#would be very nice to see them one last time

[bi-writes]

polarity | ghost x f!reader

maybe we're not so different after all.

type: one-shot (8.3k), AO3

cw: this piece is actually super dark proceed with caution, dark!ghost, dark!simon, sunshine!reader, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence + gore, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, meet-cute until it's not, background breeding kink, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, references to simon's past canon trauma, 18+

Ghost does not believe in love at first sight.

The concept is for children; even when he was a child, he doesn’t think he would’ve believed it then, either. There was no love where he went, even to the places where it was owed to him. In his own house, he feared what love felt like. The kind he knew was pain and misery and the terrifying reality of what it meant to always be looking over his own shoulder.

Love at first sight chewed Simon Riley up—and what it spat out was terrible, big, and caged-off from the rest of the world.

Ghost is built of many layers. Not like an onion, no—onions are easy to manipulate. With the tip of a knife, you can cut right through its skin and tear it apart, but Ghost is not built the same way. He laid concrete out in front of himself a long time ago. The things around him are rotten, curled in on itself, and it would take too long to unbury him for anyone at all to want to spend the time and try. He prefers it this way. He likes it this way. Being alone means there are no surprises, and there is no one waiting for you. There is no one to disappoint, and there is no one to prove right or wrong. There is only today and tomorrow, because yesterday has already passed, and he doesn’t care to think about what already was.

It’s Johnny that’s brought him here. In a pub too loud, with watered-down drinks that cost a quid too much. He didn’t have an excuse today to turn him down. Johnny’s got a sister he needs to see, and his sister has got a friend—someone from her uni, taking the same chemistry courses, or something like that. He can’t really remember, he wasn’t paying attention too closely, but Johnny offered to pay if his lieutenant just gave him company in the long drive into the city.

The booth is too small. His bourbon tastes off. All he wants to do is smoke a cigarette, but he’s been staring daggers at the “No Smoking” sign that’s posted behind the bar. There’s a ringing in his ears that’s been following him since they got off their last op just a few days ago, and it feels strongest here in this room, with too many unknowns in too many dark corners.

“Johnny!”

A soft voice squeals. Simon’s eye twitches, and he looks over Johnny’s shoulder to see a pretty brunette with bright, blue eyes smiling wide as she hurries towards them. Johnny slips out of his seat to cradle the woman to his chest, rocking back and forth as he hugs her. His baby Emily, he hears Johnny mutter. She’s got that same square jaw and strong brows, and Ghost imagines that if Johnny were to grow out his hair, it’d grow in the same matching, bouncy curls that Emily has. She sounds so happy to see him, and Ghost swirls a gloved finger around the rim of his glass as he watches.

It tastes sour, looking at something that he used to have. He wishes that he didn’t want it as much as he thinks he does at this very moment.

“Oh! Sorry, forgot for a wee second there. This is who I told you about—”

Emily steps aside, and there you stand.

Glossy, pink-tinted lips. A cardigan that hugs your frame with a knit, sunflower pattern. Light wash jeans, baby blue boots. Your fingertips are painted glittery and pink, and your baby blue purse matches your shoes.

Emily says your name, and you hold out your hand for Johnny to shake. It’s then that your eyes move to the shadow behind him, and Ghost licks over his teeth, satisfied, when you visibly swallow and your eyes widen a little.

“Ach, don’t mind ‘im. Tha’ scary bastard is just my lieutenant, Simon,” Johnny nods his head over his shoulder. “Simon, would ye introduce yerself, fer fuck’s sake? Stop brooding over there.”

Naturally, Emily sits next to her brother, already squeezing his shoulders and excitedly telling him about some fellowship opportunity she was up for. You slip your purse off your shoulder, shuffling towards the space next to Simon. You grip the edge of the booth to hoist yourself up onto the high seat, and you smile a little when Simon holds out his hand for you.

You take it, smooth palm in his gloved one, and it takes no effort at all for him to tug gently and get you up to sit. He sniffs, looking up when he finds himself staring a little too long at the curve of your jeans, but it’s hard not to when both of you take up the entirety of the booth. Just to fit, Simon has to lean back, and you adjust your cardigan over your shoulder when Simon stretches one big arm out behind you.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat. “What are you drinking, Lieutenant?”

“Piss water,” Simon says lowly. He cringes a little at the bite of his tone—he never means to be curt, but it always comes out that way. You purse your lips, tapping your nails on the wood, and you look at him over your shoulder.

“Hmm,” you make a face, “so Johnny made it?”

It takes a few moments for Simon to realize you’re telling a joke. The silence must mortify you, because you’re looking down and tearing a piece of yarn out of your sweater, and Simon realizes he’s wearing his mask, and you can’t see his face, and she’s trying to break the fucking ice—

“Nah,” Simon shrugs, shaking his head. “His tastes more like right shit.”

Your eyes flicker up, and you stare at him for just a few moments under your lashes before your hand goes up to cover your mouth. You giggle, cheeks warm, and he blinks at you slowly as your entire body relaxes. Your thigh touches his, and his fingers flex on the hand that’s thrown behind you, twitching as he thinks about letting them graze the skin peeking out from under your sweater.

When he gets the urge to touch you under your chin, he nearly curses out loud because fuck—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon knows it as soon as he lays his eyes on you again. Staring right into yours, hand fidgeting behind you as it wants so desperately to cup the back of your neck and tangle into the strands of your hair—fuck, fuck, fuck—he’s so fucked.

He knows it, too, when you’re in his bed. Sunflower sweater draped across his floor, boots in the hallway, glittered nail-polish piercing his biceps as he tilts your head back, bares your throat, sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh there. You giggle, and it’s the rainbow after a storm. The drink of water after days in the desert, the stitch that holds the seams together, the pins that will take his broken bones and put them all back together again—

He’s feeling his cum dripping between your thighs when you ask him about his scars. He adjusts the edge of his mask as soon as you ask, sniffing under it as you smooth a finger over a puckered scar on his chest left behind by the ricochet of a stray bullet, one of many. You squeeze your thighs together when his long fingers move in squelching circles over your cunt, and your back arches when he slips them inside of you. You take his jaw between a few fingers and grip it tight, pressing your lips against his mask as you whine and kick your feet in overstimulation.

He doesn’t want you to ask questions. He doesn’t want to burst this bubble of warmth and goodness and intimacy that he’s created, because then this will be something else. Right now, he’s the mysterious, black ops military man you’ve spent an incredible night with, and if you start talking, you’ll learn. You’ll understand. You’ll find out why he doesn’t want to talk much. You’ll discover what he is under the skin he wears, and he already knows he’ll terrify you. There is nothing good about what someone uncovers under the lid he keeps over his head.

“Where did you get this one?” You point to a particular nasty white gash on the side of his ribs. He rubs a thick hand down your bare back, cupping your ass and squeezing gently.

“Op in Baghdad,” Simon murmurs. “Hand to hand.”

You touch a small circular scar on his arm.

“And this one?”

“Cigarette.”

You push the blankets down a little and bring your knee up. Simon grips the side of your thigh, and you hike your leg up to give him a better look at the puffed scar across your kneecap.

“Look at this,” you giggle. “I fell off my bike when I was little.”

“Tha’ right, swee’eart?”

“Mhm. Just like you.”

“Just like me.”

You’re still there in the morning. Cheek smushed against his chest, leg tangled between his, arm curled around his middle. There’s a little drool drying on the side of your mouth, and Simon thumbs along your jaw as he watches you sleep. The glittery eyeshadow you were wearing last night has smeared across your cheek a little, and you’re glowing. A good shag and a good night’s sleep, and you look like a right angel in the early hours.

You look like one on his couch, too. You look like one in his shirt that barely fits over your tits, watching his telly, eating the shit plate of eggs he made you since he’s never bothered to learn how to cook. You look beautiful getting your clothes back on and smelling just like him as he drives you back to your flat.

You look like his when he crowds you against the door of your place, masked mouth against your open lips as you fumble for the doorknob and yank him inside to get his pants off.

Your flat blinds him. There’s different colors scattered across the place. A fluffy pink carpet in the living room. String lights hung everywhere, in different colors, twinkling gently. There’s plants of all shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling and overflowing from their brightly colored pots. No plate or cup is the same shape or color or even matches one another, and there’s lamps in the shapes of mushrooms and fish sitting on your mismatched coffee and side tables. You collect everything—movie posters of all kinds on the walls, an entire wall of funny clocks, another wall of arts and crafts that must be homemade, framed and hung up.

Your home is what you are. Fun and colorful and happy and bright, and Simon hikes his mask up so he can bite and lick and nearly eat you as he tries to absorb all of it. There is nothing inside of this place that doesn’t incite joy, and he feeds on it like a leech. He must have it, because he never has before, and whenever he lets go, he feels it less, and that cannot happen, he won’t let it go.

If it isn’t your smile keeping him close, your pussy is the next best thing. You look incredible on your knees—perched on your elbows, ass up, pushing back against him as he fucks into you lazily. You’re so beautiful, in every position, but there’s something about getting to push your thighs apart a little and watch you take his cock that makes his belly clench as he watches you suck him in again and again and again. There’s a ring of slick gathering at the base, making it nice and easy for him to kiss your cervix, and you sound so pretty—soft whines of his name, little mewls that make his jaw tick.

“Simon—Simon, please—”

He doesn’t like to hear you beg. You deserve whatever you ask for, whatever you want. Those big eyes should never desire anything. He never wants to see you pout or blubber—he wants you relaxed and pleasured and incoherent from how fed you are in every aspect, and he’s going to fuck you right into this mattress until he gets you right where you’re meant to be.

You tell him he looks funny in your bed, surrounded by the squishmallows and fluffy teddy bears, but he doesn’t mind. He didn’t realize what a proper bed could do for his back, because yours has springs and memory foam, and his body just sinks into it just right.

He gets woken up in the middle of the night by his phone. Wheels up at 0500, and now he’s dreading getting into his truck. There’s something warm on his chest, and for a moment he thinks it’s you, but then he blinks into focus when the thing on his chest moves and stretches, staring down at him with curious green eyes. It’s a chunky tuxedo cat, and it’s wearing a black bedazzled collar.

“‘ello,” Simon mutters, scratching under its chin. The big thing just nuzzles against his hand before moving to the end of the bed to curl up between your feet.

Simon tries not to think about you on the drive back, and he tries not to think about you as he puts his gear on; but there’s a bouquet of fake sunflowers on a secretary’s desk mocking him, and when he goes to put his gloves on, there’s still glitter on his fingertips.

You are everywhere. You are in the warmth of the sand that gets under the fabric of his mask. You are in the water that sustains him on hour fifteen of sitting on a rooftop. He sees you in the bright red that trickles from the hole in his target’s forehead, matching the red of the strawberry plushie that you were holding the morning he left.

He notices himself more. How much space he takes up. How loud his voice is. He compares the way his cock looks in his hand now to the way it looked in yours, and he has to swallow the groan that threatens to break when he thinks about the way you thumbed at the tip and cooed about how pretty he was. Delicate, pretty hands, not at all like his own—not at all like the roughness of his palms, the scars along the backs of his hands, the blood against his raw knuckles from beating a hostile into the ground just to feel something.

Just to feel anything.

Standing next to you, it is all too clear what kind of man Simon Riley is. He’s not a man at all—he’s nothing more than an extension to his rifle, and when the trigger isn’t getting pulled, he’s just not that fucking useful.

Johnny is in a mood. Scowling like a brat. Glaring at the back of his head. Hitting him with his shoulder whenever they pass by each other. Simon is indifferent, and Simon pretends not to care, so he takes it in stride, but it makes his teeth ache with how annoyed he is.

“What the fuck is wrong with ye?”

He doesn’t like being scolded, especially not by his sergeant; but he sits there, and he takes it, because what Johnny is telling him isn’t a lie. There’s a girl that woke up in an empty bed—a sweet one, with glassy eyes, and she thinks he’s a two-faced asshole that slipped out when she wasn’t looking. A girl that can do casual, but not a girl that can tell him about the dreams she’s too scared to write down and lets him rest his head on the same pillow where she rests her own. Too intimate, too many words, too many times he came inside of her and told her that’s where it’s supposed to be—in y’r pretty pussy, baby, right there—

He’s never done this before. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t stick around where he knows he doesn’t belong, and he never thinks he’s done anything wrong enough to warrant some kind of apology. With Simon, you get what you get, and he doesn’t think he advertises himself as someone warm, empathetic, considerate; but he’s sitting here, his truck still running, and there’s a decaying plastic-encased bouquet of yellow tulips resting haphazard in the passenger seat.

He’s been waiting on your doorstep for more than five minutes. He sees you peeking through the window in your kitchen, and his eyes find yours through the blinds. He narrows his eyes at you, squeezing the bouquet until the plastic crinkles under his fists. It takes a couple more moments before you open the door, and Simon sniffs under the mask when he sees your eyes again. They’re big and wet and sad.

He never wants to see them like this again.

You’re sweet, so you take the flowers from him. You purse your lips as you stand there, trying to keep your lip from wobbling, but it’s very clear you’re trying not to cry. You hug the flowers close to your chest, and Simon brings his hand up, tucking his gloved fingers under your chin and tipping it up.

“‘ello, swee’eart,” he murmurs. “Were y’lookin’ for me?”

“N-No.”

“Y’r a bad liar, baby.”

It takes a few minutes to get you settled. Sitting on your couch, batting at your tears with the sleeve of your sweater as Simon turns the kettle on in your kitchen. The cat weaves between his legs as he steeps the tea bags, and when he comes back into your living room, you’re staring at the droopy tulips, rubbing a thumb over the petals.

“‘ere,” Simon murmurs, setting down a mug in front of you.

“I…” You wipe under your nose. “I-I don’t need your pity, Simon.”

“Not here for tha’.”

“I know Johnny said something to you, and I really don’t want to talk about it—a-and if that’s why you’re here, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

You pick up one of the stuffed animals that sits on your couch. It’s a goldfish, fat with stuffing around the middle, with a comical smile and rainbow-colored scales. You hug it, resting your cheek on it, staring at Simon through wet eyelashes as he stiffens uncomfortably. Crying, emotions, talking—he doesn’t do any of these things. This complicates things. Relationships make things more difficult, and connections mean he has obligations, and he’s already seeing now what this kind of thing will be between you.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“He did say somethin’,” Simon mutters. He sniffs, looking down at his gloved hands. His fingers curl into fists as they rest on his thighs, and he lets out the breath he’s holding harshly, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing here, but the thought of getting up and leaving seems worse. “Didn’t sit right wit’ me.”

You tuck your legs underneath you, and he watches as you absentmindedly knead the stuffed fish. You hum lowly, sheepish, and then you open and close your mouth as you try to find the words to say.

“I know we…” You flinch a little. “It was just…I know it was just a day. A night.” You rub your nose. “I feel so stupid. I don’t want you to feel bad. I don’t want you to feel…like you h-have to come here and…explain, I…” You close your eyes. “I-I just…I really like you, Simon.”

I really like you, Simon.

He leans his head back against the back of your couch. Something in his chest squeezes tight, and he swallows hard as he listens to you say it again and again in his head.

I really like you, Simon. I really like you, Simon. Don’t you like me?

“Oh, love,” Simon breathes. He turns his head to look at you, and you’re already looking at him. You have the fish to your chest, hugging it tighter, and he reaches over and touches under your chin gently. “Y’don’t want this. Y’don’t want me. I know y’think y’do, and ‘s sweet, but y’don’t want this.”

“Tell me why,” you say softly. “Convince me, then.”

“Do you…do you even know wot we do?” He asks. “The kinds of things they ask us to do? Wot I’ve done t’get here?”

You shake your head, and when his hand opens up, your cheek finds his palm, resting there, nuzzling.

“We’re murderers with fuckin’ passes,” he whispers. “There isn’t a line we don’t cross. No boundary we don’t ignore. They killed my whole fuckin’ family, and then I came back for more, because tha’s the kind of life I live, and tha’s the kind of work I do. When I come home, I have someone else’s blood on my clothes, do y’understand tha’?” He leans closer, touching his nose to yours. “We go places tha’ no one comes back from. Even now—” He pinches your chin between two fingers, “—I strangled someone with these very hands, love, tha’s the kind of man I am. Look at me—”

You flutter your lashes, meeting his eyes, and he shakes his head.

“Tha’s wot I do, love,” Simon grunts. “And the worst part of it is tha’ I fuckin’ like it.”

You lift a hand up and wrap it around his wrist. There is no resistance as you draw his hand off your face and hold it instead, intertwining your fingers and resting them in your lap. His hand dwarfs yours—long, deft fingers and spread palm that covers your own completely. You scoot a little closer, getting up onto your knees, and Simon’s eyes follow you as you abandon the stuffed fish to put one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his masked cheek.

“You didn’t say no.”

“Wot?”

“You won’t say no,” you whisper, sliding the hand on his shoulder up to caress the back of his neck. “To me. To this.”

“Because I can’t,” Simon groans. “Need you t’do it.”

“But I…” You lean down and press your forehead to his. “I-I do want it. I want you. You’re…” You kiss him through the mask, a soft press of your lips against his. You feel him kiss back, and you pull away slowly. “Please. Please, Simon?” You kiss down his cheek, thumbing under his eye, and he lets out a shaky breath as you fall into his lap, knees on either side of him. His hands come up easily, cupping under your thighs, and you whine as he drags your hips forward, a slow grind that makes you shake. “Won’t you try? For me?”

Getting Simon into your bed is too easy. He looks nice here, underneath you. You press down onto his chest for leverage, using it to help throw your hips back against his. He’s deep, pulsing inside of your cunt—your rhythm stutters every time he touches your cervix, but his tight grip on your ass keeps you moving.

You’re so wet. You’ve never been wetter with another man. Sweat, tears, slick—every part of you leaks when you’re with Simon. You dig your nails into his chest, and he grunts, when you start to feel your orgasm creeping up on you, you arch your back to get friction onto your clit and squeal when Simon gets the hint; he lifts you up and plants his feet against the bed to fuck up into you and force your eyes into the back of your head.

He tastes like you after awhile. After spending days in your flat, his kisses start to taste as sweet as the pastries you make, and he starts to smell like the citrus soaps you keep in your bathroom. You get a whiff of lavender from his clothes after using your laundry detergent, and he sleeps like the dead after round two inside of you. Cum cooling between your thighs, mouth fixed to your throat, fingers stuffed inside of you to keep warm as he breathes in a sigh of relief until he’s deep asleep. He still doesn’t take his mask off, but he gives you his mouth, and you fix yourself there, mouth against his, kissing him feverishly whenever he exposes his lips just for you.

“Will you miss me?” You ask. He’s standing at the door, pulling his jacket on. He flips the hood up over his head, clicking his tongue as he fits a hand into the back pocket of your jeans and squeezes, pulling you towards him and into his chest.

“Mhm,” he mutters. You giggle, cupping his cheeks, and when he puts his thumb between your lips, you let him open your mouth, tilting your head as he spits onto your tongue before kissing you wetly. You wrap your arms around his neck, charmed bracelets jingling as you try to climb up to him. He bends, gripping you under your thighs before he hoists you up and against the wall. You moan, scratching along his back.

“Do you really have to go?” You whisper between kisses, and he hisses in response.

“Got to,” Simon sighs, but you smile wide when you hear the sound of his belt buckle. “But I can be late.”

Like you, Simon feels like he’s seeing the world for the very first time—all in color. Food has taste. Views have beauty. His gun feels heavy, and his cot is cold to the touch. Time finally has duration—it hangs and drags now, minutes and seconds taking too long as he sits in a dark room and listens to his captain explain an op he could care less about. His leg bounces impatiently, fingers twitching as he watches the screen and tries to pay attention.

Complicated. Difficult. Not enough and too much.

You are so beautiful. Your name lights up his phone, several pink and yellow emojis beside your name that you entered yourself.

we miss u! xoxo

There’s a picture of you and your cat. You’re seated on your couch, a pink blanket in your lap, a selfie of you holding up your cat in one arm. Simon clenches his jaw when he sees that you’re practically naked—in just a yellow lace bra, blanket covering your lower half. You send another picture after a few seconds, and Simon licks over his teeth. Another selfie of you, cleavage on display, and he can see the little rhinestones that are sewn into your bra. He can also see the little butterfly clips you have in your hair and the darling smile you wear.

He comes in his fist later, selfie on display in one hand, his mind on the sound of your voice. It’s never happened so fast—just a few languid tugs, and he’s spilling over his thighs like a teenager.

It’s all he thinks about. The blood runs warmer, easier. His gun fires quicker. He’s got tunnel-vision now, eyes on his prize—the sooner he finishes, the quicker he gets home, so he sinks his blade into throats and keeps his feet moving. He keeps quiet, keeps steady, and as soon as he’s got his target in his sights, he pulls the trigger without a second thought.

“Got somethin’ on yer mind, LT?”

Simon narrows his eyes. Johnny looks smug—a ghost of a smirk on his face, face red from sweat and his own cheekiness. Simon just leans his head back against the side of the helicopter, looking outside as the ground gets farther and farther away.

“Never pegged ye fer the type.”

Simon’s hands dig into his rifle.

“Always liked tha’ one,” Johnny continues. “Got a sweet face. Always wondered why she never liked me. Guess she likes ‘em big ‘n scary.”

“Careful, Johnny,” Simon warns, glaring at him.

“I just��”

“No, listen ‘ere,” Simon snaps. “We don’t talk about ‘er. We don’t mention ‘er. She is off limits, to you or anyone else. As far as y’r concerned, she doesn’t exist, yeah? Repeat it back t’me.”

“Don’t know who yer talkin’ about, LT,” Johnny says after a few moments. Simon looks away, shaking his head.

“Good boy.”

He doesn’t go back to his flat. There isn’t anything there that he wants; everything he needs leads straight to you. You’re cooing when he comes through the door, murmuring lowly as he drops his duffel bag and shoves his masked face into the crook of your neck. He crowds you against the door when you shut it, and you giggle as he takes deep breaths of your perfume. His hands grab at your waist, sliding down the backs of your thighs, feeling over the soft skin and biting at your throat even through the mask.

“What happened, teddy bear?” You mumble, scratching the back of his neck. “What did they do to you, huh?”

Dog, mutt, devour. He’s been away for too long, been starving ever since he left, and you take it with a smile. Simon is never too much for you. Simon is never too rough or too loud, and he is never too far into your space or too attached. You drink it so lovingly, and you never push him away.

He watches you carefully as you help him take his gear off. You start with the weapons. You slip the gun out of its holster on his chest, emptying the chamber and taking the magazine out. His grip on your waist tightens at the sight of you handling it with such ease, and you just shrug as you set it aside.

“I’ve been practicing.”

You unload all of his throwing knives, from his thigh holster and from inside of his boot. You find another small pistol attached to his boot, and you sigh as you unload it the same. Your hands find the buckles of his thigh holsters, and when you slide it off of him, you settle on your knees and tip your head back to look up at him.

He caresses the back of your head, and you swear you hear him purr. You lean forward, pressing your cheek to where his belt is. You kiss there, right against his zipper, and his fingers tangle into your hair just enough for you to feel a little pressure. He’s still gentle, still kind, but his eyes are so dark. You wonder if the way he looks at you now is the way he looks at his targets. Is this hunger the same—the same for you as it is to get the job done? They say love and hate are so alike, so intertwined; is that why he keeps coming back? Does he chase this feeling all the time?

What is it that you are?

An addiction? Or a necessity?

You take his dirty clothes from him as he undresses in the bathroom. Shirt, jacket, belt, pants, socks, boxers—you eye him with a smile, biting your lip, and Simon winks at you from under the mask as he slides a big hand down his middle.

“Wot?” He asks. “Like wot y’see, love?”

It would be impossible not to. Thick arms, tattoos on display. Unforgiving muscle and fat. His hands ungloved, you can see the split of his knuckles and the bruising from where he must’ve hit something—someone. Then your eyes skim over the curls just over his cock, which hangs heavy and red between his thighs. Simon has no shame—his nakedness is not something he cares to hide, especially not to you. You stand on your toes and gives his cheek a kiss before taking his clothes to the laundry room.

You’re at the sink when he’s freshly showered. There’s a bottle of peroxide next to you, and you’re wearing gloves, and he watches as you have his pants half in the sink as you work on scrubbing at the fabric.

“Wot ‘appened?” Simon asks. You hum, shrugging, ringing out a bit of the fabric.

“Just some blood. I’ll get it out. What do you want to eat for dinner, baby?”

Simon thinks that’s the moment he knew he was in love with you. Hair pinned back, baby pink matching lounge outfit with the tiniest shorts he’s ever fucking seen, scrubbing out the blood from his clothes as you talk about supper.

He knows he was fucked from the moment he met you—but it’s now that he knows he’ll never leave.

He’s reminded again of that feeling when you call him angrily from your flat. He’s pushing a trolly in the store, eyes sweeping over the selection of chocolate in the baking section. You were baking chocolate scones and would be making some ganache tomorrow, and he’s squinting at the paper you gave him with your list when his phone starts ringing.

“‘ello, love?”

“Simon, are you serious?!”

“Wot happened?”

“There’s—Simon! There’s a grenade in…in the jar!”

“Wot’s tha’?”

“The jar with my powdered sugar. I found a grenade in there!”

“Oh. Mmm. Right. Leave it there.”

“Simon! And are you taping ninja stars under my tables? I found two already!”

“Dunno. But sounds like someone ‘ad a good idea, wanted t’be prepared, y’should leave them there.”

“Simon, you are—” There’s a pause, and then he smiles under the mask when you laugh. “Just get my chocolate and get back here, please.”

You have no idea what Simon was talking about. You don’t understand what it is that he was running from. There’s so much of himself that he was meant to show to someone else. He’s been hiding for so long, and not just underneath the mask he wears—but there’s a man under it all, and you love when he comes out to meet you.

Maybe he is a little terrible. Maybe he really is just the thing you don’t need. You think about that a little too long when the water in the sink runs red again, his shirt an entirely different color from whatever it is that he had done before he got home. Maybe he really is wrong for you—it crosses your mind when you’re dusting the shelves and find a loaded pistol in the vase that used to hold your apology tulips.

He lives an entirely different life than you. He drags colors into your home that you tried so hard not to embrace, all the black and blue and grey that you’ve always felt could swallow your entire self—but you don’t know what the alternative is. There is no one else in the world that looks at you the way that he does. There isn’t anyone’s hand that feels the way his does when it’s against the side of your face or tangled between the strands of your hair or warm between your thighs.

You don’t think anyone else would mean it if they saw you crying and threatened to kill whoever had made you so sad; because he does mean it, doesn’t he? He would do it if you asked, wouldn’t he?

That’s love; you’re convinced it is. Love is the boundaries you say you won’t cross that you step right over without thinking. Love is the places you say you could never go that are already behind you. Love—real love—is the doorway that Simon keeps passing through even though he promises you that this is the last time whenever he leaves.

“Look at me—ha, Simon!—look here.” You fit the headband onto over his head, fitting the cat ears on top of his head. He grunts a little, sighing through his nose, and you warm up the makeup remover between your hands. Delicately, you start to rub it into his face. He closes his eyes, and you carefully work your fingers against his skin as the eye-black begins to run easily. “Almost done.”

You use a warm cloth to wipe his face. The eye-black comes off, but the scars remain, and when he opens his eyes, you know that you haven’t really taken anything away from him. There’s still something that weighs heavy on his shoulders, and you lean forward to get closer to him, keeping your voice quiet.

“What was it this time?” You ask, putting both hands on his face and keeping his eyes on yours. He blinks, and he goes somewhere else. He’s thinking about it. There’s something he’s looking at, somewhere far away, over your shoulder.

“He begged me not to,” Simon murmurs. “Told me their names.”

Moms. Dads. Partner. Children. They always have names at the end—as if attaching themselves to another will make their deaths harder. Men are singular beings. Rarely are they life support for another.

“It’s okay,” you tell Simon. You close your eyes as you rest your cheek against his.

“It is?”

“Uh huh.” It’s so warm here, arms around him, face tucked against his. “I forgive you.”

It’s okay. I forgive you. Everything is just as it should be.

“Y’don’t know wot I did,” Simon counters. “Wot I…got outta him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. You squeeze the towel out, wetting it again with warm water before passing it over his face again. You hold him under his chin, catching the droplets of water, and you smile as you kiss his nose gently. “It never does. Never will.”

“But—”

“I made your favorite,” you interrupt, plucking the cat ears off of him and tossing everything into the laundry basket. “There’s brownies in the kitchen. I want you to try.”

Is Simon really committing heinous war crimes when his reward is chocolate decadence and wet pussy?

You look so cute. You’re wearing a flowery pajama set, tiny shorts and cropped shirt, something that leaves nothing to the imagination as he pulls the gusset of your panties to the side and sinks into you easily. You brace yourself against the back of the couch, sitting up in his lap. Simon groans when your tits are right in his face, pebbled nipples poking through your shirt fabric, and he reaches up to pinch them between greedy fingers as you sit right down on his dick and take him to the tilt.

“Fuuuuuuuuck—” Simon breathes. The wet squelch is making his head spin. His wet girl, his pretty girl, his sweet girl. He sharpens his teeth when he leaves, and you dull them when he comes home, letting him sink his teeth into you and eat. You keep him in balance; the push and pull that he always felt he struggled with is nonexistent now that you’re here. When Ghost used to get put back into his duffel, Simon felt like what was left behind was almost too much to take. The nightmares, the torture, the disregard for what was moral in favor of what got the job done—it is gone with you. Your absolution resolves him of this debt.

How can he feel he’s done anything wrong when you’re calling him teddy bear and taking his cock like this?

You drag the hem of your shirt up slowly, and when your tits are bouncing, bare and sweaty in front of his face, Simon loses his train of thought. His mouth falls open, tongue hanging out, and you cup the back of his neck to draw him close until his lips wrap around your nipple and suck. You whimper, keeping him there, slowing your hips to watch him let go for just long enough to spit on your chest and lick it right back up.

“Feels so good, teddy bear,” you whine. “You’re so big…” You wiggle your hips until just the tip of him is inside you, and then you sit back down, drawing out a long moan from the both of you. His hands fall to cup under your thighs, and you feel like you’re melting as his tip prods against a squishy spot inside of you and makes you see double. You grab onto his shoulders, digging your nails in, crying. “Oh—right t-there, baby—right there—”

“Right there, swee’eart?”

“Mhm! M-More…”

“My sweet girl,” he mumbles, and you squeak when he grips the fabric of your shorts, grunting as he tears the fabric apart. His fingers cup both sides of your ass, spreading them, using the new leverage he has on you to start picking you up and bouncing you with nothing but sheer strength. You’re thick everywhere that he needs you to be—hips, stomach, thighs, all the perfect places he hopes any girl he’s with will be. They never quite had it the way you do; when his fingers dig and feel nothing but softness, he hisses because it feels so good to grab onto you. It makes his mouth water. It makes him so fucking hungry. It makes his cock ache and his balls heavy, and he’s going to come if he keeps seeing your breasts sway like that as you take his cock so well. “Fuck—” He shakes his head. “Fuck!”

You lick into his mouth just as he loses control. Fingers under his chin, tongue around his teeth as he holds you down on his lap and fills you nice and warm. Your hips stutter, and he lets you lean back just enough so you can touch your clit and squeeze around him. You look down between your bodies, touching tenderly where you’re connected, like you’re fascinated by how much of him fits inside of you.

You settle after a few minutes. You rest your palms on his chest, squishy muscle supporting you as you lift your hips and let him out. You lean over him, whining when you feel fluid slipping down your thighs and gathering underneath you.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper as you slip your shirt back on. Simon hums as he holds you in his lap, cock twitching as he watches you move your hair out of your eyes and lick your own fingers.

“Got a lot on my mind,” is all Simon gives you. You let your knee fall open, and you use your fingers to swirl between your folds before you guide them up and into Simon’s mouth. He chuckles, taking them, and you lean forward to kiss his cheek just as you pull your fingers back out.

“You’re not supposed to think about things,” you murmur. “How many times do I have to tell you, Simon?” You cup one side of his face, making him look at you. “You could never do something wrong. Everything is okay.” You smile. “You believe me, don’t you, teddy bear?”

It’s so easy to believe you when you look at him like that. You’re so pretty—you always are. There is nothing terrible about your mind. Your brain isn’t rotten between the flesh as his must be. There is no blood forever under your fingernails, and you don’t sleep thinking about the graveyards you fill with your heavy hand. You don’t know what it feels like to have a gun burn in your palm, and you’ve never heard the screaming of someone who only has one limb left to spare. You don’t know how long it takes before a father will give up his children, and you’ve never seen your tombstone so clearly that the callous of your hands feel like the rock it’s made of.

Whatever you say must be true. Whatever you forgive him of must be good enough. There is nothing you cannot give, and there is nothing you can say that won’t be absolute reality. He feels like he poisons you every time he touches you, but when he takes his hands away, the skin underneath looks the same, and your smile never fades. You don’t bruise like other people do when he puts a hand on them. You don’t flinch when he raises his arm. You don’t scream when he comes close to you.

He hears your laughter wherever he goes. He’s kneeling now, bone digging into the ground as he lifts up his arm that holds a blade high. The bullet would be quicker, but this feels better. It pierces the neck, flesh giving away to its sharpness like a hot knife through butter, and Ghost licks over his teeth as he watches something sacred leave their eyes. For a moment, he feels bad about what he’s done. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, looking for his alternate reality.

I am no good. There is nothing good in me. I am not made of it.

There you are. Sitting on your knees between his thighs, cheek nuzzled against his jeans, sparkly, glossy lips curled into a wicked smile as you fist his cock and coo up at him. When you kiss his tip, you leave it shining, and then your tongue comes out of your mouth, and it’s over for him. There is a heaven inside of you. When you suck, his mind blurs, and his jaw aches with how hard he clenches it as you dip your head and take him deep. You whine because you like it. No one’s ever liked Ghost the way you like him. No one’s ever seen the mask and giggled the way you do. There’s no one that looked at the layers he’s made of and thought to use their fingers to lift them up to tuck themselves inside. His shell is not a barrier, it’s merely an illusion, and there you are—blinking up at him, bouncing in that sunflower sweater, wet eyes like diamonds. He feels warmth in his hands, and he thinks it’s from how hard he’s just come, but when he opens his eyes, it’s merely blood soaking into the fabric of his gloves.

The house is dark when he comes home. The cat is staring at him from her spot by the window, blinking slowly as he toes off his boots and passes by her with a soft scratch under her chin. He finds you in your bed, face against your silk pillow, wearing fuzzy purple pajamas and hugging a well-loved stuffed bear. Your nightlight is on, casting soft shadows of a moon and her stars, and Ghost finds himself watching you for more than just a moment. He stays there in the doorway, rooted to the spot, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you snooze.

You wake up when the bed dips from his weight. Groggily, your hand moves, searching for him, and when you find the fabric of his hoodie, you close your fist around it and pull him until he’s nearly on top of you.

You taste sweet. When you kiss, Ghost chases the sugar sweet that still lingers on your lips, and you seek the ash from the cigarette he smoked outside. Your knees fall open, and Ghost settles between them. Too big, but he forces himself there anyways, one big arm wrapping around you and under your back before he yanks it into an arch and bites against the side of your neck. Where he saw blood earlier, all he sees is the give of your skin under his teeth. Instead of begging, instead of screaming, he hears your soft whine, a breathy call of his name that makes his cock so hard, he has to yank down the zipper of his jeans before he cuts himself on it.

Where he saw death in their eyes, he finds nothing like it in your own. When he is inside of you again, he tells himself he’ll never leave. His body has new purpose, and this is it.

You’re sleepy all over again once you come. Draped over his chest, palm rubbing against his solid middle, legs tangled between his. You smile at him as he turns his head to look at you, and he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt to caress you at the base of your spine.

“Good day at work?” You mumble, snuggling into his side. Simon tightens his grip on your middle. When he feels the flesh squish under his hand, he breathes nice and easy. Just what he expected. Exactly as he prefers.

“Good day, love.”

“You got all the bad guys, teddy bear?”

Simon licks his lips. He thinks about who had the unfortunate opportunity of being at the end of his scope today, and he thinks about who it’ll be tomorrow. He likes this routine. It satiates something nasty in him, but he’s never been quiet about the way it makes him feel. It’s what drew you to him, wasn’t it? He told you about all the horrible things that exist in his head, and you’re still here, you’re still in his bed—it wasn’t enough to push you away, so there’s no need to hide this dark truth from you. If anything, you might want to go again.

His cock twitches at the thought.

“No,” Simon tells you, and you shrug, closing your eyes.

“That’s okay. There’s still tomorrow.”

Simon feels something ache under his ribs when you say it—like taking the words straight out of his mouth. You are so in tune, it would scare him if he wasn’t already convinced that you were meant for him.

But even if you weren’t, I’d chain you to this bed. Never let you go.

He wonders what color your blood runs. He doesn’t think it would be red—you’re too pretty to have blood be such a color. Maybe it’s pink. Purple. Maybe it’s yellow. Maybe it glitters just like the sparkles you love to wear.

Maybe it runs black. Maybe, underneath it all, you and Simon are one and the same. Maybe you are rotten inside. Maybe you’re an illusion, too, maybe what he sees is just a mirror-view, and the real you hides and plays your limbs with puppet strings and masks the horrible, terrible, evil things that live inside of you—

You pat his chest a little, pouting, an annoyed breath leaving you as you close your eyes.

“Go to sleep, Simon. It’s late.”

It is late. You’re right. Always right, his smart girl, always telling him how he needs to hear it so his mind settles and his body relaxes.

It’s okay.

Isn’t it?

I forgive you.

He can never do anything wrong.

Everything is just as it should be.

Everything is just as it should be.

[fishnapple]

Why will they choose you?

(future spouse/ lover/ partner)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

GROUP 1

The first thing they register about you is you're quite tempting to their eyes. Your physical appearance matches their type. Something about you is seen as ideal. They notice the effort you put in to look beautiful and they will always appreciate it. They want to get closer to you but somehow you elude their grasp, they can never fully get a hold of you. This will make them want you all the more. The mystique won't fade, there's always something to learn more about you, you keep them guessing. Understanding you will be their lifelong project that they might never complete, but they will try nevertheless. 

They like your confidence. You know your worth, you can be proud, arrogant even, but they still like it because it signals that you know the good things in life. You know what to look for, what to chase, what to keep, what to discard. They would imagine life with you will be easier, as you help them discriminate and open their eyes to the things that hold values to them. They will also be proud of themselves for having you by their side. Not as a trophy, but like a mighty ruler, and they're your devoted subject. They sense that, with you, they will be able to weather any storm, they can change for the better. Talking with you will nourish their soul deeply. You will change many of their perspectives. You let them peer deeper into subjects that they never thought they would be interested in. But through you, they will begin to ponder life more seriously and see more magic.

What's interesting here is that you will allow them to express various different energies within themselves in love without shame nor reservation. You make them want to work harder, to embody both the feminine and masculine energy and balance them to be a better partner. They inherently sense that you can provide what they're lacking, they can learn from you and they can complement you too. Your personalities could be very different, opposite even, but somehow, they believe that you guys just fit together nicely.

GROUP 2

This person has a conflicting desire within them that they might not be aware of. They seek both challenges and peace within a relationship. They want someone who can stand up to them, even putting them in their place when they get out of line, someone with enough fire. But they also want someone who is laid back and introverted. This conflicting desire puts them in a dilemma and oftentimes, they find themselves in an unfulfilling relationship. The people they've been with were either too fiery or too timid. But they will find their wish come true in you, that perfect balance. You're both nurturing and strong enough to stand firmly on your own.

One of the reasons why they will choose you is that you will come at the right time of their life, when they want to settle down and have a stable long term commitment with someone. They might have had a player phase, chasing the high of romance with fleeting connections, performing as an ideal love interest. All of this will begin to wear out their heart. They will seek a more lasting companion and a deeper connection with someone.

They will also begin to realise their contradictory wish in a partner and learn to be more reasonable and compromise. You will make the compromise part easier for them as you two seem to mirror and complement each other nicely. You will never run out of ideas to talk about with each other. Both of you will learn to be a better listener, both will feel more brave to explore and exchange ideas that you might deem too outlandish to talk with other people. There will be many things that you can both teach and learn from the other person, so your dynamic will be well balanced, something that they've always wished for.

GROUP 3

This may sound like a contradiction but your future spouse will choose you because you're so different from everything in their life, like a true outsider, someone who they don't expect or imagine will come into their life.

When you come into their life, this person will be in the process of self improvement, of getting out of their shell and be more brave. They have a lot of fears, they're timid and shy. But at one point, they will realise that they can't be like this forever, they will miss out so much, waste their life to a limited and fearful existence. They will actively seek to change, starting from their mindset. They will begin to chase after their dreams, rise above the negative self-talk and gossip from other people. Many will try to dissuade them from moving forward, to keep them in their lane, keep them small and fearful. But your future spouse will try their hardest to ignore that and continue to tread towards their goals.

They will realise the importance of networking and put more effort in connecting with people. While they may not actively seek a partner, they will feel a longing for their other half. Someone to encourage them in their new journey. That's when you step into the picture. They will intuitively sense that you present a healthy choice, that life with you will be just "right", that they will feel nourished and can grow with you. You're someone whom they can imagine living everyday with, as a part of their life. They seek improvement and mastery and you can help them do that. Maybe your habits, your mindset just fit theirs. They will feel like their wish was answered, by embracing changes, the universe will deliver the right person to them and they're you.

GROUP 4

You guys might be friends for quite a while before they develop romantic feelings for you and make their intention known. In the beginning, they might be the chaser and you're the runner. You're always out of their grasp, you don't seem to be too committed to them, maybe you might even entertain some other options. They're the opposite of your light attitude. They're very serious and ambitious. When they want something or someone, they will devise an intricate plan to get to their target, even when they have to play the long game.

Not going to lie, They're tempted to tame you, to make you see them in a different light and commit to them. You present a much needed lightheartedness in their life. They're intense, usually, when they're attracted to someone, they make their intentions known immediately and proceed with the relationship at a fast, decisive speed. But with you, they can't, they will need to access a softer part of themselves, be more patient and intuitive, and they like being that.

They could have some secret parts of themselves that they hide from the world. They project a very strong masculine energy, being active and not very emotional. But with you, they can express their other hidden part, the one that is nurturing and vulnerable. They feel like they don't have to try too hard, to prove a point or to be constantly in a defensive mode. They can display their childlike enthusiasm, their playful spirit with you. They can trust that you can be their friend first and foremost. 

[prettiestmini]

would you write professor!james kelly x student!reader where they’ve been eyeing each other for months & when she gets a bad grade he asks her to stay after class. she then seduces him (not much needed tbh) & he fcks her on his desk..🤭

FAILING

A oneshot ೃ࿔*:･

Professor!James Kelly x College!Student Reader

Warnings: foul language, spanking, fingering, degradation, doggystyle (over desk), clit slapping, tiny bit of spitting.

Hi! The dividers aren’t mine <3 but by @cafekitsune feedback is greatly appreciated! I suck, I didn’t fulfill the ask correctly </3

The end of the school year was nearing at the university, meaning you were about to get your masters. Between exams and the constant obligation to clock in every night, you had started to drag your feet a bit in Mr. Kelly’s class.

Your grades were normally pretty good.. it was robotics after all. And the tutoring sessions he gave after hours were.. pleasurable to say the very least. Now obviously you didn’t know that your grades in his class were slipping.. but he certainly did.

Nearing the end of the lecture while everyone took notes, Mr. Kelly looked up from his desk— immediately locking eyes with you. ‘ Y/n… see me after class.’ You quietly nodded, smiling at him like always but it wasn’t recuperated. Odd.. he always smiled back.

You eyed the clock in anticipation, trying to be patient. Your fingers drummed on the keys, idly writing the notes provided. The class was quiet, everyone tending to their own devices.

And finally, after what felt like hours— that esteemed bell rang. Prompting everyone to stand and pack up, slowly packing your things one by one. Taking your precious sweet time, by the time your bag was zipped the last person left the room.

Smiling, you strolled down the stairs to stand in front of his desk. ‘ Hi.‘ he glanced up at you, before leaning over to reach into one of his filing cabinets. Pulling out three pieces of paper, and laying them out in front of you. Before standing directly behind you. ‘ What do those say darling?’

�� They… say failing .. in red..’ You mumbled, looking away from the papers. ‘ uh uh, look at them’ he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing your head down. ‘ What does it say.’ Reluctantly, you read out the grading.

‘ Thirty-three percent correct out of one hundred.. sixty-three percent correct out of one hundred.. And— twelve percent correct out of one hundred.’ Your embarrassment was palpable, you could’ve sworn these were easy.

James leaned over, hard chest pressing against your soft back. His hands rested against the cold edge of the large mahogany desk, caging you in. His warm breath ghosting over your neck as he leaned into your ear. You stared straight at the board.

‘ Do you think because I bend you over and fuck your brains out during these sessions, that you can fail my tests?’ His voice was stern, but loud enough for you to hear.

‘ N-no sir..’ you stuttered out,, but hummed, ‘ Ironic enough, last session I was rewarding you. But I guess that won’t be the case this evening..’

James pulled away, walking around the desk and sitting in his chair. Legs spread nice and wide, glancing down for a moment before making eye contact. You stood there, waiting for him to give you directions.. and the silence was excruciating.

He tilted his head, gesturing for you to come here with his fingers. And you obediently walked over, standing in front of him. ‘ Bend over, hands on the desk. You know the routine.’

Leaning over the desk, pressing your chest against the cold mahogany. Your palms were flat under you, bent over to his piercing gaze. You could feel him eyeing you, and your heart pounded with anticipation.

The silence was extremely loud.. then you heard him rise from the chair. James was standing directly behind your form now, finger trailing down the curve of your spine. ‘ Perfectly arched.. that’s my girl, Atleast you can do something right.’

Your breath hitched at that, his hands pulling your dress up to bunch it around your waist. He chuckled, ‘ Well, look at these pretty blue panties..’ he traced the lace of the ends— pressing on the wet spot, before ripping the flimsy material off.

You yelped but stayed in place, his actions exposing your slick folds to the cold room. Shuddering, you exhaled softly. ‘ I’m so disappointed in you sugar.. now you have to learn.’ His large hand traced your ass, squeezing it.

Then suddenly, his hand cracked down onto your ass. Extracting a loud whimper from you, right ass cheek stinging. ‘ Count.’ He said it with no room for questions, and you ultimately obeyed.

His other hand harshly slapped your other ass cheek, caressing the red skin. ‘Two..’ you mumbled out, heat pooling between your thighs. ‘ You’re supposed be my best student sweetheart.. but I guess you’re too good for that huh?’

His hand harshly slapped your ass again, making your knees buckle. ‘ B-but I am—‘ he cut you off swiftly with another welt to your ass. ‘ I said count.’ Your lip quivered ‘three.. four..’ His big hands kneaded at the skin, it was soothing.. but didn’t last for long.

‘ You think it’s okay for you to not take my class seriously?’ Crack! Another cruel slap to your ass, your mind was getting fuzzy. ‘Five…’ you mumbled out.. Your folds were glistening with arousal. ‘ Such a whore, getting off on this.. ‘

James kissed his teeth, stepping back. He looked at your weeping pussy, needy hole clenching around nothing. ‘ Fuck.. look at you’ his fingers trailed down, gathering your essence on his fingers.

‘ You always do enjoy when I make this pretty ass turn red..’ his thick ring finger circled your hole before sinking in, your eyes immediately fluttered.. a soft whine leaving your lips.

‘ Fuck.. this pussy s’just suckin my finger in.. so greedy’ he slid his middle finger in, plunging them deeper inside of you. Curling them deliciously against that spot that made your eyes cross.

His fingers loudly squelched inside of your hole, curling and thrusting roughly. James’ thumb found your puffy clit, rubbing it in tight circles—eyes rolling back. ‘Nnghh..’ you moaned out

Your hole clenched and fluttered around his fingers, forehead pressed against the cold desk. Mouth sputtering out moans and mumbled curses, thighs shaking.

You were so so fucking close, the pressure building in your abdomen was about to burst— but he abruptly pulled his fingers out. You loudly whined, wiggling your hips at him. Causing a particularly hard slap to hit your ass, prompting you to stop.

‘ Dont rush me, you’re lucky I even fingered this pitiful hole’ his hand going back down to slap your clit, pulling a loud surprised moan from you. Hands gripping at the desk beneath you, with nothing to leverage yourself with.

And he did it again, slapping your clit even harder. Sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine, making you shudder. ‘ F-fuck..’ whining out, you were happily taking anything he would give you at the moment.

He pulled his hand away and you whined again, ‘ Be patient, or I’ll send your sorry ass outta here. I’m being nice today, unless you don’t want me to pound this little hole with my cock?’ You bit your lip ‘ I’m sorry sir…’

‘ That’s what I thought.’ James pushed his jeans down just enough, freeing his achingly hard cock. He leaned down and spat on your weeping hole, taking his cock and dragging it along your folds— smearing his saliva.

You whimpered, lightly pushing your hips back against his cock. He slapped your ass again, making you still. ‘ Relax.’ The head of his cock nudged your entrance, before sliding in with a delightful stretch. Your eyes fluttered, letting out a low moan.

James groaned, feeling your walls clench around him- practically sucking him further in. ‘ Fuck.. you just can’t wait huh?’ His hips snapped to meet yours, burying himself balls deep. Your lips parted in a silent scream, walls fluttering around him.

‘ Fuck.. this feelin never gets old..’ his hips rolled against your ass, he pulled back out until the tip remained— before slamming back in. Creating a rough and steady pace, one hand on your hip and the other pressing your cheek into the desk.

The lecture hall was filled with the sound of skin slapping and your desperate moans. Your mind was fuzzy, the only thing registering being the feeling of him rearranging your guts. ‘ That’s it, take it.’

Every drag of his hips was pure heaven, it was perfectly thick. Nothing could top this feeling of how full and blissed out you felt at the moment. ‘ Fuck.. this ass’ his hand kneaded your asscheek. His heavy balls slapping against your ass after every thrust, fingers digging into your hip.

You were so close already, James let his hand stray from your hip. Gripping your thigh to fold it and pin it up on the desk, and the new angle was divine. Your eyes fluttering closed, his pace sped up. Tip brutally abusing your cervix, his hands went back to your hips.

Pulling your hips back against his brutal thrusts, repeatedly hitting that bundle of nerves. You couldn’t formulate a damn thing, mind foggy and clouded over with pleasure. Mouth open and letting out moan after moan, needy noise after noise.

‘ Please sir— fuck.. I’m gonna cum- wanna cum so bad..’ your legs were trembling, you needed it so so badly. ‘ is that so?’ His hips sped up, he was close too. His balls twitched, hand going down to find your clit. Rubbing it in vigorous circles, making you see stars. ‘ Cum then, it’s the least you can do.’

Your body immediately responded to those words. Back arched against him, mouth falling open in a silent scream. You fluttered around his thick cock, creaming all over him. ‘ Shitt—‘ James groaned, cock burying to the hilt before thick spurts of cum spilled into you.

He sighed, pulling back to look at your hole. Pulling your asscheek back to see his masterpiece, a white ring was around the base of James’ cock. Sticky cum coating the shaft, he chuckled. Slowly pulling out of you, watching as the mix of fluids dribbled from your hole.

‘ You sure do know how to make a mess don’t you?’ His gaze lingered as it ran down your thighs, glancing up to see you slowly sit up from the desk. ‘ Uh huh..’ utterly fucked out, your voice was wobbly and quiet.

He pulled away, tucking himself back into his jeans. Giving your ass a light tap, James spoke. ‘ Good. now get outta here. And make those assignments up, have them on my desk by tomorrow morning.’

Adjusting his belt he sat back into his chair, smirking as you picked up your ruined panties. ‘ You want that masters so bad, you won’t be able to graduate if you’re failing.’

Taglist: @speaknow-sw @ysrjune @moonlightkb @hearts4sammonroe @amiratheangel @madsluvsdilfs @alealuvshayden @loliskywalker @haydenchristensenisbae

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ! This one was pretty interesting to write. Feedback highly appreciated,,

Thank you so much for reading ! It took ages I didn’t really know how I wanted to write it. I sincerely apologize for not reading the ask all the way ! It was not my intention to make it seem like I did my own thing with no regard of what was asked :(

[munsoncorner]

𝒢𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁𝓈- 𝐸.𝑀.𝓍𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

Eddie Munson x reader

Rating: M (if you’re under 18 scroll on)

Warnings: Smut, filthy smut. P in V, fingering, oral F!receiving, basically porn with very little plot, corruption kink, pet names

About: Eddie always had a thing for the good girls. He loved the idea of taking a goody two shoes and transforming her. He liked molding them into his own image. But he had never thought about one thing before, until he meets you. The first thing you had told him had always stuck with him, “good girls are bad girls who haven’t been caught”.

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

There was something about taking the sweetest thing and adding your own flair to it. Eddie knew it. It was his favorite thing, the way that he could make a girl blush and stutter without even trying gave his ego a boost. Every. Single. Time. He was good with words, twisting them just the right way to give that innuendo every time, and oh how he loved seeing the cheeks of a sweet girl heat up when she catches onto the double meaning of his words. He didn’t rush it, no he liked to take his time, make it so when he finally corrupts them, they’re eating from the palm of his hand. He was a twisted guy for that, he knew it. But it was a rush to make the good girls cave and let him show them just how nice it feels to be bad.

Then there was you. You seemed like a good enough girl, but you never really paid attention to Eddie, aside from when you two were working on something together at the record shop you both frequented. You would always buy the latest pop vinyl, your hair pulled back in a prim and proper ponytail, and those outfits. God those outfits were enough to make a man cry.

Today was just another day, going to the record store, flipping through the metal vinyls out of boredom, you had a soft spot for things like Def Leppard or Black Sabbath, mainly because you liked to listen to it cranked at full volume to piss off your parents. That was a rebellious as you dared be, with getting caught. Your fingers stop on Black Sabbath’s latest album, the only copy in the shop as of right now, and you were about to get it and take it to the counter, and then a familiar ringed hand shoots out and snags it from you, looking it over and then giving you a once over with a cock of his brow.

Eddie smirked as he looked over the vinyl and then at you, “Sweetheart, this looks like it might not be your taste. Too scary for someone like you”

You looked at him with an annoyed huff, “Give it back. I’ve been trying to get my hands on that for weeks.”

A chuckle leaves his lips, sounding more like honey than anything, “You, as in miss princess of Hawkins, have been trying to get a Black Sabbath record for weeks? Yea, right. Then I guess I’m the quarterback of the football team”

Your brows furrow as you look at him, “Eddie I’m serious. Give it back.”

“Oh you want it, princess? Hm. What a shame. Because unluckily for you, this is what I came here for.”

You cross your arms and look at him, your lips turning downwards, “I had it first. Hand it over, Munson.”

He laughs, actually laughs. A fully deep laugh coming from his lips, “Nope, not happening. You’re too much of a good girl to be listening to this shit.”

“A good girl? Haven’t you heard what’s said about good girls? They’re only bad girls that haven’t been caught. Now give it back”

At her words, he visibly blanches, his hand loosening just enough for her to snatch the vinyl back. As soon as it’s in her hands she takes it to the counter and buys it, thanking the cashier with a soft smile. That’s the last time Eddie sees you for a few days, and fuck him if those last words she said to him weren’t playing on a loop in his head.

He was fucked. Literally. Anytime he jerked off all he could think about was the way your lips curved up into a smirk when you said those words, the way your chest rose and fell with the irritated breaths when you were trying to get the vinyl back from him. Normally Eddie was the type to just try and bed someone one time and then forget about them. None of them really providing anything to remember by other than another sweetheart corrupted by his touch. But you. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. He was very curious about what you meant, what bad things you do when no one was looking.

The next time you saw each other was at some party. You hadn’t really wanted to go but you promised your friend that you’d go. You were sitting by the drinks, music thumping through the house, your friend nowhere to be seen. You were half tempted to leave. To walk back to your own house, but that thought was pushed aside as you heard his voice.

Eddie had sauntered over with a cocky smirk, “aw what’s the matter princess? You’re over here looking bored as ever”

Your lips automatically pressed together in annoyance, “yea well I can’t say this is exactly party of the year”

His smirk grows and he cocks a brow, “and you’ve been to enough to know when it’s a good one?”

You sighed and met his gaze, his chocolate eyes twinkling with amusement while your eyes just showed annoyance, “you’d be amazed at what I’ve done.”

His brows shot up and he felt an involuntary twitch in his jeans, “would I now, princess?”

You stood up and began walking towards the door, suddenly wanting to go home more now than ever, “I’m not as much of a good girl as you think. Bye, Eddie” she walks out the door, not thinking he’d follow her

“Wait wait wait, do you have a ride home? Or are you seriously thinking about walking home at this time of night?”

“I’ll be fine Eddie.”

“Cmon princess, let me at least give you a lift. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty little face” or body. He was too eager to be the one to experience the feeling of you. “Besides. What if you fall into a ditch or something and sprain an ankle or some shit?”

Your brows cocked and you looked at him incredulously “you can’t be serious”

“Serious as the plague, sweetheart. Come on. Don’t be stubborn. Just let me take you home.”

You sigh, clearly getting nowhere with this argument, “fine. But keep your hands on the wheel, got it?”

He raises his hand in a mock scouts salute “scouts honor, sweetheart.”

He leads you to his van, opening the passenger door for you and shutting it behind you, and climbs into the drivers side. He starts the van and immediately the sounds of Metallica fill the space, and he looks at you.

“This shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it, princess? You like this shit too. Or at least you claim to.”

“It’s fine. Just. Take me home”

He smirks and laughs under his breath, “okay, okay, touchy much?” With that he starts driving, then it hits him, he doesn’t actually know where you live, so he pulls to the side of the road.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Well, sweetheart. It’s just hit me, I have no clue where you live.”

His hands tap on the steering wheel as he looks at you, the rings catching the light of a street lamp, and you were suddenly aware of how close you were to him, you could smell the faint smell of cigarettes, weed and beer on him, and something else. Something that was just him. You swallowed hard, your throat going dry, feelings you’d been repressing for the metalhead flaring to life. A dull ache between your thighs, your cheeks flushing, something he definitely noticed and he leaned over to get closer to you.

He smirks as his breath ghosts over your ear, one of his curls brushing against your bare shoulder, “princess, you’re blushing like a virgin and I haven’t even said something to get that reaction.”

Your cheeks heat up more and you turn your head to look at him, your lips close to his and you draw in a shaky breath, “I’m not blushing like a virgin”

He laughs at your petulant protest, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, slowly ghosting up the skin to the edge of your skirt, “oh but you are. But that begs the question, are you a virgin?”

Your breath audibly catches in your throat as his fingers dance up your thigh, “No. I’m not”

It’s his turn to be surprised, after all you had the front of being this pure innocent angel. His fingers move just under the hem of your skirt and he smirks, “well well well, isn’t this a surprise then?” Without giving you time to process his words or his touch, his mouth slots against yours, a demanding kiss, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip, asking for permission for entry. Entry you gladly gave, your tongue sliding against his, teeth clashing as the kiss becomes more hungry. His hand on your thigh slides up higher, his thumb brushing against your clothed core, earning a gasp from the jolt of electricity through your veins.

He pulls back slightly and smirks at you, “need something, sweetheart?”

You look at him as he pulls his hand back, your lips turning down in a frown, “you know what I need.”

He squeezes your thigh and hums, “maybe I do. Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

You look at him, frustration pooling in you, heat pooling in your lower abdomen, “I want you to touch me, Eddie.”

He kisses her again and bites her lip, “that’s a good girl. But if I’m going to touch you, I want to be able to see you spread out for me. Cmon. Into the back”

Your heart skips a beat as he calls you a good girl, a kink you didn’t know you had, and you unbuckle and crawl over the console into the back of the van, laying back, you noticed pillows and blankets laid along the floor of the back and you look at him, “were you planning on getting lucky with someone?”

He crawls into the back himself and looks at you, “princess, I’ve had more girls back here than you’d know. It’s better to keep it ready.” He smirks as he crawls between your legs, pushing them further apart and flipping your skirt up, exposing your panties to him, and with a hungry look he runs his fingers along the damp patch in the middle of them, “someone’s already so wet for me”

Your cheeks heat up more and you look at him, another gasp at the feeling of his fingers on her slit

He smirks widely at the sight of the darker blush and he tugs at her panties with a finger, “need these off princess”

You bite your lip and shimmy your panties down, exposing your glistening folds. He quickly takes them the rest of the way off, bringing them up to his nose and taking a big smell with a groan.

“You smell so good, pretty girl” he trails his fingers up your thigh again, stopping just at the juncture of your thighs and he smiles wickedly. His finger comes up and runs along your folds before brushing against your clit, watching as your face contorts in pleasure, his smile growing as he hears your moan.

“You liked that, didn’t you princess?”

“Yes.. I really fucking liked it okay?”

He gives a triumphant smile and moves closer, his fingers dipping down and two of them pushing inside you, earning a loud moan and your back arching.

“So responsive, and I’ve barely done anything. I like that. A lot.” His fingers slowly pump into you, his thumb brushing against your clit and circling it slowly, your hips bucking into his touch. He watches your head fall back onto the pillows on the floor, and he picks up the pace.

“Oh god, fuck Eddie!” Your moans get louder as he curls his fingers, brushing against that spongy spot inside you. He takes his thumb off your clit and leans in, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, letting a groan out at how sweet you tasted to him. Your hands reach down and grab his curls, your hips bucking furiously against his face, and your walls fluttering around his fingers. So close to orgasm, with barely any stimulation. He feels his cock twitching in his pants as he begins to lick and suck the sensitive bud with more fervor, his fingers pumping faster.

“Eddie— shit! Shit,shit oh my god!” You scream out as your orgasm washes over you, and he pulls back and pulls his fingers out of you, his chin glistening with your juices and he moves up your body, resting his hips between your thighs. He watches as you bring his fingers to your mouth, wrapping your lips around them and swirling your tongue around the digits.

“Holy fuck, princess. Keep that up and I’m gonna fucking cream my pants.”

Your lips pop off his fingers with a smirk, “now don’t do that”

He groans and he kisses you again, his hips rolling against you, his jeans providing friction against your still sensitive clit. “I need to be inside you”

You look up at him and bite your lip, “condom?”

He gives you a wolfish grin and reaches for a compartment in the door and grabs a condom, ripping the foil wrapper open with his teeth as his other hand works his belt and finally yanks his jeans and boxers down, you could tell he was a little bigger than average, but you couldn’t see it in the darkness of the van. You watched as he skillfully rolls a condom down his length and then lines the tip up to your entrance. He slowly pushes into you, groans leaving the both of you in synchrony, “fuck, you’re so tight princess, I’m not gonna last. Gonna make this fast and hard, okay?”

You look up at him with pleasure darkened eyes and nod, “okay.. yes.. just.. please”

His own eyes darken further as he hears your plea, his hips jerking forward and burying himself inside you to the base, he watches your mouth fall open in a moan, and he pulls back, and slams back in, starting a harsh pace, his hands coming down to grip your thighs and push your legs up, your ankles coming to rest on his shoulders as he pounds into you, “fuck, fuck you feel so good around me”

His hips slap against you loudly, the van rocking slightly from how hard he’s going. Sweat beading on his brow, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his lips parted as he grunts, growls and groans. He’s trying so hard to at least make you come undone one more time before he does. His hand coming down between your bodies and his thumb rolling over your clit roughly, feeling your body tense up, your walls gripping him like a vice, “that’s it princess, give me one more. Be a good girl for me and fucking cum.”

His words, his thumb on your clit, the way he’s pounding into you, it has you gasping and moaning, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you scream out in pleasure, coming undone once more around his cock. The way he’s stretching you so deliciously, the sounds he’s making, you don’t want to stop this. Ever.

As you come undone, he lets out a low growl, his hips pumping, two more times before he stills, a loud moan ripping through him as he fills the condom.

“Fuck!” He groans out, his hips jerking one more time and he slowly lowers your legs back down, and pulls out of you, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. He carefully pulls off the condom and ties it off, throwing it into the bin he keeps in the back.

He rolls over to lay on the floor of the backseat beside you, panting as he looks at you with a satisfied smirk, “you know, I think that might be my new favorite feeling”

You laugh and look at him with a raised brow, and the both of you lay in a comfortable silence in the back of his van. You were definitely going to do that again.

[starryhyuck]

crossing boundaries. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: singledad!mark x afab!teacher!reader

words: 4.5k+

summary: teaching kindergarten isn’t so bad, especially when you get to see mark lee everyday.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: breeding kink (!!), small mention of blood, fingering, pussy eating, bigdick!mark, spitting

this fic is exclusive to both tiers on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

You check your attendance list right before class is set to begin when a clumsy voice speaks to your right.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” a young man murmurs when he strides in with a young girl in tow. She has her hair tied in messy pigtails and a sparkly pink backpack that compliments her light-up shoes. “Had a hard time getting out the door this morning.”

You smile politely, greeting the young girl and shaking the hand of who you presume to be her brother. He’s rather cute, with tousled black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He’s dressed like he’s about to go play basketball in an oversized t-shirt and baggy shorts.

“No problem at all, we were about to start,” you say to him.

“Are you the new teacher?” He asks, blinking at you and running his hands through his hair.

“That would be me,” you chuckle. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr…”

“Lee,” he finishes. “Mark Lee. This is Jieun, my daughter.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised by the revelation. You suppose you should have expected there would be young parents in your class too, but you didn’t think you would encounter a father this young who’s close to your own age. You recover from your slip up, shaking your head as you smile at his daughter. “Well, we’re going to have a fun time today. I can assure you she’s safe in my hands.”

“Perfect! I mean, I have no doubt that she is. You seem, um, really trustworthy. Not that the last teacher wasn’t, but something tells me that you’re different. In a non-weird way.”

You laugh at him stumbling over his words. The tips of his ears redden before Mark prods his daughter forward.

“Go on with the nice lady, Jieun,” he murmurs, handing her a pink lunchbox. She’s all too eager to skip into the room and sit next to her group of friends. Mark scratches the back of his neck. “I’ll, um, I’ll come pick her up later. I mean, of course I will. I pick her up everyday.”

“Okay,” you giggle, nodding at him. “I’ll see you at the end of the day, Mr. Lee.”

Mark exits your classroom with a blush darkening his cheeks while you try your best not to linger on thoughts of how cute he is.

Your first day as a kindergarten teacher goes relatively well. The kids barely notice the difference when nap time rolls around per usual and you assist them with their alphabet worksheets in between. They’re all well behaved, only receiving a few troublemakers who fall back in line after a gentle scolding.

Before you know it, they’re drawing you pictures littered with rainbows and flowers and giving it to you with huge grins. You’re overwhelmed by their acceptance and it only solidifies your decision to take this job, although it cut your yearly salary in half and forced you to skimp on your weekly grocery runs.

Mark’s daughter is surprisingly the one who shines the most, excelling way beyond her grade level and reading full sentences when most of the other children are still sounding out words. She’s sweet to her classmates too, helping them when they’re struggling and sharing her animal crackers at lunch time.

You compliment Mark when he swings by to pick up Jieun. “She’s such a sweetheart. You and her mom raised her very well.”

“Jieun doesn’t have a mom,” he quickly says before stuttering. “I-I mean, of course she has a mom, everyone has a mom. Well, not everyone, but-”

“I get it, Mark,” you interrupt, attempting to hold back your bouts of laughter. You find it endearing that this man can’t formulate a coherent sentence around you when his daughter’s been completing academic cartwheels.

He chuckles to hide his embarrassment. “I mean to say that Jieun’s mom is no longer in the picture.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you say, knowing how difficult it must be to juggle life as a single parent.

He shrugs it off. “No big deal. It was a mutual separation.” Jieun’s tugging on the straps of her backpack as she finishes chatting with her friends, which provides you the opportunity to speak longer with Mark. “So you’ll be her teacher for the rest of the term?”

“Yes, for another four months. I know it’s a sudden change for the kids but I’m trying my best to make the transition as smooth as possible for them. Did you have a good relationship with my predecessor?”

He’s emboldened for the first time, and it’s your turn to act shy when he replies, “She was okay. Not as pretty as you.”

Jieun luckily saves you from crossing the line any further, rushing to tug him away and relay her events of the day. You wave them goodbye, struggling to swallow the lump lodged in your throat as you speak to the other parents.

Mark Lee is definitely going to be a problem for you.

want to read the rest? access both tiers on my patreon here!

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Endermite

Debut: Minecraft

Endermite is so funny. You know Endermite? No one talks about Endermite! It's never Endermite who adorns a child's T-shirt or lunchbox. Isn't that sad? No, not really, because Endermite does not do much. But something it DOES do is "be funny", and that's enough for me! Like I always say, "hee hee"!

If you think about it for even just a few seconds, you'll realize that Endermite is actually quite cool! This is a bug from another dimension. Not ACTUALLY from the End, as its name implies, but some sort of realm in between dimensions. The only way they appear is by popping up occasionally when an Ender Pearl is used to teleport, and their existence actually reveals the biggest character flaw with the otherwise-perfect Endermen...

Endermen HATE Endermites! So much! They're the kind of person to hate a very specific bug, to the point of wanting to kill it! An Enderman would say "kill it with fire!" if you showed one a photo of your dear pet Endermite. That's not cool. To be fair, Endermites ARE hostile and try to kill Endermen whenever they get the chance, but counterpoint: a bug can do no wrong.

The reasoning behind adding the Endermites in the first place was to flesh out the Endermens' teleportation mechanic, with the idea that, like players using the Nether, Endermen would use an in-between dimension to travel more quickly. This dimension was full of "bad stuff" like Endermites, which would sometimes end up being brought along to the teleporation destination. So be nice to them! They're away from home, and probably scared!

It's taken me until seeing this screenshot to realize that Endermites actually have some tail-like segments behind the main big middle one! Rather larva-like. My original interpretation of them as incredibly nubby was hilarious, but I like this a lot, too! Makes them feel like they could actually move around, instead of being sessile on a branch like a scale insect.

Once upon a time, Endermites looked rather different than they do now! They were just a retextured Silverfish, and had two black eyes instead of their current single red eye. This design only lasted a little over a month.

But that's long enough to be immortalized in toy form! Endermite merchandise is rare, but it's very cool to see the original design actually got something! A very cute little figure, posed inquisitively. Whatever is over there (points over there) must be rather interesting!

There is also this mini figure, depicting TWO Endermites lurking around a moss block, and I really love it a lot! It may not be very play-ready- unless you want to play with a toy of a living moss block with beloved pet Endermites- but it just looks nice. A little scene! Bugs among the moss. A cute tiny display piece.

There is not much about Endermites, but I think there is enough to appreciate. And maybe something big will come, someday? Dinnerbone has mentioned an "ultimate plan" involving these silly little bugs, possibly involving the Ender Dragon egg... this was said in 2014, and it still has not happened. It most likely will not happen. But maybe it will! And maybe it will be big. Grand. Feature film-worthy. Look forward to "A Mite-y Fine Minecraft Movie", coming to theaters at a point in time!

[trippingontheescalator]

Here is my completely unasked for opinions on Snape ships:

Jeverus - Love it, but only after James is made to crawl on his belly and eat dust. If he isn't sufficiently beaten down or if Severus forgives him too early then I can't. James needs the ego knocked out of him first, he needs to be broken down and rebuilt and THEN I love it.

Snirius - Also love it. Completely different energy from jeverus, in that I need James to be a contrite simp who realizes the error of his ways, Sirius on the other hand is a bastard and so is Severus, and them trading blows and insults between kisses is just 😘

Snily - Honestly like it, but only when Lily has genuine flaws that she has to work through in the text as well. I'm not interested in perfect Lily and simp Severus who must flagellate himself to he worthy of her love. But when they're written as two people with a lot of history and complicated, flawed beings? Beautiful.

Snupin - Dislike. I can write snupin in short spurts but every time I tried to write a long snupin fic Remus slowly morphs into a passive aggressive, gaslighting, "Oh my friends weren't so bad, you're exagerrating, I need to downplay your pain because my school days were the last time I really enjoyed my life and if I take my rose-tinted glasses off I will have to examine my own actions and guilt and be forced to take responsibility and acknowledge that not every bad thing I've done can be blamed on the wolf, nor can I insulate my feelings by blaming other people's prejudice against lycanthropy as a reason for why they might not like me instead of acknowledging that maybe I'm not actually that nice of a guy." SORRY.

Snucius - Unironically love Lucius having sugar baby Severus to spoil.

Snucissa - What's better than one hot, rich blond? TWO hot, rich blondes. Death Eaters, you say? Morally dubious at the best of times, you say? Yes, perfect, I crave gothic, crumbling aristocracy, the beautiful decadence that masks our sins, and yet still loving throuple snucissa.

Snarity - It all depends on the Charity. She's basically an OC since we don't know anything about her in canon, except that she had the balls to tell Death Eaters they suck in a major newspaper when the Death Eater activity was extremely high and that she and Severus were friends. I can get behind this with a well-written and interesting Charity 👍

Snarry/Snamione - Not a fan at all. Even if there's no romantic relationship until Harry and Hermione are like 40, I can't see Severus ever acknowledging them as anything but those annoying kids who made his life hell. Every time he sees them the Kill Bill sirens start playing in his head. Harry could be 60 years old and Severus 80 years, and Severus would be like, "Shut the fuck up, you snuck out of the castle and went to Hogsmeade when we all thought a serial killer was out to get you, I have a heart condition because of you, get out of my nursing home before I throw my dentures at you."

Snon - Only in A Very Potter Musical.

Snumbledore- Only in Potter Puppet Pals.

[luciferlockett]

“Secret Marriage”

Bucky x reader

No Warnings just fluff

Summary : Bucky brings the Thunderbolts round in the mitz of them saving the world during this he forgets to mention he has a wife at home.

You were lounging around your quant house, albeit more modernised than Bucky would have liked but it fit your aesthetic perfectly. Lounging around on your phone doomscrolling with your white cat Alpine of course. You hated when he had to leave for a mission like this especially so unexpected but he assured you he would check in with you during the mission, which you made him promise because you couldn’t handle just texting him over the phone for a couple weeks. No you needed to see him. That brings us to now staying on your phone waiting for a notification to give you the joy that he was on his way back. He didn’t tell you much about his missions but you knew from his demour of that it was a serious one. It scares you a little, losing him, of course it did but you trust him trust that he will uphold his promise in coming home to you every time he abruptly leaves.

You gently stroke Alpine in a way to soothe these godforsaken thoughts when your phone pings with a notification from the man in question however in the estate he informs you that the team he was working with were also staying or a night or two. Great. At least he’ll be home, it just means that maybe you wont be able to show him really how happy you are that he’s back.

Minutes feel like hours but you fill the time by making brownies in hopes it would distract you and plus brownies are the best greeting present, you hadn’t met these guest yet but since they were with Bucky you believed that they must be good people so you were happy to open your home to them.

After repetitively having to remove Alpine from the worktop to prevent her from sampling the brownies which were definitely not cat friendly, you place them in the oven and clean up a little. Almost like clock work you hear the sound of revving from a vehicle you quickly recognised as your husband’s motorcycle. Feeling a little nervous, you made your way to the front door and opened it before he had time to get his keys out. Bucky first in line and greets you with a warm smile and a slow “I missed you, doll.” you could tell from his smile alone he was tired however he didn’t seem to care right now he was just happy to be home. You hug him quickly plantings a small kiss to him jaw as you did. You didn’t want to be rude however so you broke the hug and greeted the rest of the team with a sweet welcoming smile all but one a certain super soldier you didn’t like very much. A little odd you thought a little rough around the edges but they seemed nice. As they finished making their way inside you closed the door bend them and moved t stand by Bucky as obviously you were still a little nervous not having known these people.

“Nice to meet everyone.” You say attempting to provoke some small talk.

Alexei is the first to respond with a loud “Oh very good, thank you for letting us Thunderbolts use your safe house.”

You look at Bucky confused because Thunderbolts? And safe house? This is our home and was the mission they were on that dangerous they needed a safe house.

Bucky quickly tried to soothe the confused expression on your face by guiding his metal arm around your waist and says “For the last time we are not the thunderbolts, This is a one mission deal Alexei.”

The Red Guardian just stares aimlessly at Bucky as if he is speaking in another language and states “My friend, you do not choose the Thunderbolts the Thunderbolts choose you.” Whatever that means.

Yelena quickly hushes him and says “It is very lovely of you having us here” Letting out. Soft no problem you quickly notice another man you recognised to be John Walker. You knew this one all too well and you also knew the problems he caused for your husband. Luckily he stood of to the side and to be frank you preferred that he kept his distance. John was aware of your marriage so he best keep out the way as to not piss you off if he’s almost trying to hide the act he’s here. It was no secret that you didn’t like him so you asked your husband “What is he doing in my house.”

Quickly guiding you off to the kitchen so he could explain away from the rest of the group he says “He’s making himself useful and he’s not the same as he was back then”

“Buck you know I trust your judgment but Walker really I doubt he’s changed for the better, he might want to help now but as soon as something doesn’t benefit him he’s going to revert back to that sad shell of a man he’s always been.” Harsh you know but the point still stands.

“Doll, be nice we need all the help we can get at the moment and if that means having to work with Walker then that’s what we’ll have to do” He sighs then continues “I promise he wont be here for long.” He says with his hands grazing up and down your arms comfortingly.

“Fine but James I swear to god if this man causes any problems in my house you’ll be the one paying for it.” I say trying to be stern

He winces at the use of his first name having only need use for it when you’re emotional or mad.

“Of course… and whilst we’re here I forgot to tell them that we’re married” He rushes out in a quiet voice hoping you wouldn’t hear.

“What?” You say dumbfounded and a little shocked, I mean who invites someone to their wife’s home without telling them who you are. It’s a little disrespectful in your opinion.

“Nothing everything’s good.” He quickly says.

“James why haven’t you told them, you brought them into my house and what they just think I’m a random person that lives with you”

“It’s not like that I swear we just met and I just forgot.” Wow thanks.

Not wanting anything to do with the conversation anymore you huff and move to the oven to take the brownies out, which does make Bucky feel worse as he realises the effort you put into making these people feel welcome in your home. He comes up behind you placing his large arms around your smaller frame and places kisses on your shoulder and neck causing you to let out an involuntary hum in content. Hearing this he smirks against your neck as he whispers apologies and praise to you.

Outside of the kitchen however Walker had already made himself useful by breaking the new to everyone saying something along the lines of not wanting to annoy Barnes or Bucky would hate him even more than he already does. Ava’s the first one to speak this time with a confused “That’s Barnes sister?”

Walker lets out a scoff and says “No no that’s his wife.”

The room is stunned into silence. The infamous Winter Soldier has a wife and a home. The seemingly cold and closed off soldier had a family he’d come home to everyday. Shocking.

“The super soldier has a wife wow he just gets better.” He says with his usual fangirling over him.

“I’ve got to say was not expecting that to come of today. Barnes has a wife how cute.” Yelena says in cooing tone.

As the couple renter the room they are met with the stares of the rest of the Thunderbolts this silence is broken by Alexei bellowing “Winter soldier you are married.” Bucky smiles and lifts your intertwined hand and raises it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your hand and says “Yes for five years now shes been Mrs Barnes and been giving me a reason to come home everyday.”

A mixture of awws and scoffs are given by the group as Alexei says “Young love” He says dreamily “I remember my first marriage we would go at it like-“

“Uhuh no no I do not want to hear about that” Yelena cuts him off.

You and Bucky sit down next to one another hands still intertwined as you swing your legs over to rest on his lap and prepare to take the groups questions about your so called “secret marriage”.

Hi chat if you have any marvel requests I would gladly write them xxx

[towasdandelion]

Frostheim, Mortkranken and Jabberwock ghouls when you leave a hickey on them

Tohma won't let you live... He loves taking every chance to fluster you, all the while still acting like a gentleman. He does not mind your love bites but will cover them up, maintaining his impeccable looks. But he also doesn't really want to shed light on his love live, valuing your privacy as a couple. He also doesn't want to deal with any annoying potential teasing from his peers. There's no need for them to know what you two do when you're together.

I wouldn't say Jin was upset but, he could definitely feel you were holding back. And he didn't like it. You don't have to be gentle with him, you don't have to be embarrassed. Just give him everything you can offer. That aside, the hickey does not faze him as in, doesn't make him feel flustered. But just because he might be icy doesn't mean doesn't mean he's not feeling anything at all. He secretly loves your warmth, and you'll be able to notice it through his actions.

Luca might feel a bit off guard upon seeing a small mark on his neck but then his expression changes to a warm smile with a hint of blush. He loves you the way you express your affection, hickeys included. Though he probably will cover it up, mostly to avoid listening to Kaito's whine about how he can't get lucky like that. He feels bad for his friends but.. there are limits. Besides, he thinks it's better if he's the only one seeing this side of you. That way no one can make any inappropriate comments.

Kaito is freaking the fuck out out of excitement. You really left a mark on him, he wasn't dreaming!! Be prepared for him to basically flaunt it.. Nope, he's not covering it up. He needs everyone to see how much his girlfriend loves him. And once this one fades, he'll make sure to come back for more. Hell he might come back for more even before that, acting like he's addicted to it from now on.

Jiro is a bit confused until the conversation with you happens. Oh, so that's what Yuri meant? Okay. He acknowledges it but doesn't take it to heart at all. He definitely won't be telling you to hold back with him. He can handle everything you give. Not embarrassed in the slightest. Just a normal aspect of every relationship, he'll say. Still, it doesn't mean he wants you to stop. Quite the opposite. He will only crave more from now on.

Yuri's love language - Insults? He's just very flustered and doesn't know how to process this... This small mark purplish is a good reminder of what was going between you and him just the other day, and he can't help but blush at the thought. He has to scold you. Sorry I don't make the rules, it's Yuri's world you're just living in it! He's not telling you to stop though, praying you'll just get the hint.. if you only pretend that you didn't or dare to tease him.. you'll have to make it up to him later!

Asking Ren to be nice about something is like asking him if he would willingly do any work around Jabberwock. Not happening. That's just how he expresses himself I guess. Yes, that's why he called you a feral animal. But in his eyes, he thinks that's.. kind of affectionate. I mean he's not even serious about it. He has to complain though. How can he not when Haru just won't stop teasing him? His last text kind of makes him panic though. Did he mess up? Feel free to play around with him a little, as a payback.

Okay I feel like Haru compares you to cute small animals on a daily basis but based on the size of he hickey on his neck, he feels like 'anomaly' is a bit more fitting this time... He doesn't really mean to upset or embarrass you, he just simply thinks you're too adorable. If Ren wants to tease him about the bite - he'll just shrug it off, laughing. He simply doesn't care. He cares more about how to make you leave more hickeys on him. And he succeeds, of course.

Towa would never get upset with you (well, maybe only if you're not giving him affection for too long...) so the sight of a small mark on his neck makes him really happy! His Dandelion loves him so much! He's going to walk around the Jabberwock humming happily all day, not even thinking about covering the hickey. Why would he, when he can let everyone know how loving his girlfriend is? Won't hesitate at all and just ask you for more. The more the better!!

[luxcuriousao3]

Bumblebees

Summary: Simon doesn’t want kids. Then he sees you with one. Suddenly, he's not so sure anymore. Word Count: 2759 Warnings: sfw for the most part but some dirty talk (no smut, Simon's just got a filthy mouth) near the end, fluff and feels, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical child death (Simon's nephew) Notes: This was supposed to be fluff and smut... then it turned into fluff and hurt/comfort lol. Oh well. I would've posted this for mother's day, but I completely forgot about it. So it's been sitting in my drafts for months. Just finished and polished it up today. No beta as usual. Hope y'all enjoy, remember that feedback is love, feedback is life. Also, would anyone be interested in a fic featuring single dad!Kyle and his daughter (who you'll meet if you read this)? Lmk. (Masterlist) (AO3)

Simon doesn’t want kids.

Simon doesn't want kids, and he’s made that more than clear to you. No amount of pouting, reassuring him he’ll make a great father, or cute baby videos changes his mind. For a while, you think about breaking up with him because of it. You want kids, and he doesn't—how can it ever work?

But after spending six long months talking about it with your therapist and asking Reddit for advice (big mistake, that last one) you come to the conclusion that you want Simon more than you want children.

It’s by no means an easy choice, but for you, it’s the right one. You can’t imagine your life without him. You don't want to imagine your life without him. It hurts you just to think about it. So quietly, and without telling Simon—who doesn’t know just how badly you want little ones of your own, because you haven’t told him—you let your dream of being a mother go.

If you expend all that unused maternal energy on any child you come across—well, Simon never has to know exactly why.

One of Simon’s teammates—Kyle, a nice bloke, handsome in a pretty boy way—has a five year old daughter. You've met them a few times before, and every time, you offer your services for babysitting. Kyle and his wife finally take you up on it one night, and little Amira is dropped off bright and early at the flat you share with Simon.

Your hulking boyfriend isn't exactly thrilled about it, you know, but he doesn’t complain, just makes breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream smiles, Amira’s request—while you play “fairy princess” with the young girl, who had apparently insisted on wearing her ballet costume that morning.

After breakfast—which, according to Amira, is not nearly as good as her daddy’s pancakes—the three of you head to the nearby park. Amira walks between the two of you, one tiny hand in yours, and one Simon’s. He’s stiff the entire journey, uncomfortable as ever around kids, but he doesn’t pull away. As much as he seems to dislike children, he’s never, ever mean to them. Just… avoidant.

Sometimes, you wonder if there’s a story there. But Simon is an incredibly private man, and asking him questions about his past puts him on edge like nothing else. You try not to push, to simply make yourself available as a listening ear, ready to hear him out and comfort him whenever he’s finally ready to tell you. You’ve learned very few things so far, most gleaned more from his reactions and habits than confessions, but you’re patient. For Simon, you’d wait forever.

Once you arrive at the park, Amira promptly recognizes a friend from school, and takes off to go play with her. You and Simon settle on a bench, keeping her in your sights at all times. Simon is tense as a live wire, and you take his hand in both of yours, rubbing your thumb soothingly across his knuckles.

“It’s just for a few hours,” you murmur, leaning into his side. Slowly, slowly, the tension melts from his massive frame, letting you in. You sigh, beginning to feel bad for roping him into this. You can hear your therapist’s voice in your head, prompting you to examine why you were so eager for Simon to come along today. Do you think that deep down, you’re still trying to change his mind? You bite your lip, unsure what the answer is to that question, but still feeling guilty. What if it’s true? What if you’re forcing Simon to play an unwitting role in your fantasy of being a happy family—a fantasy he has no interest in being a part of? “You can go home if it’s too much. I won’t be upset.”

“Not leaving ya an’ the tyke here alone,” Simon grumbled, not looking at you, but squeezing your hand to let you know he’s not mad, just grumpy. “Ain’t safe.”

“It’s a public park, Si,” you reassure him, feeling bad enough to try and convince him to leave like he so clearly wants to, even though you’re desperate for him to stay. To indulge in your selfishness just a little bit longer. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

As if the universe itself is intent on proving you wrong, you hear an earth shattering scream.

You’re on your feet in a blink of an eye, but Simon is halfway across the park before you’re even fully standing. By the time you take two steps, he’s got a crying Amira in his thick arms, shushing her in a voice softer than you’ve ever heard him use. You rush over, and Simon deposits Amira in your arms immediately, despite doing an admirable job at calming her himself.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You coo, settling the little girl on your hip and starting to sway back and forth. Amira has one chubby fist twisted in her halo of dark curls, as if clutching it for comfort, and the other is rubbing one wet eye, scrubbing away her tears.

“Th-there was a b-bee!” She yells, and you do your best not to wince at her volume. “It almost stinged me!”

“A bee?” You echo, rubbing Amira’s back as she lays her little head on your shoulder, sniffling. “You know, bees are our friends. I’m sure it didn’t want to sting you.”

“It did!” Amira argues, yelling right into your ear this time. It starts ringing faintly. You ignore it.

“If it tried to sting you, it must have been scared,” you say calmly. “Sometimes, we lash out when we get scared, don’t we? Bees are the same.”

Amira sniffles again, but she doesn’t protest this time. You smile slightly, knowing you’ve got her attention.

“The best thing to do when a bee buzzes by is stay very, very still,” you continue. Your eyes land on the bee that had terrified the baby in your arms, a few metres away. You carefully set Amira down next to Simon, and she immediately hugs one of his long legs. She barely reaches his mid thigh. You mentally apologize to your boyfriend, but important lessons need to be learned right now, so you hope he’ll forgive you for leaving him stuck like that. You smile encouragingly at Amira. “I’ll show you.”

Confidently, you walk towards the bee, watching as it flies over to you curiously. You’re not surprised—you’re wearing a pink sundress, and you know bees are attracted to bright colors.

“Be careful!” Amira’s little voice rings out as the bee gets closer. She looks incredibly nervous, like she’s sure she’s about to see you die. You valiantly hold in your laugh.

“Bees like flowers,” you tell Amira as the insect in question flies around you in circles. “So they’ll investigate anything colorful to see if it is one. Isn’t that nice? They think we’re flowers.”

Amira is clearly skeptical, but she’s still listening. At least until the bee lands on your glasses, crawling along the frame—which is pink on the inside. You aren’t phased, but her eyes go wide as saucers, and she whimpers in fear.

“Bloody hell!” She gasps, and you just know she learned that from Kyle. Simon coughs to cover his shocked laugh, and that only makes you grin wider, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“Language,” he scolds her, voice gruff as always but uncharacteristically gentle. Amira sticks her tongue out at him briefly before looking back at you. As she does, the bee flutters its wings, tickling your eyelid, and launches off your glasses. You think it’s going to fly away, but it hooks a U-turn and bumps up against your lips before finally buzzing off towards the other side of the playground. You laugh, delighted.

“It gave me a kiss!” You say, turning your grin on Amira, whose wide eyes have turned from fearful to awed. “Did you see that? She was telling me that we’re friends.”

“Friends?” She asks tentatively, and you nod, walking back over to her and kneeling down to her height.

“Best friends,” you wink. “Just like you and me.”

Slowly, a smile spreads across her face again, and she throws her stubby arms around you in a hug before running off to join her schoolmates again. You watch her go longingly, heart aching at the knowledge that being best friends with a five year old is the closest you’ll get to having a child.

“You’re good wit’ tha li’l one,” Simon’s gravelly voice states, low enough that only you can hear it. You look up at him, still crouched on the ground, and shrug, trying not to show how his words affect you. You accept his outstretched hand, letting him haul you back to your feet. “I mean it. Always knew ya liked kids, tha’ they liked ya too, but…”

He trails off, and you give him a strained smile, eyes drawn back to Amira. The bee has found its way back to her and her little group, and while the other children start yelling and running around, Amira stands still as she repeats your words—”Bees are friends! It just thinks we’re flowers!”—and you suddenly cannot breathe from the pain in your chest, knowing you’ll never impart the same lesson onto a child of your own. Never get to feel the pride you feel for Amira right now directed at your own flesh and blood.

“You want ‘em.”

It’s not a question, and your broken heart skips a beat. You don’t look at Simon, you can’t look at him. You’ve managed to hide this from him for the entirety of the time you’ve been together, knowing he’ll leave you if he finds out. But that time has come, and you feel sick with fear.

“Yes,” you whisper, because there’s no lying to him, not anymore. He can read you like a book, and the only reason he hasn’t before is because you’ve danced around the topic your whole relationship. “I always have.”

Simon is quiet, the both of you staring at Amira as she plays with her friends, adorable and innocent in the way only children can be. The silence between you stretches on for so long, that you start to think he’s so pissed he won’t even speak. But then he does.

“You’d make a great mum.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut, and you gasp like you’ve been hit, turning away and covering your mouth to stifle the sob that escapes. Your eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over, and you hunch your shoulders, trying to hide yourself from Simon, from what you know is coming.

But Simon doesn’t walk away, doesn’t utter the dreaded breakup speech. Phrase, really. He’s never been one for words.

Instead, he pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of your head, and lets you cry. He holds you together while you fall apart, the strength of his embrace keeping all your shattered pieces in place, no matter how jagged the edges.

“I had a family, once,” he says once your sobs have finally died down. Your eyes snap open in shock, though you can’t see anything, face buried in Simon’s chest. “A nephew. His name was Joseph. Loved ‘im like he was my own.”

You shudder at the grief in his voice, your arms tightening around his waist, trying to be the same steadying presence that he is for you. You don’t talk, not wanting to interrupt. Not when it feels like Simon is finally draining a wound that’s been left festering for far too long.

“I still see ‘is body whenever I look at a li’l one. Eyes blank an’ empty. Hole in the middle of ‘is fore’ead. He was scared when he died. Could tell from the look on ‘is face when I found him.”

You bite your lip to stifle the noise of horror threatening to escape. You’ve known for a while now that Simon’s parents were dead, but you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know that he’d had sibling, let alone a nephew. But now that you do, his wariness around children makes a painful amount of sense.

“An’ I’m— I’m scared, birdie,” he whispers, more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. “Joey died because o’ me. It’d destroy me all over again if we had a kid an’ somethin’ happened to ‘em. I wouldn’t survive it. Didn’t survive it last time, either. Was a dead man walkin’ til I met ya. You brought me back ta life… I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you reassure Simon, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not leaving you, Si, I— I can’t. I love you far too much to walk away.”

“You deserve to be a mum,” Simon said, voice low and pained. “Deserve more than I can give you.”

“You deserve to be a father,” you echo, staring into his glassy eyes, your own just as wet. He flinches at the words, but you take his face in your hand and make him look at you. “You do, baby. You would be such a wonderful Papa… I know you’re afraid. But since when have you let fear rule you, Simon Riley?”

The corner of Simon’s scarred lips quirk, a hint of a smile, and you lean forward to gently press your own to them.

“They’d want you to be happy,” you whisper, watching his eyes close in pained acceptance. “Just as much as I do. Don’t miss out on the future because you’re too busy running from the past.”

Simon doesn’t say anything to that, but he pulls you impossibly closer, holding you so tight it almost hurts. You don't dare to try and make him let go, though, not when that’s the last thing you want.

“Olright,” he rumbles, eyes still closed. When they open a long moment later, your breath catches in your throat. They’ve never been so unguarded before, and you realize that this has been weighing as heavily on him as it has been on you. “If ya want ta be a mum, I’ll make ya a mum, lovie. Christ knows I'd be robbing the world of the best one there ever was if I didn't.”

You laugh wetly, delighted and relieved beyond words, surging forward to capture Simon’s lips in a bruising kiss. His hands settle on your hips as he returns it, squeezing lightly.

“Can’t say m’not lookin’ forward ta seein’ these grow,” he murmurs when you pull apart. A smirk tugs at the edge of his scarred mouth, and his gaze drops down to your breasts. “Those, too. Think you’ll make enough milk f’me ta try some?”

“Simon!” You scold, smacking his chest, your face growing hot. But you can’t keep the big grin off your face, just like you can’t stop your core from tingling at his words. Like a bloodhound, he scents it, smirk growing as his eyes darken.

“Thinkin’ we should start tryin’ tonight,” he whispered in your ear before giving it a little nip. Your body trembles under his hands in anticipation, breaths coming fast. “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about comin’ inside that sweet l’il cunt o’ yours…”

You hide your face in his chest to muffle the breathy moan his words pull from you, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You try to collect yourself, but the deep chuckle he lets out sets your nerves alight all over again.

“Hug!”

The little voice startles you, and you pull back just in time to feel a chunky baby arm wrap around your legs. You look down to see Amira, hugging both you and Simon tightly. You coo, successfully distracted from your menace of a boyfriend's filthy mouth, and bend down to scoop her up, holding her between the two of you.

“Are you ready to go home, Miri?” You ask, and she nods, swinging her little legs. Her feet repeatedly hit Simon’s belly, but he’s unaffected, too busy staring at you and imagining what you’d look like with his child on your hip.

“Ice cream first,” Amira negotiates, the little businesswoman. You laugh, but give in quickly, too elated to try and be strict.

“I could go for some ice cream,” you say, then look at Simon with soft, happy eyes. “What about you, Si? In the mood for something sweet?”

“Whatever ya want, birdie,” he answers easily, and you know he’s not just talking about the ice cream. “Anything' f’my best girl.”

[hxneyfarm]

wouldn't it be nice (to play the game without a crooked die)

summary: dennis whitaker character study, from the eyes of trinity santos rating: teen wc: 2k

There’s something fucking weird about Huckleberry. 

Not in the same was there was something fucking weird about Langdon. At least… Trinity doesn’t think so. 

And it’s not that she doesn’t like him! Really! She likes him a lot! He’s not bad, for a dude; Trinity likes that he’s unobtrusive and mostly quiet, that he listens and he goes out of his way to really help people. He’s been doing the outreach program thing with McKay and Kiara, which Trinity thinks is very fucking cool and very compassionate of him.

But still. There’s something fucking weird about the guy that Trinity still cannot put her finger on after living with him for a month, and it is driving her nuts.

She doesn’t usually have this problem. She’s kind of notorious for being able to pick up on people’s secrets and idiosyncrasies. She would have figured out McKay was on house arrest with a quickness if she’d spent more time with her that first day, Trinity is absolutely certain of it. She figured out Langdon’s thing with the pills and Javadi’s nepo baby roots, and she clocked Mel’s autism and Garcia’s girl-kissing tendencies within moments of meeting them.

At first, Trinity thought she’d had him pegged with the whole Huckleberry schtick. Yes, he’s a country bumpkin who grew up in the sticks going to church multiple times a week. Yes, he was an unhoused med student squatting at the hospital. But there’s something else in there. Every time she thinks she’s getting close to cracking him open like an egg, the tower of cards topples over again and she’s left reeling. 

She just can’t see him. And that, more than anything, is fucking weird.

He’s not an addict or an alcoholic. He’s not hiding a secret girlfriend or boyfriend or sick family member. He’s not a cop. He has a secret and Trinity can fucking smell it on him, but for her life she cannot figure it out.

“What the fuck is your deal, Huckleberry?” she finally asks him, breaking at long last one Saturday night when they get home from a miraculously easy shift.

Trinity is sitting on the couch, Huckleberry coming to join her as he tosses her a can of beer from their shared fridge. His hair is still damp from the shower, his slippers making little shuffling noises as he moves across the linoleum toward their small shared living room.

“What do you mean?” He looks like a spooked stray, backed into a corner with a slip lead. Trinity frowns; she thought he’d stopped looking at her like that.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, kicking her feet up casually on the ottoman in front of the couch to show him she’s not a threat. In a way that says this is friendly — this is banter.

“I mean I can’t figure you out. Langdon’s got his pills, McKay’s got her ankle monitor, Robby’s a basketcase and he’s got history with Collins, Mel’s on the spectrum, Crash is nepo baby supreme -” 

“She doesn’t like it when you call her that,” Huckleberry cuts in to remind her.

Trinity waves a hand as if shooing a bug away, and gets back to the conversation at hand, staring at him pointedly and asking, “What… about… you?”

This part she says slowly, deliberately. She still wants Huckleberry to know that she’ll get his number eventually, even if he doesn’t tell her. Trinity is out of her element for once. She’s free falling here, finally admitting to herself that she doesn’t have the upperhand this time. With him, of all people — Trinity does not have the upperhand.

“You figured me out already, didn’t you? I was living in the hospital. Poor, sad, wet cat of a med student, down on my luck and homeless.”

Trinity narrows her eyes at him. 

“It’s tattoos, isn’t it? You’re hiding a whole… leg sleeve, or whatever. Or —” Trinity gasps dramatically. “It’s a dick piercing! You have a whole Jacob’s Ladder situation in your boxers, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally it.”

He smiles, and to her it looks smug and satisfied, like he just got one over on her. Which is better than the kicked puppy expression from before, but not by a whole lot. This one is endlessly more annoying. He’s barely even trying to hide it, grinning around his long slow drag on the can of beer in his hand as he reaches for the remote. 

He’s much more relaxed now, melting back into the couch. The conversation is over, apparently, as Huckleberry turns on the TV and their little shared living room fills with the sounds of whatever silly show her roommate is deep diving this week.

— — —

Huckleberry doesn’t have any friends.

That’s not his secret, just an observation. He doesn’t have any friends and he doesn’t seem all too invested in making any either. He’s kind of a loner. Not in the creepy, school shooter kind of way. More like… in the monk kind of way. He reads a lot, and he does go on TV deep dives. He likes documentaries and procedurals. When he’s tired he likes sitcoms. 

He reads a lot. He reads those… dark romance fantasy books with the titillating cover art and titles like A Kingdom of Ravens and Razorblades or some other shit that makes Trinity nostalgic for her high school goth phase. He pretends to not notice when she borrows his books, which is sweet of him.

Trinity took him to a stand up comedy club a few weeks after they started living together, and she discovered he likes female comedians. He likes lesbian comedians.

Huckleberry likes craft beer and dislikes red meat that isn’t smashed into a patty shape, shoved between a pair of buns and loaded with veggies, cheese, and condiments. Trinity’s refrigerator is a rainbow of fresh fruits and vegetables for the first time since she moved away from home. 

He drinks his coffee black. Which, of course, is serial killer behavior.

Trinity is pretty sure Huckleberry is not a serial killer.

Huckleberry does not call or visit his family. He talks about them like they’re ghosts; Trinity knows they’re not dead, just not a part of his life anymore. He doesn’t talk about them often, never refers to the place he grew up as back home the way Trinity does. He uses phrases like before and back on the farm and when my mom and I still got along. Trinity thinks they’re a piece of the puzzle of Huckleberry that she has been trying to figure out.

He does not go to church, but he can quote The Bible verbatim at the drop of a hat. He always looks fucking exhausted. Trinity is pretty sure he suffers from insomnia — how else is he reading all those fucking books?

He’s terrible at video games but a terrific teammate to have during trivia night at the dive bar. He always beats Trinity’s ass at pool. 

It’s taking every ounce of willpower in Trinity’s body to not snoop through his room for secrets. She won’t, because that’s such a fucked up invasion of privacy, and her dad read her diary when she was fourteen; she would never inflict that kind of betrayal on someone she cares about.

Trinity cares about Huckleberry. She cares about him in a way she hasn’t cared about a friend in a long time.

The longer they live and work together, the closer they become. They become friends. By their third and final month together in the ER before Huckleberry starts his next rotation, they can practically read each other’s minds. They stick together whenever they can, because he doesn’t take anything she says personally and she feels comfortable giving him credit and letting him take the lead sometimes.

Garcia comments on their rapport more than once. Huckleberry notices the gravitational pull that is Garcia and Santos. He only picks on her a little bit about it, and only ever in the privacy of their shared home.

“Garcia asked me about you today,” he tells her one night, apropos of nothing as she cuts her sandwich into little triangles like her mom used to do for her. 

“Oh yeah?” She brings her plate into the living room and sits down in her usual spot.

“She asked what our deal is. She grills people in the exact same way that you do.”

“Ha ha,” Trinity says, injecting just the right amount of sarcasm to make Huckleberry smile.

“I told her we’re roommates and good friends. She seemed to be satisfied with that. I think she likes you…” this last part he says in a teasing sort of singsong, with a suggestive waggle of his translucent brows.

Trinity kicks him.

“Give it time,” she says. “I’ll woo her into my bed and kick you out for the weekend.”

“Just let me know when you’re ready to rent the U-Haul.”

She laughs sarcastically again, feeling just a little awkward now that her crush is well and truly out in the open. She thought she’d been doing a decent job at hiding it. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence; Trinity scrolls through her Instagram feed as she eats, the TV narrating Huckleberry’s latest documentary undertaking — some guy smuggling North Korean refugees across the border and away from fascism. 

“I’m trans.”

He says it like it's been burning a hole through him, and the puzzle of Dennis Whitaker slots together, just as simple as that.

Slowly, with a mouthful of salami, provolone, and mustard, Trinity nods.

“I’m glad I didn’t figure it out on my own. Thanks for trusting me.”

He barks out a nervous little laugh. “That’s it? No invasive questions, no gloating about how you’d get to the bottom of it eventually?”

“No, man… this one’s not a gotcha. I know it’s not exactly something you’re supposed to say to your trans friends, but genuinely — I never would have guessed.”

“That is not offensive to me, believe me,” Huckleberry says with a heavy sigh. “I’ve been stealth since, like… my third year of undergrad? Changed my name to Dennis and never looked back. I am kind of surprised that you didn’t jump straight to the surgery questions.”

Internally, Trinity is bouncing on the balls of her feet. She wants to ask — dying to know the details, actually. She’s had her eye on all things surgical for a hot minute, and she’s been playing with the idea of applying for an emergency surgery or plastics residency for a little while now, so yeah… she wants to ask.

Huckleberry sighs again — amicably this time — and smiles in Trinity’s direction.

“I got peri-keyhole top surgery a year and a half ago, right here at our hospital. A single chart search of my name would have told you everything.”

Through a mouthful of sandwich, Trinity does her best to tsk at him. “That’s a HIPAA violation — what do you take me for?”

“Thanks for not snooping.”

“How do you know I didn't?”

Huckleberry huffs a little. “My testosterone vials and syringes are sitting in a basket on my nightstand.”

Trinity’s laugh is so loud it takes even her by surprise. “You weren’t even trying to hide it?”

“Not really,” he admits. “Not here. Not with you.”

Trinity has to physically stop herself from putting her hand to her chest. He really is just so sweet. It’s quiet again after that; it’s not awkward, just thoughtful, and Trinity finds herself feeling a little sad at the thought that Huckleberry is going to be leaving her all alone in emergency in just a few short weeks to go to his next rotation.

“So, Huckleberry,” she sighs, “where ya headed after emergency?”

“Pediatrics. But that’s my last rotation, and then I’m coming back to emergency to do my internship.”

“Awww, you gonna miss me?”

“Nah, not too much,” he says. “Hanging out with kids all day won’t be that much different than hanging out with you.”

Trinity kicks him, and the two of them laugh good naturedly. The truth is, Trinity is going to miss him. Sure, he’ll still be here, in her home at the end of a long shift. And they will keep going out to the comedy club and trivia night at the bar, and he will continue to be her wingman with Garcia, and she will keep his secret. 

There’s something special about a mean lesbian and her golden retriever trans guy. Jesus. They're a stereotype now. A fiction trope. Terrific.

As the companionable silence settles over their living room, Trinity remembers with humiliation, “Oh my god, I assumed you had a dick piercing.”

Huckleberry snorts. “Oh, yeah, I was riding that gender euphoria high for days.”

--

title taken from concrete jungle by bad omens tagged because you both asked me to, even tho I know neither of you go here: @dangerous-disposition @patchworkgargoyle

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Dutch Van Der Linde Headcanons

this is a request! / about a proposal & marriage / gn!reader / 18+ / pic creds / divider: @aquazero

A/N: am so sorry this took like fucking years 💔 I did as much as my brain allowed me and also why did it end up being more me headcanoning reader KSJDJD but idk he just has a headstrong personality yk? I luv you and miss you @kelpiekidd I tried my best 😭🫶🏼x

I think this man is not someone who settles down but if he did, it’d be with someone who absolutely keeps him on his feet and doesn’t buy any of his lies. Who he can’t really pin down. That the only way he’ll feel like he wins is by marrying you.

That and also if you have the same drive that he has. Just refusing to settle and this insatiable need to be more.

Even then, I think you’d have to be just as toxic as he is and a tad smarter and maybe use a little black magic. Cause like it or not, that man is charismatic as hell and usually gets his way. If you don’t have him absolutely hooked, he dgaf I fear.. like he HAS to be obsessed.

I think you’d also have to be like “useful” enough to make him respect you? Like a Susan role or a planner or someone really good at pickpocketing or something. And again, smart.

I think his proposal could actually be romantic as fuck ngl… maybe on your anniversary, he’d hire a coachman or something and take you to a show and then fancy dinner, ending in the nicest hotel with a good fuck 🙂‍↕️ and then he proposes in bed, during aftercare, with the most poetic words.

But I think he wouldn’t bother and it would probably happen mid fuck OR after you threaten to leave him or something……… and then again, end in good makeup sex 🙂‍↕️

I do not believe in the fact that he can’t make people come or else Molly and Hosea wouldn’t be that kind LOL it’s THE LEAST he could do to keep them. And there’s NO HELL WAY Susan stayed for a man that…. Low.

Whether it’s love or something else entirely, you always end up going back to him and vice versa.

The ring, to say the least, is eye-catching and maybe not even your taste. Expensive and has him written all over it. Making sure everyone knows you belong to Dutch Van Der Linde.

I think he would be too busy to plan a wedding ironically…… you know better than to ask him of that.

But if there was a wedding, it would be like the usual parties with the gang and he puts on his best suit for the picture.

Would be laughing and drinking the entire time, happy to know he’s finally bagged you.

Handsy as hell and have probably quickly fucked you three times throughout the occasion, behind the trees or wagons..

And he isn’t done yet 😋

Married life would be so fiery. It’s like he’s found his match. You’re the only one who drives him crazy enough to the point that he’s turned on.

Fighting, sex, fighting, sex 🙂‍↕️

But the fighting can be very crazy…….. manipulation, threats, pushing him into lakes…… only among the rest..

When he’s successful with a robbery or something, he’d be very nice. Lots of kisses and compliments and sex is gentle and more giving. Spends all night talking to you about your shared dreams <3

You’re good at being good to him — you’re not obedient enough to bore him yk? You know when to outsmart him and when to pretend to lose. But at the end of the day, you’ll let him take this “alpha” role.

Both of you are always the best dressed anywhere despite the budget 😬 He likes showing you off <3

I fear his spiral to insanity doesn’t leave you out of it 😔 though you are the last to leave him.

Somewhere down the line, he seems to die more and more that you can’t even see anymore the man you had fallen in love with. So you leave him in that cabin.

He’ll spew curses at you and say he’ll be fine but it’s kind of calm like he’s seen it coming. He isn’t even sure he still loves you like that.

But he still imagines talking to you sometimes about the dreams you once pictured together </3

[airas-story]

Hello! I saw that prompts were open (Apologies for not checking last time)! Could you write about Stephen’s colleagues’ (fellow attending surgeons/scrub techs/scrub nurses/ residents/superiors) perceptions/opinions about his personality and relationship status? He’s a workaholic and overachiever who wants to make sure everyone knows it (and that can be unappealing to some people at times) and is rather closed off so people don’t know much about his personal life (and don’t think he has one given how packed his schedule is) Despite this, his everyday interactions/calls/phone sometimes let slip that he is perhaps not as clinical as he appears to be and may have unknown aspects of his personality which people find interesting to gossip about . I loved casual conversations dictated the flow of so much information in this Drabble (  https://www.tumblr.com/airas-story/784442153643458560/the-world-didnt-expect-tony-stark-modern-day ) and I think it would be nice to see how different people in different professions (nurses, doctors , techs etc) at the the hospital and at different stages of their training (Stephens surgeon superiors and subordinates) truly perceive him. I think people see Stephen as this workaholic monolith who only chases accolades and it would be nice to see them discover a warmer aspect of his personal life ; his more selfless habits and possibly how the confront rumours of a significant other. I would love to a Drabble delving into the people around him really hone in on who he is as a person!

I don't know if this is what you were going for, but this is what the muse gave me. You referenced the other drabble, but I assumed that was more in terms of format than as a related work, since in that AU they're married and there would be no rumors of a significant other, since everyone would know. There was a lot to unpack in this one (and I can only fit so many hospital staff in), so I chose a subsection of it, since it wouldn't be possible to fit all of that in 300 words.

“I heard him on the phone in the break room,” one of the nurses whispered a few feet away. “He didn’t see me in the corner. He said ‘love you’.”

Christine glanced up from filling out her report, taking in the wide-eyed amazement in Jenny’s eyes as she gossiped with a surgery technician. She recognized both from Stephen’s regular surgery team. Which made sense. Only one person in this hospital would get such a reaction from saying ‘love you’. As though Stephen and love were entirely incompatible.

Both of them glanced at her and she realized they’d staged this conversation where they’d known she’d overhear them. She rolled her eyes. She was used to being known as the ‘Stephen whisperer’. Though… for a moment she amused herself imagining how everyone would react to seeing Stephen with Tony, the way he went downright soft—if still as snarky as ever—and warm.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Christine told them. “I’m not airing Stephen’s personal business.”

“Oh come on. The whole love thing…” Jenny pushed.

Christine arched an eyebrow.

“I mean, does he even have time for that?” the technician, Thomas, asked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sleeps here.”

“Does he have the capability for that?” Jenny muttered, quiet enough that she probably thought Christine wouldn’t hear.

Christine did. Her smile went strained. She knew Stephen sometimes came off… sharp. But he was a good doctor and—most of the time—even a good man. “He is very capable of that,” she said shortly. She took a deep breath, letting the irritation go. And because she knew what thought probably lurked beneath the comment, she added, “And the person on the other end of that phone call? They love Stephen just as much as Stephen loves them.”

[kerubimcrepin]

LIVEREAD: WAKFU, THE GREAT WAVE [TOME 2, Chapters 1-6]

Wow it sure has been a while and a mental health episode and a cancellation and a blocking 20 people and a failed attempt at translating a book (I WILL! I PROMISE! AFTER I WRITE MY COURSE PAPER) since my last post huh.

...Oh well. It's a good thing I waited because we got some nice info I can share here.

And yes, I skipped chapters 1 and 2 of this tome. I am here mostly for julith and crepinjurgens, not Tot's wild ride.

All I can say about chapter 3 is that I think Julith's ressurection was probably not a perfect one. I think she might just be a mindless puppet. It doesn't feel... normal, that she should stop like this; while my commentary on chapter 4 stops at my surprise for the new nickname for 'Salar. It's nice to finally have an official one, hehe.

Now to the meat and potatoes of this blog.

The fucking gasp I gusped reading this. Sorry I mean sorry I mean sorry I mean. "my little salesman" hes so... It's unbearable how he is. It's genuinely so hard. I wish I had commentary on what exactly this makes me feel, but you needed to be inside my head all those months ago to fully get it. He's calling the 600yo guy that pretends to be his dad his little salesman. If I was joris i'd just take us both out...

I'm still waiting for the long awaited long predicted Joris Jurgen crashout, chat. btw I love how the translators didn't even bother with any onamatopoeia or quirky text. Like Sure. Everyone in the world knows what bonfll and hé mean.

Joris... kill them. and be reincarnated as a lotus flower.

I will be the first to say that it'll be sad if Tot forgot the ecaflip reincarnation lore of his own franchise. but for now im choosing to read this as just cute banter.

Cutie patootie...

For a while I hoped that maybe we'd finally see and example of a k0--mortal character we knew reincarnating and ngl, I really hope this is like... some sort of a next life for Lilotte? All that reincarnation lore just not to implement it for angst purposes feels like a waste.

It's probably not lilotte even in spirit, but a man can dream jdlgdlg.

Honestly.... im mostly screenshotting this here bc I feel like this is a nice screenshot to ref from. sjgdkljfg

I wish I had more to say but they're so nice... And also, I wonder if they saw this ouginak. Shouldn't they be freaking tf out too? Unless, as always Tot Forgot. Oh well.

Big fan of Joris being haunted

Also a big fan of Kerubim being haunted

Inside me are two wolves. One of them thinks using orphan mistreatment as a plot point is extremely cliche. Another wolf thinks Joris's love might turn all these orphans into post-waven's military supersolders which would make my jokes about him being "training and conscripting orphans" level of evil literally real.

It would be so awesome. It would be so cool.

To my knowledge, this is the first time Joris's surname is dropped in Wakfu.

I feel a bit bad for thinking this, but Joris saving the orphans is still a bit cliche. I hope it goes somewhere more interesting later. Like him imparting some insane beliefs onto those kids.

IVE BEEN SAYING FOR YEARS THAT joris wouldn't want to be called master outside of work. I think he prefers just "Joris" when it comes to kids and housekeepers.

I love his impulsive idealism. Genuinely. he WOULD pick up random orphans and be like "you live with me now".

This also confirms to me that crepinjurgens are rich as hell. Though we already kinda knew that.

SHE LOOKS SO SMUG hjghskjdghsdg... While Joris is still the cutest ever.

I love to see happiness vaporate from his eyes.

also ATCHAM AND KERUBIM ATCHAM AND KERUBIM worried worried atcham and kerubim. <33 HEART.

...

Sorry I didn't have any in-depth commentary. I'm not sorry for my absence of translation struggles though sgjfgd. I've been very unhappy in this fandom, and had a very unhealthy relationship with it, so I've been working to change that. I wish I could say more about what I meaan exactly, but it's quite boring honestly. Then there's the fact that modern Krosmoz kinda sucks ass (yet all the people who concentrate on it sucking ass are mostly unbearable and annoying despite being objectively right).

If you're still here, and consider me a friend or a mutual, thank you for sticking around. Even if just for this blog! You don't have to follow my personal accounts to be my friend or mutual.

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Anyone want to see my first fanfiction ever

This was a Phineas and Ferb fanfiction I wrote in a notebook when I was 10.

Now, the title might be in English but don’t get fooled: This entire fic is in Swedish. I will provide translations.

The context for this fic is that I realized Phineas and Ferb were stepbrothers and got interested in how their lives were before that. I also had seen a lot of art about how ”grown up” P&F looked like and was like ”wow!! I wanna draw them grown up too!”

Anyway this is edgy asf so let’s get right into it

Okay, everything begins a summer day*. At Lawrence Fletcher’s home in United Kingdom at a hospital (??? he lived at the hospital? 😂 I understand what I was trying to write but it sounds funny). The summer ends soon and it’s cold. But Lawrence does not care. It’s two other thinks about. His wife and his newborn son Ferb.

The first picture of little Ferb he’s wrapped in a blanket. But you can’t see his mom. Ferb’s mom is always anonymous and no one has seen her. Two year later Frembie was born, Ferb’s long lost little sister.

*this was before I knew Ferb’s birthday was February 29th. Which would be a summer day in the southern hemisphere but Ferb is born the northern hemisphere so x)

But one year before Frembie was born Phineas was born. Phineas was a baby everyone would want. Even his five year old sister Candace thought so.

Candace and Phineas lived a tremendous life. Candace played a lot with dolls and Phineas ripped them apart. But Candace liked him anyway.

Ferb started getting interested in colors and shapes when he turned four. He got a nice new look too!

But his mother did not like Ferb’s new look. She said he looked weird in the look. She ripped his clothes apart and replaced them with a look he needed to wear for at least 7 years.

Ferb: Mom, I…

Ferb’s mom: Wear the look for 7 years, or else…

(Even as a kid I LIKED Ferb’s look so idk why I was like ”no he was forced to wear this” 😭)

Phineas and Candace’s dad always was there for them. His name was Francis and loved both of his kids equally.

But Francis got very sick… over 4 months he was in a hospital. And in the middle of the night, the children’s mother Linda a message that Francis was dead. She woke up Candace and Phineas. Candace was drenched in tears.

The day before Francis died, Ferb moved. The family was split. Ferb’s mom was tired of Lawrence. And she said ”Ferb should be more modern! He is so nerdy all the time!” even if she was the one making him nerdy. Ferb’s mom carried Frembie into the car and didn’t even say goodbye.

The last thing Ferb ever saw from little Frembie was a three year old girl’s worried face. After this event Ferb didn’t talk much more. He only did more movements. Ferb didn’t know how he could have stopped talking.

Candace and Phineas never forgot the doom’s day. At least Candace. She’s going through a phase hard to avoid. Candace’s world has shattered. She’s grumpy all the time. Nothing gets better by school starting!

Everything changed the day Candace and Phineas got to know that Linda was getting remarried. Plus that the man had a son. But the son they wouldn’t get to see until after the wedding. (Why tho? Why can’t his son be at the wedding lol)

Believe it or not but the man Linda married was Lawrence, Ferb’s dad! When Ferb met Candace and Phineas the first time they just got happy. (Amazing redraw of that Little Brothers flashback, I love that Ferb’s head is HUGE in comparison to the others)

Ferb was mostly with Phineas but sometimes he wanted to be with Candace. Phineas and Ferb could build a lot that no one else could build.

Phineas and Ferb always belonged together. None of them ever told the other about their previous life. Every day they built something without saying a thing about the past. (I LOVE this drawing of Perry just having a ”:D” in the middle)

But they would know soon… the year 2010 the day before Ferb’s birthday, Phineas felt a bubble pop up in his head (I am assuming a thought bubble lmao). He needed to get out the feeling again. After three seconds Phineas ran straight to the mall. He needed a new style!

Cashier: The usual?

Phineas: No, give me a brand new style!

(It is very unclear what ”feeling” he needed to get out again but sure)

Ferb turned 13. He would finally change his old clothes to something new! His new style got this good:

(Well. I guess it’s a question of your personal taste how good it is)

Ferb got more nerdier. He was also very well raised. He started talking more and more. Ferb actually started to tell about his previous life in a book.

But Phineas read Ferb’s journal and thought about his previous life a lot. It was long days for Phineas. (I appreciate Phineas being so empathetic tho)

Ferb had finally figured Phineas out. It was a giant fight. So giant that Lawrence sent Ferb to his mother for a weekend (Wait he had contact with her this entire time??? Also doesn’t she live in the UK what do you mean over a WEEKEND. They don’t live in Europe they can’t just make quick trips between countries like you can do here)

Ferb sat and was mad at Phineas all trip to UK. But then he saw a familiar face. It was… Frembie! (Did Ferb bring Perry with him to UK?)

Ferb wanted to live with his mother all the time and he was allowed that. Ferb graduated and got married in United Kingdom. He got a good life and a well raised daughter.

(The whole thing with his mom feels odd tho. Why did they reconcile so quickly? 😭)

Phineas could not forget Ferb for a long while. But then he got an admirer… (this drawing of Isabella and Phineas I swear I just redrew from some fanart I had seen online)

Phineas nonetheless got contact with Ferb. Phineas has today three kids, triplets, and a wonderful wife. And contact with Ferb (we need to establish that twice I guess)

The End.

So! Here’s some general notes I have:

- I have really been obsessed with next gen OCs AND ALSO like making backstories for people since my childhood

- I didn’t know how to solve conflicts I guess so everything is just ok between everyone?? Ferb’s mom went from abusive to someone he wanted to live with permanently

- Frembie was a completely unnecessary character sorry 10yo me I know you love writing people having lots of siblings but sometimes people are only-children 😭

- I do appreciate the art. 10 year old me had just learned to draw the characters and was so proud of it.

- The fact that he was 13 in 2010… I really went from the theory that the show takes place in 2007. That attention to detail was pretty funny though

- But the thing with Ferb going to UK just OVER A WEEKEND. Like I KNEW they lived in America. You can’t really do that over there like you can in Europe (my mom for example took a flight to London once with her friends to shop and then took the flight back home to Sweden in the evening). Though, to be fair, maybe Ferb just invented a way to get there quickly.

- We just did not see more of Candace after hearing about her grief

- Still not sure what Phineas getting a ”new style” would do for the plot.

- ”From baby to teen” is a misleading title when it ends when they’re adults

- For my very first fanfiction (without even knowing what a fanfiction was) it was a solid job. But it definitely needs some work 😭

[ilikehimhessilly]

𝑩𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒉'𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑹𝒖𝒃𝒔

Sun and Moon help you to feel better when you're having a particularly hard day dealing with chronic pain.

I personally don't experience chronic pain of any sort, so I'd like to give a special thank you to my friend for sharing with me how it affects them in different ways. I always made sure to do my research whilst writing this chapter to depict it as accurately and broadly as possible, as it affects everyone differently.

My goal for this was for it to be very comforting, so I hope you enjoy. :)

A heavy lump sits in your throat and refuses to clear. Today has been a nightmare to endure. On hard days like this a pain killer or two would help you to push through…but today was so much worse than hard. Your head throbs with agony and your body is unbelievably stiff. The ache in your stomach is a reminder of how hungry you are, but the thought of food alone was enough to make you want to be sick. You sniffle helplessly. Being bed bound against your will is nothing short of horrible.

Headache persistent, you can’t even lift your head to meet Sun’s sympathetic gaze as he re-enters your bedroom. He takes a seat by your legs, placing a hand on them over the covers and stroking them gently.

“You’re going to be alright, sunshine.” He reassures. The way you feel right now makes his words hard to believe.

“Let’s get you in the tub, nice and slow, okay?” He’s patient with you, even as you move at a snail's pace. One arm wraps around your back and the other beneath your legs. He frowns when you let out a wince, pulling you into his chest securely.

Once you reach the bathroom, he sets you down to sit on the closed toilet seat lid to help you peel off the pyjamas you haven’t been able to change out of yet. You hate how tedious and slow you move, but anything too fast makes the pain start shooting through your body again.

The water is instantly soothing. It doesn’t take away the pain, but you can feel yourself relaxing, even if it’s just a little bit. He tells you softly that he’ll be back in just a moment, and you focus your attention on the flickering candlelight that’s reflecting on the water. Glancing up, you notice the glass of water with ice that’s been left on the side of the tub for you. All of a sudden you become very aware of just how dry your throat feels, and you eagerly grasp the glass and start to chug. Placing the now more than half empty glass back onto the tub's edge, you also find a small plate with a few crackers on it.

Pushing aside your fear of throwing up, you pick up a cracker and start to slowly nibble away at it. Some sustenance at last.

Sun soon returns, arms full with a bundle of clean pyjamas. He sits them on the toilet lid before lowering himself onto his knees by you. You don’t look at him, but you know he’ll be visibly relieved to see you eating. Two hands plant themselves on your back, and he gently starts to massage and rub away at the tension. A heavy sigh passes your lips. It’s a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Neither of you say much for the duration of your bath. He works away at your back whilst you eat and uses a cloth with a tiny bit of unscented soap to freshen you up. Once you’ve had enough he helps you back out, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel and then your pyjamas.

Late afternoon soon shifts into evening, and they stay by your side diligently. The remaining light fades away and Sun shifts into Moon. He helps you climb back into bed, tucking you in snuggly and making sure there’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand before joining you.

“You'll be alright, starlight.” Moon promises, curling two cautious arms around your body. Days like this will come again. There’s only so much you can do to try and prevent them, but they happen. At least now you don’t have to face them alone.

“You’ll be alright.” He repeats. This time, you believe them.