completely unblemished, not even lingering hints of bruising or bleeding or anything of the sort.

Last night, there had been a gash in his left side, spanning from the base of his ribcage to his hip. When he’d first reached Peach, it spilled blood freely, and though she tried blocking the image from her head, she distinctly remembered seeing exposed, severed muscle and what might have been bone. Even after flooding him with every bit of magic she possessed, it only stayed closed — and barely, at that — thanks to strips she had torn from her own skirts and wrapped tightly around him. By the time they reached home, those strips were all but dripping with ichor and infection, pink fabric dyed red and green and yellow.

Now, that same wound idly seeped a clear fluid, the width of her thumb at its widest point, already scarring at one tip. Though a blanket covered everything from his hips down, she presumed the opposite tip was in a similar stage of healing.

Once she had gotten a proper eyeful, Peach sank into the loveseat against the wall, Daisy and Toadette quickly joining her on either side. The notion that she might be dreaming after all hovered nearby in spite of the informal guard flanking her; while the doctor filled everyone in, she quietly stamped her foot a few times to agitate the sores there. Good. She never felt pain in her dreams.

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” Dr. Toad (not to be confused with Dr. Nurse Toadessa or Captain Toad or Toad Himself) confessed. Beady eyes peered over thick spectacles, flicking back and forth between his patient and an oversized clipboard in his hands. “Now, I’ve seen a handful of 1-UP patients, and that’s about the closest comparison I can make, but…”

Peach’s eyes met Luigi’s, who was standing vigil at his brother’s bedside, and the question on his face was clear: Did you sneak him a 1-UP? She shook her head. 1-UPs, the colloquial term for a subspecies of Mushroom with power so potent it could even restore the dead, were found so rarely in nature that many still believed they didn’t exist. Ten of these specimens sat in the royal vault, but even Peach herself wasn’t permitted to access them without going through several layers of security and fail-safes.

And anyway, if she understood correctly how their magic worked—

“Well,” the doctor continued, “when someone consumes a 1-UP, everything heals up. The body’s restored to prime condition, any sicknesses or infections disappear, there’s no trace the patient was ever hurt to begin with.” He cleared his throat, and something like fascination twinkled in his dark eyes. “That’s where the divergence comes in: none of this has been instantaneous. He’s healing up like anyone else would, just… at an alarmingly accelerated rate.” 

Another four sets of eyes turned back to Mario, still sound asleep. One couldn’t tell just from looking that he had been on death’s door only twelve hours earlier. That should have gladdened Peach. But…

Alarming. She didn’t like that word at all. She knew with a fair amount of certainty that this wasn’t the work of her magic; the initial burst she’d transferred to him wore off in an hour’s time, and any additional slivers she’d slipped him surely weren’t strong enough to linger much longer than that, much less heal to this extent.

What, then…?

“So how bad was he last night?” Daisy asked.

“Pretty… pretty bad.” Luigi’s response was quiet, his eyes distant as he spoke, and Peach knew then that he’d seen exactly what she had seen. Possibly even more. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek and focused on taking deep breaths.

“So he’s gone through like, what,” Toadette chimed in, “two or three weeks’ worth of R&R in one night?”

“I’d say closer to a month or two. His infection’s almost completely gone. He’s still running a fever, but it’s a lot lower than it was last night.” Rolling up the sleeves of a comically oversized lab coat (or at least attempting to — they fell right back into place, earning a stifled chuckle from Daisy), the doctor scribbled some indistinct note onto his clipboard’s topmost paper. “Granted, I’ve only seen how 1-UPs affect Toads and Koopas and a Goomba or two. Maybe it works differently in humans?”

Though his tone carried the weight of skepticism, Peach was at least half-heartedly willing to accept it. Such specimens were rare, yes, but they did exist. Perhaps Mario had stumbled across one on his way to the Darklands and consumed it with the belief that it was just an ordinary Mushroom? That coupled with her magic could easily…

Wait. Come to think of it, had she even told anyone? Wouldn’t that be useful information to divulge?

“I did attempt to heal him myself.” She clasped her hands in her lap as she spoke, tapping her thumbs together absently. “What we’re seeing is beyond what I’m capable of, but perhaps that comes into play?”

Dr. Toad’s eyes flashed with revelation. “Ah! Of course!” he cried, waving his pen in her direction. “That would explain things a bit better. I imagine your wish power certainly played a role.”

“Wait— w-what exactly did you do? ”

Peach’s heart jolted at Luigi’s inquiry, then it gradually sunk as she faced him. She watched in real time as his face changed, surprise phasing into cogitation phasing into dawning realization, and she felt helpless to do anything but meet his darkening gaze as the implications set in.

“...What did you do?” he asked again, and Peach heard the question buried beneath loud and clear: If he was in such bad shape last night, how bad was it before you healed him?

Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t said anything. Or she at least wished she’d brought it to the doctor in private. She lowered her eyes and studied the stitching of her gloves. She’d hoped to spare him the knowledge.

“Well, I… I did what I could. I transferred as much of my magic as I could summon when he reached me and rationed out what remained on the journey home, so that he…” So that he wouldn’t bleed out or go septic or drop dead from shock. She had no desire to say as much out loud. Surely Luigi got the picture.

A quiet click-click-click echoed through the room. “Well,” Dr. Toad said, fidgeting with the thrust device on his pen as he thought, “I would guess that’s it. Your wish power can linger when used in large enough bursts, can it not? But I would expect the effects to weaken over time, especially the more you use up, not…”

When he didn’t finish his thought, Peach lifted her eyes to the doctor… and found him staring directly at her. Once more she watched as confusion morphed into realization, and this time, she came along for the ride.

Yes. She could only use so much wish power in one go before needing to recharge. She had never actually pushed beyond that point. Not before last night.

The doctor blinked once, twice, then he finally took the plunge, his voice stern but even: “How much of your power did you use, Your Highness?”

Peach swallowed.

“As much as I had,” she confessed, quietly. And when she still felt eyes boring into her, she added: “...and then some.”

A silence fell over the room, cold and heavy. The steady beeping of Mario’s heart monitor was Peach’s only proof that she hadn’t fallen deaf.

“Oh, Stars Almighty— Peach!” 

Peach winced. For Toadette to use her name alone, she knew she was in deep trouble.

“You’re not some well of infinite magical ability!” her lady-in-waiting continued. “You know if you keep using magic after you use up all your wish power—”

“—I deplete my lifeforce.” Balling her hands into loose fists, Peach found the nerve to look her directly in the eye, unwavering. “I’m well aware.”

Yes, she knew the risk of overextending herself. An innate magic lay deep within her, so potent and pure that it allowed her to wield the power of the Stars Themselves; this, in turn, was what granted her the ability to heal, to renew. Yet she was only human, and she could only wield so much of that magic safely. The Stars would therefore only grant her a limited amount of power each time she summoned it.

She could push herself beyond what the Stars would permit, and she could tap into her magic directly once her wish power was expended, but doing so would come at a cost: the depletion of her lifeforce. Toadsworth drilled this information into her head every time she so much as healed her own paper cuts in his presence.

She’d never stopped to wonder what exactly depleting her lifeforce meant, or even implied; she’d never been in a position where she had to. She’d vaguely interpreted this warning as Your magic at its most powerful is so taxing that it will overwhelm your body and kill you.

But it was far more than that, she understood now. Her lifeforce and that dangerous, forbidden magic within her were one and the same. She knew full well the risk she took in giving Mario that final push to the finish. What she hadn’t realized — what she realized now — was that the magic she had desperately transferred to him in those final moments was far more than mere magic.

She had, in essence, given him part of her very soul, the ether that breathed being into her. And the only reason she was still alive was because he had broken free and urged her to make that last push alongside him.

Peach grit her teeth and stamped her foot once more, and the stinging sensation in her sole distracted from the burning in her eyes. He had saved her twice over. No reward would ever come close to being payback enough.

The sofa dipped on one side of Peach, then Daisy stood, the newly-decompressed cushion sending Peach toppling over onto Toadette.

“So… what does that mean?” Daisy pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut and brows furrowed tightly, and as Peach righted herself and muttered an apology to her lady-in-waiting, her fellow princess began to pace the width of the room. “‘Depleted her lifeforce’? What does— does that mean she’s, like, a goner? Is she dying now? How much time does… Oh, Peach, what did you…!”

Her voice pitched and cracked as she spoke, her freckled cheeks growing darker, and Peach desperately tried and failed to still the trembling that overtook her. Daisy was once more answering fear with anger. Peach wanted so desperately to alleviate her woes, assure her that everything would be alright, magically undo everything that had been done, somehow... but there was nothing worth undoing. Knowing for a fact that her actions saved Mario’s life, she couldn’t bring herself to regret what she had done. Did that make her remorseless? Selfish?

Guilt and pride and joy and fear. Peach wanted now more than ever to sink into the loveseat’s cushions, to curl into a ball and disappear until this poison fog of emotions passed her by.

“Clearly she’s not a goner, ” Dr. Toad mercifully interrupted, “lest she wouldn’t be here with us now.” He flipped frantically through the papers on his clipboard, as if one of them might contain a field guide for such a niche problem’s diagnostic outlook. “Her, uh, her lifeforce should be self-sustaining, same as her wish power. It’ll likely refill given time.”

“You don’t know that for sure?!” 

“Admittedly there’s very little documentation on—”

“Well maybe all you geniuses should have documented this shit better —”

“Hey, hey, we’ll figure it out, don’t—!”

A quiet groan silenced the trio of overlapping voices. Peach’s leaden heart suddenly leapt into her throat.

Mario was no longer the picture of peaceful rest. His face was screwed into a tired grimace, and he turned his head away from the commotion at his bedside with another pained noise.

He still sounded so weak. Peach wanted so terribly to rush to his side, take his hand, ease what remained of his pain somehow. Show him that she hadn’t broken her promise after all. She scooted to the edge of her cushion, waiting for his eyes to flutter open.

They never did. Mario sighed in his sleep, and then he was still and silent once more, his chest steadily rising and falling.

Looking over to Luigi, Peach’s heart fell once more. Had he been this pale all day? She realized, watching him stare down at his brother with hollow eyes, that he hadn’t spoken at all since Peach made her confession.

“Perhaps we should continue this at another time,” Dr. Toad suggested in a voice just above a whisper. His spectacles had fallen halfway down his face in the preceding havoc, and now he took a moment to set them back in place, smiling at Peach. “Let me bump caps with some other minds. I’ll get you some more definitive answers, Your Highness.”

She cleared her throat. “And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime… I would recommend abstaining from any and all uses of magic. Err on the side of caution.”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy said, shooting a glare at Peach that made her stomach churn. “Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything so stupid again.”

“Daisy,” Toadette groaned, and Peach felt a comforting hand on her lap, but the damage was already done. She rose to her feet and trained her eyes on the sterile white floors and excused herself, pointedly ignoring the calls of her name as she retreated back to her medical room.

By the time she managed to free herself from swathes of pins and fabric, her tears had already washed a good portion of her makeup away, which at least gave her one less thing to worry about removing.

~~~

Luigi stood the moment he caught sight of Peach in the doorway, removing his cap and ducking his head with a small smile. He didn’t look nearly so pale now, and his eyes seemed fully alert, and that was all good, Peach decided. 

“Has he woken up?” 

“For a little bit. Just a couple minutes.” He stepped aside as she approached, gesturing to the chair he had pulled up to Mario’s bedside, a silent offer for his seat. Peach shook her head and held her right hand palm-out in grateful rejection. “Still pretty out of it, but he’s not hurting as bad,” he continued, pushing the chair aside so she could comfortably stand beside him. “Even got him to have a snack! Just a couple of crackers, but definitely a step in the right direction.”

Peach smiled down at her sleeping hero, and for a moment, everything that weighed heavy upon her was forgotten. Crumbs still lodged in his mustache and fledgling beard backed Luigi’s story up. He had finally been given a proper medical gown, baby blue with a green Mushroom pattern. It looked quite cute on him.

She couldn’t resist stepping forward to rest a palm atop his hand. An IV drip remained taped in place, but the surrounding skin trauma that had just last night overflowed from beneath his bandages was nowhere to be found.

“Did he say anything?” she chanced.

In her peripheral, he nodded. “He asked about you.”

Peach winced without really meaning to. Her momentary cheer dissipated just as easily, and a creeping guilt gnawed a hole into her gut, small but festering. Guilt for leaving his side; guilt that his brother’s attentive care was met only with inquiries regarding her.

“I said you were in the shower and you’d be right back. He seemed happy with that answer. Went right back to sleep afterward, heh...” Even without looking, she could hear the strained smile in his voice. Was he upset? She certainly couldn’t fault him if he was.

She had already monopolized enough of his time with Mario. The least she could do was back off until she was called for again. After all, she knew now that her hero would live. With the uncertainty eliminated, she could happily retreat until she was needed again. Or she could at least suffer through the loneliness in contented silence.

Giving his warm hand one last squeeze, Peach withdrew, turning to apologize and excuse herself—

“He died, didn’t he?”

Peach blinked.

Luigi wouldn’t look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Mario, his smile hollow, distant.

“I…” Suddenly she felt as though her whole mouth was stuffed with cotton. “What?”

“Your—” Luigi began to shake his wrists out, a favored stim of his when words wouldn’t come easily. “Princess, I’ve seen your wish power. I-I’ve seen you do things I didn’t think were possible with it. And if even that wasn’t— I mean, if you had to… I-I’m still not real sure I follow everything, but if you drained your lifeforce somehow…”

With a huff, he finally faced Peach. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were dark, but he didn’t look angry, just hurt. “Was he dead? At some point, was he dead?”

Peach stood uselessly, her mouth opening then shutting just as quickly. She didn’t know. In the time it would have taken her to assess Mario’s condition when he first reached her, he would have died. That was the only thing she was certain of. Had she brought him back from a newly-crossed horizon, or had she only narrowly prevented him from crossing in the first place? She didn’t know.

Her silence still gave Luigi the answer he needed.

Inhaling sharply, he ripped his cap from his head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and buried his fingers into his hair. “You…” He tightened his grasp and yanked at his hair, though whether he winced from the pain of that action or the pain within him Peach couldn’t say for sure. “Y-you…!”

She balled her hands into fists and held her breath, willing a surge of fresh tears away. You killed him. You almost took him away. You’re horrible. I hate you. You should have died instead. All warranted, all perfectly fair thoughts, all things she needed yet selfishly couldn’t bear to hear. She would take it with composure, and then she would spend the remainder of her natural days in atonement, whatever good that might do—

“You brought him back to me…!”

Before Peach could process these words, he let go of his hair in favor of lunging at her… and wrapping his arms around her.

Not for the first time that day, Peach went still beneath the force of shock, unable to do anything but draw shallow breaths and stare at the wall ahead of her. This embrace was so much tighter than the one he’d pulled her into yesterday, so much more forceful, and rather than smile and feed her words of cheerful encouragement, he buried his face into her shoulder and cried so hard that his whole body shook and his tears rapidly saturated her nightgown.

You brought him back to me.

Hesitantly, Peach returned his embrace, because she was certain her legs would fail her if she didn’t grab hold of something.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, and though her body still felt too stunned and weak to produce tears, her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Luigi—”

“You saved him,” Luigi interrupted, his voice half-absorbed by her gown. “I never really let myself think about it but I kinda just accepted that he wasn’t coming back, y’know? Because he always told me he’d die for you, but— but you could’ve— and you still—”

Peach sniffled, digging in deeper and fighting against the ever-growing desire to crumple to the floor. She wouldn’t have had to save him in the first place if he hadn’t gotten himself killed or near to it rescuing her. The fact that he needed saving in the first place was all her fault.

He’d die for you. This wasn’t news to Peach. It was Mario’s job as her guard to protect her with his life. She had witnessed him hold to that vow with her own eyes. But to hear it spoken so plainly, so openly, now that everything was okay—

“Grazie. Grazie. Grazie di cuore, Principessa…! Grazie…!” Thanks continued to pour from Luigi in his native tongue, each one more heartfelt, more overwhelmed, more agonizing than the last. She had caused his brother so much pain — she had caused them both so much pain, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and he was thanking her? For doing what literally anyone else would have done in her shoes? For doing the bare minimum for someone she claimed to love with her whole heart?

For being so useless that it took the sacrifices of others just to keep her alive?

A few tears finally managed to slip down her cheeks as the barrage of unwarranted gratitude continued, but she fought with what little strength and stamina was left within her to remain silent. She had forced others to shoulder her hardships for long enough. It was high time she returned the favor. And if that meant keeping her mouth shut and suffering in perfect silence, then so be it.

[thetravelingymleader]

🤬: do they swear often?

Fuckin' fuck yes I do! The fuck?

[potchi-fics]

tw; g!p cait, overstimulation

      being the commander’s wife has its perks; seeing caitlyn’s vulnerable side, for instance—that is probably your favourite amongst your special privileges. that and also the fact that she worships the ground your heel walks on.

you have her wrapped around your finger, she will drop anything she’s doing the moment you utter out her name.

you knock on the door to her office, hearing her muffled voice say ‘come in’ and you do. you open it to see her eyes staring daggers into her paperwork, shoulders clearly tense, and her one hand rubbing the nail of her thumb using her index and middle finger, a habit she’s developed when under stress. you lock the door.

“you haven’t eaten, have you?” you cross your arms, rolling your eyes even, “how many times have i told you to eat on time, cait? up you go, i had them prepare us a meal.”

caitlyn massages the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, the lights from her office hurting her tired eyes, “darling, i’ve still got a little paperwork left. i will be done in twenty minutes.” you raise an eyebrow. “ten minutes.” you refuse to budge. “okay, let’s eat but first, can you come here, please?”

      how can you refuse when she’s giving you the puppy eyes? you saunter over to her desk, walking around it so that you’re standing right in front of her. her shoulder sags at your close proximity, standing up and letting herself drape over your body.

you love it when she’s like this, all clingy and needy. she wraps her arms around your waist, shoving her face into the side of your neck, inhaling the scent that she adores—vanilla and lavender.

yours circled around her neck, staying completely still for her. her breath fans over your neck, quickly transitioning into soft pecks and kisses, leading to you giving her more access.

“i’ve missed you, darling,” her kisses proceed to the other side, “missed you so much.”

      your eyes shut as she continues to plant kisses on you, turning into open wet-mouthed some time ago, you haven’t noticed. she leaves one last kiss before burying her head into your neck again but you need to kiss her.

you pull away, and the way her eyes fill with sadness immediately makes you pull her back in—your lips colliding harshly, teeth clashing, a low moan leaving you. 

her hands go lower and they settle themselves under your thigh, lifting you and seating you on her desk: work be damned.

with a swipe over your lower lip, you open your mouth slightly to let her tongue in. caitlyn is famished: she’s licking every part of your mouth, sucking your tongue, you almost think she’s shoving her tongue down your throat. she holds your jaw, forcing you to take her violent kisses.

you try to get a word in, “i’ve missed you mor–”

      she is impatient, and so are you.

your fingers fumble with her belt, blindly undoing it and pulling it down enough to slip your hand in. her half-hardening dick is straining against her boxers, making you giggle in the kiss. you palm her and she hisses at the contact.

you swallow her groans as you massage her cock, distracting her from kissing you. you feel her pull away but a grip on her hair stops her from doing so. a whisper of ‘please’ urged you to touch her finally. 

you truly did miss her and her. caitlyn’s hips buckled towards you once you gripped the base of her cock, taking it out and you look down to see her tip already leaking her precum. 

you grin at caitlyn however she avoids your stare, hiding her head on your shoulder, embarrassment coating her face. your thumb swipes the head, and your smile widens at her reaction. who would’ve thought that the commander could swear like a sailor. you tease her by doing that continuously—oh, that is torture for the poor commander; her tip is sensitive. and one noise from you almost made you cum, she whined.

caitlyn kiramman, leader of house kiramman, a decorated officer: a commander. whined. 

your eyes shut, you can’t handle the noises coming from your wife. it turns you on so goddamn much. the neck kisses from earlier were enough to make you wet, but this? her hips buckling to chase your touch after every swipe? her whining on your shoulder to do something, it’s riling you up. 

you push her back, and the back of her knees hits her chair and makes her sit down. the sight before you made you wish you could take a picture right about now: her gaze dazed, panting lightly, her pants and boxers pulled down so that her tip was poking out.

“darling, please.” there she goes again. “i need you.”

      your composure breaks. you struggle to get out of your pants and undergarments but you do, pulling it down to your midthighs and getting off the table to face away from caitlyn. hands on your hips pull you down, gripping them that’ll leave bruises tomorrow morning. she pulls your underwear aside, her tip kissing your clit.

you take matters into your own hands and lead her right into you, your hand disappearing underneath—gasping when that familiar head breaks through. caitlyn growls lowly before pushing down roughly, your back arching at the sudden intrusion.

“g-gentle now,” you feel so good. you feel everything, you feel how she twitches, feel every vein. you feel how she faintly buckles her hips up. you slowly lift yourself,  “good boy.”

she can’t help but harshly pull you back down, your hand shoots up to cover your mouth because she is hitting you just right. “i need you, darling. i need you. i’ve missed you.”

      she stands up, along with you, her needy cock moving inside of you. you brace yourself on her desk, one hand still on your mouth and the other on the table. she uses her grip on your hips as leverage, using it to push and pull you, your cunt greedily welcoming her.

the tip of her cock is hitting your favourite spot, making you mewl in delight at the sensation, muffled moans and whimpers vibrating in the back of your throat, accompanying caitlyn’s own groans.

your cunt clenches around her and her pace wavers. she pushes you down, your breasts on top of her work, and you feel her lean down before continuing on bruising your cunt. 

“shit,” caitlyn whispers on the back of your neck, kissing your nape, “missed you so much. you have no idea, darling.”

      an unexpected pressure on your pussy makes you yelp—she managed to sneak a hand down, rubbing your puffy clit in a slow circle. the contrast of her thrusts and rubs results in you having a sudden orgasm. your eyes close shut, your toes curling in pleasure, ears ringing, and you accidentally, unconsciously, hit the things on her desk, hearing them clatter on the ground.

caitlyn whines at the feeling of you squeezing you, “fuck,” she goes back up, her hands returning to your hips, and resumes her thrusts—this time, aggressively. 

“i just c-came,” your sore throat succeeded in letting out, your hand pushing back against her abdomen. 

      she doesn’t hear you. she’s focused on the ring that’s forming around her dick, thickening as she continues to pound into your pussy. she gets off on this: you two fucking in her office, you bent over on her desk, ruining her progress, she doesn’t care. 

all she cares about is you taking her cock, all she cares about is you turning into a mess; a blabbering mindfucked mess. and you are. you’re letting out the most sinful and ungodly noises, your sensitive cunt, as well. she grits her teeth, she can feel herself about to cum, and the scene of your legs shaking, you trying to slow her down by putting your palm on her abdomen, is enough to make her cum. 

she cums with a whine, it’s too much for her. she leans down to bite at your shoulder, her cock spurting in think squirts. her cum is warm, hot enough to spread throughout your body and that’s enough for you to cum again. 

you’ve lost your voice so all you can do is hide your face in your forearm, trying your best to not scream. 

“darling,” caitlyn gasps out, dumbstruck by you’re squeezing cunt, “you’re m-milking me.”

      she stops cumming after a few seconds. she pulls out slowly, loving the way you cling to her. she falls back to her seat, admiring her work. still panting, you push yourself up with difficulty, the overstimulation still running.

“the food’s gone cold now, honey.”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: enemies to lovers, past bullying, reformed bully x victim

♡ fem reader

“No way.” You shake your head—face warped in something akin to disgust. Judging him for even asking, glaring in disbelief at him and what dangles from the clothing hanger in his hand. He couldn't be serious.

“Come on, please, for me?” he pleads, downright pleads. But there’s no way.

“No.” You say more firmly, planting both hands on your tilted hips. “I don’t get what you’re thinking, but it’s not exactly a time in our lives I want to relive.”

He pouts and sags a little where he stands, clasping his hands together in prayer, making the ill-taste outfit swing. “Oh, come on, it won’t be the same as then,” he promises with zero believability backing him. He even dares smile as he spouts the bullshit in his next words, “It’ll be like therapy. Let’s reframe your trauma together.”

You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “You’re stupid.”

He feigns feeling insulted. “I’m serious!”

“You always said I looked like trash in that—no way I’m not putting it on,” you dismiss.

But then he gets down on his knees. Hands still together as if in worship. Looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. “I was lying through my teeth back then—you know that! I’ll be honest this time around. Tell you exactly how often I had to change my pants because of you—”

“Ew, stop.” You can’t believe the spectacle he’s creating—such a drama queen—and all for getting you to put on a make-shift copy of your old high-school uniform.

“Come one, pretty, pretty, pretty please?” He shuffles forward on his knees until he’s right by your feet—bottom lip jutting out in his pout. “The prettiest please?”

You look down at him—you mouth a prim pursed line, gritting your teeth to try and steal yourself. Grimacing at the outfit sprawled on his lap. There’s no way. Absolutely no way.

“Pretty please?” he continues, making you roll your eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” you bite out but quickly add, “But you have to wear one, too.”

You think you’re being smart. But he only grins—a wicked little twinkle in his eye.

“Way ahead of you.”

From behind the outfit meant for you, he pulls forth a black gakuran to match.

Okay, so you hadn’t really thought he would have bought one for himself—you realize now the mistake in your speculation. Of course, he’d bought one for himself. But hold on… You raise your brow, folding your arms atop your chest. “And where’s the pants?”

“They didn’t have my size, but my sweats are already a good lookalike,” he explains away. “This doesn’t really fit either, but it won’t stay on for long, so’ doesn’t matter.”

He gets up and hastily pulls his shirt off of his head, then, with just as much enthusiasm, pulls the black school jacket on. And he’s right—his black sweatpants could pass for the old Tobi trousers he used to wear. All in all, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Looking at him feels just short of seeing his old high-school self.

“Come on. You said.” He holds out the rendition of your old uniform. “Get dressed.”

You regret conceding. But it’s too late to go back on your word now. Rolling your eyes, you receive the hanger with a sigh, “Oh, fine. Just this once, you freak.”

You get dressed without making much of a show. Leaving your current comfy outfit in an unceremonious pile, you pull the tacky articles on hastily. Black pleated skirt and sailor blouse with a little red bow sash—there’s even a pair of knee-high socks to go with it. As a grown-up, it’s utterly humiliating having to wear it now.

But he doesn’t seem to share your discomfort. Only groaning, “Damn. There she is—my prettiest little junior~”

You ball your skirt in your fists. Glancing up at him only to look down again, fixing your gaze to the floor. Heat in your face. Mumbling, “This is weird—you look dumb.”

“Oh yeah?” his voice curls with newfound enjoyment. “Well, you don’t look a day older.”

He comes closer, and oh god—you don’t know why you’re so nervous. But fuck—you feel like your back in time—back in time when you were a sorry loser getting picked on, and he was… he was a—

“Perv,” you manage to say. Though, that’s not really the word you’d been thinking.

He chuckles, so close now that he also starts to play with the hem of your skirt. “That’s for damn sure.” Agreeing, he hums, “Only for you though. So’s fine.”

He bends down and finds your neck with his tongue and teeth—his hand traveling up under your skirt without further ado.

“Hey,” you protest, wringing his ill-fitting jacket in both fists, hauling him off. And even though it makes him look back at you like a kicked puppy, you don’t let it get to you as you scold him, “Thought we were reframing my trauma. At this rate, you’re just itching to make me relive it.”

He tries giving you one of his innocent smiles. “Oh?” His arms curl around your waist, pulling you close—chest to chest—simpering while leering down at you, voice in a purr, “It won’t be any fun if I can’t bully you a little bit like I used to.”

He tries leaning down to catch your lips, but you push him away. Breaking free, then scoffing, “Tch, if that’s how you’re gonna play this, then have fun beating off on your own.”

“But—” He starts, but you’re already on your way to leave the room. Hooking two fingers into the band of your skirt, he stops you and spins you back, now all mopey and sorry, “I’m sorry, don’t go, princess—how about we one-eighty it, and I tell you all the reasons I love you? Will that make you humor me?”

He’s back to pleading.

And you can’t help the small smile it gives you. Muttering, “Maybe.”

He smiles giddily, too, “I love how pouty you can be sometimes.”

Your brows furrow, “Hey!” That’s not a compliment.

But he only laughs and continues, “And I love your snippy little tsundere attitude.”

“Those are both insults, you tit—” you argue, but he doesn’t care, hugging you close, lifting you off your feet before falling with you down on the bed. Hanging over you, he admires every inch of your perfect body tucked into that cute little uniform he used to make fun of because he was scared of how silly you made him feel.

“I love how you tell me off.”

Deciding to face his fears was the best decision he’d ever made.

“I love how you look at me.”

It’s crazy to think you’re here with him still, after all these years.

“I love how you put up with me, how you make all my wishes come true—how, even though I don’t deserve you, you stay with me anyway—how you’re mine even though I’m a scumbag.”

You’re eyes soften under his speech. For all his tactlessness, he can also be really quite sweet. You raise both hands, reaching out to cup his face—beholding the softness in his eyes—that way he looks at you. It makes your chest stir.

“You’re not that bad,” you confess, pulling him down to tease his lips with yours.

Kissing you once, he accredits you, “That’s ‘cause you make me a better man.”

You smile and kiss him again, then resume your teasing, “Don't get ahead of yourself. You’re still a boy.”

He lifts and raises a brow down at you in retaliation, “Is that so?” And oh no, you recognize that look.

“Well, this boy is feeling hormonal and horny and just raring to go—” he overplays. Gasping, “And what do you know? How lucky!” He lowers himself again, then starts peppering kisses all over your face in between words, “I’ve got this perfect little high-school sweetheart lying here all up for the taking—”

♡ BNHA – Hawks, Dabi, Bakugou, ♡ JJK – Gojo, really silly in-love Sukuna ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[serendipity8832]

No amount of music or television or movies or YouTube videos or other media could have prepared me for how much I swear as an adult. Parents are way more worked up about that shit than they need to be, give it a few years and your kids and their friends will be saying way fucking worse stuff than whatever that stupid network television euphemism is replacing

[lordprettyflackotara]

habits || bloody painter

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: descriptions of gore, murder, abusive/toxic relationship, stalking, service dom!helen, borderline yandere helen, overstimulation, praise

Helen considered himself to be a poised and intelligent young man.

He had never considered himself lowly enough to crave romantic affairs, nevertheless develop a full fledge obsession.

He lived his life on a scheduled routine. The only variable he allowed to change was in which victim he selected. His creativity was shown through out his art pieces, he didn’t need tons and tons of action to keep him mentally satisfied. After all, he was an artist. A painter. One with methods society disapproved of, but a painter nevertheless. Helen considered himself to be content with life.

He came and went from the Trenderman mansion as he pleased. On Tuesday’s he spent quality time with The Puppeteer. What else could he possibly need?

That question became answered, once he saw you.

Helen hadn’t even meant to see you. Your neighbor had been his choice for his routine victim. Middle aged man with a habit of watching the neighborhood kids play in the street. One would normally find that endearing, but the contents Helen found in the mans household were not so much. Helen thought he had done a fine job, turning a scum of the earth pedophile into a work of art. He was spread like a starfish, pinned to the wall by his hands and feet with the handy kitchen knives. His chest of course was ripped open, the contents of his organs fallen onto the floor below. Helen's favorite part, the one he deemed to make this a masterpiece, was the removal of the mans genital's. Helen found it very appropriate to cut that off and staple it into the wall beside him.

As Helen admired his masterpiece, he couldn't help but overhear yelling coming from the direction of your house. Normally he would take this as his sign to leave. After all, his work here was done. But then he heard your voice. He was drawn to you like a sailor to a siren. Curiously he peered through the deceased mans curtains, looking over at your house. Your white curtains were closed, but he could make out the shadows of you arguing with a taller man. Helen wasn't a fan of domestic violence. He had witnessed all of that and more during his childhood stay at the psychiatric hospital. During that time he trained himself to stay neutral. To pretend what he was seeing didn't exist. But the pain in your voice intrigued him. Cautiously he slipped out of the mans house, dying for a closer look.

Using the shadows of the night to his advantage he slipped out of the neighbors backyard, hopping the fence. Helen creeped over to the window, peaking inside. That's when he saw you. Your face was red with anger, your eyes widened, and mouth running a thousand miles a minute as you argued with your presumed lover. Helen had never seen anyone like you. With your curves, feisty attitude, and bright eyes. You were something a man could only dream of. He felt himself frown at the sight of your oblivious and angry boyfriend, whose veins were popping out of his head from anger. Helen then made himself a vow, one he took very seriously. He was going to be your guardian angel, whether you knew it or not.

Helen didn't have obsessive tendencies. He had never spent his time stalking someone before. He didn't live at the Slenderman mansion, he wasn't sent on missions or anything absurd. He felt out of place as he studied you, becoming accustomed with your routine. You lived a simple and peaceful life, outside of your toxic relationship. Helen decided to study up on your lover as well, since he seemed to be such a massive issue. His name was Liam. Occupation: unemployed. If Helen had to take a guess he would assume that is why the two of you were arguing. Helen deemed Liam to be a useless slob. One that didn't do much of anything with his time, nevertheless tend to you and your needs. How you ended up with such a useless partner Helen could not figure out.

He enjoyed how modest you were. Your spare time was spent in libraries, curled up in the most secluded corner with a good book. You only ordered from small businesses, even if it meant going out of your way to attend them. All and all you were perfect. Helen thought of all the ways he’d introduce himself to you. Maybe he could run into you at the local book store. Or maybe he’d accidentally brush into you on the street. After all, Trenderman’s mansion was at least four states over from where he was wanted for being a serial killer. Showing his face in public was too much of a risk though, he feared. Especially with the cops now on high patrol in your neighborhood since the murder of your neighbor. If he could go back in time he wished he could’ve seen you first. He would’ve at least changed his victim to someone a few streets over.

The more Helen watched the more he noticed Liam’s violent tendencies. It all came to a screeching halt for Helen once he saw him put his hands on you. Now that. That did numbers on his mind. Who did he think he was? Stomping on such a delicate flower like yourself? If it wasn’t for the patrol car parked outside of your neighbors house he would’ve slit his throat and mutilated him for as long as possible. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not interfere. The look of despair and sorrow you had written all over your face resonated with Helen more than he would’ve liked to admit. It stayed in his head rent free.

The next day Helen saw the bruises that littered your arms. It was in your character to modestly try to cover them. He expected that of you, even if he didn’t approve. What he hadn’t expected of you, was for your night life to become so social. You previously had proven yourself to be introverted and borderline antisocial. Yet, he watched you through your window as you put in earrings. You were dressed up more than he had ever seen. A tight dress and strappy heels clothed you, his mind going to rancid filth at the sight of your exposed thighs. So Helen did what he thought to be the best course of action: he followed you. This time however, he had different plans.

He planned to finally meet you.

He was surprised your location of choice was the local club, crowded with local college students and overbearingly loud with music. Even as you paced through the door he could sense how uncomfortable you were with the bass booming. Straightening out his collar he trailed behind you, the bouncer not glancing at him twice. He followed you through the never ending sea of swaying bodies, your hips ones that Helen would recognize anywhere. You approached the bar, sliding up on the bar stool like you had done this time and time again. Helen tried to appear casual as he sat beside you, the bartender approaching him. “Whiskey, neat please,” He ordered. You hadn’t glanced in his direction, your fingers aggressively typing against your phone screen. The overworked bar tender looked at you, your gaze not meeting his.

“Ma’am?”

Embarrassed you looked up, eyes widened. It then occurred to Helen why you chose the club. Subtracting the alcohol from the equation, your bruises were practically invisible strobe lights. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, sorry,” You gushed, face flushing with heat. Helen tried to avoid looking at you as to not seem obvious, but it was so hard not to. You were so darling, a ball of nervousness as you sat in a location you felt so out of place in. “Come here often?” Helen finally said, the words escaping his lips faster than he meant them to. Your eyes finally met his, soaking in his blue eyes. They were so striking, even in the inconsistent lighting. You awkwardly laughed, not having expected to indulge in a conversation with someone new. “Who? Me? Pfft, no. Absolutely not,” You rambled, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Helen didn’t fail to notice this, giving you a polite smile. “I don’t come here either. I’m Helen, lovely to meet you,” He greeted. He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You flashed a small genuine smile, before shaking his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet someone like me. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing besides us,” You say, side eyeing a group doing body shots at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender set down both of your drinks, nodding before walking off to help another customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you in?” Helen pried. He sipped his drink, the firey liquid slithering its way down his throat. You slipped the little pink umbrella out of your glass, setting it aside on a napkin. “Just needed to get away from life, you know? I want to feel something absolutely liberating instead of the norm,” You say. Technically you were telling the truth, but you were smart enough to not spill your guts to a stranger. Helen liked that. He liked that you were smart enough to be cautious.

“How about you?” You asked, taking a large gulp of your fruity drink. Helen gave a slight chuckle. “Troubles at work. You know how that goes i’m sure,” He said. He was dancing along side you in the tango of word play. His occupation was untraditional surely, but the cop outside of your house was most certainly a thorn in his side. “Definitely. So do you live around here?” You asked, attempting to stir up conversation. You hadn’t expected to converse with anyone, nevertheless a handsome man. Helen was quick on his feet with an answer. After all, he had prepared conversation topics and answers for all of the different ways he could converse with you. “I’m new to the area actually. Been here about a month. You?” He replied slyly. You nervously pulled your short dress down before setting your drink on the counter. The obnoxious music seemed to be bothering you.

Helen had learned all of your nervous habits. Strike one was pulling down or picking at your clothing. “Dont freak out but I may live next to the murder house,” You replied. Helen raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Murder house?” He asked. Of course, you figured sharing something so frightful to the normal man would be safer rather than lying. Oh how bright you were. “Oh cmon i’m sure you’ve heard. It’s the most talk we’ve had in this town for ages. Creepy old Gary got torn apart by some serial killer,” You explained. Helen was intrigued by what you thought. If things were different he’d ask so much more. Maybe when he got to know you better he’d ask what you thought of his work. “Oh my. Sounds quite brutal,” Helen commented. You nodded, finishing off your drink. Huh. You seemed awfully desperate to get drunk. The bartender approached the two of you again, going to pour you another one.

“Oh no no just one please. Do you guys accept cash?” You rambled. You began digging in your clutch, searching for the crumbled up bills you had shoved in there. Helen knew this to be because of your lack of funds. He suspected Liam had some sort of control over your finances. “Put anything she wants on my tab please,” He intervened. Wide eyed you turned to Helen. “You didn’t have to do that,” You told him. He shrugged and sipped his drink, watching the bar tender deliver your drink before walking away. “The pleasures all mine. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for her own drinks,” He said truthfully. Your blush may have not been visible because of the lighting, but you best believe Helen knew you were. You couldn't help but feel hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was nice being treated with respect for once.

The clubs music switched to a different song, one with more bass. Helen noted you nervously glancing over your shoulder, staring at the DJ booth. Strike two was the way your eyes darted around when you were nervous. Helen decided distracting you might be the best course of action. “So, may I ask you on a proper date? What fun activities are there to do around here?” He asked. You became incredibly flustered, the sight definitely one for sore eyes. “There’s an art museum down the street. It’s the only gallery I haven’t seen in this town,” You suggested. Oh how little did you know that suggestion secured your fate and locked it in place. Helen then had mentally deemed you to be his perfect match. You both would make a delightful pair.

“Thats a splendid idea. Truthfully I adore the arts,” Helen answered. It was then you delivered the third strike, the biting of the inside of your cheek. Helen wasn’t quite sure what set you off, but the room was overstimulating to say the very least. “How about we take this party elsewhere? Your place perhaps?” Helen asked. He knew that wasn’t possible, but curiosity lingered about what your answer would be. “Oh um, no mine it’s very unorganized right now. What about yours?” You asked. You were now gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Oh dear, had you developed a new habit? “I have the most obnoxious roommate. Here, take my hand,” He proposed, setting a neat pile of bills on the counter. Your soft hand took his, the painter leading you through the crowds of people. Truthfully he was searching for more of a supply closet, something more secluded and private. But he supposed an unoccupied handicapped restroom would do. “I apologize for the lack of cleanliness that’s surrounds us, but your well being is more important,” Helen said, locking the door.

It wasn’t terribly filthy, but he much rather would’ve taken you somewhere nicer. “Helen I- I must be honest, I have-” You began. He knew where this was going. And if he was being truthful with himself he did not want to discuss Liam at your first meeting. So instead, he decided an alternative. “I apologize if this is a little too straight forward,” He said abruptly. Helen towered over you, cupping your cheeks before planting your lips against his. His lips were soft and warm, the faintest taste of whiskey still lingering. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Stumbling you fell back against the wall, your head spinning. “You are so beautiful and you deserve to be treated as so. May I show you how beautiful you are?” He asked. You nodded profusely, watching him drop to his knees. His slender fingers pulled up your dress, revealing your lacey black panties. Helen couldn’t help but feel like you had worn them for him.

It only made his cock harder as he pushed them to the side. Your slick was already wet, your folds begging for attention. “This wet already? You poor thing, does no one tend to your needs?” He asked, a hint of taunting lacing his tone. You were desperate, the double meaning of his words flying over your head. “N-no, please, please touch me,” You whined. Who was Helen to deny you of that? He licked a stripe up your cunt, sending a shudder down your spine. You grabbed onto his jet black locs for support as his large hands settled onto your thighs. He lapped at your cunt like a starved man, devouring every drop of juice your body was producing. His eagerness to please you only made you wetter. Truthfully you couldn’t recall the last time Liam had ever done foreplay with you. Your moans were loud and shameless, the clubs music overpowering the sounds anyways. You grinded against his face, whining as you approached your high. His lips attached to your clit, sucking at the sensitive bud harshly. His ocean eyes watched your facial expressions intently.

You were like a divine art piece that came to life.

Helen kept your thighs apart as they trembled, his name falling off of your lips as you came on his face. Shamelessly he lapped all of the juices away, licking you until he deemed you clean. You went to drop to your knees to return the favor, Helen stopping you. “A lady such as yourself does not belong on this filthy floor. Where you do belong, is with my fingers buried in your cunt until I make you cum again,” He said. Your head was spinning as he picked you up, setting you on the sink. He nudged his way between your thighs, plunging two fingers into your eager cunt. “Oh my- fuck- holy shit,” You whined, tilting your head back. Helen curled his fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to him. “Such a tight cunt, what a masterpiece,” He praised, licking his lips. He began to curl his fingers faster, placing sloppy and uncoordinated kisses onto your neck. “D-don’t leave marks,” You pleaded in between pants. Helen knew why, but agreed to your request.

“I would never mark such a beautiful masterpiece my love,” He agreed, his voice hoarse. He pulled down your dress, exposing your breast. He was pleased at your lack of a bra. With one hand he toyed with your nipple, the other abusing your g spot as it pleased. “Feels so good Helen, you make me feel so good,” You whimpered, pawing at his button up. You grabbed handfuls of the fabric, Helen more amused than anything else. How long had it been since someone had truly pleasured you? He concluded it must’ve been an entirety, based on the way he could feel your second orgasm coming. “Someone close again? Wanna make a mess on my fingers?” Helen asked, a sly grin dancing across his lips. You managed to meet his gaze, your mouth fallen open in the shape of an O. “So close, wanna cum for you,” You whined. Helen twisted your nipple painfully, triggering your second orgasm. You didn’t have time to process it, your vision going white as you creamed around his fingers.

Helen enjoyed watching you ride out your high, your body convulsing as you experienced euphoria. He removed his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. “You taste divine my love,” He praised. You gave him a dazed smile, hopping off of the sink. Helen guided you to turn around, studying the mounds of your ass as he pulled your dress up to your waist. “Such a gorgeous body. Truly a walking goddess,” He mumbled, undoing his belt. It wasn’t long before you felt him rub his tip up and down your slick, earning desperate moans from you. You gripped the sink as he began to push inside of you. Your face told Helen everything. That truthfully Liam was no whereas big as him or as coordinated. That you had not had a good fuck in a longtime. Your body was the snitch to everything you were attempting to hide. Helen was quick to bottom out, your gummy walls clinging to him. “You’re so perfect,” He grunted, beginning to pick up the pace. Helen thrust were slow and powerful, each one hitting your g spot just right.

It was like he knew what your body needed, your sounds sinful and pure filth as he rammed into you. Your cunt told him everything he needed to know, the sound of his name falling off of your lips one he wanted to hear forever. He relentlessly snapped his hips into yours, your orgasm growing closer and closer as he fucked you. “I’m going to make you mine my love, my perfect masterpiece,” Helen huffed, his slender fingers digging into your hips. You babbled an agreement, your mind too far gone. Helen slithered one of his hands down to your clit, drawing fast circles. You stood upwards, your back colliding with his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your final orgasm. “Thats it, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He praised, his breath hot against your ear. His name rang off of the bathroom walls as you creamed on his shaft, your orgasm triggering his own. Helen was quick to pull out of you, bending you over and cumming on your ass.

He watched his white seed paint your skin, creating a beautiful work of art.

Your fate was sealed, you were to spend entirety as his canvas.

[small-sinclair]

Possessed

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

NSFW. 18+. No minors!!!!!!🔞

Tw: being eaten out, face fucking, nakedness, bottom/needy Bo, obsessed Bo, fluffy aftercare

I love obsessed Bo. He’s my favorite to write.

He practically stormed into the house at the end of the day. He wasn’t mad about his day or anything, he just needed you. He wanted your love in his heart and filling his mouth. Bo needs you in more ways he could say. Once he found you in the parlor, putting away some board games, all beats were off.

He tossed his hat to the floor and kicked off his boots. “Sweetheart,” he breathed desperately. His eyes had hearts and it swirled around like a storm. “I need you—no,” he pressed you against the pool table, practically cornering you, “want you. I wanted ya so bad it hurt today jus’ t’do work.” He kissed your neck then shoulder.

His eyes locked with yours, and he admired you the same way a stone carved admired a block. “Bo?” You whispered, kissing his cheek. “What gotten into you today?”

“You, cherie,” he breathed. “Always been you.”

Bo pressed his lips against yours hungrily. His hands were too busy ripping your clothes off and letting it go the ground until you stood naked and bare in front of him. Before he could give you much of a chance to respond and protest, he feel to his knees and pulled your hips closer, spreading your legs out.

He was like a possessed man as his tongue pressed inside you, his heavy, blown out eyes softening. He felt as if he hadn’t ate in days as he lapped you up. His tongue swirled with every breath and moan you made. He melted as your hands pulled his hair slightly, earning a deep growl from the back off his throat. He pushes up on his knees, needing more of you in his mouth, more of your taste. There was a type of freedom that came with it, a type of comfort which he couldn’t quite name. Bo loves you, but the way your would moan his name and fight against him only to fail…something bloomed in his chest and through the cracks of his concrete heart.

“B-Bo!”

He held your hips down as his nose buried into your clint, taking deep breaths, as he retraced the letter again and again. Turns out, you got off on the letters ‘Q, R, S’, but he’ll never complain. He loved the sweet music pouring from your lips. You sounded like a siren from some story he read. If that’s the case, let him be the sailor, your harbor, and your home.

He drank you dry and ate you starved over and over again, never slowing for a second. He was obsessed with the noises you made. He was in love with the smell of your body and the taste on his tongue. As you trembled to his touch, he loved every bit of you. As your rocked your hips against his face, he only licked and sucked deeper. Every inch of him was screaming for him to hit that spot, but his hands held your legs and thighs tightly. The friction made it too tight as he felt himself grow more and more desperate for your touch and approval, but he didn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t do it until you command it. For now, he let your hips roll over his cheeks and face, letting you get lost, letting you use him as a tool and a vice at your disposal. He savored your body and taste as his tongue swirled.

When he felt you clenched around his tongue, he felt his eyes closing and roll as he drank every drop of your organism, pure ambrosia of the gods. He felt thankful, felt blessed, felt blissfully at peace.

He felt you grow limp above him, and he caught you in his arms in a moment. Your legs were shaking as he guided you to the couch and laid you on the sofa, setting up on pillow, and slid down to your thighs. He his hair was soaked and he looked like some type of beautiful mess. He kissed your lips gently, shivering at the mere touch.

He began licking you clean, kissing your skin numb as he whispered gentle praises of you, telling you everything he loved about you from your thighs to your stretch marks. His hands racked over the aching muscles as he kisses up your stomach. He let you unbutton his shirt so you could touch his chest and trace his scars lightly.

“More,” he whispers, unraveling. “Want more, darlin’. Please, let me have more?” He’s not one to beg, not one to say out loud what he wanted, so this was a rare moment. Bo shudders as your hand ghosts his cheek. “Been leavin’ ya alone in dis house for too long. Ain’t fair, cher, ‘at I can’t have ya in the shop. It ain’t fair I can’t have ya at all.” He lift your head up slightly and began to suck and kiss a part on your skin. Your gasps turned into him moaning his name.

“Please,” came from your lips, causing him to groan and bite down on your skin, deepening the color on your neck. “Beauregard, have me.”

His real name on your lips made his heart ache. His hands played with the mounds on your chest, rolling them with every breath he took of you. Bo kisses the bruise on your neck as your back arched to his touch.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” he says, capturing your lips. “Anything you desire,” he leaned close and kiss your beside ear, “will be yours.”

[kaylasficrecs]

luke castellan recs

scandalous | imagine, fluff | @indecisivemuch

someone gets hurt | imagine, flangst | @keerysfreckles (tw)

this is how i find out? | imagine, fluff | @gh0stsp1d3r

vice versa | drabble, fluff | @veryberryjelly

shells and secrets | imagine, fluff | @strawberries-and-summer-days

a place with you | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @supercutszns

why not this one | imagine, angst | @gh0stsp1d3r

true colors | one shot, fluffy flangst | @supercutszns

sweatshirt | imagine, fluff | @chaussetteblanche

pretty (insufferable) boy | imagine, fluff | @astradreaming

scary love pt 2 | au, two shot, fluff | @kestisvrse

sister's keeper | series | @targaryenluvs

the messenger sneaks his kisses | drabble, fluff | @angelltheninth

something out of my dreams | imagine, fluff | @celesterayel

always an angel, never a god | imagine, flangst, comfort | @cobrakaisb

thunderstruck! | one shot, fluff | @targaryenluvs

lovesick & lovelorn | one shot, fluff | @indecisivemuch

titles | one shot, fluff | @indecisivemuch

luke being all giggly | drabble, fluff | @murdrdocs

comfortable burrowing | drabble, fluff | @gay-dorito-dust

a rose and her thorns | one shot, fluff | @atlabeth

lavender roses | one shot, fluff | @breadbrobin

betrayals embrace | imagine, angst | @gracieeegleegal

cupids in converse | one shot, fluff | @indecisivemuch

ghost in the wind | imagine, angst | @amoreva

apples | one shot, fluff | @indecisivemuch

it's a long way back to you | series | @atlabeth

always gonna protect you | drabble, fluff | @veryberryjelly

wasted no time | imagine, soft fluff | @veryberryjelly

treat me like a fool | drabble, fluff | @moneyndior

offspring garden | imagine, fluff | @kaciebello

sky | imagine, fluff | @gh0stsp1d3r

"you weren't supposed to find out this way" | imagine, angst | @cupid3clipse

i promise, angel | imagine, fluff | @sovksluv

call it what you want | imagine, fluff | @breadbrobin

scars | imagine, fluffy flangst | @gh0stsp1d3r

you don't know me | au, imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @kestisvrse

goddess | imagine, flangst (more angst) | @livlaughloveluke

true luck's kiss | imagine, fluff | @atlabeth

even at our worst, we know… | series | @fawnindawn

twin beds | one shot, flangst | @supercutszns

summer stressed | imagine, fluff | @atlabeth

too productive | imagine, fluff | @authorscurse

look at me | one shot, flangst | @indecisivemuch

for longer than he can remember | one shot, fluff | @slu7formen

king of thieves | imagine, fluff | @kaciebello

kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor | imagine, fluff | @lukesandromeda

the three weeks it took... pt 2 | two shot, angsty flangst | @too-deviant

message in a bottle | one shot, fluff | @indecisivemuch

poison hearts | imagine, flangst | @xoxoavenger

[lookingformoondrop]

could i request a boyfriend!andrew graves x reader headcannons or scenarios? i LOVE TCOAAL🫶🫶

Boyfriend! Andrew Graves x Reader - Headcanons

TW: Andy has a foul mouth, reader gets groped, Andy is a little possessive, a tiny bit of violence (-is always the answer)

♥︎Notes: I'm kind of an idiot so if you notice something is spelled incorrectly, feel free to send me a dm so i can fix it (totally not at all referring to my first Yandere!Andy x Reader post where I spelled dark as darmfk ;-;). Also this is kind of short because so many people requested for Andy x Reader, so I didn't want to pull out all the stops. I hope this meets your expectations <3.♥︎

The first thing you gotta to know about dating Andy, is that he's very touch starved.

I can just headcanon that due to his aloof personality and very broody behavior, he doesn't get many hugs...

So when you enter his life, best believe that Andy shows you this completely different side of him!

I'm talking.... Cuddling in the mornings till the point where you're almost late for work because he refuses to let you go.

I'm talking.... Andy being able to sense when you're about to go into the shower. His spidey-senses tingles, and the moment you're about to hop in, he's right there already getting his hair wet.

I'm talking.... Trapping you with his kisses when you're making food, definitely not noticing that he's causing you to burn dinner.

And no amount of protest can deter this man either.

Speaking of making food... Andrew is the master-chef of the house!

Now he's no Gorden Ramsey (as he likes to tell you whenever he makes you a sandwich), but everyone knows that one bite of his food is enough to make a sailor come back to the land.

So it's very nifty when you're sick and at home, in need to have someone take care of you.

The first time you ever got sick was when you and Andy were still living separately.

It was a Friday night, and it was supposed to be your 1-year anniversary with Andy. Unfortunately, due to some unhygienic biotch at the office, you caught a cold and had to cancel.

At first Andy didn't respond, instead leaving you on read. You felt bad, figuring that he was mad at you for canceling.

But lo' and behold, exactly 10 minutes later, that was a frantic sound of keys jiggling into the your front door.

You had gotten up from your couch-potato position to see the person who wanted to rush into your home so badly, when it occurred to you;

Andrew is the only one with another set of keys...

And with that realization, Andy burst through the door with a pharmacy store bag in one hand, and a grocery store bag in another.

In an instant, Andy made you take a disgusting amount of cold medicine, and blessed your cold home with the warmth and smell of spices and herbs (likely all from the soup).

When the food was ready, he sat you up with a pillow and hand-fed you soup for the rest of the night. You felt so bad for ruining your anniversary, but everytime you tried to apologize for it, Andrew would stuff your mouth with more soup and would say;

"I don't care about that romance and anniversary shit. We don't need to go to a fancy restaurant or an expensive place just to feel like we're honoring an important date. That date is important because it is our date. We don't need to one-up that memorable time just to remind everyone of how special it is... Y/N, you're crying into the soup."

Needless to say, you cried.

But Andrew doesn't just take care of you...You best believe he also protects.

Well, sorta.

You could be in a grocery store, at a Boba shop, in the mall, getting new shoes, it wouldn't matter, Andrew would always have his hand on your waist.

Be it because he saw someone look at you, doesn't matter who or how old they are, he'll always wrap his arms around you and whisper ever so softly, "You're mine..."

It has definitely given you some weird looks over the years, but you know he means well.

And if anyone ever actually looks at you funny? It's over for them.

Andrew will make it VERY clear that you're not to be messed with.

For example, a couple of months into your relationship, you were riding the train. Enjoying a simple conversation about suspicious neighbors and whatnot, when all of the sudden some guy came up behind you and tried groping you discreetly.

Andy noticed very quickly that all the blood drained from your face. He looked behind you and noticed the old geezer trying to get a hand full of someone way younger than them, and Andrew could feel every restraint in his body snap.

In an act of "self-defense" as told to the cops later on, Andrew punched the living daylights of the guy and sent him flying into a pole.

You fussed over Andy's fist for awhile, completely forgetting about how you felt. But the only thing Andy could think about was how he should've hit that guy harder.

When you guys were finally walking home, hand in hand, you leaned on Andrew.

"I'm sorry about today Andy... I didn't mean for you to get all banged up."

Andrew snorted, "My knuckle is a little scratched up, so what? That perverted asshole had it coming for him."

You kissed Andy's cheek, which granted you a dark blush from Andy, and a grin from you.

"Thank you Aaandy~" You brushed his hand with your thumb,

Being in a relationship with Andy is a little messy, and yes sometimes a little crazy. But no matter what happens, Andy will always stick by your side.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Andy squeezed your hand in return.

Thank you for the ask<3

[randomly-generated-posts-machine]

decriminalize having a sailors mouth criminalize elon musk

[evanbuckleyrecs]

January wrap up

So I haven't really had the energy to make separate posts lately, BUT I started track what I read and bookmark, so here is a list of all the 911 fics I bookmarked in January 2025!

Edit: I tried adding the author's tumblrs but couldn't find all of them. If you are/know any of them, please let me know :)

Please, please, please by bookinit

E rated | 8,7K | Buddie | touch starved Eddie | angst & smut | getting together | @bookinit02

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit.

You'll Never Find Me Trying to Leave by DuoOfDiaz

T rated | 3,5k | Buddie | getting together | Christopher comes back from Texas | love confessions | @smolfunpenguin

Eddie and Buck are overjoyed that Christopher has returned from Texas. They organise a Welcome Back to LA party in his honor and it goes off without a hitch. Buck wonders whether the after party moment is finally the time to tell Eddie how he feels.

Please don't say I'm too much by buckleyys118

G rated | 3/3 chapters | 10K | Buddie | touch starved Buck | emotional hurt/comfort | getting together | angst with a happy ending | Tommy bashing | insecure Buck

a comment from Tommy causes Buck to spiral. Eddie fixes it.

Born with a weak heart by foxwatson

T rated | 7,4k | Buddie | post 6x11 in another life | touch starved Buck | getting together | idiots to lovers | touch as a love language

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it

If I loved you less by spaceprincessem

Rated T | 1,9K | Buddie | getting together | light angst | text messages | post 6x11 in another life | @spaceprincessem

Buck can't use his phone for two days. Eddie sends him text anyways

If You Need Me, You Know I'll Be There by soft_satan

Rated T | 4,1 K | Buddie | hurt/comfort | hurt Buck | no Ana bashing | soft Buddie | tending to wounds | mentioned hate crimes | protective Eddie | post s4 |

Eddie’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. “Buck? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “No,” Buck laughed, breathless and bitter, just on this side of hysterical. He sniffled again, sounding like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “C-could uh… could you come get me? Please?”

Out of ashes by ashavahishta

Rated M | 6,6K | Buddie | presumed dead | kidnapping | established relationship | dark whump | worried Eddie | heavy angst | hurt/comfort | TW: implied/referenced torture, starvation, sensory deprivation | @ashavahishta

“They found Buck.” Hen’s hand goes to her chest. Chim stumbles like he’s been hit, hand curling around the back of a chair for balance. And Eddie - Eddie’s knees give out. He’s lucky there’s a chair right under him because he just buckles, head in hands, trying to remember how to breathe. “Is he - did they - what…what did they find?” “He’s alive.” “What?” Eddie’s head snaps up.

I Did It All (To Make You Love Me) by sirencalls

Rated E | 4,4K | Buddie | panties | top eddie/bottom buck | resolved sexual tension | praise kink

Honestly, Eddie is just trying to find the pair of boxers he knows he left here last week.

Won't you kiss me on the mouth (and love me like a sailor) by hirarih

G rated | 2,1k | Buddie | crack treated seriously | accidental love confessions | light angst | getting together | first kiss | POV alternating | idiots in love

Buck discovers he’s in love with Eddie, rants about it to Maddie, and doesn’t realise Eddie is right behind him.

I can read between your lines (dizzy from the spinning) by buckleydiazy

E rated | 4,3K | Buddie | phone sex | praise kink | pre-relationship Buddie | mention of past casual buck/omc

“So, theoretically,” Eddie sounds absolutely delighted, “if we didn’t know each other, you’d hook up with me in a public bathroom?” “Theoretically—I mean, do you want a serious answer?” Eddie hesitates for a moment. “Yeah,” he says quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Tell me.” “Probably,” Buck says. Then a little firmer—“Definitely.”

Not Doing This Alone by carpediaz

Rated M | 27,4k | Buddie, Buck & Chris, Eddie & Maddie | AU | Nanny Buck | mutual pining | getting together | angst with a happy ending | fluff and angst

The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return).

The kiss that lingers by greenbergsays

E rated | 10,7k | Buddie | Buck’s birthmark | 5+1 | forehead kisses | non sexual intimacy | touch starved Buck | insecure Buck | getting together | fluff and smut and angst | @greenbergsays

5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

Was I even on your way? By rangerdanger

Rated M | 3K | Buddie | past rape - Dr. Wells mention | panic attacks | established relationship | hurt/comfort | emotional hurt/comfort | worried Eddie | POV Buck

Buck gets reminded of something that happened he'd rather forget.

This Could Be Our Year; Don't Let Go of My Hand by allisonRW96

Rated T | 39,7k | 8/8 chapters | Buddie | mutual pining | alternating POV | getting together | Buck whump | worried Eddie | protective Eddie

After a routine call at the studio of a wealthy, eccentric fashion designer, the 118 find themselves invited to a masquerade ball on New Year’s Eve. Buck thinks it will be a perfect time to kiss Eddie. Eddie thinks it will be the perfect time to kiss Buck. Someone else has more sinister plans.

Rhythm of Your Heart series by devirnis

Part 1 rated T, part 2 rated G, part 3 rated M | Madney, Buddie, Buck & firehouse 118 | AU - criminals | 118 aren't firefighters | protective 118 | mutual pining | getting together | buck & maddie whump | total word count 39,6K | @devirnis

the 118 run a front restaurant for money laundering, and accidentally adopt the Buckley siblings

Baby mine by Fizzlespin

Rated G | 2,9k | Buck & Athena | hurt Buck | Buck needs a hug | Bathena are Buck’s parents | protective Athena | parental Athena

When Maddie tells him about Daniel, and being born for spare parts, Buck doesn't know what to do. Hurt, confused (and drunk), he goes to who he always goes to in a crisis for some calm, fatherly advice. But Bobby isn't home and Athena is left to pick up the pieces.

A minute from home but I feel so far from it by cozycatwriter

Rated G | 2,1k | Buck & Athena | post law-suit | post tsunami | emotional hurt/comfort | implied/referenced suicide

He thinks to anyone watching him that they might think he’s just lost in thought. He’s leaning against the pier fence, avoiding the bench this time around. Or maybe he looks like he’s about to throw himself off the wooden walkway and into the rocks below. He’s not sure which would be true. “Because you’re exhausting. We all have our own problems but you don’t see us whining about it.” He’s been back at station 118 for only a few shifts but it’s like the world has flipped upside down and he’s found himself within an alternate universe. Like Stranger Things.

Hen Wilson's Four Part Guide to Making Your Stupid Friends Date by songbvrd

Rated M | 25 K | Buddie, Hen & 118 | crack treated seriously | Chris comes back from Texas | POV outsider | miscommunication | post canon | locked in | idiots in love | @songbvrd

When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands.

50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd

Rated M | 20,9K | Buddie | b/t breakup | texting | pre-relationship buddie | drunken flirting | crack treated seriously | fluff and crack | bad pick up lines | hurt Buck | @songbvrd

Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

You warm me up (inside and out) by becausebuckley

Rated T | 3,4K | buddie | touch starved | cuddling & snuggling | sharing clothes | first kiss | getting together | @becausebuckley

after a shift leaves buck tired and shivering, eddie takes him home.

See y'all next month 🫡

[shxuga]

Whispers of the Deep I | Twisted Wonderland

Jade × Floyd Leech x Female!Reader | Pirate AU | TW: Drowning attempts, unhealthy relationships, mentions of death, alcohol and acts of piracy.

This serie is based on a comic, click here to find it!

The salt in the air stung your skin.

The night was cold, a clear sign that you and the proud Rosehearts fleet had ventured too close to the poles. The icy wind that seemed to seep beneath your very skin reminded you of the night when the imposing and chaotic ship first found you. Drifting on a piece of wood, lost at sea in the dense, dangerous waters. With the promise of making you someone useful, not just another mouth to feed, Captain Rosehearts allowed you to join his crew.

And six months later, you had become a true pirate.

You couldn’t boast, like Ace, about losing a hand in a fierce pirate battle (though that was a lie; the first mate, Mr. Trey Clover, had told you Ace actually lost it after being caught stealing in a town, where they cut it off as punishment). Or like Deuce, who, after a few too many drinks, tearfully confessed how he lost his foot due to a miscalculation during a cannon test. But hey, you looked the part now, with a snug black heart-shaped eyepatch covering your right eye. You didn’t wear it for fun; underneath was a nasty scar and a useless eye. So, when Captain Rosehearts offered you the leather accessory, you didn’t refuse. In hindsight, you would’ve had to accept it regardless.

You bit down on a splinter of wood between your teeth, lazily rubbing your arms against your sides to fight off the chill as your gaze remained fixed on the sea from your lookout perch. Waves crashed wildly against the ship, but that didn’t stop Cater’s slippery tongue. He was animatedly telling one of those old sailor tales that always captivated the younger—or dumber—members of the crew.

“Can you imagine it? Beings beneath the waves, looking like angels!” Cater sighed, gesturing with his hands as though the entity he described could be touched. You weren’t interested in his drunken ramblings, but with nothing better to listen to, you resigned yourself to eavesdrop from your position atop the crow’s nest. “I’m talking about mermaids! Those extraordinary creatures, almost as deadly as they are beautiful.” You took a moment to glance at the crowd of crewmates, enraptured by their superior’s words. It didn’t surprise you to see Ace and Deuce’s mesmerized faces in the middle of the group. “They say their song is like a gentle caress, a deadly trap! Something that turns even the smartest or cruelest sailor into putty in their hands. Once they’ve marked you as prey, there’s no escape.” He concluded with a leap onto the bow, eliciting gasps of surprise from some. You grimaced from your high vantage point.

Between the flickering oil lamp lights, you spotted a flash of red you recognized immediately. You stifled a laugh as you watched that furious red blur make its way toward the drunken group on the bow, entirely unnoticed. Cater brought a finger to his face, his eyes darkened by alcohol and his cheeks flushed despite the biting wind.

“Legend has it, if you manage to get one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!” To your surprise, he continued, drawing even more interest from the others—and more ire from their lurking captain. Cater sighed, like a lovestruck maiden. “Personally, if I could choose how I’d die, I’d want it to be at the hands of one of those beauties...”

His statement shocked no one. His reputation as a ladies’ man was well-known. Rumor had it that, during a stop at a port, several courtesans he’d scorned banded together to get revenge. They supposedly drugged him and... well, the whispers said they castrated him. You had no idea if it was true, but given his nymphomaniac tendencies, it wouldn’t have surprised you.

“If you’re so eager to die, let me be the one to throw you overboard,” growled Riddle, snapping everyone out of their drunken stupor. His stern voice and sharp glare forced Cater to stand straight and regain composure. The others followed suit, fleeing in fear of their temperamental captain’s icy gaze.

The laughter and idle chatter faded. The moon reached its peak in the sky, and everything fell into a deep silence, broken only by the sound of waves, the constant creak of worn wood, and the snores of your crewmates, who had abandoned their posts to huddle on the cold deck. Everything was so peaceful you hesitated when you noticed a distant silhouette on the horizon. You extended your spyglass—practically an extension of your arm at this point—and directed it to the point in the sea that seemed to be approaching rapidly.

The emblem on the flag sent a chill down your spine: an apple dripping with poison smiled at you. If not for the light color of the flag and the ship’s golden detailing, anyone would’ve mistaken the naval guard insignia for a pirate’s Jolly Roger. You yanked the bell rope hard, alerting your crewmates to take their positions.

“Ship sighted!” you announced. To your dismay, the elegant Pomefiore reached you with alarming speed. You were about to jump down from the crow’s nest, rope in hand, when the sound of a cannonball firing echoed in your ears, and the ship shook violently. Everything around you blurred. You heard shouts, the wild splashing of the sea, and before you realized it, you were falling.

The freezing water welcomed you with open arms.

• • •

You have no idea how many days have passed since then. While you frantically fought against the raging sea, someone noticed your absence and dropped a lifeboat in your direction. Somehow, you managed to climb aboard, but as temperamental and vain as the ocean is, a fierce storm broke loose, carrying you far from the fight. And far, far away from your crew.

Despite the cold winds, the sun blazed proudly in the sky. The skin not covered by your wrinkled clothes burned as you sprawled languidly in the small boat, feeling your lips crack and your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. Your eyes stung, yet another sign of your dehydration. The lifeboat was equipped with a few emergency rations, but you weren’t foolish enough to consume them all at once. Experience had taught you it could take weeks to be found. Deep down, buried in the darkest corners of your mind, you recognized the possibility that you might never be. But you refused to dwell on that thought.

The real battle now was with your own mind.

You were hallucinating—or so you believed. At night, you would wake up in a panic, gripped by the eerie sensation that something, or someone, was watching you. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt like hundreds of eyes emerged from the depths of the sea, silently stalking you. It was morbid. Unsettling. Since then, you hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few fleeting moments. Paranoia gnawed at your sanity; you could only close your eyes when sheer exhaustion forced you to. But even then, rest was elusive.

You had nothing except your clothes and an old tarp, which you used to wrap yourself during the frigid nights. You were surprised by your own stubbornness—how, despite the bone-chilling cold and the relentless growling of your empty stomach, you refused to give up.

Because you trusted your captain.

He might have been a small and temperamental man, obsessed with his rules, but he was a man of his word. And he’d given his word to you and every other misfit on the ship:

"I will never abandon any of my men. So don’t you dare die."

Clinging to that promise, you wrapped yourself tighter in the stiff tarp, keeping your eyes wide open, watchful, as that disturbing sensation lingered in the dark of the night.

• • •

It's been a month.

You know because the moon, which had been absent for some time, finally showed itself again, bringing with it an unsettling sense of hope. Yet, its absence left you uneasy in the dark, shivering from the cold and the fear that at any moment, something might emerge from the water and drag you into the icy depths of the sea.

But it never happened.

By now, you didn’t know whether to see it as a blessing or a curse.

Your rations were gone. Somehow, you made them last until that morning when you devoured the remnants of stale bread and drained the final bitter drops from your leather canteen. Now, you simply waited for the inevitable. Staring into the water with the moon behind you, you saw your gaunt reflection, thinking about how pitiful and miserable your death would be.

Completely alone. Isolated. Perhaps you would have preferred being arrested, accused of piracy, and hanged in the town square. That death would have been kinder than dying of starvation and dehydration, your body covered in blisters.

Resigned and delirious, you found yourself remembering your first nights aboard the Rosehearts fleet. Nostalgia struck as you softly hummed that song Cater always loved to sing at any opportunity:

"There is nothing... that console me... but my jolly sailor bold."

You sighed, closing your eyes. Slowly, humming until sleep began to take over.

"Is it dead?"

You jerked awake at the sound of a splash and an unfamiliar voice close by. You scrambled backward, drawing the pistol hidden at your side and pointing it without hesitation toward the source of the voice.

Your face drained of color.

An olive glow painted the dark sea. At first, you thought it was a star. But soon, you realized it wasn’t. A star wouldn’t have such a human face—yet also something not entirely human.

The blue-green scales on the masculine body leaning against your boat shimmered like tiny jewels. Like a fish’s—but this being staring at you with a curious, almost morbid amusement was definitely not a fish. Its uneven, dual-colored eyes lingered on your pistol, tilting its head slightly. The moment you fell into the water with it, the gun had turned into dead weight among your clothes, but you had kept it as a precaution. Still, the creature before you didn’t seem to recognize the threat it posed.

It was a mermaid… no, a merman.

A sharp-toothed smile greeted you after a moment of silent contemplation.

“Heh~, I guess I was wrong.”

You couldn’t decide what was more astonishing—that this creature spoke your language or that all those mermaid tales Cater had spouted were actually true. If you made it out of this alive (which, honestly, you doubted), you’d apologize to him and pay closer attention to most of what he had to say. Because even with Cater, half the things that came out of his mouth were lies… if you were lucky.

"I told you, Floyd. You shouldn’t have been so impatient," another voice chimed in, followed by a new splash. You tensed further, whipping your aim to this new direction. Panic gripped you. If you thought one was intimidating, you quickly realized two were the embodiment of pure terror.

Like an animal assessing its odds against a predator, your single eye darted between them. They were identical, equally menacing. Broad shoulders, sharp teeth, and piercing eyes. Where human ears should have been, fins jutted out. Their webbed hands, tipped with claws, scratched lazily at the sides of the boat.

Your chances of surviving this encounter dwindled with each passing second.

“But it was soooo boring...! We’ve never seen a human before—not a live one, anyway.” Floyd grinned widely, and your expression hardened. “Aren’t you curious, Jade?”

"Of course, but I’d rather not be reckless. You know, there could be more of her kind around," Jade said, his olive eye gleaming in a way that churned your stomach. "And that would be so unfortunate..."

"It’s been a month!" Floyd protested, shaking the boat in a fit of impatience. When his gaze shifted from his twin to you, it softened slightly. "I’m so curious… Hey, can you talk?"

"I have nothing to say to you," you spat, gripping the pistol painfully tight in your fingers. Floyd chuckled, leaning heavily on your boat. The wood groaned under his weight, and you wobbled from the shift.

"Heh~, look at her. Trembling like a little shrimp but acting like a shark."

"Humans are, as always, such fascinating creatures."

They started inching closer, their eyes seeming to glow more intensely against the absence of light.

“Stay back—don’t come any closer!”

“Poor thing, she’s so scared…” Jade sighed, placing a hand on his chest as if feigning sympathy. However, his eyes were sly crescents of amusement.

“Do you think a swim might help her relax?”

They shared a look of wicked complicity.

“Only one way to find out…”

“Wa-wait…!” Your protests died on your tongue as they overturned the boat, and the salty water enveloped you.

The sea consumed you, like dark, thick ink. The salt stung your eyes, but you refused to close them, knowing what lurked nearby. The cold clung to your skin, much like your soaked clothes. You swam upward toward the moonlit surface, barely catching a shallow breath before something yanked your ankle, dragging you back down.

You fought against the iron grip coiled around your body, your mind reeling in horror as you noticed the elongated appendage wrapping around your legs and most of your torso. The mermen were enormous, and their tail resembled that of a serpent. Your hands scrambled for the knife hidden in your boot when a faint glow emanating from the chest of your captor (Floyd, perhaps?) caught your blurred vision.

"Legend says if you claim one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!"

You didn’t even think. You couldn’t, not when their clawed fingers were digging into your sides and the water had invaded your lungs. With the last of your strength, you tore the glowing scale from its chest. You caught a glimpse of its shock, but you kept fighting until the small, jagged piece was clutched tightly in your hand. You didn’t know if it would work, but you wished with all your might.

"Take me to the surface! Now!"

Your world flipped in seconds. You vomited the salty contents of your stomach, bile burning your throat as your lungs were granted a second chance. Trembling on your hands, you spat out every last drop of seawater stinging your insides. You didn’t even notice you were still gripping the small scale until your blood began to seep from your palm.

"You... What did you do to me?" the chattier merman hissed, his mismatched eyes glowing with hostility.

“Floyd… your chest.” Jade pointed out, his previously amused expression replaced with shock. You followed his clawed finger’s direction, spotting the faint trickle of blue blood dripping from where you had ripped the scale.

“Oh, looks like it actually worked... That charlatan was right.” You spat out the last salty remnants in your mouth before straightening up. Holding the scale firmly between your fingers, you glared at the two stunned mermen. “Now, would you kindly get your filthy hands off my boat, creature?”

Floyd seems to struggle against a force pulling at his neck the moment you finish speaking your command. It was a fact—with the scale in your possession, he was forced to obey you, much to his dismay.

“Don’t move” you warn Jade when you notice the gears of his mind turning behind his sharp gaze. You shake the scale. “Or I’ll have to use this thing and make your brother kill you.”

Floyd lets out a guttural growl, his eyes sparking with fury and disdain, but he can’t resist the invisible pressure of the scale trembling between your fingers. His body tenses, and an almost tangible force seems to wrap around him, making him falter for a moment, though not enough to fully yield.

“Damn it…” he mutters through clenched teeth, clearly struggling against the control now imposed on him. His hands, which had earlier tried to snatch the object from you, now remain rigid at his sides, as though he’s afraid to touch you.

Jade, on the other hand, appears calm, more surprised by your bold threat. His narrowed eyes and typically impassive face show only a hint of curiosity. The scale, with its lethal gleam, is a card he doesn’t yet fully understand but certainly respects.

“Don’t act tough, human.” Jade replies, his lips curving into a subtle smile. “Not now that you know you can kill me without laying a finger on me.”

It’s not a threat—it’s a certainty, and he says it so casually that it almost makes you doubt your own power. But you know what this scale represents now that it’s in your hands. The energy pulsing within it doesn’t just govern Floyd; it also connects to you in a way neither of them can yet comprehend.

“It’s true,” you respond, feeling the truth in his words. But there’s something else at play here—something that goes beyond mere threats or physical power. You know the scale grants you control, but you also feel how the connection to the merfolk consumes you, like a slow poison seeping into your skin, your mind. You can’t stop it. Not even if you wanted to.

A shiver runs through your body, and you glance at the water’s surface, fearful of what might be lurking beneath the dark waves.

“Listen to me” you say, gritting your teeth as the scale begins to vibrate more strongly, its power growing. Floyd stirs, his gaze no longer on you but fixed on something else, as if the scale’s invisible threads had bound him to an inescapable fate. You feel the pressure in your chest but remain firm. “I’m not going to use this thing to hurt you. That’s not what I want. But if you think you can take me by surprise, you’re wrong.”

Floyd doesn’t respond, but his expression speaks volumes. There’s something in his eyes now—a deep fear. Not of you, not of the direct threat, but of what the scale might do to him if he defies you. And that’s where you have him. You don’t need to harm him. You just need him to believe you will.

Jade approaches slowly, his movements stealthy and calculated, as if waiting for something… something more. But he can’t hide the slight tremor in his hand as the water shifts around him, forming invisible ripples.

“What do you want, then?” he asks, his tone shifting from a threat to something akin to acknowledgment, almost as if he were measuring you, testing you.

“I want your cooperation. Take me to the nearest port, and I’ll return this thing.”

“Why should we trust a human?!” Floyd’s fins bristle, and you frown, irritated by his behavior when you clearly have the upper hand.

Jade observes silently, assessing the conflict between you two. For a moment, everything seems to pause, the tension nearly palpable. Then, a faint glint in his eyes suggests he’s finally made a decision.

“Fine” he says, his tone now more calculated than aggressive. “We’ll take you to the port. But don’t get any ideas, human. You won’t manipulate us at will.”

As he says this, his hand extends toward you, and though you know he isn’t doing it out of kindness, the fact that he’s agreed to the proposal at all is a victory. Despite his reservations, Jade has relented. And that’s the opportunity you need.

“I know you can’t trust me” you reply, keeping calm despite the emotional weight at play. “But understand this—I’m not your enemy. And this deal is the only way we all come out ahead.”

And it’s true. Your only desire was to survive. You understood that these creatures acted according to their nature, but that didn’t absolve them of trying to drown you. You had no intention of becoming their master (as Cater’s tale suggested) or anything of the sort—you just wanted to go home. Because the Rosehearts, with its smell of cheap perfume and rum, had become that. Your home.

The wind whips your face as the sea begins to churn around the small boat. Jade and Floyd, working in silence, haul the ropes with tremendous strength, and the vessel speeds forward, leaping over the waves with the grace of sea creatures. The water bubbles around them as if the ocean itself is aiding their journey, propelled by the determination of the merfolk. Your heart races at the power of their effort, but you remain calm. You know there’s no turning back.

The horizon begins to clear as the port takes shape in the distance. In less than an hour, the water around you seems to calm, as if the sea recognizes the urgency of their mission. The sun’s light starts to ascend, bathing the landscape in golden hues that herald the start of a new day. Under the merfolk’s direction, the small boat nears solid ground.

Finally, the boat touches the first rocks of the port, and with one last push of their fins, Jade and Floyd gently ground it on the shore. The water settles, and the boat halts with a soft creak. The wind no longer blows as fiercely, but the ocean’s echo still lingers in the air. You take a moment to feel solid ground beneath your feet and allow yourself to breathe calmly for the first time in weeks.

Jade retreats, his expression etched with distrust and exhaustion, while Floyd can’t help but cast a withering glare your way. You notice their unease—this close to human territory must be unfamiliar to them, but at this point, that’s the least of your worries. Without a word, you toss the scale toward Floyd. The stone gleams briefly in the morning light before landing in his hands. There’s no gratitude, no farewells, just a cold and calculated exchange.

Without looking back, you step toward the dock, walking like someone who has finally finished what needed to be done. Your attitude is dismissive, as if all those days adrift at sea were just a nightmare you want to forget. As you leave, your footsteps echo against the empty pier in the early hours of dawn. The twins, on the other hand, watch from the water’s edge, their eyes fixed on your retreating figure. Their bodies slip beneath the sea’s surface, leaving behind an ephemeral trail in the water, like a sigh. No words. No promises. The tension between you all seems to dissolve with their disappearance.

You recognize the town as soon as you set foot in it. It was marked on the Rosehearts’ route, so with a bit of luck, you might reunite with your crew by the end of the day. You’re exhausted; fatigue clings to you as clearly as the salt and smell of the sea in your clothes. You trade the trinkets you kept from the lifeboat for some gold. It’s not much, but it’s enough to buy a cold drink and secure a place to sleep for the afternoon. Because, for heaven’s sake, you need some rest. And to think. Now that you’re no longer on the brink of death, you feel you have a lot to process. While your life as a pirate had been full of madness and fantastical experiences, this, by far, had been the most surreal.

The creaky bed in the rundown inn you found with your meager budget groans in protest as you collapse onto it. You’ve bathed, and your clothes have been replaced with something resembling what you wore before. At this point, all you want is to lie down and sleep until the harbor bell announcing incoming ships wakes you. But there’s a strange itch pricking at the skin of your palm. Annoyed, you open your hand in front of your eyes.

The greenish glow that greets you makes your guts churn.

The scale… the damn scale. How had it returned to your hand? You were sure you’d thrown it away!

You don’t even think before opening the window and hurling it out for the second time. Seconds pass, during which all you hear is the erratic pounding of your pulse in your ears. Just to be sure, you check your hand again, and…

The scale is back.

A knot tightens in your stomach. The harbor bell snaps you out of your stupor. You lift your eyes and recognize the Jolly Roger of roses and skulls painted on a menacing black flag. A new fear blooms in your gut, alongside a growing doubt forming in your head:

How are you going to explain this to your captain?

[ambrosiagoldfish]

hi! can i request headcanons of Adam x Male Angel! Reader who is sweet, kind and never curses? preferly sfw and nsfw but if u don't write smut for Male Reader, that's fine!

hope u have a Nice day <3

Adam x Kind Angel Reader HC’s

Warnings: General Adam TW’s, NSFW in latter half of post, He/Him pronouns with Male Genitalia. Slight Degradation/dirty talk. Fluff + Smut

Request Box: Open

Word Count: 820

A/n: thank you so much for the request! I had a lot of fun with this one! I did make it on the shorter side but that’s only because it’s quite difficult to make Headcanon’s 1000+ words without other characters but nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Also I decided to make this little header thing for fics! I’ve seen a few others do it and the GIF’s I normally use are becoming a hassle to find. Let me know if you guys like it!

SFW

Oh boy, this relationship really is a match that could only be made in heaven. No one would have expected Adam to date a man who is the complete opposite of him. If anything, people expected someone like him or even Lute!! But you? They never could have predicted that.

But what can you do, opposites do attract.

You’re always being so kind to him, telling him he looks handsome, helping him with any and all work he might have to do, and on top of it you bring him gifts and trinkets! Not to mention all the delicious treats you get him that are almost as sweet as you.

And to be honest, this really messes with Adam, cause you’re literally so sweet and thoughtful but he doesn’t have anything to give you in return besides sex. At least that’s what he thinks but in reality he gives you so much more than he gives himself credit for.

He plays you songs on the guitar, takes you out to fancy restaurants, and over all treats you with love and affection than any other has. But even if none of that was true, you don’t do anything and everything for him because you want something in return. You love Adam completely unconditionally.

The no cursing thing is something that genuinely gets on his nerves. Cause like, he could never. This man has the mouth of a sailor and the delicacy of a bull in a china shop. Which is one of the traits you love about him, that he says what he wants. But also you’re just like “Sir, this is not what The Father intended-“

“Neither was putting my dick in another guys ass but look, I’m still here bitch!”

And it especially bugs Adam, if instead of cursing, you replace swears with other words. Like the other day you stubbed your toe when landing on ground and Adam had fully expected for you to do what he does, which is scream the loudest swear and be pissed off at everyone for 20 minutes. But instead….

“OW Fudging chocolate chip-“

“JUST SAY FUCK”

So, ever since that day, Adam has sworn to one day take your ‘cursing virginity’, at least that’s what he calls it. And he try’s so hard to do so, which is a slight bit of trouble cause he doesn’t want to like, be a complete douche to you.

So until he figures out a way to get you to curse, he’s pretty stumped at the moment. But still, he absolutely adores you.

NSFW

Oh Boy x2

Everything I said previously still stands if not double the amount. This man wants to do the👏Most👏Unholiest👏Things👏To👏You👏

Loves to see your kind and sweet personality slowly crumble because of his cock.

‘Who knew you could be such a slut?’

He loves that your personality carries over during sex, you give him everything you’ve got and then some. You want to do your best for him after all.

Speaking of which, if you worship him in any way that man is cumming IMMEDIATELY. He really just wants to feel like he’s above everyone else, and Surprise surprise, he has a praise and you being the, oh so thoughtful person you are, you make sure to completely indulge that aspect of him.

You babble so much about how good his cock feels hitting your prostate over and over again. How well he’s making you feel like like the Good Boy he is. It really gets it him going.

Remember how I said he’s trying to make you lose your ‘Cursing Virginity’? Yeah well, this is how. He is SO determined to get you to spill out just one swear while he goes to town on you. Is it the most holy thing he should do? No. But how could he not fuck your brains out till you break your own moral code?

He tries so hard too. He has yet to get you there but he has come close. When he had you in a mating press, legs over his shoulders, your ankle’s lightly hitting the base of his wings with each thrust.. You couldn’t stop begging for him to cum inside you as you came for the Xth time in a row.

“Please Adam! P-Please! Fu~“ you cut yourself off with a hand to your mouth.

Adam looked at you with his signature grin, his hips not stopping their movements to pump himself in and out of you. “Was you about to say something babe?”

You held your hand against your mouth shaking your head ‘no’ clearly trying to make it seem like you weren’t about to drop the f bomb.

“Mhm, right~ let’s see if I can pry some other ‘naughty’ fuxkin’ words out of ya!” He laughs a wicked laugh as he switches the position so that he’s somehow even more atop of you. Leaving you a completely, moaning, helpless mess for him to dominate >:)

[meelusinee]

SAILOR SONG | R.B X READER

word count \ 1.3k | warning below | slash / regulus black x reader

two times regulus his love for you change him. one fluffy, one dangerous (tw: regulus cuts off the dark mark in section two) author's note at the end

A LITTLE LOAF SERIES MASTERLIST

SAILOR SONG | REGULUS BLACK X READER

Regulus had an affinity for the pen and paper.

It was a way to express himself without talking, though still talking in a sense. He could use as many metaphors as he wanted without being called pretentious. Or he could reveal as little as he wanted without being forced to say more.

Usually, everything would be about Death Eater duties. How much he grew to hate the Dark Lord. How crazy his cousin was, and how stupid her husband was to not notice her obvious affair with the Dark Lord.

But recently, it had become more about you.

You seemed to be slowly healing the things in him that he never even realized were broken. For example, you helped him realize just how bad his parents were, even if you didn’t have the full picture. You helped him deal with his ‘evil boss man’, or the fact he had nobody else to rely on other than Kreacher.

When he was younger, he would miss his brother. A bit older, and it would be his friends. He wasn’t sure if either group even cared for him that much.

Now anytime he missed anything, it was you. And this time, he knew you cared.

It radiated off you so easily, it wasn’t something he could ignore. No amount of overthinking or doubting things could ever lead him to that conclusion. It almost made him want to self-sabotage sometimes, feelings of unworthiness mixing with the warmth running through his veins whenever he hung out with you. He figured you were better without him anyways.

Kreacher had hit him for five minutes straight the last time he suggested that.

He sighed, palm rubbing his forehead as he mindlessly scratched it against the paper, words flowing out of him before he could even think of them himself. He’d grown to an automated system for himself, draining his thoughts before he

The sun had set by the time he looked up from the paper again, Kreacher’s voice ringing behind hi

Regulus turned around curiously, looking at Kreacher. “What’s up?”

Kreacher looked at Regulus before his eyebrows furrowed, his feet carrying him over to Regulus’ desk. “May Kreacher ask what Master Regulus is writing?”

Regulus smiled softly. He didn’t trust people, but he trusted Kreacher. He’d already saved his life once, along with helping him take one step closer to taking down the Dark Lord. “Yeah, sure.”

Kreacher grabbed the paper as Regulus handed it to him, his eyes darting over it. “Miss Y/N?”

“You know that.” Regulus whispered quietly.

Kreacher smiled softly, pointing at a specific part of the paper. “I think she would like this.”

Regulus’ eyes darted to the part Kreacher had pointed to, the ink dripping making it a bit harder to read.

‘Won’t you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?

And when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor?

I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my savior.

My friend says that he’s worried, but I'm covered in this favor.’

His cheeks were a bit flushed by the time he finished, eyes darting over the words he had written.

It sounded so right.

“I believe you can use this, Master Regulus.” Kreacher said with a smile.

“Use it for what?” Regulus asked confusedly.

Kreacher looked at him with an expression that spoke the word ‘really?’ into the room, so much so he could sense the sarcasm radiating off Kreacher. “Kreacher knows more about romance than Master Regulus believes.”

“Oh really?” Regulus challenged him.

“Even if Kreacher did not know anything, Kreacher would still be able to sense how much Master Regulus loves Miss Y/N.” he said. “Perhaps Master Regulus should confess his feelings to Miss Y/N.”

“Would she even say yes?” Regulus asked confusedly. “I’ve only known her for, like, a week.”

Kreacher nodded at that, placing the paper down on the desk. “Kreacher believes writing about Miss Y/N until your hands grow tired will not help Master Regulus’ crush.”

“I know that.” Regulus groaned, banging his head against the table. “Kreacher, why is this so difficult?”

“Perhaps it is because Master Regulus has never felt loved before.” Kreacher said, looking down at him with an innocent expression.

Regulus sat up at that, his mouth dropped. “Kreacher!”

Kreacher only smiled, hopping off the desk. “Kreacher shall be in the kitchen, should Master Regulus need it.”

“You are so cruel.” Regulus groaned, looking down at the words he had written. How would he even confess with them in the first place? A letter in an envelope, maybe. With some flowers, he knew your favorite. But would you accept them?

Did you even like him back?

Regulus groaned again, putting his ink and quill back in their spots. He stood up abruptly, feet dragging him towards the bed he had been calling home recently.

Regulus realized that he was running out of time.

He stood in front of a mirror, shirtless with his arm on full display. The Dark Mark was still there, loud and proud as it burnt his arm. He refused to touch it, not wanting to give the Dark Lord any power or access to him. As far as the Dark Lord knew, he was dead.

He didn’t have much of a choice when it came to touching it anymore though.

“Kreacher!” he called.

Kreacher came as he called, looking at Regulus with a slightly bewildered expression. Regulus figured it was because of his voice, he had never called so demandingly before. He sounded like Sirius.

He hated sounding like Sirius.

“Is something wrong, Master Regulus?” he asked.

Regulus sighed, looking down at Kreacher. “I need you to help me with something.”

“Anything, Master Regulus!” he said hurriedly, noting the urgency in Regulus’ voice. “What is it?”

“I’m going to drag the magic from this to the center,” Regulus said as he pulled out a knife, unfolding it from its sheath and handing it to Kreacher. “I need you to cut the Dark Mark off.”

“Cut it off?” Kreacher asked incredulously.

Regulus nodded. “It’s the only way, I have bandaids somewhere here. I need your help, Kreacher. Please.”

Kreacher looked at him before sighing. “Knife.”

Regulus smiled faintly, handing Kreacher the knife and sitting down on a small cushion. He felt a small layer of sweat already building, though he wasn’t sure if it was from adrenaline, anxiety, or anticipation. Maybe it was all three, the three big A’s he needed to feel all at once in order to feel alive.

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Regulus.”

Regulus sighed softly, breathing in air before letting it out. He held the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark, a small white light appearing at the tip. His skin started burning like the night he got it, all of the magic coming front and center to his epidermis**.** Some of it floated up in the air around it, hovering like a beast waiting.

“Now,” he said.

Kreacher made quick work of the Dark Mark, quickly cutting into his flesh and filleting his arm like one would a fish. It was sharp and quick, the dark magic trapped inside of the cut off skin.

“Fuck,” Regulus gritted through his teeth. He grabbed a small trash bag he had enchanted to keep the magic trapped, placing the long strip of cut skin inside of it. That way, at the very least, it wouldn’t be able to escape.

Now all he had to worry about was the blood.

“Master Regulus is rather impulsive.” Kreacher stated, healing Regulus’ arm. He couldn’t do much, which meant that the wound was still bleeding. Even still, it was much better than what it was before. He grabbed the bandaids and wrapped them as tight as he could around Regulus’ wrist.

“Thank you, Kreacher.” Regulus whispered.

“You’re welcome.” Kreacher said, looking up at Regulus. “Would you like some tea?”

Regulus was still panting from the pain, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Please.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

this part might not make the most sense in the entirety of the series, mainly because i wrote this before i wrote the other two parts that i posted today. i think it still matches overall though? so imma post it anyways bc i CAN

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog!

[atherflame-theconcubus]

Yeah… unfortunately ruin decided whiskers was getting in the way of “disciplining” the twins.

And I am with you. BP!ruin needs to be thrown into an industrial shredder.

Booping any version of bloodmoon would be considered danger boops. Boop at your own risk, I cannot guarantee your safety.