#word count: 1420

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[lxndonorris]

streamer max - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: Smutish, Teasing Max is live when you decide to have a little fun in the chat x word count: 1420+ taglist: @game-set-canet gif by me open for requests :)

The dim glow of your phone screen illuminates your determined expression as you create the mysterious alter ego, "goldenbooty1." It is an alias embedded with memories and an inside joke that only your boyfriend, the avid racer and streamer Max Verstappen, would comprehend.

You called him that the first time you saw him in his dark blue racing suit, accentuating his form perfectly. Since he is wearing his golden boots a lot, you combine the two and choose a similar image as your icon.

As you watch his racing stream unfold, headphones plugged in, your fingers dance across the touch screen, ready to inject a playful touch into the chat. The adrenaline rush of orchestrating this secret banter heightens your excitement. Max is in the midst of a high-speed race, navigating through virtual landscapes with finesse.

Then, he loses his rear for just a second, catching himself right after. Yet, you can't help yourself. Rubbing your back against the sofa cushions behind you, you bite your lower lip.

"Got your rear under control, huh?" You type, the message blending seamlessly with the scrolling comments. The chat erupts with laughter, and you can't help but smirk, knowing you have inserted yourself into the stream under the radar.

Max glances at the comment, his eyebrows furrowing in amusement. The connection between the words and your username must have given it away, but you cannot tell. He might have seen another comment.

But then Max licks his lips. Undeterred, he responds, "I'm always in control, goldenbooty." His rough voice echoes through your headphones, sending shivers down your spine.

His virtual car speeds on, leaving a trail of digital dust behind. A few people reply to you, most of them trying to get in on the joke, but it means much more to Max coming from you.

You continue to sprinkle comments, each one a carefully crafted blend of teasing and familiarity. The banter unfolds like a well-rehearsed dance, your connection growing stronger with every exchange.

"You're a naughty one, aren't you, booty?" He looks right into the camera, slightly biting his lower lip as he tries to hide the smirk spreading across his lips.

The chat erupts with emotes and laughter, mirroring the amusement you could almost picture on his face. Even though Max tries to stay cool and not show too many emotions, the light in his eyes makes it easy for you to tell he's enjoying it all.

You know, however, that he's just waiting for the race to end. Just by the way he's looking at the screen, the sly smirk, and the narrow eyes, he's contemplating how to get back at you.

"Don't tell me you don't like it rough, Max." You type quickly, followed by, "I mean racing, of course." The smirk on your face widens, and you hold back your laughter.

Max's eyes sparkle slightly before he tilts his head, unable to stop himself from smiling brightly.

"Of course, racing." He lifts his eyebrows, emphasizing 'racing', with his voice a little deeper than usual.

Your chest tingles as you get goosebumps, and all the other viewers in the chat add an element of thrill to your playful interaction.

Max crosses the finish line shortly after, finishing first. As he leans back against his chair, he strokes his chest gently, the sly smirk still present.

"That was fun." He says, looking right at you through the screen, licking his lips quickly.

As you watch him reply to a few other people in chat, you try to come up with another sassy line, but then, "Okay guys, give me a moment. Alright?" Max nods and turns the camera off.

Adrenaline rushes through your entire body. Your heart pounds heavily, anticipating him to confront you.

Before you can hide any evidence, you turn your head toward the door and find Max casually leaning against the doorframe. He watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

You attempt to maintain an air of innocence, but he could read you like an open book. "Already done streaming?" You ask him, showing off your best poker face, but it isn't really effective.

"I'm just taking a short break." Max tilts his head, his voice carrying a mixture of playfulness and curiosity.

Nodding, you lock your phone and pull your headphones out, putting them away. He then approaches you confidently, wearing a tight Redbull shirt and shorts that accentuate his athletic build. You can't help but be captivated by how good he looks.

He runs a hand through his messy hair and across his chest again before he stands right next to you, tilting his head. "So, goldenbooty1, any idea who that might be?" Max asks, obviously knowing the answer already.

You feign ignorance, avoiding his gaze, but the mischief in his eyes hints at his determination to uncover the truth.

Denying any involvement, you insist, "No clue; a nice username though." However, your attempt at evasion only fuels his certainty.

With a knowing smirk, he closes the distance between the two of you. Suddenly, he starts to tickle you, knowing all your most sensitive spots.

His fingers lightly trace along your sides, sending shivers down your spine.

"Come on, spill the beans; I can tell when you're hiding something," he teases, his touch becoming more insistent. You try to suppress a laugh, but his expert tickling technique proves too effective. To make matters worse, Max climbs on to the sofa, pinning you down.

Laughter bubbles up as you squirm, trying to evade his fingers dancing all over your body.

"Okay, okay, it's me! I couldn't resist teasing you a bit," you admit between giggles. His triumphant grin signals that he has achieved his goal.

With his face hovering over yours, you try to catch your breath when he leans in, kissing you lovingly.

"Mhmm." You breathe into him, embracing his mouth on yours in an instant.

"I really love that username," Max purrs into you as his body grinds on yours.

Tilting your head to breathe, you expose your neck, inviting him to place kisses all over it.

"I hoped you'd know it's me." You hold back a low moan when his warm breath and soft lips touch your skin again and again.

Lifting your arms, you grab his waist before tracing his waistline right to his butt. His shorts are barely able to contain him, so you touch him, holding him close.

"Fuck!" Max chuckles, seemingly enjoying your firm touch. Then, he grinds his crotch against your thighs, letting you feel the desire building up inside his body throughout the last thirty minutes.

"You make me so hard," he growls deeply, breathing down your neck.

"Max," you hug him, stroking the small of his back before your hands slide underneath his shirt.

His body is tensing more and more, and you keep stroking him lovingly. Running your hands across his body, you reach his chest, and his muscles react to the slightest touch of your fingertips.

"So, naughty." He leans his head back, making it easier for you to touch his chest.

Both of you are out of breath, getting more and more into it.

At last, you run a hand down his chest, right to the bulge forming inside his shorts. 

As you touch him, he bites his lower lip, looking at you with a fiery spark inside his beautiful eyes.

"Will you keep watching the stream?" He grunts, bending down once more to kiss you again.

"If you want me too?" You smile, touching him again, enjoying the effect you have on him.

"Hope you enjoy the show." Max smirks before he gets off the sofa, fixing his clothes with a casual yet deliberate motion. You seize the opportunity to have another good look at him: he runs his hands across his chest, shorts, and through his hair, letting out a low guttural moan.

Hearing his voice sends shivers down your back, causing you to giggle quietly.

He then winks, turning around and returning to his room. The way he carries himself exudes confidence, and you can't help but appreciate the subtle ca´harm in the way he moves. His athletic build and tense muscles are accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt and shorts, leaving an indelible impression.

You pick up the phone and plug the headphones back in, just in time for the camera to come back to life. Max licks his lower lip, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope you're ready for another round." He smiles, and you enjoy the rest of the stream.

[rogueshadow1124]

THE NEWS

[BATFAMILY IMAGINE SERIES]

Summary: Bruce and his wife Y/N have something to share with the boys but how would they take it?...

Word count: 1420

Warnings: none?

Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire of Gotham city had four sons, three of which were adopted. Y/N Wayne has been his beloved wife for six years now, she had been as good as a mother could be for the boys though they were not her own kin, she did everything for them and didnt hesitate to protect them when needed. Her life revolved around them and all four of them knew that, they adored her just as much as she adored them.

Dick moved out a couple of years ago, Y/N at first was sad since he was the one she had known the longest and he was her first 'son', she understood that he was a grown man now and he needed his own space. Jason switched between the manor and an apartment he owned, sometimes he got homesick which made him feel distressed but he always had the comfort of his 'mother' waiting for him whenever he needed.

Tim had only really just turned seventeen, he was still a child and therefore still in Bruce and Y/N's custody, he has been working hard lately due to him being in college and he's pushing through the darkness of reality to have a successful life. Then there was Damian, he was the baby of the family at the age of fourteen, though he liked to act way older than he really is, being quite mature for his age, he can also be a little broody at times but you know what some say, like father like son, right? 

At this point they had all become a big family, perfect but dysfunctional.

"How are we supposed to tell them Bruce? What if they dont take it very well?" Y/N rushed, looking up at her husband who chuckled at her anxious ness.

"Your over thinking it again darling, everything will be perfectly fine. I promise." Bruce slathered an arm around her waist and pulled into his bigger form, rubbing up and down the length of her arm with his other hand.

"Are you sure. Oh what about Damian, I'm sure he wont like this-" Her tone became more distressed as she went on, her hand coming up to rest on her heavy eyes as she let out a shaky breath.

"Dont worry about it Y/N, I'm sure the boys will be delighted. In their own ways." He stated, whispering the last part of the sentence which didnt go unheard by his wife who whined out and hit his chest several times, sending him a glare. "Hey. Everything will be fine."

The woman took a seat on the couch, groaning when she heard the loud thudding sequence of steps that were emitting for the hall. Her elbows came to rest on her knees, body slouching over while her hands held her head up, Bruce sighed lightly and sat beside her, placing and arm around her shoulder in a form of comfort.

"So what'dya wanna talk about Ma'." Jason's voice called out as he entered the room, being followed by the other three boys behind him.

"I-i just..." She wiped her hands down her jeans, looking up at the boys that were watching her nervous movements, Bruce took both of her hands in his and sent her reassuring smile when she glanced his way and nodded slightly. "Well- y-your going to be big brothers."

"W-what?" Dick and Tim squeaked, eyes widening in shock as there mouths fell a gape. They looked at each other and then to the others before facing the adults again, Y/N smiled sheepishly and Bruce arched a brow at them motioning towards the woman who shook in anxious ness.

"Y-your pregnant?" Jason heaved out, a small smile coming to his lips when he looked towards his mother figure.

"Yeah..." Y/N stood up from her place on the couch, along with Bruce who was still trying to comfort her as she was still a little shaky from the nervousness. Her eyes trailed over the boys and fell on Damian who had a neutral look on his face, no emotion present. "D-dami?"

The boy looked at her for split second with squinted eyes before spinning on his heel and rushing out of the room. A hard clutter of footsteps could behead thumping up the stairs, a few seconds later the sound of a door slamming shout could be heard.

"Mum are you-" Tim stepped forwards, looking at the woman with worry in his eyes as he saw the tears start to gather in her own. She shook her head, smiling at him with a sniffle.

She whispered a 'yes' looking back at Bruce momentarily the proceeded to walk away from him, passing the boys to exit the lounge area. Her eyes peered up to the landing, a heavy breath passing her lips when she started to make her way up the stairs.

She hopped up them quickly, strolling down the landing to the end where Damians room was. Her hand rose to the dark oak, hesitation hitting her but she pushed aside the sad feeling that she had felt and knocked on the door three times, hearing shuffling before the door swung open to reveal the small ravenette. Damian held eye contact with the woman intensely, tilting his head to the side. He sighed, rolling his eyes and walked backwards into his room, leaving the door open which was a silent way fo telling her she could enter if she wanted to.

"Dami, i-i never meant to upset you-"

"I'm not upset." He cut her off, turning around to look at her. His blue orbs widened when he saw tears returning to her eyes, a feeling of guilt seeping through the barrier he held. "Al'umu?"

"I'm sorry Damian, really I am." She muttered, wiping her eyes and attempted to send a smile his way but failed immensely when her bottom lip began to tremble, a burn setting in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the tears.

"Theres nothing to be sorry for Al'umu, I just appear to- to feel jealous." Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion, Damian looked down in shame, falling back to sit on the edge of his bed as he grumbled a few curses under his breath.

"I dont understand." She walked over to his bed and crouched down infront of him, raising a hand to push the pieces of hair away so they disnt block his face. She brushed a finger of his cheek, lifting up his chin so he looked at her. "I need you to know, you can never be replaced Dami. I wont allow that to happen, you'll still always be important just as much as the others and this baby."

"But-"

"No Damian, sure at first the baby will need alot of attention but I wont allow any of you boys to feel left out. Besides, you'll always my baby Wayne, Dame." Y/N stood up, pulling the boy with her, bringing him into het embrace which he accepted right away. She placed a kiss at the top of his head and brought him in closer, chuckling when he snuggled closer.

"Aw- who'da thought Demon was soft." Jason's voice echoed through the room making the two look towards the archway, spotting Jason along with Bruce and the other two boys whi smiled at the sight before them.

"Shut it Todd. Fuck you, I'm not soft." Damian went to pull away from Y/N but was pulled back into the hug, much to his dismay as he didnt want anyone to see him in this 'state'.

"You want a hug too Jay?" She tilted her head with a smirk, letting Damian free from her grasp. Her eyes squinted at the second oldest who frowned and looked at her but ended up nodding walking towards her and encasing her in his arms.

"Group hug!" Dick called out, grabbing Tim's arm and rushed to join the hug. Y/N chuckled reaching an arm out to the side, pulling the two boys in. Damian was now stuck at her side since Dick and Tim were blocking his exit.

"C'mon Bruce." The man scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully before making his way towards the crowding hug. He walked around to the back so his chest was against Y/N's back and he wrapped his arms around the boys, smiling at the moment they are having together at this time.

[hellish-sunsets]

Curses and Blessings - Chapter 1

Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9

Summary:

When they found two souls who worked the best together, who would uplift each other to good, they would grasp those two souls at the moment of their birth. This touch would leave behind a mark, each mark varied and unique.

Was this supposed to be a blessing or a curse?

Word Count: 1420

Warning: self harm, self hate, depression

Read on AO3

(set up, baby!)

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

When she was little, Charlie went to her father whenever she got the chance to hear him tell a story. Her mother would often tell her no, that he was too busy with important work, but if she managed to sneak away, sometimes she could get him to tell her stories. 

Her favorite was about the marks. 

He would say that once, a very very long time ago, the angels looked down upon humanity and saw their struggles. Sin had taken hold of them leading them astray and causing them to get lost. They worried and they fussed and they discussed, until finally they reached a decision. They could not interfere themselves. Now that humanity had the choice, they had to choose to be good themselves. But perhaps, if they had someone else who could help make them better, happier people, that would help.

So, they made a creature, not an angel and not a demon, with no wings for them to fly away and no eyes to see what was happening around them in the present. They took their creation to a room made just for them on top of the tallest tower in heaven, far away from anything and everything, away from the most holy of places and the most evil. They sealed the creature in, and left them for eternity.

So, they started their work. 

With the powers granted to them, they outstretched their hands, and in an instant they saw all the minds of all humanity. In a moment, they knew everyone’s thoughts and hearts. When they found two souls who worked the best together, who would uplift each other to good, they would grasp those two souls at the moment of their birth. This touch would leave behind a mark, each mark varied and unique. Some resembled pictures, others were just a swirl of color and lines, and only those two souls would match each other. 

At first, only humans received these soul marks. It made sense, they were the ones the angels deemed in need of this gift. But isolation leads one to thinking. They wondered why humanity were the only ones to receive such a gift. They knew that, locked away in their empty room in this tower so far away from existence, they knew no one could stop them. So, with a slight twist of their lips, if they did have any, they looked further. 

It wasn’t known who had the first soul mark outside of humanity, whether angel or demon, but it was made clear rather quickly that those naturally born in those realms would also be allowed this gift, though not quite as common. 

“And that is how we all got our marks.” Lucifer told Charlie with a loving smile, cradling the girl in his protective embrace. And every time, she would look up at him with those beautiful, big eyes of hers, full of so much wonder and innocence. He hoped it would never fade. She would giggle with excitement and look at her own mark, a swirl of color on her inner arm. She swore since she was young that it looked like two birds flying together, but he couldn’t see it. Not that it mattered much as long as she was happy. 

“I bet they’re the best person ever! I can’t wait to meet them!” She happily babbled on, and he hummed in agreement, resting his chin on top of her soft hair and returning to the scattered papers on his desk, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper mixing with the sound of his daughters happy chatter. His chest swelled with a never ending fountain of love. 

It was a memory he went back to often as the years turned harsh and empty. In the moments when he felt just as isolated as that poor creature he told Charlie stories about so long ago. In the deadest moments of the night, when it was just him curled up in his far-too-large bed, he sank into those warm memories like a comforting embrace. But it hurt just as much as helped, a reminder of what he had lost and, he believed in his darkest moments, what he would never have again. 

Some nights he would glare at his own mark with red, tear filled eyes. Other nights, it was with a deep longing, the faintest of hopes he knew was pointless and painful. 

When the marks had started appearing so long ago, they appeared only on humans who were just born. Even when the shift happened, it still only appeared with the birth of the demon or angel. Those few who existed before the marks first appeared simply did not get one. For whatever reason, you had to be born with it. 

But Lucifer was not born with his. The only one to just have it appear, as far as he knew. He remembered little about when it happened, but he could vividly recall the sight of when it formed. It was a burst of color, like golden ink sliding up his arm from his wrist and dancing across the pale skin of his arm. He remembered the awe, the confusion, the anxiety, as those golden lines sank into his skin and settled into an array of gold, orange, and pink, like a sunset. It was beautiful, and terrifying. That was when he started wearing the gloves. It was several days before they got the news from heaven about the marks appearing on non-humans.

Of course, he couldn’t hide it from Lillith forever. At the time he thought they had worked through it. He was adamant they could still love eachother deeply despite this mark. The likelihood of him even ever meating whoever this person was was next to impossible. She had his whole heart, his everything. And she seemed to accept it. 

But when she left so many, many years later, that mark, that damned mark, was at the top of her list of reasons. She could only spit out that she was clearly not meant for him as stormed out with Charlie in her arms, his little girl, his world, staring back at him with wide, fear filled eyes. 

And then they were just,,, gone.

He never thought much of the mark until then, his claws digging into the tainted skin as he sobbed and wailed through the night, begging to that being in that damned tower to take it away, to bring back his family. What was the point of it, of any of this?

Was this supposed to be a blessing or a curse? Everyone else considered it a blessing, a promise that someone was out there for them, a hope that they could one day find their better half. 

But there was no such thing for him. He had love, he had a wife, he had his daughter, everything he could ever want. All this damned mark did was take that from him, ruin his life. He was sure it was punishment for his disobedience. He deserved it after he cursed humanity to sin and evil. He didn’t deserve happiness, didn’t deserve love

Still, he couldn’t stop the anger that bubbled up as he sat alone in bed, glaring at the sunset of colors. The finger that was absentmindedly tracing the lines of color flexed, claw digging into his skin, a line of blood falling from the puncture and dripping onto the white sheets. His face twisted, a mix of fury and pain as he sank all five claws into his arms, tearing, Tears streamed down his face as a sob tore through his lungs. The sheets were stained in gold once more, and he almost felt sorry for the cleaning staff. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he keep himself together for fucking once in his life? 

He knew he was spiraling, but he couldn’t stop. It was only what he deserved, the pain, the injury. Eventually he collapsed onto the mattress, sobbing and gasping, staring at the mess that once was his arm. At least the mark was gone. And yet, he knew it would be back by morning. The damage would heal over and the mark would remain, the reminder of all his failings and downfalls, a reminder of just how worthless and undeserving he was of anything but pain and loneliness and disappointment. 

The bloodloss forced a heaviness on his body and his eyes slid closed, sleep finally taking him into a realm of emptiness.

[seokgyuu]

hi beloved mitchie :) my phone autocorrected ur name to mischief which seems very fitting hehe! so anyway. deekay who always begs you to sit on his face because he wants to feel you suffocating him as he drowns in your pussy and not just any deekay but specifically this deekay because he wants to feel you dripping down his neck

A/N: YOU ARE CRAZY. But of course, you ask I deliver. I hope you enjoy!

PAIRING: Dokyeom x Reader

GENRE: Smut MDNI!

WARNINGS: kinda sub!seokmin/dom!reader, usage of the word slut for seokmin, reader has female anatomy, begging, oral (f receiving), face sitting, squirting, multiple orgasms (f)

WORD COUNT: 1420 (I'm not joking)

Requests are open! Check out my 1k special!

Smut under the line.

“Please baby,” his voice is dripping in lustful honey, wrapping around your whole body and soul, pulling you down into its dirty trenches. Fingers press against your hips and you feel heat between your legs, a continuous throbbing that only gets worse the more you look at him. Tingles all over your skin, wishing to be touched, wishing to be worshiped. You bite your bottom lip hard, almost drawing blood as you let your fingers wander over his perfectly shaped face, reaching up to softly caress his carefully styled hair. 

“You just got here, my love, in your pretty outfit, with your pretty hair… and you already want to drown in my pussy? Is that all I am to you?” 

His eyes grow wide, hands pulling you closer as he rapidly shakes his head.

“No! No, of course not, my love. You are so much more to me, but… I need you, I want you so bad, I couldn't stop thinking about you all day. Would have been here sooner but because I couldn’t concentrate, the shoot lasted even longer…,” he almost whispers his words, his feet carrying him, having him push you against the wall, his hands sneaking down to your bare thighs. 

“And now I get here and you’re wearing nothing but my shirt, babe, you must understand-,”

“Oh, I must do nothing,” you interrupt him, a small grin on your lips as you let his hands wander regardless, your legs spreading for him, “I understand that my boy is a horny little slut that doesn’t have it in him to wait. Did the stylists allow you to keep that outfit, baby? Or did you just take off the second they called “cut”?”

Seokmin is kissing your neck, his one hand already between your legs, feeling the wetness that has already gathered. He moans when you call him a slut, his teeth sinking into your sensitive skin and you let both of your hands rest on the back of his head, digging into his scalp.

“I am… such a horny slut for you, babe, please let me eat you out, wanna taste you… drown in your sweetness, please?” His breath feels like a soft spring breeze against you, feels so comfortable and familiar and it makes your heart race and your cunt clench. You nod, not able to hold back any longer because he just looks too good and you’ve been craving his mouth on you for hours now. 

The second you give him the go, he is on his knees. Your panties are discarded on the floor and his tongue is licking through your wet folds, your head bumping against the wall as you continue to stroke his soft hair. He loves your taste. Loves the way you sound when he does certain things with his tongue. He knows you inside out by now, knows where to kiss you, touch you, where to put his tongue and for how long. He knows it and he does it. Flicks his tongue against your clit, fingers slipping through your lips, coating them in your wetness. He smells you and he tastes you and he feels you all around. His senses are you and there is nothing he wants more than for you to drench his face in your cum. 

“So, so sweet for me. So perfect, my love,” he licks up a stripe from entrance to clit before pushing a finger in, having you moan his name. His finger moves slowly at first, slowly but hitting you deep, your sweet spot engraved in his brain. He kisses your cunt, kisses it as if it was your mouth, tongue swirling as if it was dancing with yours. He sucks your clit between his lips, tongue around it in circles and you cry out, nails digging into his scalp once more. 

“Oh.. oh god, Seokmin,” you feel yourself nearing a first orgasm and Seokmin wraps his free arm around you, pulling you closer as he sucks on your lips, sucks on every bit of skin he can get, making such dirty noises with his mouth it gets your cheeks all heated up. 

Then he stops and you feel like crying. You look down at him and his eyes are telling. He is going to beg for something. 

“Baby… can you sit on my face? Please, I wanna drown in your sweetness“, he still pumps his finger inside you, adding a second one now and you gasp, nodding your head yes because there is nothing else you can do at this point.

You move to the couch, Seokmin on his back, still in his expensive photoshoot outfit, mesh shirt showing his toned chest and torso and you position yourself above him, thighs spread over his head. He licks his lips resting his hands on your ass as you sit down. The first times you had been scared to literally suffocate him - but he hadn’t been. He had begged you and he did so every other day. He simply loved your pussy, loved smelling it, eating it, feeling it. 

The second you sit down, he is back at work. Your moans fuel him, make him more eager. He squeezes your ass, and soon enough you know he is encouraging you to actually fuck his face. Biting your lip, you let your hands play with your tits, hips moving as he shoves his tongue into your hole, a loud whimper escaping your throat. Your juices are dripping down his face, his nose bumping into your clit repeatedly and you feel like you’ve reached heaven. Seokmin feels about the same. Nothing is as wonderful to him as this. His beloved partner on his face, riding his tongue like it was his cock. He puts his all into this, his cock straining against his designer pants that he knows he has to give back eventually. He doesn’t care though. Doesn’t care that you’re dripping down his neck, some of it probably landing on the pearl necklace and meshed top. He doesn’t care that he will give back cum drenched clothes and accessories - all he cares about is making you cum over and over again. 

Your first orgasm hits you a few seconds later, when his tongue is pressed against your bud and his hand grabs the flesh of your ass harshly. You ride it out, moans filling the air of the room that already smells like you. Seokmin doesn’t stop, he only works harder, wants you to let it all out, wants to be suffocated by you, by your cum, your taste and smell. He pushes you down, and you let out the loudest moan yet, hands gripping the armrest of the couch, hips moving frantically on top of his face.

“F-fuck, Seokmin! D-Don’t stop, oh my god,” you feel tears prickling, overstimulation kicking in and having your whole body shake. You know it won’t take long for him to make you cum again, to have you squirt on his face. You also know that that’s exactly what he wants to achieve and you’re more than willing to give it to him. 

Moving his hand, you soon feel three of his fingers pushing into you at once, your eyes rolling back and for a second you’re scared you’ll fall off him - but his other arm is quick to wrap around you, holding you steady as he fucks you with his fingers and sucks on your clit, your wetness dripping with no end in sight. Feeling another wave of pleasure, his fingers hitting you, stuffing you so perfectly, the familiar feeling of liquid shooting out of and drenching everything beneath you is having you cry out, actual tears spilling out of your eyes as Seokmin moans around your clit, drinking in all he can, lapping at the juice he deems as the tastiest drink there is. He can never get enough of it, almost like an addiction. A second orgasm follows straight away, black and white dots appearing in front of your eyes as you ride this one out as well, all while Seokmin has never been happier. 

The second you’re done, he lets go off your hip and you fall to the side, Seokmin catching you skillfully and pressing you against his wet chest. His whole face is covered in you, his hair wet as well and your heavy eyelids flutter open to look at him and smile sheepishly.

“You’re insane,” you mumble and peck his lips, having him giggle.

“I’m only insane about you, babe.” 

[x-reader-theater]

Help

summary: Ghost knocks on your door at 3 am asking for help with something.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Gender Neutral!Reader

word count: 1420 (nice)

warnings: mentions of anti-suicide chairs but nothing explicit is talked about.

a/n: i started this last night and finished it today while my head was hurting both times so sorry if this sucks. my requests are open and you can find my request rules here.

The clock turns over to 3 am, and you’re finally getting ready for bed when you hear a knock at your door. Now, if you were any other soldier, 3 am would be a terrible wakeup call, with only 3 hours left of sleep and probably having been in the middle of their REM cycle. But your insomnia just wanted to be different.

You get about three hours of sleep a night, four if you’re lucky, but tonight seems to be an unlucky, two hours of sleep at most for you. It’s fine, maybe some extra aches and pains in the morning or nausea that you can't get rid of, but you’ve been living your whole life like this. You’ve got used to it.

The knock sounds again on the door, and you shout out, “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, I’m comin’.” You throw open the door and, standing in front of you, is Ghost, just his simple skull balaclava on, hands behind his back. “Oh! Ghost! What can I do you for?” you quip with an inviting smile.

“I need your help,” he says, series, causing your smile to drop for a moment. It’s only a moment though, as when he pulls his hands from behind his back, your smile returns, though this time it's a relieved smile.

He's holding a set of clippers in one hand, and a set of hair cutting scissors in the other.

You open the door wider in a silent invitation to come in. While Ghost sets the clippers and scissors on your dresser, you walk to the closet and pull out the tarp you stole from one of the many storehouses on base. No one made any mention of it being gone, so they either didn't notice, or Ghost may have pulled some strings.

You hear Ghost taking off his mask on the other side of the room and keep your head tilted down as you lay the tarp on the once light grey, short carpeted floor of your room. You grab the desk chair that rocks back and forth when you set it on the tarp. An anti-suicide chair that probably doesn’t work very well.

When you look back up at Ghost, you’re expecting him to have a black paper mask over his mouth and nose like he always does. But his face is bare.

Your eyes glance over his scarred face, tracing the scar that you knew ran from his eyebrow down to his chin, but now you can see the whole thing unobstructed. It bisects his lips, creating a permanent frown on one side of his face. His nose is crooked from being broken over and over again, and there’s what looks like a burn wound in his cheek, like he was poked with a hot poker.

When your eyes meet his deep brown ones, you can see genuine fear reflected back at you. You smile at him, and watch as a light blush blossoms on his face.

“Have a seat,” you say, breaking eye contact to collect the shears.

When Ghost sits down, you walk behind him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp with your nails. His eyes close slowly, and you smile as he relaxes into the chair.

The sound of the clippers fills the room as you cut his hair exactly how he likes it. It hasn't been that long since his last cut, but you know he hates the feeling of too much hair underneath his mask.

You shear down the sides and back and switch off the clippers, setting them aside before taking the scissors to the top of Ghost’s head.

His hair is blonde and curly, and when cut too short makes him look like a Roman in one of those movies, or like Cupid. You like to keep the top just a little longer to combat that, even if Ghost doesn’t get it.

“Where did you learn to cut hair?” Ghost asks quietly, and your heart pounds as you hear his voice unobstructed by a mask for the first time ever.

Ghost asks you this question every time you cut his hair. You think it’s because he thinks other people don’t like silence like he does. You don't mind. You’d do anything to make him comfortable.

“My mother was a hairdresser. She would bring me to work when I didn’t have school,” you say, continue to shape Ghost’s hair. “She would teach me how to cut hair as she worked on clients. She didn't make enough money to support herself as she got older, and it got harder for her to take on more clients.” You tilt Simon’s head back, so he’s looking into your eyes. “It’s why I joined the military. Any money I make goes directly to her.”

Ghost closes his eyes, and you continue to work, but they open again when you pause, just looking into Simon’s face. Your free hand is carding through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. Your eyes are looking at his soft looking lips, and he bites his bottom lip for a moment before releasing it. You let out a small gasp as he does so, hand tightening in his hair ever so slightly.

The flush darkens on the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself leaning down slowly. Your head is pounding, and your heart is stuttering in time with your breathing. You’re moving slowly, giving Ghost time to move or push you away, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare up at you as you lean over.

Your eyes slip shut, and your lips meet his. His lips are just as soft as you thought they would be, and they part slightly in a gasp. After a moment, you pull away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, feeling your face heat up.

Ghost’s eyes flutter open, and he reaches up, grabbing at your wrist that’s connected to the hand still in his hair. You let go of his blond locks, and he pulls your hand down to his face and kisses the inside of your wrist. “It’s okay,” he says with a small smile, and your heart thuds in your chest at seeing Ghost smile for the first time.

You feel your face turn even hotter, and you just stare at him, wide-eyed. When he finally lets go of your wrist, you place it back in his hair again, coming through it as you cut it once more.

You can't keep the smile off your face as you shape the rest of his hair.

Finally, you put the scissors down next to the clippers and run both your hands through his hair, shaking it out to get as much cut hair out of it as possible. When you think it’s good enough, you take a step back.

“Do you want to look at it?” you ask, knowing what he's going to say anyway. It’s part of the routine.

“No, thank you,” he says, like always.

You nod and smile, waiting for him to stand up and get off the tarp to let you clean up. While he puts on his mask again and grabs his clippers and scissors, you move your chair back to its desk and fold up the tarp, so none of the hair gets out, before carting it into the bathroom to throw out the hair.

When you’re finally done with that, you walk back out into your room, and startle when you see Ghost is still standing there, waiting. You fold up the tarp and place it in your closet before walking over to him.

He’s wearing his mask once more, but the bottom is pulled up to his nose, exposing his mouth.

“Do you need anything else?” You ask. This is routine. Then again, neither was the kiss.

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Good-”

He cuts you off, leaning in and kissing you again. This time, he kisses back, placing a hand on the nape of your neck as you grab at the T-shirt that’s right across his shoulders. You lean into the kiss, trying to press your body to his, but eventually you need to swim up for air.

You pull away, panting, and your eyes flutter open as Ghost says, “Goodnight,” before kissing you quickly one last time and turning on his heel, walking out your door.

The door closes, and you stand there, watching it, and bring your fingers up to your lips, trying to

[bigsexiest]

Strange Rain Sickness

Rain's sickness is sort of vaguely described as "drying out". Do with that what you will. Swiss could've probably had a bigger role in this but whatever. I've been feeling somehwat brain sick and I thought this would be cute to write out. For some reason I've been second-guessing the validity of my work despite this being a completely anonymous account. I'm overthinking. I just need some cute ghouls to make me feel better. Rainy is so pathetic and Swiss is so hero. I love them so much.

word count: 1420

synopsis: Rain starts feeling hella sick and Swiss is there to save the day

The second the water hit Rain’s skin, he felt much better.

The pack had been rehearsing in the abbey. Nothing intricate, just making sure everything looked and sounded good. Rain figured he must have head-banged too hard or stomped across the stage too fast. He was drying out. He skipped his regular morning shower, expecting to make it through the day fine. Rain knew he would fall over if he did not come into contact with water soon.

Luckily, Papa had just called for a break. A strange tingling sensation had started in the tips of Rain’s fingers and slithered up his arms. The same happened with his feet and legs. His head felt as though they weren’t connected to his body. Rain was running out of time.

Leaving the stage, Rain practically threw his bass at a sibling of sin and ran as fast as he could toward the ghoul den. He didn’t care about returning. He just needed to get to water.

He couldn’t feel his legs, but he made it just the same. Flipping the light switch would have taken him too long so he hopped into his bathtub in the darkness. It didn’t matter, he could see in the dark despite his quickly blurring vision.

Turning on the faucet brought immediate relief. He blacked out in the pleasure. The sensation was reminiscent of falling backward or drifting to sleep after a day of hard work. The longer Rain existed outside the pit, the better he has gotten at not drying out. If he’s lucky he can go days without needing to submerge himself. Not that that happens often.

Usually, Rain stays comfortable by using the water from his showers. Occasionally he’ll use the lake. Rain will start drying out if he doesn’t submerge himself in water often enough. It’s a water ghoul necessity. Drying out has its own array of problems. It starts with a dry feeling in a ghoul’s mouth and on its skin. Sometimes these symptoms can be overlooked. If they are, the ghoul will begin feeling nauseous, lightheaded, and weak. These symptoms are much easier to realize. Finally, if none of these symptoms are managed, a ghoul can pass out and eventually even die. 

Rain doesn’t understand why he missed the warning symptoms earlier. It hadn’t been that long since he’d showered. Rehearsing had never been an issue before, nor did he think he was doing anything more strenuous than anyone else. Taking all of this into consideration, he had no explanation.

The water had filled up the tub and Rain finally turned off the faucet. His body was submerged up to his neck. Lukewarm water flowed in and out of his gills. He found it easier to rehydrate if he used them.

Quiet droplets dripping from the faucet had just started to lull Rain to sleep when a frantic knocking could be heard coming from the door to his room. Rain sat up but made no move to get up and actually answer the door.

“Rainy, are you in there?” Swiss’s voice stood out. It was loud and emotive. Rain liked knowing what faces the multighoul was making based only on the sound of his voice. The door to the bathroom was open so Swiss could hear when Rain called for him to enter.

From the bathroom, Rain saw the confused look on Swiss’s face as he looked for where the water ghoul was. 

Rain called to him again. “I’m in here.” He was so tired.

His eyes were closed when Swiss crouched down beside the tub. “Little ghoul, you don’t look so hot.” 

Rain made a noncommittal ‘mmhm’ noise in return. The original bliss of the water had started to wear away. It wasn’t as urgent, but he was still in pain.

“How long have you felt like this, Rain?” It was clear Swiss was no longer teasing, his voice was serious and concerned. 

There was nothing Rain wanted to do less than explain how he felt. Just listening to Swiss was making things worse. He wished he could just fall asleep until he felt better. 

Rain must’ve passed out. He doesn’t remember anything other than the excruciating wave of exhaustion after Swiss’s questions. He knows he hasn’t moved from the bath, but Swiss isn’t in the room anymore. Rain even leans forward to try and see if he’s in the main room anywhere. 

Rain wonders to himself if Swiss had ever been there at all. What if he had been hallucinating? Rain realizes he has to find help. The water might be making things more bearable, but he was not feeling any better. Something was seriously wrong.

Despite the various red flags raised in his mind, Rain forces himself to grab the edges of the bathtub and push himself to his feet. The cold water dripping off his body gives him a chill and he shivers violently. He wraps his arms around himself but the sudden lightheaded feeling he gets gives him an immediate headache. Through the extreme pressure building in his head, he wonders how he’s supposed to find help. He can barely see through the pain.

His clothes are plastered to his body and his hair is in his eyes. He feels pathetic and he can clearly see in his mirror that he indeed looks like a drowned owl. Shuffling across the floor is slow but anything faster might put him in his grave. The shivering rattles Rain’s body deep within his chest. He can’t take deep breaths without risking a coughing fit. 

Just as he’s about to reach for his doorknob to leave the room, Swiss barges in. His eyes are wide and panicked. Rain doesn’t see much, he closes his eyes trying to avoid being knocked over by the big ghoul. 

He can faintly feel what must be Swiss’s hands on his upper arms holding him up and guiding him to the bed. Everything sounds and feels like it's miles away. It takes a conscious effort to open his eyes and be present. 

Rain’s vision is still blurry but as he’s laying back on his bed he’s sure he can see what looks like either Omega or Aether standing next to Swiss. They’re looking down at Rain, Swiss looks worried but what now appears to be both Omega and Aether are trying to ask Rain various questions that he can’t understand. 

Rain tries to convey his confusion, but it’s just a mumble. The quintessence ghouls look at each other, but Swiss doesn’t take his eyes away from the water ghoul. 

Rain isn’t sure about how he ended up in Omega’s arms, being carried through the halls. He wasn’t very familiar with the ghoul. Rain only knew it was Omega because his scent was so different from Aether’s. Aether’s warm cedar and honey scent had been a comfort for Rain for the many years they had known each other. Rain’s eyes were closed but he could still faintly smell both Swiss and Aether under Omega’s scent. 

At his soft whine, he felt his hand taken up and held in the warm hand of another ghoul. Upon opening an eye a sliver, he could see Swiss still looking at him with concern holding his hand. He was jogging to keep up with Omega’s quick pace. Feeling safe despite the pain, Rain closed his eye and allowed himself to drift off again.

Waking up in the infirmary was never fun, but at least Rain didn’t feel as bad as before. He was still exhausted but seeing Swiss curled in a small chair beside his bed holding his hand filled his heart with a unique warmth. Soft snores were the only noise in the room. Rain wanted to cry out with adoration for the multighoul, but opening his mouth would be too much work. Instead, he let out a discomforting whimper loud enough to wake Swiss and squeezed his hand. When Swiss opened his eyes and straightened in his chair to check on Rain, Rain used the last of his strength to pull Swiss’s arm towards the bed. He scooched to the edge of the bed so Swiss could fit. There was a second’s hesitation in the multighoul’s eyes, but then he climbed onto the bed and pulled Rain close. Quickly drifting off to sleep again, Rain began to softly purr in satisfaction at being comforted despite being so sick. Starting the slow recovery process from the strange sickness, Swiss decided then and there that he wouldn’t leave Rain’s side.

[alovesongshewrote]

Baby Girl | The Lost Boys x Reader HCs

Plot:  ya call the boys baby girl. just to see what happens. [The Lost Boys x GN!Reader]

Word count:  1420 (nice)

Warnings:  implied horniness???? it's not that bad, it's just paul being a dingus

A/N: again, holy fuck i can't believe i wrote this. even more holy fuck, somehow, this isn't the stupidest thing i've ever written, and the most holy fuck, i think i might do one of these for every fandom i write for. wish me fuckin luck babes.

Marko

Marko finds it hilarious 

You saunter up to him on the boardwalk

Full of confidence and mischief 

You throw an arm around his shoulders 

Lean your weight on him

And you say

“Ok, where are we going, baby girl?”

Yeah, you don’t end up going anywhere, because he starts wheezing 

He just wasn’t expecting it, it caught him off guard

And then you have to stand there for five minutes while he laughs so hard he fails at standing

Boy is on his KNEES losing it at “baby girl”

And you’re just standing over him for a few minutes, ginning like a madman until you kneel down next to him

And holding back your own laughter

You say

“What’s wrong, baby girl?”

And he just falls over

And at that point you also fall over 

And both of you are just cackling at this dumb shit

It’s attracting attention, but neither of you care

Eventually the rest of the boys come back to find you and marko just

On the ground

Dying

And david straight up turns around and walks the other way

It’s great, it’s fantastic

You and marko call each other “baby girl” for at least a week

And you both die laughing every single time

Everyone else hates you but it’s so fucking worth it

Paul

He also finds it hilarious, but like

Slightly to the left

The two of you are also on the boardwalk 

Vibing

Waiting for everyone else to show up

And you’re sitting on one of the rails while he stands like, kind of in front of you?

And he gets distracted by something

As he does with startling frequency 

And you watch him for a few minutes

Admiring him

But eventually, you get bored with that, so you kinda 

Kick him

A little bit

Not hard 

It’s not enough to hurt him

(if you can even do that)

But it’s enough to get his attention 

He looks at you

And his eyes get really big and sad, like he’s silently asking, “Why did you kick me?”

Or alternatively, “YOU KICK PAUL?  YOU KICK HIS BODY LIKE THE FOOTBALL?  JAIL FOR Y/N, JAIL FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS”

Either way, you power through it

And you go

“Whatcha lookin at, baby girl?”

And this boy just

Lights Up

The sad puppy eyes are Dropped 

And They Are Replaced With The Horny Eyes.

He just

Leans into you

As he looks at you, scanning you up and down

His gaze is piercing and uhhh

It looks like he wants to Eat You.

And goes

“baby girl, huh?”

And you’re like

“Yeah, baby girl.  And you didn’t answer my question.”

Which like

You say it

And you are Aware that you are Playing With Fire

But fuck, the fire is fun to play with

And you won’t complain about getting burned 

So

When he takes another step towards you and like

Smacks a hand down on your leg

You just lean in further and go

“Are you gonna answer me, baby girl?”

Yeah, you get bit

On the neck

You fucked around and found out

You leaned in too far and you got bit

These boys, i swear, they’re animals 

Just fuckin biting

It’s a gentle bite tho

Soft

Teasing 

And when he pulls back he goes

“Doesn’t matter, baby.  All I can see now is you.”

And it’s so fuckin cute that you almost fall off the rail you’re sitting on

Anyway, yeah, you and paul also call each other “baby girl” for a week, but the context is Different 

Dwayne

Dwayne has a relatively simple reaction

The two of you are vibin in the cave

It’s dark outside 

So everyone else is out

And the two of you are alone

And he’s minding his own business

Lounging around a bit 

Reading a book 

And you

You are Bored

And you’re in the mood to cause problems on purpose, so

You slide in

Lean over him

And you watch him for a second

Tilting your head every now and then like a confused puppy

He ignores you

And after a few minutes of standing there, a plot comes to your wicked little mind

You lean in even closer

And you go

“Hey baby girl, whatcha reading?”

And he just

Looks at you 

For a second

Maybe he blinks once or twice

And you don’t budge, you’re just sitting there grinning at him

In silence

And then suddenly 

In the blink of an eye

He pulls you down onto him and into his arms

You quickly find yourself resting on top of him 

Using his chest as a pillow 

And this man

Does Not Wear A Shirt

So that’s fun for you

Anyway, he takes the book and just

Holds it above the two of you 

So that you can both read it

And he says

“Look for yourself, baby girl”

Which if you ask me, is the fuckin Height Of Romance, but you didn’t ask me, and that’s okay

Anyway, yeah, it’s cute

Fuckin

Adorable shit

David

Anyway, time for david

David is

Confused

By his baby girlification 

Like

He’s not mad, he doesn’t expect it

(Kinda like marko, but he doesn't laugh, he just sorta sits there)

It takes him a second to process, because the second the word “baby girl” leaves your mouth and floats his way, he blue screens

Like

David.exe is not working

The first time you do it, you’re in the cave with everyone else

And he’s sitting in his wheelchair, staring off into the distance like the brooding vampire man that he is

And you lean over him and go

“Whatcha thinkin about, baby girl?”

And he just goes

“What?”

And like

I don’t think you can actually say that he says what

It’s more like he breathes it out while his eyebrows furrow together and he shoots you the most confused look you have ever seen on his face

In part, he’s unsure that you’re talking to him

And in another part, you usually use more

Idk

Standard?  Pet Names? 

Darling, maybe sweetheart 

And he wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to weird pet names, it’s just that one time on the boardwalk you heard him call a potential meal “kitten” and you didn’t stop meowing at him for three months

So yeah, he didn’t see that one coming

It doesn’t help that the rest of the boys are there at the time, and you, marko, and paul just start chanting the word “baby girl” over and over again

Side note, i think the boys may have a thing for chants

Anyway

The next time you call him baby girl, he you catch him off guard with your sheer boldness 

It’s not the “baby girl” itself, it’s the words that accompany it

See, he’s drinking something 

Water, blood, whatever

He’s drinking it

And you look over at him and you just go

“Damn, you’re pretty thirsty tonight, huh baby girl?  We’ll just have to do something about that.”

And your tone is like, half joking, but that doesn’t matter, he still chokes on his drink

He coughs for like

A Good Few Minutes

And in those minutes you go from laughing at him, to panicking and patting him on the back

Congrats to you btw, you almost killed known horror icon david lost boys

Good for you

Anyway, he survives, which is good

Bc idk how forgiving the other boys would be of you committing manslaughter (vampire slaughter?) against david

(tbh, they’d probably be pretty forgiving given the sheer hilarity of the situation)

BUT HE LIVES, AND I DIGRESS 

The next time you call him baby girl is in front of max

And like

This is peak 0 brain cell behaviour for you, because you straight up aren’t even thinking about it

You see david in the video store

You walk into the video store

You don’t realize he is in the Middle Of Talking To His Dad

“Dad”

And you go

“Hey baby girl”

And then you wander off to the horror section 

Just

No thots given 

You don’t even notice david and max staring after you

You’re too busy looking at a copy of texas chainsaw massacre 2

And when they turn back to face each other it is literally that one meme

“David, why does (Y/N) call you baby girl?”

“Maybe we should stop talking for a while”

Overall 

David doesn’t mind it, it just fucking surprises him every gd time

You’d think he’d get used to it but nope

It always gets him

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 5)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: M (16+)

cw: canon-typical xenophobia

word count: 1420

<- CH 4 | CH 6 ->

Mr. Kruger isn’t in his room.

Which isn’t a bad thing, his schedule marks that it’s his free time so he’s allowed to be in one of the open areas of the hospital. Normally he stays locked up in his room despite it, so you’re happy to see that he’s out getting some fresh air for once.

However… you’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you want to make sure he gets a chance to try it before you’re found out.

There aren’t many places that he might be, so it doesn’t take you long to spot him in the courtyard. You watch him for a moment, from a stairwell on the first floor where a large window faces down to the lower level.

A tree covers half of the bench he’s sitting on, concealing the person that he’s talking to.

But he is talking, and it makes you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so you were glad to see him socializing. 

By the time you’re down the stairs and crossing the courtyard towards him his new friend is gone. Maybe they went back to their room or grew bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger is your favourite patient, he is a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He stares at the ground in front of him as you approach. 

“There’s a surprise in your room.” You tell him with a smile.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighs. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you think it’s humor, honestly maybe he’s being serious, sometimes you can’t tell) makes you laugh as you take a seat next to him.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway.” You point out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hums in agreement before he reaches for his crutch and uses it to support himself as he stands. 

Your eyes fall to the bench. “Is this yours?” You ask as you grab a baseball and hold it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answers as he starts to walk away.

You stand up and follow after him, flipping the old battered baseball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well.” You say.

He stops walking and looks over at you with one eyebrow (the one that’s visible through the bandages wrapped around his head) raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” You look down at the ball again. “You’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You meet his eyes.

Then you gesture to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiles. He lets out a short huff of amusement and then he keeps walking.

You don’t follow after him though.

You can’t.

Instead, you stare at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Your knees feel weak. Your arms feel like noodles. And for a moment, you wonder if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanks you for the tart and eats it right away.

He doesn’t smile again, but his eyes light up as he does.

That night, when you’re trying to fall asleep you take yourself somewhere nice. 

A warm house, just big enough for two.

Nice food.

And a comfortable bed.

You think of his eyes.

You think of his smile.

Rope…

…red spray paint…

…Eldian Lover.

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger have a routine.

Every morning you wake him up.

Give him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), check his vitals, and make your notes about his progress.

Then you help him change so he can go down to breakfast.

He gets free time for a few hours after that.

You make sure he eats lunch.

After that, he goes to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He’s normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he returns to his room and reads whatever he’d been given from the library. You’ve commented on his books a few times because they’re normally ones you’ve read- but he never wants to talk about them. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he’s been reading them at all. Sometimes you think he might just be staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time has passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he’s there for another hour.

After that he has dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it’s back to his room for his last dose of medications before you lock him in his room as he goes to sleep.

You chat sometimes throughout the day as you make his bed or check his blood pressure. And every day you notice he gets more and more talkative. 

He’s healing. That’s why he talks more now. He’s healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud.

But at the same time, selfishly, it does something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You ask as you pack up your small bag of equipment, now that you’re done changing his bandages. 

His eye isn’t healing as quickly as it should be. You’re worried about it, but it’s not your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and leave it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answers casually.

“What will you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence says everything. 

“I don’t either.” You tell him and he slowly looks over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You freeze, bandages half packed into your bag as it flashes through your mind.

Rope.

Flesh.

Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

A house.

A warm bed.

Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You shove the rest of the bandages into your bag and zip it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laugh.

“Hm.” Is Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone is dry and void of emotion, but you now know that’s how he tells jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answer back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you’re back to smiling as you take a seat on the bed next to him, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he says as he glances out the window, “maybe…”

You watch him as he stares out of it. Not to the courtyard below, or the trees that line it, or even to the street that runs beside the hospital.

He stares at the horizon.

And you can’t blame him for it, really. He knows what’s below him, but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He doesn’t look back.

“When you stare out that window and slip away, where is it that you go?”

His gaze moves from the window and back to you.

Your breath catches and you want to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you leave.

Instead…

You don’t look away.

Instead, you sit in a bed you shouldn’t be sitting in. Looking at a man you shouldn’t be looking at as your heart speeds up in a way it shouldn’t speed up.

There are a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it comes to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being the way you feel when his eyes meet yours.

But you can’t help it that your stomach flips. You can’t help it that your face feels warm. That your heart hammers against your chest. That you know why your body does this- why it’s always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

He’s still looking at you, a reply hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hope he’ll answer you. You hope he’ll tell you.

But instead, he says something else:

“...where do you?”

TAG LIST - [like this post to be added]

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[thelov3lybookworm]

Mine? (Part 6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: Panic filled tears and comforting embraces

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1420

A/n: hehe hope yall have fun. i didnt post this part earlier because i was waiting for someone to comment and ask me to post this part lol so when i got an ask about it yesterday i was like. mm yeah im posting this today.

(the next part is almost done so... if someone comments i might just pot it on monday 🤭)

anyways, enjoy!🤭😏

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

It had been mere hours since Y/n had arrived home. It was close to midnight when Y/n put Adelaide in her crib before making herself a cup of chamomile tea.

Y/n knew sleep was nowhere near her eyes because of the way her mind kept going back to Grayson and his words.

Did he really mean that? And if he did, was she making a mistake not believing him?

Did the fact that he hurt her matter more than her daughter’s happiness?

Y/n knew these thoughts were going to keep her up at night. She was not going to get even a wink of sleep, hence the chamomile tea. She’d found that out of all the things that were good for sleep, chamomile worked the best for her.

Little did she know that not even chamomile would help her tonight.

Just as she had finished rinsing her cup and placing it on the rack to dry, the loud jingling of one of Adelaide’s toys startled Y/n. She whipped around, her eyes searching around to see if something had fallen off by a wind she did not feel.

But no, this certain sound was from a toy that usually Adelaide held while sleeping, a little stick with bells attached to the end. And it came from the bedroom.

Did Adelaide wake up?

Y/n knew i was normal, but as she made her way to the bedroom where Adelade slept, she tried to push her loudly beating heart back in her chest. Alas, it seemed to be stuck in her throat.

Pushing the door open as her body continued growing colder, Y/n stepped up to Adelaide’s crib.

And what she saw had tears of panic dripping down her chin.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Grayson’s pov.

Grayson decided to get to the lounge and rest for a while, since he had more than enough time to spare. He wasn’t really hungry, so he walked over to one of the very inviting looking individual sofas and settled down, tugging his bag next to him.

He’d had nothing else to do, so he had decided that passing time at the airport would be better than staring at the ceiling of his hotel bedroom, wondering about Y/n and his daughter. The urge to go look at her one last time was too unbearable, and he knew if he stayed there for even a minute longer, he would give in.

His daughter.

A part of him still could not believe he was a father. It was so surreal. He had grown up with two younger brothers, and even thinking about it now, he could not comprehend how fast time passed. It felt like yesterday he had been holding a newborn Xander and today, Xander held Grayson’s daughter.

It was like a dream. A dream that felt too good to be true but you wanted to continue watching it nonetheless.

Expelling a breath, Grayson leaned back, his gaze drawing to the fluorescent lights that lightened the entire place. It was barely a moment after he laid down, still getting comfortable, when his phone rang.

He pulled it out of his pant’s pocket, nonchalantly staring at the screen. But then he did a double take.

Y/n.

He picked up quickly, his heart rate picking up when the crying from the other end stopped him from speaking. He remained paralyzed for a moment, then he called out his friend’s name.

"Gray-" hic "Grayson, I- I don’t-"

"Y/n? What happened?"

"Adelaide- she was turning blue when I came to check up on her, like- like she couldn’t breathe, and now-" she stopped, gasping, "she won’t stop crying. I didn’t know who to call I’m sorry-"

"I’m coming."

The shocked, questioning faces of the officials were priceless as Grayson demanded to be let out of the airport.

One particularly haughty officer had him telling them that his daughter was not well and he needed to go and so hurry the fuck up-

He drove like never before as soon as he had left the airport, deciding to shoot a text to Zabrowski as he had been the one to arrange for his car. It seemed like he was going to need the car for longer than expected.

He could not think about anything but reaching Y/n and his daughter on time. He was so focused on getting to them that he decided to just run up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

Grayson panted as he banged on the door to her home, feeling like it was impossible to take in a breath without his lungs burning up. But he didn’t have to wait too long as the tear streaked face of Y/n came into view and she handed him a screaming Adelaide without a word.

She moved away to let him in, sniffling. Her eyes were red, her skin flushed as she stared helplessly.

"I don’t know what to do I-"

Grayson shushed her. "It’s okay, I’m here now." He thought for a moment, then- "Sit down, Y/n."

She shook her head, a new wave of tears rising in her eyes. "I can’t."

Grayson stared at her for a moment, then nodded, turning his focus back to the crying babe in his hands. He needed to be calm because babies, Grayson had noticed, were very sensitive to negative emotions. He had seen his brothers laugh even when they had hurt themselves just because others were.

It took an hour, but eventually, Adelaide settled down, nuzzling her head into Grayson’s chest and staring up at him with big, watery eyes. Eyes that were his own.

He offered her a small smile, cooing. "There you go. You scared mama. You scared me too. But don’t tell your uncles that, they will bully me, okay?"

Grayson watched as one side of her lips ticked up in a sleepy smile, and then she drifted off, her breathing evening out.

The whole time, Y/n refused to sit and relax, constantly running into the kitchen, then the bedroom, trying to see if anything could calm Adelaide down. Bringing out her milk, then her blanket, then her toys. She kept moving, as if she slowed down for a moment, she would lose her mind.

Grayson knew the feeling well, not being able to stop moving because then he would feel helpless, but he understood how much worse this situation felt like to Y/n.

She was a mother, and not all mothers were like his own. They cared, they loved, and when they did, they did it with their whole soul.

When Grayson decided that Adelaide was really asleep, he set her back into her crib, then turned to Y/n. She stood at the entrance of the bedroom, her figure hunched, timid. Her eyes refused to move from the sleeping figure of her daughter.

She looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something much worse. In this case, her daughter’s discomfort. Her oversized sweater covered her palms as she raised them to wipe at her eyes futilely, sniffling. Her legging clad legs carried her closer to Grayson, and she stared down at the crib before meeting his eyes.

"Thank you-"

Before she could say more, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into his chest.

She remained still for a moment. And then all hell broke loose as she put her arms around him and clutched at him, her fingers tight around the fabric of his shirt in her fist as if she would drown if she let go.

They stood there, her sobbing into his chest and him whispering words of comfort.

Eventually, she sagged in his arms, still whimpering from time to time as he picked her up and carried her to her bed. When he moved back, her hand shot out, tears still pooled in her eyes.

"Please, stay."

He nodded, clasping the hand at his collar and kissing the inside of her wrist.

"I am going nowhere, sweetheart. I will sit outside. Rest for now."

She shook her head stubbornly, pouting. "Stay here." at the uncertainty that was clearly visible to her, she patted the space next to her. "I won’t mind, Gray."

Finally, he obeyed and climbed in after discarding his jacket, leaving him in his white button up shirt and grey pants.

As Y/n’s eyes fluttered, Grayson reached out to card his fingers through her hair.

"Sleep. We’ll discuss this in the morning."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Mine taglist: @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @blocked-zombieartist @lillycore @lanterns-and-daydreams @bubybubsters @berryzxx @riddlesb1tch @thena101 @imaseabear

The Inheritance Games Taglist: @dahliawarner @thena101 @yucanbmylxdy @sheisntyou @kitkatlover015

[slutouttanowhere]

Paring: Roman Reigns x Sabrina Richards™️

Warnings: none

Word count: 1420

a/n: So apparently y’all wanted a whole story, and originally I said I would only keep it going if Roman retained. Spoiler alert, sadly he did not. BUT I can’t let it go out like that, The Tribal Chief reign was one of the greatest in modern day Wwe history thus far. So, Gemini Moon: Chapter 1. Sabrina Richards is my oc that o created, I have my main characters pinned to my post. Like, reblog and leave comments. Throw the ones up one last time for our Tribal Chief ☝🏽❤️

I couldn’t stand by and watch Seth, and Cody get beat on by The Bloodline any longer, by the time I got out there, Seth, Jimmy, and Jey were laid out, outside the ring. Cody was being hounded on by Roman in the corner, I ran around their side of the ring. I tugged on Roman’s large arm as hard as I could to stop him, he reared back his fist, but froze when she saw me. I rolled Cody out the way; then I turned to Roman with my hands up pleading with him to leave Seth, and my brother in law, Cody, alone. He cracked up in laughter, his perfect, white teeth shining under the stadium lights. As quickly as his smile appeared, it left.

“Who do you think you are? Thinking you can step in here with The Tribal Chief.” Roman backed me into the corner of the ring. It hadn’t occurred to me when I came out here to try and pull him off Cody that I’d have to face The Tribal Chief. There was no way you thought you could overpower him, so I used the one thing in my arsenal I knew he wouldn’t resist. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, I pulled him into me, and smashed my lips into his. At first stunned he grabbed hold of my shoulders, but to my surprise, he leaned into me. I was so wrapped up in the softness of his lips, and the way he held me so closely, I almost forgot that I was supposed to be using this as a distraction.

That was until I was being ripped away, “What the hell are you doing!” Cody shouted at me, I could feel my face heat up out of embarrassment. He looked at me with wide eyes, his sky blue irises piercing through me. I looked back at Roman who was still shocked, stood right where I left him, his hand touching his lips. His eyes watching me, desire reflecting within them, and sending a chill down my spine. Everything in my soul told me to run, Jimmy and Jey were dragging themselves back into the ring, and when Roman took a step forward I automatically made a break for it. Cody grabbed Seth by the shoulders, and he clumsily stood to his feet. His eyes found mine, and his face morphed into a confused expression. They followed my lead as we retreated up the ramp.

“You never should have come out here! What if you got hurt, Brandi would have my head on a platter!” Cody fussed at me, I wasn’t hearing anything he was saying. My eyes remained on Roman who was now leaning over the top rope, and seemingly fighting himself not to chase me. I could still feel his warm lips on mine, I could still smell the hint of spearmint from his hair, and the phantom touch of his strong hands around my waist. The Tribal Chief had left his mark on me tonight.

When we finally got to the back, Cody and Seth pulled me to the side. A disappointed expression written across Cody’s face, he stood with his hands on his hips, and his head hung like a disapproving father. “Why in the hell, were you out there?” Seth asked, he still held the back of his neck where Jey kicked the shit out of him. I didn’t answer, I didn’t wanna have this conversation with Seth around, he would just laugh at me.

“Go on, tell him Sabrina…why were you out there.” Cody encouraged, my eyes found interest with the ground, and my fingers twisted together anxiously.

“I was just trying to help, I couldn’t stand by and watch you guys get rocked like that.” I tried to explain, for a moment I had Seth sold at least, and that was until Roman, and his Congo line of cousins came trotting in. Unlike Jimmy, Jey, and Solo, Roman wasn’t breaking a sweat. His hair was still neatly tied back in a tight bun, and his clothes looked fresh like he just walked out the house. Perfection.

“If by help you mean tried to get a taste of the Tribal Chief for free? Then yea, you definitely helped Sabrina.” He gloated, Paul Haymen stifled a giggle from behind Roman’s broad shoulders. Seth gasped dramatically, then slowly pivoted from Roman to me, then from me to Roman and back? I rolled my eyes, Cody hadn’t said anything, but he kept his gaze trained on the Royal Samoa tribe in front of us.

“You kissed him?” Seth finally asked out loud, as if the thought of me even looking at Roman in any kind of way disgusted him. I could feel my face heat up in embarrassment, I didn’t even have an argument, not a sensible one anyway.

Roman chucked deeply, his head lowered, then looking back up to me, his eyes darkened. Cody tensed up, at the same time Jimmy, Jey, and Solo stood at attention. “As pretty as you are, you try that again…” He trailed off, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a menacing smile, then said, “well, you know what they say?” He paused again, and even now Roman had us hanging on his every word. “Fuck around, and find out.” He growled out, he took a threatening step forward, and so did Seth. Cody pushed me by gingerly, his lips pressed together forming a line, an attempt to control his emotions. The boys had already gotten in trouble once for brawling in the back.

“If I may make a comment my Tribal Chief?” Paul Haymen cut in, Roman nodded his head in agreement without taking his intense site off me. “Might be wise of you, to reconsider who you do business with Sabrina Richards. I’ve done my research, and if it’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’ve got an immaculate track record of working with losers.” He grinned his trademark grin, and in never wanted to lay hands on a man so badly before.

“In other words, you need to come on over here and get you some of this Tribal Chief money.” Roman said bluntly, his eyes danced playfully, and his band of goons really seemed to have found that funny.

“Are you done yet?” Seth asked, a bored expression on his face; though if anyone knew Seth, they’d know he’s ready to pop off at a moment's notice. He was never interested in doing much talking.

Roman’s face scrunched up in disgust, he glanced around at his team, “the funny man thinks he can rush me, hmm.” He scuffed, then his eyes found mine as I stood meekly behind Cody, and Seth. “Tribal Chief money babygirl.” He reiterated, then flashed me a bright smile, and when he looked upon Cody for the last time, he just laughed at him. He signaled for his council, and then left the three of us standing dumbfounded.

As soon as Roman was out of sight, Seth whipped around to me, “you kissed him!” He was on the verge of having a fit, and honestly I’m surprised how he just hasn’t up and fainted all these years. The way Seth described how I make him feel is something close to retirement every week. It’s not my fault I stress him out.

“I was trying to help!” I squeeked, we began to bicker, and Cody tried to break us up.

“I said enough!” He shouted, stepping between us, and as if enough people weren’t staring at us, I was sure the whole back crew tonight had their eyes on us. Cody pressed his palms together, more than likely praying he isn’t the one to croak out right now. He let out a defeated breath, “let’s just, go on back to the locker room while we still have some dignity. And you Sabrina, should be thinking of ways to get your head back on straight on the walk back.” Cody spared me one last glance, then turned and walked off leading the way to our shared locker room.

“Ouuu, looks like somebody upset grandpa.” Seth teased, then danced off in the same direction of Cody. I restrained myself from slapping the back of his head, and followed behind with my head held down. Though the moment had long passed, Roman’s words reverberated in the back of my mind. “Come on over here, and get you some of this Tribal Chief money.”

[bardic-tales]

Title: Masamune

Pairing: Bianca Moore(f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: Cloud Strife, Barret Wallace, Tifa Lockhart, and Red XII

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1420

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Setting: FF VII OG, North Crater

Warnings: Abandonment, blood, body horror, child death (illusion), combat, corruption, dark magic, death, delusions, despair, distorted reality, graphic violence, hallucinations, hypothermia, injury, intense pain, main character death, manipulation, mental torment, mutilation, power struggle, psychosis, psychological abuse, self-mutilation, supernatural horror, torture, trauma, violence, weaponry.

Summary: In the frigid North Crater, Bianca and Sephiroth face off against Cloud and his companions in a chaotic battle.

Squared Filled: Masamune

Created for: Sephiroth Week hosted by @week-of-silver-winds

Author's Note: As always, please read over my warnings, since I list the general themes, too, in case there is any content that may be uncomfortable to my reader. This one features a battle and I can get somewhat descriptive in battle scenes.

Also, please be aware that there is a spoiler in here. I typically write with the OG FF7 events, but this spoiler can spoil Rebirth, too. So, please keep that in mind if you haven't finished Rebirth.

EXCERPT:

As she descended, she hovered just above the ground beside him. Her dark wings fanned out. Indigo and black feathers blended with the surrounding shadows.

“Sephiroth!” Cloud growled, as he stepped forward with the Buster Sword drawn. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt. “We’re taking you down!”

“Ah, Cloud. Such futile defiance.” Sephiroth sounded almost bored, while Bianca’s crimson-painted lips — the colors of Sephiroth’s favorite roses growing wildly outside of Kalm — curled upward into a sardonic smile. “You will only meet the same fate as others who dared to stand against us and Mother.”

The battle would be chaotic.

Below her, the icy winds of the North Crater howled around her, the harsh cold bit at exposed skin, reminding Bianca that they would have to finish this battle and finish it quickly, as her trade off for her ice powers was being more susceptible to hypothermia than an average human.

Snow whipped through the air, obscuring the jagged landscape, but she still saw Sephiroth remaining still and unperturbed. His argent hair flowed behind him like a river of moonlight, while his eyes glowed with a luminous intensity.

As she descended, she hovered just above the ground beside him. Her dark wings fanned out. Indigo and black feathers blended with the surrounding shadows.

Before them stood Cloud Strife and his companions: Barret, Tifa, and Red XII, their faces set in grim determination. Behind them lay the shattered remains of the path each had forged. Bianca could feel the desperation and grief wafting off of them like a delicious perfume. Aerith’s death still hung heavy in the air like a mournful wail, fueling the party’s resolve and Bianca’s strength.

“Sephiroth!” Cloud growled, as he stepped forward with the Buster Sword drawn. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt. “We’re taking you down!”

“Ah, Cloud. Such futile defiance.” Sephiroth sounded almost bored, while Bianca’s crimson-painted lips — the colors of Sephiroth’s favorite roses growing wildly outside of Kalm — curled upward into a sardonic smile. “You will only meet the same fate as others who dared to stand against us and Mother.”

“Bastard!” Cloud lunged forward, leading the charge. The Buster Sword clashed with Masamune in a shower of sparks, the sheer force of the impact reverberating through the air.

Sephiroth met each strike with an effortless parry, almost as if he was dancing with Cloud’s attacks. Each moment was graceful yet brutal, as the moonlight shone down upon them, making Masamune’s blade gleam with ebony and silver.

As she saw Tifa darting in from the side with her fists glowing with the energy of one of her last attacks, Bianca’s wings flared. Bianca raised her hand to the sky, channeling her dark energies before a swirling vortex appeared from the darkened clouds before the tornado’s funnel touched the ground. The dark wind lashed out at Tifa, engulfing her in swirling snow and blackness before sending the woman sprawling across the icy ground.

“Stay out of this, girl!” Barret roared, raising his gun-arm and unleashed a hail of bullets at Bianca. She was already in the air and on the move and twisted to the side to evade the bullets as an eerie silence surrounded her. Her wings left a trail of darkness in her wake, feeding on the vitality of the frozen air and their enemies below. She landed with a silent thump behind Barret.

“You should have turned back when you had the chance,” Bianca whispered, so softly, but her voice carried her deadly promise. Tendrils erupted from her back, writhing in the air as they pierced they pierced the leader of AVALANCHE.

Barret screamed in horror as his vision blurred. The world distorted around him until it twisted into the nightmarish visage of Marlene, bleeding and broken. His baby girl lay on the snow before him. Her brown eyes stared up lifelessly at Barret while her hair dripped with gore. Her blood was a sharp contrast between the purity of the snow and the gruesome horror of a child laying dead.

“Marlene!” Barret sobbed as he fell to his knees before Marlene and held her to his chest. The fleshy tendrils attached to Bianca continued to pulsate and pump its visions into the rowdy man.

As Sephiroth withdrew Masamune. Cloud’s blood dripped off the point and onto the ground. “Let me remind you of that pain five years ago. Pain that you will never forget.”

Cloud gritted his teeth, staggering back, but Tifa sprang to his side, unleashing a powerful uppercut aiming at Sephiroth’s chin. The attack grazed him, but he stepped back just another to avoid the brunt of the blow. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed.

As Tifa prepared for another strike, Bianca vanished in a blur, reappearing beside the other woman in an instant. Swiftly, she grasped Tifa’s wrist, wrenching it back with a satisfying snap. Using the momentum, Bianca twisted sharply, threw Tifa off-balanced, and sent her to the ground once more.

Without hesitation, Bianca wiggled her fingers, conjured a warding around herself and Sephiroth. The star-drenched barrier surged into existence, shimmering with the cosmos to endure any incoming attacks.

“Barriers won’t save you!” Cloud shouted, leaping back into the fray. He unleashed his power, his sword movements becoming a blur of strikes aimed at both Sephiroth and Bianca.

With a single look at Sephiroth, she released the barrier. He surged forth with a single fluid motion, blocking Cloud’s frenzied blows, as he deflected each strike with deadly accuracy. He countered with a sudden thrust of the Masamune, piercing through the blond man’s defenses. The blade carved a shallow cut along Cloud’s cheek before being drawn back. The long, slender length still dripped with blood.

“Still clinging to life?” Sephiroth mocked.

Bianca descended beside Sephiroth now. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and distorted the forms of Sephiroth and herself into multiple phantoms. Each copy mimicked their moves and powers. The illusions advanced on Cloud’s group. Their shimmering forms added confusion and dread.

However, Red XIII and his sense of smell caught her off guard. With a snarl, flames encircled his jaws as Nanaki barreled forward, aiming at Bianca. Her wings snapped outward in a powerful beat, sending a corrupting wind toward him, but he leapt through it.

As Nanaki’s fangs sank into Bianca’s leg, a sharp, burning pain shot up her limb. The sensation amplified by the heat of the flames licking at the beast’s jaws. The bite was quick but deep, tearing through muscle and grazing bone before Nanaki pulled back.

The wound bled immediately. Dark crimson rivulets poured from the jagged punctures, staining the icy ground beneath her. The blood glistened in the faint light of the crater. The pain radiated through her leg in waves. It twisted into something darker as the corruption in her veins — her father’s influence — stirred inside of her, feeding off the injury. She clenched her teeth. Her breath was ragged for a moment, as she struggled to keep her balance. Her wings beat furiously to steady herself before her regeneration created a small patch of flesh over the puncture marks.

The rage flared within, mingling with the agony as her skin patched itself. Her eyes glowed with intensity as she turned towards the creature. The edges of her vision blurred with darkness as she channeled the pain from her regeneration into Noctemaris, the demonic tachi. She would make Nanaki suffer for daring to wound her.

Sephiroth’s eyes flicked towards Bianca, a brief feeling of concern burnt deep within the bright gaze, but she ignored it. They both gave each other a subtle nod. Without hesitation, Bianca flew upright into the sky, twirling until she reached the correct height. Blood rained down upon them as the wound still continued to heal. She folded her wings against herself and dove towards the ground.

Striking the craggy floor with Noctemaris, cracks opened from the point where the sword penetrated the Earth. The Lifestream tried to surge to protect itself, but Noctemaris’ shadow-tinged arc sent out a shock wave that rippled outward from Bianca, forcing Cloud’s group to scatter.

As the dust and snow settled, Sephiroth stepped forward. His leather boots crunching on the ground and Masamune gleamed in his hand.

“You are nothing but insects struggling against the inevitable,” Sephiroth murmured to the group before him. Sephiroth murmured to the group before him, his voice filled with certainty. “And here, in this place, you shall finally understand despair.”

Her gaze lingered on Sephiroth and Masamune. The blade was awe-inspiring: beautiful, with the silver contrasting against the black metal.

“For you, Sephiroth, I’ll tear this world apart,” she whispered, her voice carrying with it the weight of her dark promise to the man she now viewed as a mate and a god. Her gaze lingered on the Masamune as if it were a sacred relic.

This battle is far from over, Bianca thought. But in North Crater’s frozen heart, the power of Sephiroth’s weapon and her loyalty were undeniable. The world would tremble before them, as they would make sure that the world — and the Omniverse — would experience its rebirth.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @seastarblue @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

@chickensarentcheap

[withmychainzon]

i promised yall small updates and today i sat down and wrote 1420 (blaze it) words

about half way to the word count i normally try to hit before edits

[haee-elia]

spence-tober: day 8 - indie director

pairing: indie/small film director!spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: in which a director asks to capture your little piece of heaven on film

word count: 1420

warnings: fluff, unintentionally flirty spencer

spence-tober masterlist

It wasn’t often that you had the time to sneak off during the week and just relax on the end of the pier. It was small, but that’s what you liked about it. To be completely honest, it was one of the main selling points for your small cottage house. The ability to walk a small distance on a clean and tidy cobblestone path and make your way to the lakeside where your own private pier was waiting for you.

The waters were never too rough and although you didn’t fish or boat around, just having a small picnic or taking a chair out to sit and relax was enough for you.

And that was exactly what you were doing right now. Your foldable chair was setup, you had a small tote bag with some baggies of snacks and your kindle for some light reading. You had gone out early in the morning with having everything packed last night so all you had to do was drag yourself and your chair out to the small dock in the morning.

Judging by where the sun was, it was now early afternoon and you had been out on the pier for several hours now. It was incredibly peaceful.

“Hey, darlin’!” 

Until it wasn’t.

The sound of your neighbor, Leigh Anne Lockley, broke the silence of the calm waters hitting the wooden structure of the pier. You didn’t have anything against Leigh Anne, in fact, she had helped you get an in with the seller of your cottage to help lower the price for you. The older woman was your next door neighbor and often brought over her baked goods and vegetables from her garden. You, in turn, helped out with any problems including finding someone to vacate the bats in her attic, getting her set up on Tinder, and hooking her up with all the streaming services since the RedBox machine at the grocery store had gone away.

Despite your afternoon alone on the small quaint pier being disturbed, you turned your head around, still sitting in your folding chair, to look at her. However, she wasn’t alone.

A taller man was right behind her. He looked to be around your age if not a little older. With light brown hair gleaming in the noon sun and glasses on his chiseled face, you were suddenly glad it was so hot out because you were sure you must be blushing.

The man was wearing simple high waist dress pants coupled with a simple small striped button up, however, it was the set of headphones around his neck and a walkie talkie clipped onto his belt that confused you.

“Hey, Leigh Anne, who do you have here?” You responded back. You moved to take off your sunglasses from your face so you could see the two of them in a better light.

Leigh Anne gave you that hundred watt smile and gestured her hands over to the man, who moved his hand to wave at you, “This here is Spencer, sweetie.”

It definitely wasn’t one of her children or grandchildren, you thought to yourself. Leigh Anne had pictures of them posted all around her house and often talked about them enough for you to be familiar enough with their names. 

You waved back and exchanged your own name, “Is there something I can help you with, Spencer.” 

He went to speak, but it was Leigh Anne who opened her mouth first, “He’s a director.” She said, like it was some sort of big secret or god-like status, “He’s shooting a film just over the lake there in the woods.” She pointed out over the water and on the other side of the lake. 

At least you knew what the headphones and walkie talkie were for now.

Spencer spoke this time, eyes making contact with yours, “That’s right,” He confirmed, “I was over on the other side of the lake when I saw this pier. I was wondering if I could convince you to let us shoot a scene or two here another day this next week.”

Leigh Anne took a step back so Spencer couldn’t see her out of the corner of his eyes and gave you a not so subtle wink and a thumbs up. You blushed harder.

“I’ll leave you two to talk about all this.” She said, removing herself from the conversation, “I’ll be back over this weekend with some snickerdoodles, sweetie.” 

You watched for a moment as she departed through the pathway and then focused your attention on Spencer, still standing on land rather than the wooden dock.

“You’re filming a movie?” You ask to confirm.

He nods, “Yeah, just a small indie film.” Spencer brushed it off. “I wasn’t too sure how to find out if this land was owned or not, but I was knocking on a few doors and Ms. Lockley informed me that this pier is yours.”

This time you nodded, “Came with the property.”

“Is there a way I could convince you to let us film here sometime next week?” He asked again, “I could give you a small compensation or we could draft a permit with some rules. I promise we wouldn’t be a bother and it wouldn’t be a large setup. Just five or so people during sunset or sunrise.”

You stood from your chair and walked over to Spencer. “How long would you be using the pier for?” You asked curiously.

“We’d just need a day. Probably wouldn’t even take up the whole day.” Spencer answered you.

You nodded, thinking about it, “And you wouldn’t be doing anything damaging to the surroundings or the wildlife?”

He shook his head, “No, not at all. Just a few talking scenes on the pier with the lake and woods in the background.”

“Alright,” You agree, “I’ll give you permission. You don’t need to give any compensation either.”

He grins, “Thank you, I really appreciate your cooperation.” He shakes your hand. “It’s a really beautiful place.” Spencer looks out behind you, admiring the scenery.

You nod your head with a fond smile on your lips, “It is.” You turn back to Spencer. “So, you’re the director of the film? Is this your first or have you directed before?”

“I’ve directed before, mostly small stuff. I just really love having beautiful backgrounds to compliment beautiful moments.” He answers, looking down on you a little bit. 

Spencer stands taller than you, with his lanky but lithe figure, and as he’s staring down into your eyes, you feel your heart beat a little faster with his words.

You look away, bashfully, “That’s really nice.” You swallow down the nervous cough in your throat, “Would I be able to see the movie when it releases?”

He hesitates, “Unfortunately it probably wouldn’t get a theatrical release.” He responds. “But, I wouldn’t be averse to giving you a private showing.”

Your face is burning red now and you can’t imagine this man in front of you is staying oblivious to what his words are doing to you. 

His brows furrow and he inspects your face, “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.” Spencer comments, his hand almost moving to touch your cheeks, “Is it the sun?” 

You nod fervently, “Yeah, must be.” You deflect, “Forgot to pack sunscreen.”

My god, you think, he really doesn’t know the effect he has on you.

Spencer seems to accept the answer you gave him and retracks his hand from your face. He then glances down to the leather wrist watch he wears, checking the time. 

“I actually have to get going,” He sighs, as if he doesn’t want to leave you, you muse.

He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from his back pocket and scribbles on it quickly, “Here’s my number, you can call if you have any other questions.” Spencer has the audacity to wait for a moment and look at you with a small grin before finishing writing down his information, “Or, for anything else.”

You think you might need to splash your face with some of the water in the lake.

He hands you the slip of paper and jogs back up the path, but not before he gives you a wave goodbye. 

As you stare down at the piece of paper in your hand (in which he’s included a derpy written smile next to his name), you can hardly hear anything over the rapid beating of your heart.

You definitely need to thank Leigh Anne later.

a/n: this is probably the flirtiest spencer i've written thus far and i love it. i want to write more flirty spencer and i have a few more prompts and aus that i think would work with that.

[itsohh]

The Other Man's Ring

A/N: Female reader, looking at doing a couple of like linked oneshots sorta situation cause I like writing specific scenes but not an enitre story to go with it

Summary:  When Simon finds a hidden-away engagement ring he decides the pair of you need to talk.

Word count: 1420

Warnings: None

AO3 Masterlist Series Masterlist

He was normally relatively quiet. Prefering to watch and listen rather than to talk. At least that's how he was most of the time on base. In the field, he was one to take charge when needed and typically when he was alone with you, willing to speak up in comfort. Yet his current silence worried you. Sure sometimes he was just silent around your house but it was the fact that the pair of you had been in the middle of a conversation that concerned you.

"Simon?" You put the final dish from the dishwasher away and closed it. You wiped away any access water and poked your head around the corner. "Simon?" Again you called with no response. The short walk to your bedroom- now shared bedroom- seemed to take forever until you finally rounded the corner into the open door. "Simon, did you find my spare phone… charger?" Your voice trailed off as he stared at the small item in his hands. Your brows shot up at the sight of it, you didn't realize you still had that there.

"Are you married?" His voice was without emotion and at first, you thought to be offended, that you would ever cheat, but you bit back the knee-jerk reaction. An engagement ring was hidden away… you could see how his mind would run of all possibilities.

"Almost." You shuffled into the room and sat down on the large bed. It dipped under your weight and soon Simon followed your lead. It was a decent size rock. Diamond. Most likely cost a small fortune. "Long ago, maybe a year or two before I met you. I was in love." You glanced up to meet your lover's eyes for a second before your eyes fell back down to the ring that twirled in his fingers.

"I was young, well younger than I am now. He was great. Funny, charming, pretty and had one of those American accents that I loved to make fun of. Admittedly not terrible in bed either. Well, that's before my standard was raised." The pair of you lowly chuckled at that last part together.

"Even though we were both in the military, we kept our work completely out of our lives together. Hell, I still don't know what military he works for. It worked and we were in love. I worshipped the ground he stood on, crazy for him. He in turn took care of me, a doting boyfriend who eventually became my fiancé. The classic story."

"I presume things didn't work out?"

"Well after we got engaged we talked more and more about how we wanted our lives to be after we got married. We both soon discovered that we had rather different plans. I wanted to pretty much stay the same, maybe have a house together. But Phil? He wanted to protect me. Wanted me to leave the military. There wasn't any pressure for kids or anything." A sigh left your mouth. "Insistent on the matter. Sure, he wanted to keep me safe, but safe doesn't keep me happy. Eventually, after all the arguing I broke it off. Honestly, it wasn't really messy or anything. We just… moved on with our lives."

"He let you keep the ring?"

"I think both of us forgot about that one."

"That one?" He cocked a brow at you.

"Well, this is the ring he asked me to marry him with. I never wore it unless it was around the house. I don't know if you noticed but it's super unpractical." Simon tilted his head to the side in agreement, it was a bulky rock. "Eventually, he gave me another engagement ring. This time with the diamonds embedded into the band so I could wear it under my cloves at work." Your shoulders dropped for a moment. "Would have just preferred a blank ring, never cared for gems but Phil was Phil. He liked spending money on me." Simon passed the ring to you and you started to fiddle with it in your hands.

"I remember when I gave the ring back to him he didn't want to take it. I think there was a part of him that secretly wished we would get back together. Maybe he didn't forget about this ring. I don't know. Sometimes I felt like didn't know the man at all. Ultimately I saw what he wanted to see."

"Do you feel the same?" Simon's eyes cast over your face as you gave him a slight look of confusion. "About me." He clarified.

"Mmm." You dropped the ring on your bed and ran a finger over his hand. "At least I can see when you're wearing a mask." The home had the corner of his lip curl up while you traced the veins on his hand. "It's different, sure there are things that you keep from me. Both personal and work-related, you have your secrets and I probably won't know every part of you. But I don't feel like any part of you is a lie. Perhaps an act when you get all grumpy with the recruits…" Your eyes flashed up to meet his and your face spread into a teasing smirk before you continued. "But never a lie. When it comes to who you are as a person. I know you." Voice soft, you let go of his hand and placed it on his clothed chest. Right where his heart was.

Simon's eyebrows had narrowed but it didn't discourage you in any matter. "I could be wrong of course. You could be a secret mastermind behind everything. Plotting my demise." Simon leaned back on the bed and picked the ring up before he placed it on your side table. The same side table that he had found said ring in.

"And if I was? Would you regret it?"

"My demise by your hand? What a way to go. Have I told you I love your hands?" You winked and he rolled his eyes at you. A hand of his snaked around your waist and promptly pulled you close. Half in his lap you cuddled up to his chest your laughter shaking into his body.

"You have. Several times in fact." He made sure to press a little firmer into your skin to enthesis his touch. His touch ran up and down your forearm. The light touch of his lips made contact with the top of your head for a second before he sat back again.

"What would you like to happen if we ever got married?" Simon's voice was a hum, his focus seemed to be on your body but his mind was one hundred per cent on whatever your answer was to be.

"Us? Married? Hmm. I didn't think you were the type to want to get married." Your voice was a tease, not completely serious but he could hear the question wrapped up in your statement.

"Only to you."

"Charmer." You rolled your eyes, a grin on your face that you couldn't contain. "Honestly, if we were to get married. I think I would like things to just stay the same that they are."

"How so?"

"Well, we have no reason to move out of our houses. You live in England and I live here. We just carry on what we usually do and just take turns on where we live. I can't see how it would affect work any more than it currently does." Your head turned up to look at his warm eyes. "What about you?"

"I think we are on the same page with this one."

"Oooh wait there's one thing I would change."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I think Sergeant Riley sounds pretty charming." His brow raised which caused you to let out a small giggle. "Or perhaps Dr Riley or even Mrs Riley if we are really striping it back."

"You want to take my name?"

"Why not? Man, it's going to make it soooo annoying and confusing when we are deployed together."

"You just want to stir chaos."  Simon's voice had a slightly deeper undertone to it, signalling his disapproval.

"Ah come on sweetie, it's not like anyone uses your name in the field anyway. I'll be Riley and you'll be Ghost."

"And if Johnny starts calling you Mrs Ghost?" Simon's question had you pause and physically cringe at the thought.

"Johns not gonna have a tongue for very long if he keeps that up."

"Even mute he'll never shut up."

"I can believe that."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Come Now, Little Duke | The Good Stuff

Okay, so if you can't tell I've been going through some of your stories again and catching up on updates and asdfjlk you're such an amazing writer! The personality you give the characters is so good it makes me want to scream and your prose? *chef's kiss* Is it alright if I hit you with another prompt? You've written a lot of Janus comforting Roman (which I love), but I just got caught up in Come Now, Little Prince (I think it just might be my favourite of your stories) and Janus comforting Remus filled my heart in ways I can't describe. Could we get more of our favourite danger noodle comforting, protecting, and being possessive of the trash rat? – twoalpacas

Read on Ao3

Warnings: gunshot, blood loss, passing out from injury, mentions of being on heavy painkillers/drugs

Pairings: dukeceit

Word Count: 1420 (it's what he would've wanted.)

Remus had never seen Janus fight before. That's why he's there—to get hurt for him, to do the dirty work, to pull the necessary levers and little administrative violences. But Janus was a breathtaking fighter. If Remus hadn't already been clocked rather hard on the head, dazed and on the ground, ready to pass out, he might have swooned at the sight.

The attackers dropped.

Janus was at his side in an instant, expression intent.

"You don't like getting your hands dirty," he slurred.

"I don't like losing my best operative either. Don't worry, I'll get you to clean the blood off my hands on your knees when you're not dying," Janus said, still a little too concerned to be his normal unflappable self, "restore the order of the universe."

Remus snorted and regretted it. Wounded was not good for laughing.

"Come on, then," Janus said, grunting as he slid an arm under Remus's back, "these new clothes are coming out of your budget if you can't get them clean."

An order was an order. He gritted his teeth and hauled himself up, an injured hand pressing against the gunshot wound. An involuntary hiss through his teeth as pain ravaged his limbs followed by a moment of surprise as Janus's body pressed warm and solid against his side.

"Stay awake until we get to the car," he muttered as they slowly made their way through the carnage, "then you can pass out."

Get to the car. Get to the car. Get to the car.

He was still conscious by the time they finally made it to the car, but Janus was practically dragging him to the door. Air passed weakly through his lips as he fumbled woozily for the door handle.

Janus's voice mumbled something but it sounded like it was coming through syrup. Pain fluttered like static across his field of vision and his head slipped down.

He opened his eyes.

A ceiling stared back at him. He blinked. Outside didn't have ceilings. He must be inside. But cars didn't have ceilings that looked like this. So they must be inside inside somewhere. Did he make it to the car? He hoped he made it to the car. Janus said to make it to the car.

"Good. You're awake."

Remus turned his head to see Janus pulling a chair up to the bed. He…how long had he been like this?

"You've been out for about an hour," Janus said, "welcome back."

Remus swallowed. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. "Why…why'm I so…sthlow?"

"A combination of your injuries and the sedatives, plus the gauze in your mouth." Gloved hands reached up to pry it out, leaving his mouth slightly less cottony, but only slightly. He blinked slowly. Janus tutted and reached back up, brushing a bit of hair from his face and whistling lowly. "They got you good, huh? I've never seen so much blood all over your pretty face."

If Remus hadn't lost so much blood, he probably would've blushed.

"Wha—" he tried to swallow some of the cotton— "wha'd Doc say?"

"Let's just stick to the good news for now," Janus said darkly, "which is that you're not dying anymore."

Oh. That was good news. As Janus stood and turned away, he remembered something. He gritted his teeth and started to get up.

"And what," Janus said sharply, "do you think you're doing?"

Remus gestured weakly. "Your hands."

"And what about my hands?"

"'M supposed to clean them."

Confusion furrowed Janus's brow until he realized what Remus was talking about and he rolled his eyes. "Get back in the bed," he said, exasperated, "you're not out of the woods just yet."

Oh. A bed. Is that was he was laying on> But his bed didn't look like that. Or feel like that. His ceiling didn't look like that either. But orders were orders.

Janus had disappeared by the time he lay back down. He blinked, still slightly woozy. Blood loss, probably. Or the pain. But he couldn't feel much pain right now. That was bad, right? When you couldn't feel that it hurt?

"Don't shift around too much," Janus said lowly, sitting next to him again, "just because we've got you on the good stuff doesn't mean you won't do any more damage."

He stilled, lying there motionless, until Janus sighed and shifted.

"I've never seen you this quiet before," he said, "outside of a stakeout or when you're asleep."

Remus didn't say anything.

"Here." Janus turned his head gently so it lay facing him. "There's still blood on you."

Remus just blinked as Janus started to dab at his forehead with a tissue. His brow was drawn in concentration, his gaze on his work. He caught Remus looking and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

Remus blinked. Several expressions flickered across Janus's face and he dropped the tissue.

"What is it?" he barked. "Tell me what hurts, right now. Did they wear off already?"

"'M sorry."

"Don't apologize, just tell me what hurts. Did you pull your stitches out?"

"'M sorry, Boss."

Janus paused, gaze darting all over Remus's face, before he reached out and cupped his cheeks in his hands. "Tell me what you're sorry for," he instructed softly, "and then tell me why you're crying."

Crying? Remus was crying? Oh. That was bad. This was wrong. Janus wasn't kind to him. Janus wasn't gentle with him. He was only kind and gentle when he was lying or when he wanted something. Maybe that was why he was being kind and gentle right now, because Remus did so bad.

"I did bad," he mumbled, voice catching and hiccupping a few times, "I—I did bad."

"What did you do," Janus asked, hands still warm on his face, "what was bad?"

"Y' said 'good stuff,'" Remus managed, "good stuff's only for…for when it's bad and—and if it's bad then I did bad. I did bad."

Janus's eyes widened. That was bad too, right? Yes. If he did bad then that meant it wasn't good and if it wasn't good then Janus would be mad and if Janus was mad then that was bad.

"Oh, you poor thing," he heard distantly before the warm hands were on his torso, "come on, now, up you sit. Sit up, just like that, that's it."

He couldn't breathe properly. Why couldn't he breathe properly? Breathing hurt. Breathing wasn't supposed to hurt. If he did so bad that breathing hurt then Janus would be really mad.

"Easy, now." Something warm settled on his abdomen. "Slow in down. Nice and easy, come on, relax."

But Janus was mad—

"I'm not mad, sweetie," the gentle voice said, "calm down, now."

The gentle voice began to lull him, breathing becoming less and less like dragging himself over razor wire and more like just inhaling and exhaling. The warmth settled on his face again.

"I expect my agents to fear me," he heard distantly, "but not like this. I don't like seeing you like this. If you're ever like this again, you come and you find me, do you understand? I'll make it better."

Remus blinked.

"…you can't understand a word I'm saying, can you?" The warmth passed over his face. "You poor thing. Oh, you poor, sweet thing…"

Remus let out a whimper as he was moved.

"Shh, shh, it's alright now. No more thinking for you right now. You go to sleep while the drugs wear off, okay?"

S-sleep? He could sleep?

"Yes, you can sleep. It's okay, just fall asleep whenever you need to. I have you." Something soft and slightly damp pressed against his forehead. "I'll look after you for now."

The last thing he thought he felt was something warm and wet cleaning the blood from his hands.

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