#idk idk idk i know others that bind and that works for them but i just

[strawberrysodaslut]

idk if you can do this but can you do a poly!marauders x gn!reader, and the boys’ reactions when yn wears a binder one day.

i'm not trans nor have i ever worn a binder, so i hope this is an accurate portrayal!! feel free to correct me on anything i've messed up.

Getting a binder was a long time coming. After months of research, hesitations and all the time spent waiting, going to the store and getting one, you never thought wearing something to bind would make you feel so damn free. Finally, understanding what people meant when you heard about gender euphoria.

You hadn’t told the boys about your latest purchase. In fact, you hadn’t brought up the concept to them. Not that they hadn’t been supportive of you, they really were. In a world of magic, pronouns were something that hardly needed grasping, and they would correct anyone who messed up politely, sending you a soft smile as they did. But- you couldn’t help but be anxious about them finding out. What if this was too much? What if they get freaked out?

So, you kept your binder to yourself.

At first, you didn’t think they had noticed. You wore looser clothes or sports bras earlier, so it probably wasn’t as big of a difference to others. It wasn’t until dinner that night where you noticed Sirius staring at you from across the table.

“What?” You said, chomping down on a bread roll to hide the way self conciousness ebbed in your chest.

Sirius squinted his eyes, looking like James when he tries to read without his glasses. “You look different.” He says. “Did you do something to your face?”

James laughs from next to you. “Did they do something to their face? What kind of question is that, Padfoot?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Sirius exclaims, “Admit it though Prongs, something about them is different!”

You find it hard to not instinctively crawl under the table to hide. So you curl in on yourself, pressing your chin to your chest to calm the heat across your cheeks. As if he can sense your anxiety, Remus places his hand on your shoulder.

“Guys stop.” He says, light concern lacing his voice, but he’s clearly trying to hide it. “Obviously they’re just relaxed now that the holidays are coming, isn’t that right?” He says to you, giving you a slight smirk and raise of his eyebrows that only happen during his most devious pranks. ‘go with this’, he silently urges you.

You smile, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’m glad classes are almost over.”

“Well,” Sirius starts, “We should have holidays more often then. Haven’t seen you this confident in- I don’t even know.”

“I’ll start the petition!” James pipes.

You smile, glad to be supported by your boys, but still relieved that your secret remains yours.

Little did you know later that night, the boys had a plan to throw a movie night with you in the common room. So at nighttime, when you had changed out of your binder so you wouldn’t sleep in it, James surprised you by barging into your room.

“Oi! It’s movie time- oh sorry.” James said, cutting himself off to cover his eyes as you put on your sweatshirt.

Remus followed him, quickly closing his eyes and turning around when he saw you, “Jeez Prongs! They’re changing!” He scolded.

“I know! That’s why I’m…” He trails off, gesturing to the hand that’s covering his eye- going completely unnoticed to Remus with his eyes shut tight.

You shake your head, a soft giggle escaping from your lips. God, they’re dramatic. “It’s okay guys, don’t stress.” You throw your sweatshirt over your head. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

James makes a soft grunt, before removing the hand from his eyes and taking you in. “Well, sorry again.” He says. His eyes slowly drift behind you to something on your bed, and tilts his head. “Hey what’s that?”

You almost jump, turning behind you to see your binder laid out on your bed, ready to be put away. You shudder a deep breath before trying your best to gesture nonchalantly. “It’s uh-” It’s hard not to cringe at how your voice trembles. Okay, nonchalant isn’t working. So you instead opt to be candid. “It’s my binder.”

James looks between you and the binder, his brows furrowed. “Binder…?” He questions before his eyes go wide. He paces towards you in a frenzy. “You’re not binding your magic, are you? Listen, you shoul-”

A giggle almost slips out again as you interrupt him before he explodes, “No Prongs! It’s for my chest. It binds my chest.”

Despite the reassurance that no, you were not binding your magic, James doesn’t look any less confused. If anything, he looked even more. “Why would you want to bind your chest?” He asks, his brows furrowing as he makes his way from you to the binder.

Candid, you remind yourself. You’re being candid. “So it would be flatter.” You say.

A beat passes before James replies, still looking down at the material.

“Oh.” “Oh?” You ask. Your heart thumping in your chest with anticipation.

He makes a small squeak as he turns back to you, “I-I just didn’t realise that was something you worried about.” He says, his voice sympathetic but laced with concern. “It’s not…” He pauses, “Is this where we’re supposed to say something to make you feel better? Because you don’t have to do that for other people you know...”

“No, I get that.” You say, a small smile making its way to your face. “This isn’t for other people, it’s for me. I’m more comfortable with myself when I wear it.” You gesture to the binder, as if it hasn’t been the subject of the past couple of minutes.

With that, James’ whole demeanour changes. The tension in his body disappears as he smiles wide. “Well then, we’re thrilled for you. Aren’t we moony?” He says, nudging Remus who has just been staring at you since the conversation started.

As if he has just awoken from a nap, Remus startles to attention. “Oh- uh yes! I’m supportive of whatever you choose as long as you're happy.” Remus replies, smiling at you before chuckling “Sorry it’s just- I knew that’s what was different.”

“You staring at their chest are you?” James teases Remus. “Perv.”

“No! I-” He exclaims, a red tint painting his face.

You smile at him, about to reassure the boy, when a crashing sound comes from downstairs before a yell echoes through the hallway. Remus mutters a small ‘fuck’s sake’ as the cause of the noise comes bounding towards your room.

“Sorry gentlemen- gender neutral, of course. The popcorn has burned.” Sirius announces before he’s entered the room, reeking of burnt popcorn with a few pieces lodged in his hair. Sharing James’ nosiness, his eyes quickly fixate on your binder. “Hey, what’s that?”

James scoffs before turning to Sirius. “It’s a binder, Padfoot, and they’re very happy.” He says with pride, his chin lifting. “Catch up.”

Remus’ attention, however, has drifted away from the binder and he asks the real important question, “How the hell do you burn magic popcorn?”

Sirius jumps to the defensive, “Hey! I’m the one who told you not to put me in charge of food!” He says, throwing his hands up. “I’m obviously more suited to the pillow gathering region.”

With a dictionary worth of swear words, Remus stomps down the hall to make some unburnt popcorn. James quickly following behind, arguing why him being the pillow gatherer was the best choice.

With Sirius and you alone, he turns to you. “Hey, it’s cool that you have that now. Reg used to use one a while ago.” He says, before grabbing your hand, “Now, let’s watch some movies on a subpar pillow arrangement.”

You laugh as you both go to follow the other two boys. “Sounds good.” You say, feeling more secure with them than ever. Your binder sitting blissfully on your bed, ready to be used again tomorrow.

poly marauders masterlist

#marauders #harry potter #poly!maraduers #marauders x reader #poly!marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders x y/n #marauder x you #marauders fanfic #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #james potter fluff #sirius black fluff

[tittysuckersworld]

i crave top surgery so bad- its the one thing that would fix me dysphoria

#is like #i know i can bind but it makes my dysphoria worse?? #because it forces me to see chest and feel it pressed together and be in my brain “mine” when it very much isnt #may see about getting some sorta big job or use summer job stuff/save it up to be able to get it cause mannn #idk idk idk i know others that bind and that works for them but i just #i want to be more dude thats fem than fem thats dude #if that makes sence? #i wanna be man that has feminine traits and dresses in feminine ways that is seen as a dude without having to be masculine #but thats not posible for me with how me body is so must! contort to fit my inside shape even a lil!!!!

[dreamertrilogys]

a fun fact about me is that i need to start binding or i’m going kill myself

#not actually don’t worry. i just need to say that i’m going to kms 100x a day for personal reasons #what they don’t tell you about having actual trans friends irl is that the one downside to it is that you have to see people just like you #being out and like actually passing but like you specifically can’t for a variety of reasons but those reasons don’t help with the dysphoria #anyway i’ve been tempted to bind/been looking into it on and off for a long time now actually. i think the biggest issues i’d have are: #purchasing it (solution: prepaid credit card) comma actually receiving the package without my parents finding out (solution: i’ve now done #this before with other packages which is more than i could say like 2 years ago yknow but also worst case scenario i order it to a friend’s #house) comma actually wearing it without my parents noticing (solution: still unsure about this one but whatever) and the most persistent #issue is washing it without my parents knowing which would be difficult bc in our house everyone’s laundry is done communally all at once #BUT i feel like if i really tried i might be able to work my way around that one or like hand wash it or smth idk #actually i think ur supposed to hand wash them anyway so that solves one of my problems at least #anyway #.txt #gender diary

[celestialscatterbrain]

1. personal synastry and composite experiences and observations

Do not interact if you are a minor. (18+)

Sun in 8th house synastry: I was the house person they were the sun. I definitely developed insecurities I never had before as a result of this connection. With the sun shining brightly on my insecurities, they were hard to ignore and even harder to not project them entirely on the sun. A lot of “you did this to me!” energy. I didn’t consider myself a jealous person until this relationship and a lot of it came from wanting to be “good enough” in the eyes of the sun person. It’s like knowing you have these darker aspects in common and wanting them to see you can bond this way and see them in a way no one can. You also end up pushing limits together. You liked this? Now WE love this. You’re addicted to that? Now WE are addicted to it. Moderation is hard to achieve with sun in the 8th house synastry. It can also bring up insecurities surrounding sex with that person specifically, if poorly aspected. Explosive reactions and emotional outbursts aren’t foreign here. The house person can feel like a vampire being sunburned, with all its ugliness revealing itself from its body because of its interaction with this person. The 8H person wants a full, in-depth analysis of the sun person’s thoughts, intentions, and motivations. The plutonic energy wants to completely envelop the sun, compulsively in some cases, to know WHY they are the way they are, and why the sun presents themselves in certain ways. This is especially true if the sun person did something to hurt the 8H person, who can feel it more than is rational. The 8H person can really struggle with getting over any emotional harm or feelings of abandonment that come from the sun person. The 8H person can potentially resent the sun person for not being able to read them as intently as they could read the sun person. The sex, if and once insecurities are worked through, can bring you so much closer to one another and to yourself. I also feel like any disturbances or intimacy problems between you two can easily be felt by others or there can be blow ups in front of people you know, because the sun is a planet that illuminates wherever the light lands, whether you like it or not. Avoid public fights, because you will kiss and makeup but the damage in other people’s eyes will be done and opinions will be made. The 8H person might be able to see through any facade the sun person puts up, and this could lead to deep discussions that could be extremely healing for the Sun who might have to work through some things. The 8H person can also teach the sun person how to make more money and maybe even encourage them to start their own business. They can be known as a couple that makes a lot of money together. The sun person can also give sugar daddy/mommy vibes and the 8H the sugar baby, even if it neither one of the people involved are rich-rich. This is a highly binding placement. You two might find it difficult or even impossible to separate from each other even if the relationship has run its natural course. You guys are known as the couple that is “stuck” to one another.

Moon in 5th house synastry: *weird* but, for those who have this placement with a significant other, do you love to smell their body odor? I think in the house of children and fertility, it makes sense to love your partner’s pheromones. Something as weird as the smell of their armpits or stinky feet becomes comforting, idk?? This house is also really fun, and you can get a lot of emotional fulfillment out of acting like children together. 5H is ruled by Leo, so I also found that we had a lot of fun putting on “shows” for one another, and sort of making up our own characters and accents to make the other giggle. People are also really excited for the prospect of us having children together, and you’ll have friends volunteering to babysit or be the godparent of your unborn children LOL. Dressing up nice and going out on dates to somewhere with a great ambiance can be a great way to feel connected. Sharing perfume, or gifting each other perfumes or colognes. Loving the scents they wear. Same taste in candles? Candles as gifts. Lots of watching TV together? Having “shows” that feel wrong to watch without the other. Being called pretty by the other means a lot, and being pretty in each other’s eyes makes you feel good.

Moon in 12th house synastry: 12H synastry tends to have an awful reputation, and I get it when it’s a relationship that isn’t meant for you. However, my moon falls in my best friend’s 12H, and it is one of my favorite placements of ours. We have a telepathic connection where we can just look at the other and know what’s up. You preemptively know what will bother the other person and find it hard to understand how other people wouldn’t have assumed that thing would annoy your person. You understand each other’s motives, and can provide the ultimate shoulder to cry on or ear to listen with. When it’s a new interaction it can feel a bit intense, because how are you in my head!!! I feel like you can read my thoughts! It was like that for the both of us. It’s like, when together, both our consciousnesses transported to another realm where we are mutually perceiving something and our thoughts are being put on a radio for the other to listen to. Very spiritual relationship. You KNOW the vibes, and those feelings will be verified through the other person who already felt the same. She will never be wrong in my eyes and I will defend her to the death. We don’t even have to speak on certain days, but we can feel whatever mood the other one is in and check-up on each other accordingly. Whenever we have a strange dream or nightmare, the first thing we do is text each other and try to analyze what it could mean. I as the 12H person also dreamt of us becoming best friends before we formally met. The dreams i would have of her would always be loaded with spiritual symbolism. We also grew up with the same level of emotional attachment to our personal spiritualities and shared religion, which plays a large role in our understandings of one another. Most people just won’t get it, but she always will. She could read my crazy journal entries if she wanted to. 12H moon synastry is just unconditional love. Between friends at least, it feels like a long-lost twin connection. Also, her and I had gotten matching tattoos before we even knew of each other, both of them being for the same spiritual meaning!

Composite Mars in 3rd house: Lots of talking during sex, and lots of car sex— It might sometimes feel like that’s the easiest thing to talk about, or the conversation always steers to that direction. Sending nudes? Sexting. Maybe the only way you two could engage your sexual desire for one another is through sexting, because distance might not permit the full physical expression. If you don’t have a lot of experience knowing the other’s communication style, it can lead to a bit of random defensiveness or perceiving the other as communicating abrasively. I think it can lead to one trying to get reactions out of the other by saying something out of pocket.

Composite Mercury in 12th house: Pay attention to the dreams you have of this person! They will seriously tell you a lot about your dynamic, but don’t take them at face value! Lots of mystical elements to your dreams about them specifically, so maybe reviewing tarot card meanings and astrology concepts can help you decipher the meanings of your dreams. You might find it easier than expected to confide in each other or rant about your brain’s inner workings together. “I don’t know why I’m saying all that-“ or psychoanalyzing each other for fun. Talking about your less-than-desirable attributes. Being honest about your deceptive tendencies or specific lies you’ve told and why. Oversharing things that will usually make other people uncomfortable in the same context (like talking about your exes or failed situationships on a first date). Difficulties communicating when it’s not in person because it leaves too much room for confusion. Deceit is a real possibility though, with someone voluntarily “leaving out details” about their life outside of the relationship to avoid ruining the flow of energy or the dynamic. Having each other saved on your phones under fake names. Having to hide that you’re talking to this person from other people. One of you withdrawing communication to manipulatively make the other think about you more. Taking turns being each other’s therapist. Thinking about each other often but never expressing that, or the extent to which you think of one another. Thinking about the other at night before going to bed. “I started catching feelings for the girl that I’m currently having sex with, so it’s safe to say we don’t talk anymore, unless of course we’re having sex” in Sasquatch .22 by Bay Faction.

Composite Venus in 12th house: There really is a secretive component to this interaction that can feel impossible to bypass. Your family, friends, or society might not “approve” of you two together. One or both of you can be cheating on someone with this person. Only being able to meet up or be affectionate at night or in extremely private settings. The privacy of the relationship can help you open up a lot more than you’d expect to, because there’s no one but you two to perceive the other in this context. No judgments on how you two should behave with one another, so “let’s fully enjoy the moment while it lasts.” No one understanding your interaction or it’s purpose, and you probably don’t understand it either. Sending telepathic love notes. Longing. Intimate and romantic sex that haunts you or catches you off guard. Never wanting to be the first one to admit you’ve caught feelings. Ruining your sleep schedule to spend time with one another. Dreaming about romantically linking with them before it ever happens. Withdrawing once feelings start feeling real. The song “Lips of Angel” by Hinder reminds me of Composite Venus in 12H. “Illicit Affairs,” “August,” and “False God” by Taylor Swift. “Why Can’t I?” by Liz Phair. Gato de Noche by Bad Bunny. Sex by The 1975.

Lilith in 8th house synastry: Wanting to try things sexually with this person that wasn’t necessarily exciting with other partners. “You can do whatever you want to me, and I’ll let you.” Possibly experimenting with or preferring BDSM with one another. That Lana lyric that’s like: You fucked me so good that I almost said “I love you.” It might also be controversial if people knew you’ve had sex with one another. Revenge sex? As in, you two having sex might indirectly be spiting someone else, and it kind of feels like you’re dishing out delicious karma on a surprising silver platter— “lol if only they knew” You two might have fun misbehaving together. Doing what you both know you’re not supposed to be doing can make everything feel better, and even more reason to keep doing what you’re doing. Lana Del Rey in Diet Mountain Dew: “you’re no good for me, but baby I want you.” Wanting to be dangerous together. “Leave me bruised so I can’t forget you.” “Seeing you tonight is a bad idea, right?” This placement somewhat reminds me of a union between the death card and the devil card in tarot, with an emphasis on risk-stained sexual liberation. You can become symbolic of temptation in each other’s lives, so it’s hard to deny your impulses. Toxic by Britney Spears.

-D 🖤🕯

#8th house synastry #synastry #composite astrology #composite chart #12th house synastry #5th house synastry #astrology #mars #3rd house #venus #Lilith #astro observations #astroblr #sexstrology #romantic astrology #relationship astrology #composite Mars #composite Mercury #composite venus #Pluto #12th house composite #witch #witchblr #witchcore #witch blog #placements #astro notes #synastry observations #composite observations #lilith synastry

[ramons-elevator]

Fuck it. Appreciation Post for the amazing QSMP admins.

Heres a list of just a small bit of the amazing shit that they did on/for the QSMP and its players:

Made a huge prison/event for Pac e Mike which later turned into a job for Fit for his lore

Helping Foolish out with his Titan by raising it up, lighting it up, and even making sure the brightness of the light blocks where okay for him

Listening to Fit and Phil the day the task was "Make a grappling squawk" and made it interesting with Walter Bob delivering the news

Making Gegg a reality and letting him run for president

Every event is so cool no matter how big or small. The dungeons the The Jaidens did was so fun and interesting. Every new players event is always chaos but very detailed. Even making stuff for French Independence day and the 4th of July so people could experience each other's cultures.

The amazing wedding cake and rings for Cellbit and Roier's wedding

Helping Tazercraft with the Hide and Seek Arena and making the code so they can actually play hide and seek easier

Giving Charlie, Roier, and Max (idk if theres more) key binds so they easily switch their skins and their names in game

The little jokes/ nods to stuff that happens on the server. Like the day after Missa came back and failed a water bucket clutch, they made one of the tasks "Have a water bucket competition".

Them elaborating on stuff that happens on the server. For instance, Bad putting up mini bulletin board at spawn so they keep everyone updated. So the admins started putting the newspaper there so people could see and be updated.

Philza found an insane mob that basically soft locked your game and Phil messaged the admins telling them that information, to which they immediately disabled the mob.

The side NPCs that everyone fall in love with them. From Walter Bob, a random admin who they let the players create a story and love for, to the Capybaras, which are basically the admins having fun but turned into them having their own lore.

The insane enigmas they make for Cellbit and the story it tells. They make the puzzles very detailed and sometimes can hint to other stories.

Fucking making Felps a new member

Making a button so people like Cellbit who frequently switch between Portuguese and English dont have to constant fiddle with the settings and can just switch easily

The fucking insane shit they do with Max and his story is so cool. From what Ive seen, they give him so much room and freedom to make what he wants. Im always so impressed by whatever Max does and the things he does with this server.

They make sure everyone's lore/story is seen/heard and also try to connect the lore together. From what I have seen, nothing is half assed. Cellbit finding books about a powerful weapon? It is used to trap Pac and Etoiles had to go through the nether to get the shield to counter the sword.

Lastly, just listening to the members and hearing their concerns while also letting them having fun. They joke with the members/audience, but also hearing them out when they think something is unjustified.

The admins care so much for this server and put so much work and love for it. I hope they know it never goes unappreciated or looked over.

#qsmp

[thegnomelord]

if you write a thing about the creaming the zussy i will kiss ur boots

The boots better be shining when you're done.

How To Cure Zombies 101

CW:NSFW MDNI, crackfic obv PiV sex, TLOU Clicker trans Ghost, Top Male Reader, established relationship, happy ending, dub-con because Simon consented before he got bit but reader is apprehensive, zombie sex (does it count as necro?) how does this work? idk porn logic. Don't ask me how this happened, i hope this doesn't become what my blog becomes known for.

When the Cordyceps spread across the planet and turned millions of people into shambling mushroom infested undead, the world ended.

When Simon got bitten. . . your world ended.

You still remember it like it had been yesterday; He came back bloody, an empty look in his eyes as he showed you the bite on his arm. Your hands shook as he wrapped them around the grip of the gun and aimed it at his head. You both ended up on the floor with you crying into his chest, unable to pull the trigger.

You remember the resigned look in his eyes when he had agreed to let you do whatever you needed to him to cure him, but both of you knew there was no way, what made you immune to the fungus was as mysterious to the rest of the world as it was for you. His lips had been burning hot when he laid a soft kiss on your forehead, the last sense of warmth you've felt since the docs took him to where they kept the infected for study, your heart leaving with him.

And now?

Now the scientists that have been prodding you like a lab rat since Simon got bitten nearly a year ago say they have a way to bring his mind back, to get Simon back.

And the way to do it?

"So let me get this straight?" You begin, your voice tense, your body even tenser. "You want me to fuck the corpse of my lover? And that will cure him?"

That. You're not sure how the eggheads arrived to this conclusion, frankly all of their scientific jargons had flown over your head. All you understood was that the man you had fallen since the first time you met him could be brought back.

You sincerely hope you won't make some type of super fungus through this.

Words can't describe what you feel as you look at Simon's (is it even Simon?) bound body writhing on the gyno chair, naked and bare to you. You doubt you even know what you feel, hope and fear simultaneously curling in your stomach— You hadn't had the courage to look at him ever since the scientists took him away; The harsh laboratory lights make it easy to see the mycelium filling his veins beneath the ashy pale skin, mushroom caps growing beneath his pecs and across all other scars he has. Red and yellow mushrooms have eaten away his nose and spread out to follow the contours of his face, growing in a way that makes the mushroom caps blend together into a skull shape.

Your heart aches when you see his eyes haven't been eaten away yet, the once deep brown turned milky white and staring lifelessly past you, thrashing about in the bindings, rotten teeth gnawing on the ball gag in his mouth, small hisses and malformed muffled clicks echoing through the room.

You try to look down and you stop at his stomach, forcing yourself to breathe in and out slowly because your heart is beating so fast it feels like you'll have a panic attack. You have no idea if this will work and doing this to Simon only to find out it's as useless as all your previous attempts to cure him. . . you're sure it would break you. Closing your eyes and counting to ten you will yourself to focus, your eyes opening slowly and following the trail of little mushroom caps down to his groin.

It's not what you expected., but it's. . . a lot; Mushroom caps have replaced the lips of his cunt, similar to the hard growths on his head but these look thinner and longer, almost like flower petals framing his cunt, bright red at the corners and getting progressively lighter as it nears his hole. A sort of morbid curiosity compels you to reach out brushing your fingertips against the caps. They're surprisingly softer than you had expected, smooth and slick with some kind of slime. You can't help but notice how a longer stalked mushroom grows from what had been his clit.

You jerk your hand back when a second brush of your fingers makes his body to jerk back and attempt to fight against the restraints, more angry clicks vibrating his throat.

But you also notice a kind of… sweet scent in the air and it's coming from him. Cautiously you brush against the caps again, slowly dipping your fingers under to touch the gills underneath. You keep your hand where it is when he thrashes again, but you're certain that smell is stronger now, and you catch the glimpse of clear viscous slick slowly leak from his hole.

Carefully you push a finger into his hole in an attempt to stretch him out. Logically you know that he probably doesn't feel it, but it feels wrong to just stick your cock in him; He's cold. You know he's dead but you had held out some hope that he would be warmer, that there would be some signs of life despite how stupid that sounds.

He's dry right now, but more of that clear fluid seeps around your fingers and lubes the way as you experimentally push your finger all the way up to the last knuckle, and you felt his muscles flutter around you, clenching down as if trying to draw you in deeper. His head continued to thrash around, no change in the feral behavior, but you still try to be gentle, pushing one then two fingers in and slowly scissoring him open.

You pull your fingers out when his hole has relaxed enough to let you easily slide your fingers in and out, and he's produced enough slick to completely drench your hand. You try to look at him as you press your cock against his fluttering hole, but the sight of his milky eyes almost makes you soft on the spot so you screw your eyes closed and slowly slide in.

Despite how cold and wet his cunt is, you haven't felt anyone's touch, even your own, since he got infected, and a part of you feels disgusted at how a bit of pleasure traces up your spine. He continues to hiss and click as you bottom out, his hips bucking wildly you have to press them down. You set a slower pace than you're used to, keeping your thrusts even and consistent, afraid to tear anything but your fear is seemingly misplaced. He's so much wetter than he'd ever get before he got infected, slick wetly squelching as you bottom out over and over again, clicks and snarls accompanying every move you make.

You're ashamed to say you don't last long. Fuck, is he tight you've been ignoring your body for so long that when you accidentally brush against the stalk growing from his clit and his cunt suddenly tightens up like a vice you cum on the spot, your hips doing little minute twitches as you empty so much of your cum in his cunt that your balls hurt. You pull out just as slowly, both of your mixed fluids leaking out and almost getting caught by the soft mushrooms framing his hole.

You muster up the courage to look him in the eyes, and your heart breaks when his lifeless eyes blindly stare back at you.

You feel like a fool when the first time doesn't work, he's still just a body pupated by a fungus. And you feel like an even bigger fool when you agree to do this a second time.

But the third time. . .

You don't know if it's just wishful thinking but he seems more. . . alert. His head always follows you when you approach him but now his milky eyes almost seem to be looking at your face instead of staring straight through you. He's strangely still on the chair, teeth gnawing on the ball gag but he doesn't try to get out of the restraints.

He doesn't screech when you gently caress the soft outer mushroom caps framing his cunt, instead his chest vibrates with more deep clicks. Nor does he start to wildly writhe on the chair when you slowly sink a finger into his cunt, finding it's already wet with slick. If anything he almost seems to chase(more like stumble) after the sensation, his hips doing small little movements to push your finger deeper into him.

Emboldened by childish hope you do something you hadn't before and reach with your other hand to slowly trace the long stalk of the clitshroom (not a term you coined), before rubbing the base of the cap like you would your own cock.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the gentle pressure of your fingers makes him buck into your hands and let out an ear-piercing screech that the gag has trouble muffling. You pull your hands away and that worsens the problem, the shrieking turning into literal chest rumbling snarls as Simon starts to struggle against the bindings.

Panic rushing down your system you put your hands were they were, gently stroking the 2 inch long mushroom growing from his clit. His hips buck up to chase after your hand, the snarls reverting back into shrieks, but as you stroke him longer they gradually die down to low pitched clicks and whistles. You're stumped; the clicks sound a lot like a cat's puff, his hole fluttering and clenching around your fingers as you slowly push them inside.

He's warmer now, not quite how he was before, but not cold as a corpse either. You know that you've gone completely mad by the fact he starts to gyrate his hips— grinding down just as you get knuckles deep so your fingers can brush against the sensitive spots inside him — makes your mind think that it's a bit of your Simon coming back.

You shake your head and pull your hands away, taking hold of his trembling thighs. You're greeted with another deep snarl but he quiets down immediately when you start to slowly push into him. He feels even tighter now, and you watch how his head falls back on the headrest, a long series of low clicks and whistles squirming past the gag.

His hips move to meet your slow thrusts, tight warm walls squeezing down every time you attempt to pull out just like he used to do. And that thought has your body increasing the pace automatically, your balls slapping against his ass, every sharp thrust hitting something spongy inside him and drawing out a sharp click, the rough pace leaving you panting.

Mindlessly you look up, too caught up in the moment remembering how Simon loved eye contact to remember the situation you're in.

He's looking straight at you.

You halt mid thrust, the low hiss he lets out falling on deaf ears as you tilt your head to the side. You're not insane, his eyes follow you. They're still milky, but they don't look through you. He's looking at you.

Another rough clicking sound leaves him and he thrusts his hips down against yours with enough strength to bruise, almost impatient. Despite how stupid it is you reach out and quickly unbuckle the gag with trembling fingers. "Si?" You say, unable to hide the hope in your voice. "Are you there?" You lean over him, looking hopefully into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

His jaw moves like he's munching on a survivor, but all that leaves his mouth are more clicks and rough grunts.

Fuck. You are a fool.

A sob tears through your chest before you can stop it, ducking your head down to lay it on his chest. You're unable to keep the fresh tears from falling on him, watering the damned mushrooms that had taken him from you. You can't stop the sobs from coming, your back bowed and shoulders shaking as you cry just as much as the day you first lost him.

His chest vibrates with another long series of clicks and whistles, just pouring salt on the gaping would in your chest.

Your name rights through the room.

It's scratchy, rough, almost incomprehensible to your ears, but it's your name.

You look up so quickly you almost snap his neck. "Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. "Are you in there?" You slowly reach out to hold his face, careful not to cut your hands on the sharp mushroom caps along his cheeks.

He looks at you back, jaw moving still, but he doesn't try to bite the flesh of your palms despite your hands being right there. "Ckckck-" He clicks, pupils going from pinpricks to blown out, "Ckckrkck- Mo- ckck-ve." He manages, a thrust of his hips accompanying the order.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you can do nothing but follow it, sliding one hand down to dig your nails into his thigh, looming over him as you pull out until only the head is inside and them slam into him that there's an audible clap of skin on skin as you bottom out. A half shriek half click half "Yes!" escapes him as he throws his head back, slack jawed.

A whole range of noises escapes him as you hammer into him with all you've got, one hand remaining always on his face. You can feel him getting hotter the longer you pound into him, body shaking as each thrust nails his sensitive spot. He gets progressively tighter and tighter as you fuck into him, and you let go of his thigh to carefully strike along the long shaft of the clitshroom.

He shrieks at the top of his lungs and his cunt clenches down on you like a vice, fluttering around you and gripping your cock like it doesn't want you to pull out. It pulls you into an orgasm,

"Simon?" You whisper, staying in him even as you feel yourself soften. He's too silent compared to how vocal he had been a few moments ago. "Are you in there?"

His head rolls a bit, peering at you through through his lashes, tongue moving heavily in his mouth and lips twitching up into a soft of barely-there grin. "Cckck- l- ckckc- love- ckrk-you -ckkckrkckck-"

Taglist: @dead-end-stuff

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #the last of us cod au #the last of us #trans character #idk how this happened #Clicker Simon Ghost Riley

[bi-ss]

~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Warnings - non, I don't think..

(This is a little bit of part 1, so I made write more I may not, we'll see. I'm also going to give the reader and her parents a positive relationship. idk I think it suits the best

You always knew you were to be married off. Your mother was always transparent with you about that. She always told you that you may not like the man or woman, but love was always hard to find anyway. So one day, when you were 16, you typed up an agreement and gave it to your father about if you were married off, what you wanted, you do have your mother's stubbornness after all.

*knock knock*

"Come in," hearing your father grumble, you push the dark wooden doors which you are a lot heavier than your dad and his men made it seem. You stand in the doorway for a second before your dad gets up from behind his desk. He slowly walked round, motioning for you to come in and close the door. He pulled a comfy seat out a bit before sitting on his desk. You sat out looking up at him, handing him the typed papers in your hands. He looked at the title and gave it back to you.

"Read it to me, Ladybug." You smiled at the nickname he used and has used since you were a baby. "I see your mother as prepared you for this, and I see you listened for once," he joked, knowing you never liked working or school for that matter.

"I don't want to be a housewife, can't think of anything worse," you scoffed at your remark while your dad just laughed, still smiling down at you. "But I would prefer if you read it then get back to me as I told mother I'd help her cook.. it's burrito night!" He slowly nodded at you. Reading aloud wasn't something you liked doing. Taking the papers stapled together, you got up and started walking towards the doors, dreading the embarrassment of trying to open them again, but you didn't have to. Your dad was right behind you, holding it for you like you didn't just use all the strength to pry it just a little.

That's how you life's always been, your mother, a housewife. Your mother was the most beautiful and mature woman to probably ever exist, her long vibrant curly ginger hair, her pale soft skin loaded with freckle, her forest green eyes complemented everything about her even those rosy cheeks and lips. She adored your father as much or even more as he adored her. They do say opposites attract, fitting for your parents as your father, the breadwinner. Your father was a handsome and smart man, with dark chocolate hair which your mother loved putting into pigtails, his skin is covered with tattoos front to back, up and down, his toned and tan skin barely visible, his one good eye a smokie light grey colour, is other eye was sew shut while being littered with scars. Your dad has become more careful and gentle when your mother is pregnant. It wasn't hard to see that his men liked this change to, according to your mother. An example is when the twins joined, Wanda and Pietro maximoff joined, and they were put through uni with help from the family in case they wanted an out, making sure they had a choice. They stayed by the family's side.

Now, 6 years later, you're sitting in your fathers office it hasn't changed a bit, you can't say the same about them, he was sitting on the worn-out leather chair with your mother behind him, their hair turning grey and with smile line proudly on display. You sitting at the side of the desk, not next to your dad and not next to Mrs and Mr Barnes, with their irritated son, James Barnes. The meeting was already off to a bad start when his girlfriend Sharon demanding to attend, but met with your dad saying he didn't have business with her and if that's know they did things, he'll call it off. You listened in on the conversation when your dad wasn't there, and to sum it up, Mr Barnes threatened, saying he'll disown his son and give it all to Rebecca. She's now at the bottom of the stairs being watched secretly by maids, workers, and guards. The elderly guest were very shocked at the fact they didn't even know you were there when they were giving the to toddler a reality check, which made both your parents proud and all 4 laugh about it. Before the definition of cantankerous, egocentric, and many more adjectives, you couldn't ever walk in.

. . . . .To be continued. . . .

#sebastian stan #yn-barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes #1950s #tfatws #comics #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #henry cavill smut #bucky x you #bucky x reader #kinda soft staring though but like imagine winter soldier cold hate stare #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #sebastion stan #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #arranged marriage #white wolf #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #black widow #captain america #marvel #sam wilson #falcon #avengers

[satocidal]

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 1:-

↳ ||Masterlist||Taglist Form||next chapter(two)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.9k

— A/n: ahhhh I have so many nerves lmao because this is the first chapter and I don’t wanna ruin it at all lol. And I wanna keep everything so subtle yk? But hope you guys like this!

— Warnings: Asshole Satoru; Asshole reader; mentions of adultery; slight objectification(?); Fem Bodied! Reader; usage of feminine terms; author thinks she can write💀 ps: I’ve never seen Christian weddings (or whatever I’ve written idk lol) so bare with me; typos

Hands that were trained, calloused once with bruises, prepared to be painted with blood now sat idle—a diamond ring in the finger.

Fate- the red string- two ends.

About 8 billion people walked the surface of earth—it was said, heard, stated, passed—The Greek god Zeus split each one of us into halves, punished to roam the earth and find our other half—the soulmate. Fatalism stated that everything was predestined- so it must be true, the concept of it.

Marriage—sacred, pure.

The day was clear as ever in your eyes—your father had entered the room, a solemn look on his face, a ring in hand; the entire month you had watched as the Gojos became a usual Tomorrow; you had watched as your sisters giggled at the premonition of your marriage; you had watched as the tables shifted and you had watched, and watched and watched.

Eyes numb, heart aching and mind a mess, you watched for that was all you could do now.

It was rushed, the whole process of it—a month ago your wedding planned and a month later you were gone. You didn’t want the wedding, you were sure Satoru Gojo didn’t either—“He’s so in love with you,” from your cousins deluded you—“I’m so lucky to have you,” from his mother.

Mind filled with thoughts of a man you’d only meet at the night of your wedding.

No amount of convincing could’ve been for you to utter a yes—but a definitive “You will do it,” from your father did wonders.

“You’ll be alright,” a whisper—your mother’s, soft, harsh.

“You have to be alright,” a demand—your father’s, careful, adamant.

“Promise me you’ll be alright,” a thought—your sister’s, empty, or so you dared to think.

And that was true, in a lonesome bind, you thought a lot.

You thought when your sister braided your hair, pretty, elegant—nothing you’d ever found yourself to be defined as.

You thought while your mother and grandmother, aunts and maids—they giggled, old wives’ tales falling off chastised lips like honey.

You thought when you found your father’s eyes hiding—nervous, you’d noted but you only thought.

And you thought still when the morning arrived, you sister kneeling beside you—eyes focused, narrowed, fingers working fast to smoothen the white.

Perfect the white.

Perfect your impure white—the dirty kind.

And finally, alone with your sister, you spoke.

“You must be glad,”

A silence met you, heavy.

“Don’t be shy about it, not anymore,”

A sigh— she got up slow, eyes focused still on your white gown—“you look gorgeous,” a mumble you heard.

You found yourself staring at her curls—when did she curl those you wondered, but then she’d answer that you didn’t care and perhaps, you didn’t.

Not usually.

“We’re sisters Aki,” you pestered, “you can tell me ya know?” You winked—a smirk, a tease—all to prove your point.

“The wedding is to begin in an hour now then, be prepared,”

“Don’t change topics. Tell me you’re happy about it, about all this,”

Another sigh—a glare and a huff, “Has father stuffed lies so deep your throat that you’re begging to hear them now?”

Again, silence.

Father—

Your eye twitched—nose puffed and eyes flared at your form in the mirror—you did you look gorgeous, or at least, different. A good different, arguably.

“Alright,” she mumbled quietly then, “c’mere—” her hands beckoned you close, her own navy blue contrasting to your pure white—ironic, you mused.

“What,” face scrunched, you let out—causing your sister to chuckle, “At least smile at your own wedding y/n,”

A scoff—“I’ll cry if I damn want to—and no, not for the dramatics,” a chuckle, this time, mutual.

“I’ll miss you,” you heard her whisper against you, entrapped in an embrace you stood, stiff—your eyes lay blank.

“Was it…my—”

“It’s not to chastise you,”

“It’s no less than that,”

“Endure it,”

A tear, quick, rolled down your cheek—wiped off all too quickly by your own sister—for you were to look perfect tonight.

Perfect for your perfect husband.

“Find your happiness there,” she whispered against your shoulder—you sobbed, “Why is he sending me away?”

Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.

“He sent us all away- even mother,” her hands patted your back- the touch felt foreign—“Not me,” your voice rasped, “I was different, I was better, I was the best he had,” her hands tensed around you—“I don’t know,” she confessed, “but promise me, you’ll be happy there,”

You nodded- empty.

“He’s going to be a fool in love,” her voice adorned, his mother- sharp- “So fortunate to get someone like you in my house, such a sweet pretty thing you are,” you smiled in accordance- hands clenched.

It was for her sake, you believed, the Gojo family worked in her shadow— a finger lifted meant everyone had to stand, a finger pressed and silence—in some way or the other, she stood to be your admiration. To hold power was to be nothing however to call power, now that, you admired.

It was in the way she was subtle but oh so glorified—Kana Gojo, perhaps the only woman or human you’d dared to look upto.

You smiled as she’d walked you around—parading shops through shops, looking for what she deemed the perfect dress—perfect, she wanted it to be—perfect not for her son but perfect in every sense of it.

-

A gift placed in your hand- bribe—“Aren’t you the sweetest Hm?” A smile, vaunted- his father, a careful spendthrift in every sense of the word.

You smiled, nodded and chuckled—“only learned from the best,” your eyes zoom over to your mother—never learned anything from her, you didn’t, and yet—formalities and a certain charm, you graced them evidently.

The head of the house, at least on paper—he didn’t hold much prowess with the profits but then, Gojos barely needed any more profit for the empire was built well and well enough to not crash. He did, however, hold his hands high and wide—welcoming, warm; everything his wife was not.

Not yin to her yang but the epitomised silver to her gold — Ginji Gojo, perhaps the only man to accustom himself to his wife, the only man you never truly could understand, along his son, of course.

You grinned as he lead you, hand held in his own—eyes searching for the perfect diamond to adorn not your finger but your marriage.

-

Shy glances and shyer hello-s he muttered, it was cute—you supposed, in the way a letter found is way in your hands—“Read it when you’re alone please,”—his cousin brother, innocent.

‘Hello,’ it began—cut off—‘Dear Y/n,’—cut off—‘assume I said something cool,’ you chuckled, the rest, a memory nestled deep in your mind.

He was young, 9–someone you hoped to inspire—Megumi—he didn’t know much, or anything at all, a subtle age of nine after all. But he knew enough.

Not enough to strike competition but smart enough to be called his successor; he was a smart kid you’d mused, a polite greet everytime you two met, a sweeter letter handed everytime.

Twice he cut off the beginning every time and deliberate you’d found it be—cuter still. And he lead you still, hand holding onto yours as he helped you decide on the flavour of the cake.

The girl, you watched from the corner of your eyes, chuckled, a hand reaching out to slap her father’s hand away—he chuckled, smiled, conversed—something and everything you never had.

A tear rolled down your cheek, salty—“Crying already?” The voice was gruff, your father’s.

“Father,” you muttered, hands reaching upto wipe the tear away quick—“Don’t,” he muttered, “Tears are useful.”

You could only nod.

The man stood beside you, taller by a decent inch or two—hands stuffed in his pocket and a bow tie tight around his neck; the man was slender— a ghost of the figure he used to be, could’ve been. A potential wasted, he called himself—a potential wasted, you too.

You watched him as he moved around you, hefty eyes felt heavy, scanning your form—“You look fine,” a compliment he’d deem it—perhaps it was, “Didn’t know white was your colour.”

It wasn’t.

Did he know anything about you? At all? No.

“Suppose it is, today onwards,” he smiled, you frowned, “That’s my girl.”

Another tear rolled quick, then another and they kept rolling, you stood blank.

“No,” you scowled defiantly—his hands working quick—scowl, mirroring yours as he wiped the tears—“When I said tears, I didn’t mean these many. You cannot possibly be this dramatic.”

An empty grin.

“Dramatic?” Voice pitched, brows raised, heart shattering you stared at him—“I am being dramatic?” Loud enough you were to have people raise the awareness that the bride was moody- or so they’d gossip and so you’d let them.

His eyes narrowed—a sign, quite usually telling you to quieten down—not today, “Why are you doing this?” You finally asked, shoulders relieved, heart heavier still—afraid the answer might me the truth you’ve fed yourself.

“Is this some- some-” you paused, a breath caught, eyes cast down—“punishment? Did I do something wrong?”

And in that moment, perhaps you were nothing more than a little girl—perhaps in that moment you wanted nothing more than your father’s reassurance—perhaps things could’ve been better.

But they weren’t—glory of fate itself.

“Don’t create a fucking scene,”

Had hearts really been made of glass, your father would’ve heard yours break—not once but a million times in that second. Again and again and again.

A noise—static.

“Yes sir,” you muttered, eyes dancing along his hands—you shuddered—he twisted his own.

-

His hands were soft as they held yours, he lead you slow, your father did.

The white veil that you’d spent hours to decide upon, the one you would never care about—it swept beside you, gasps escaping the lips of many as you walked out.

And there, there your eyes met his.

Poised he stood, white hair slicked back—nothing like those superficial memories his mother had told about, nothing like the tabloids you’d seen. This man, the one on your altar—that was Satoru Gojo.

Not the Toru’ you’d heard of, not the Heir of Gojos you’d kept your eyes upon, not the stubborn and hardheaded Satoru-san his maids had warned you about, not anything you’d known.

This was Satoru Gojo, your husband to be.

You hadn’t assumed your wedding to be a fairytale—in all honesty, you hadn’t assumed anything at all.

A prison you’d deemed it on the first day and perhaps that was all it was—but something, just something in you cried all too much when Satoru didn’t slip so much as a smile towards you.

Don’t get me wrong, he’d grinned and smirked all night- teased by his friends—congratulated by everyone—he did show joy, in some meaning of the word.

Not to you- but I suppose a win that was too—after all, a marriage is built on the truths right?

Eyes moist, a tear he did let go off—superficial it was, you knew it, but a hero Satoru Gojo would be deemed the next day in the magazines his family would pay good money to.

Yours was never meant to be that perfect wedding, not at the core of it—you knew that from day one of the sequenced wedding but then—just something, someone in you cried a little too. Just someone broke inside when you realised it wouldn’t be your husband who cried the moment he set his eyes on his bride—it wouldn’t be you telling those cute stories about your wedding day.

It wouldn’t be you—it was normal you’d heard, for grooms to be overwhelmed in there weddings- the thought of spending a forever with his bride, the supposed memories flooding their mind—but it wouldn’t be for you. He stood there with hands behind him, eyes awaiting you presence still.

A smile he held—empty as you joined him—eyes were very telling you r father had preached, never once had you found him to be wrong.

His hands felt cold as you held them—cold like your father’s, colder still somehow was his presence. And your realised, heart — to what you had thought to be a void — breaking as you realised that the marriage was a cage to him as much as you. Neither happy—he wasn’t happy with your presence.

Pathetic. But again, did it truly matter?

The wedding had begun— officiated, soon your “I do”s would slip, the wedding couldn’t be stopped now, not ever.

And in that moment your eyes flickered to your own mother—she stood regal.

Embroidery she’d fought into you, cooking and baking, sewing a skill she’d made you own too—pity she couldn’t teach you controlling your emotions—pity your father was your influence.

Your eyes managed to flicker onto him—saintly, your brain mused—your heart couldn’t help but agree. And those saintly features held an ugly heart you told yourself, solace to a lonesome mind.

“Satoru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away—mayhaps you wanted that, mayhaps, you didn’t.

What else could you expect?

He clearly didn’t want this, understandable was the fact. It wouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

You sighed—soft.

“Y/n, do you promise to love, honour and cherish and protect Satoru, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

Your eyes were quick—a glance here and there and everywhere—the pause was heavy; you watched your father’s nod of encouragement—your mother’s sharp eyes—his mother’s smile, fake- his father’s sip of champagne—your sister’s eyes’ were hazy; his best friend tipsy.

You couldn’t say no—“I do,”

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Your eyes widened behind your veil- your first- the breath hitched as Satoru removed your veil—crystal seemed his eyes, crystal clear was his distaste. He was tall—comical in fact—you tip toed slight, he leaned in a bit—the kiss was warm, chill, foreign. His hand rested upon your cheek, a stroke—a pull, brief.

Your eyes watched as he pulled away, a new smile on his lips—an actor he could’ve proven to be.

A million thoughts clouded you and him—known to only the two of you—marriage worked quick in that sense you supposed, mother and you sister weer perhaps right. But when all was said and done—the marriage was officiated.

And your eyes met then—a thought passed between you and your husband—stuck together—Unfortunately, Yours.

Hair slicked, ivory, elegant.

For a man who was yours even when he wasn’t—you supposed he was good.

Gojo Satoru swept across the room—a smile on his face, gentle; gentler was the rhythm he walked at. Here and there, he conversed, after all, a man of his charm he was- taking after none but his father.

Idle gossip danced along his ears while he giggled with women—politics fell off his lips as he sipped on the champagne—he teased and played with children too, laughing and joking with them—Gojo Satoru smiled to all but his wife-to-be. She sat there, quiet, unmoving, unrelenting—she lay still.

“It’s the fifth time you’ve stared at her in the last 3 minutes,” a glass in hand—a black suit adorned, Suguru waltzed beside him—a sly grin on his face, “I know you’re married but that’s really desperate, even for you,”

“Shut up,” Satoru muttered, grinning wide at the new set of guests—hand motioning the waiters to attended to it.

Suguru chuckled again, “Your dad really didn’t help out today either huh?”

“Old geezer’s getting drunk,” voice, plain—monotonous, hands clenched at his sides —begging to run through his hair—to ruin it all.

“How was she?”

“Boring,”

Suguru’s eyes zoomed on to the specific waitress—limping—he sighed, “Your mother was worried sick and you’re having affairs already?,” he began, hands reaching up to fix the shirt, “And today is your wedding today—have some etiquette,”

Eyes rolled—the same dialogue slipped off his mouth—“You’re becoming my mother—and she isn’t random; as is I’ll get her fired now,” he grinned this time around, “but not anymore, I’ve already got another woman to fuck around with,” a hand—sharp—landed on his head.

“Respect her,” the raven haired boy muttered, eyes focused and cast down, “She’s your wife today onwards—not just some woman you can fuck whenever you want,”

Satoru scowled, hands rubbing the back of his head, the spot where Suguru struck, “That’s all she means,”

“Don’t tempt me to make her a widow before she’s even married Satoru,” a grin, a huge one Suguru masked—words deadly balanced.

“Treat her well Satoru,”

“You marry her then,”

“Suck it up and smile,”

“Fuck you,”

“I will,”—a grin, a chuckle and that was that. A hand patted Satoru on the back—“Treat her well,” Suguru muttered again, both their eyes cast onto you—where a smile rested on both their lips, only one was genuine. Your eyes found tracing their oath to their spot too, black and white—they seemed a beautiful set—your eyes cast to your own gown and your sister’s. White and navy blue—all the same.

A couple and another, a pair of four.

Suguru let his eyes cast down to his watch—about time for the dance—“Satoru,” his voice was smooth, “it’s time for your dance,”

He hummed—“Her father, or I suppose mine too now—he wanted her first dance,” Suguru raised his brows, “and you let him? What happened ‘I don’t share’” A small smirk played on the younger male’s lips.

“I don’t share what’s mine—not all that-” another strike, harder.

-

Inhale, exhale- again.

You hands shook, and ears ringed—you were married. The statement related in your mind for the 5th time since.

Married. Tied down.

“Entertain me with the first dance m’lady?” Your eyes narrowed—sharp—“Father?”

Beside you stood you father indeed, an aura different—an aura that had become his past.

He smiled, kind—your confusion only grew—“It’s time sweetheart,” Your teeth clenched; sweetheart?

You nodded still—be his good girl—his hand held yours; yours, his.

The music was slow- none that you recognised, you needn’t, you’d want to forget the moment already. The applause for you was blurry, everything around you was too. Eyes didn’t bother running off to your mother, nor your husband—they never did around your father.

And in the moment, you could’ve sworn to the vain memory you held—your father seemed like the man you once knew; seemed like the one who had abandoned you. Rage seized a decent part of your mind—desperation to hold onto him took charge of the other.

He held you close- an embrace not felt in forever, “You’ll be fine baby,” he mumbled into your ear—“don’t say that,” you were quick to add.

“Don’t be like this,” you added next, his heart broke, yours already was.

He knew however, what you meant- not a single objection he raised, guilt all too evident on the face that held its own wisdom. Evident however, only to those who knew him and pity lay such, he never let you.

“Just entertain me here,” you finally spoke—a minute left of your song—“why did you agree to this? We’re not- we’re not in need of money, we’ve the perfect military- you’ve raised me enough for me to take over at any given instance then why—why them?”

His gaze should’ve hardened—you expected it; it softened.

“I apologise.”

You nodded yet again- an answer unkempt.

-

Satoru’s hand felt the same it had the altar, soft, scented- something you perhaps wanted to hated.

He spun you around—a man of honour your mother would call him, you beckoned yourself to him—a lady of grace his mother would call you.

People danced all around you, your eyes found their way onto your sister, smiling and giggling—suitors all around her, you smiled.

Eyes couldn’t help but falter at Suguru Geto- Satoru’s best friend, you’d learned—his presence too. In a shy corner he stood- girls around him, you wouldn’t blame them—he sought that attention after all, evident.

“You like this song?” Your eyes snapped onto Satoru—“Pardon?”

“This song, do you like it?” Your eyes gazed everyone—all the while, his, you.

“I’ve…never heard it before—”

“—well I particularly hate it,” your brows raised—“Oh alright,” you nodded, “I’ll make sure to not add it to the playlist ‘Wedding 2.0’,”

Smiles you both held- not for each other, formal entirely—“Hilarious,” he muttered, “Makes two of us,” you snapped back.

A momentary silence fell and you couldn’t yourself—“Don’t try to play the husband here, you don’t accept me and I don’t accept you which is all but fine by me but I don’t need you to make idle conversations.” Voice sharp- eyes more so.

He grinned—“Feisty Hm?” Your nose flared—“alright I’ll entertain you with the non-idle kind,” eyes looked down at you condescension, was it?

“Daddy raised you as his war general yeah?” Your jaw clenched, “what did they call you? His right arm? His best gem?”

“Domestic abuse,” you began slow, “is a very real concept Satoru,” you smiled dangerously sweet—“Pray tell, the way you speak may make you victim soon,”

He chuckled quietly, nothing humorous, “Daddy also taught you weaponry?”

“Don’t speak of him like that-respect him,” you warned, teeth gritted—both of yours eyes zooming onto him—Satoru smiled.

“Of course, nothing against my father-in-law,” another grin, “But I can say whatever to you right baby?”

You hated him.

Your eyes scanned his, his- yours.

A frown, a grin.

A cough sounded beside you just then—the man just as tall as your husband, just as, if not more so, elegant.

Your eyes met his—a pit, yours and his.

“M’lady,” he smiled smoothly- bending just enough to kiss your hand—eyes cast quick onto Satoru, “One dance with the lady of the night please?”

Never a question, only a statement.

“Yes please,” Satoru muttered all too quick- a sharp glance, yours and Suguru’s.

Before you knew it you were swept right away, Suguru danced faster—a style which complimented yours, Satoru? Quiet the very same as yours, clashing.

You smiled as he picked the momentum with you, a chuckle his too—“You look stunning tonight,”

A nervous smile you passed-“All the very same to you sir,” his eyes crept onto your skin quick—“Why, seems like it’s just the two War Generals appreciating each other,” he laughed.

You laughed along- your eyes pausing to scan the hilt of his dagger in the suit—“Talent sees talent, eh?”

Another laugh- empty. What had swept you off was pleasant, what danced with you was hollow.

“The wedding,” Suguru added—your ears perked.

“Yes?” You reflected instantly—“You helped in the management right?” He smiled—your eyes narrowed.

Bastard, you both mused.

You nodded politely, “Well a good wife has to take care of things yeah?”

He grinned, “Oh you’re all too good m’lady,” voice a whisper, “Seems to me you’ll give me a run for my life,”

You grinned back, “Bless my heart Suguru—never to my family.”

Eyes hollow, minds ran fast—‘Interesting’ you both wondered as Suguru handed you back to his best friend and your husband.

‘Interesting indeed’.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

All of this work is original and entirely my own, please refrain from copying or reposting.

— Taglist: @rizzmin @4sat0ruu @lavendervogh @yooiimiya @gojoismybitch

#gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk gojo #gojo smut #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #jujutsu satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojou satoru x you #satorugojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu geto #getou suguru #geto x y/n #getou x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #๛𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

[cherryredstars]

HELLO BABE !!

just wanted to say CONGRATS ON 1K FOLLOWERS/CHERRYS

Umm I just wanted to request something hmm oh yea I saw an firefighter!Miguel

so firefighter!Miguel x bookworm!Reader (fem) miguel ohara age: 32,reader age :29

(reader appearance: wears big circles glasses and usual wear oversized shirts or hoodie,and baggy pants)

Where reader was reading one of the newest book she find interesting in the huge library she come almost everyday if not working,as she sitting down in her usual spot in the library,no ones knows who put the fire,or how the fire come inside the library,as she didn't notice the fire coming,if it wasn't for miguel saving her life (reader was the one last surviver),the only thing she saw was him,and how he voice helped her through the fire,even when she thought she was going to die,she woke up in an hospital bed,the nurses said that miguel Ohara was the one who saved her,and after that she at least wanted to give him something for saving him,at first he was rude and bit annoyed by her,and telling her to leave and that he was other things that more important,but that didn't stop the poor bookworm! Reader,she would come to the firefighter place a d give them sweets and others,but she could give miguel an special hand craft scarf for him with his logo,he just grabbed it and went to his firefighters dorm room ( i just learned that firefighters have their own dorm room like their own section for them),she was an happy that he becoming more open with her,little by little miguel becoming more comfortable with his little bookworm,enjoying when she speaks about the latest series of her favorite author,loving her voice when she reads him her favorite books to him,when he get the chance too,his close friend notice that this 6'9 gaint seem to be more eager to come to work,and if you looked at his eyes there an spark in his eyes,whenever he see you with that cheerful smile

IDK I wanted an fluff but AGAIN CONGRATS ON 1K and also I fine with waiting however you like for this one,this was just an thought lingering in my head,if you want you could put this into an fic 😅

ANYWAY HAVE AN GREAT DAY

Pairing: Firefighter!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Fires and Hospitals

Summary: Food is a way to a man’s heart, they say. 

Word Count: 1.4K (Not Edited)

They say it was caused by a sparking outlet. 

A collection of those hot sparks strong enough to catch on the worn down fibers of the carpet, traveling along the floor and building on the glossy wooden shelves and aged pages of paper. Pages and binding glue and wood charring and giving off heavy exhaust. Creating heat that felt like you were nearing the sun naked. The rundown building and its almost non-existent sprinkler system was no match for the roaring fire. 

You hadn’t seen it, too absorbed over the inked pages to notice the hazy cloud making its way to the back of the library. Your headphones playing soft tones just loud enough to block out the sound of panicked steps from the very few patrons studying in the late hours. It wasn’t until the smoke started to thicken, a sputtering cough leaving your lips. You had ignored the first few coughs, massaging your throat to try to soothe it of the sudden ache and dryness. Until it wouldn’t stop, a difficulty to breath started to build in your lungs as your arm came around your nose and mouth. 

The smoke had swirled menacingly above you, a sense of clueless panic embodying your frame as an orange glow started to burn your way. You had looked frantically for a way out, finding it almost impossible in the darkening smog. You were sure you were done for, tears building up in your eyes from either the smoke or your fear. You were on the verge of passing out, knees buckling when a strong arm had wrapped around you and picking up your body effortlessly. Your vision had started to blur and darken at the edges, finally giving in when the first burst of fresh air entered your lungs. 

When you had woken up at the hospital, you were glad to find you had only inhaled too much smoke. You were cleared quickly, discharged with a teasing warning to not get too lost in your books again and a small scolding about how lucky you were that the local fire department captain was there to save you. You had bashfully thanked them, already forming a plan in your head to pay back the brave firemen for saving you. 

You had showed up a few days later, nervously holding a tray of baked sweetness. A kind fireman had guided you inside, bringing you to the small department kitchen to place the tray down. The firemen had thanked you graciously for the sweets, making jokes that you should get caught up in fires more often if this was their thanks. You had laughed along kindly, getting swept up in conversation with some of the younger men until someone had called out the word captain. 

You had quickly looked over, seeing a tanned skin giant. He had a furrowed brow, his thick hair slightly messed up from his helmet. His eyes had instantly darkened when he had seen you start to approach. You had grown shy over his attention, muttering out a small thanks for rescuing you. His jaw had ticked then before going into rant about how irresponsible you were, how you should be more observant about your surroundings. A flaming flush had overcome your face as the rest of the crew had stopped their idle chatting at the sound of their chief’s booming voice. You had fidgeted nervously, pulling at the sleeves of your hoodie and resisting the urge to reach up and adjust your glasses as everyone watched you get chewed out. 

When he was done, you had meekly agreed and added in a softer tone that you had left some homemade treats in the little kitchenette for him and the rest of the crew. He had instantly felt bad, here he was (rightfully) repriming you like a five year old when all you wanted to do was give your thanks and give the underappreciated firefighters something good to lighten up their day. He didn’t get the chance to apologize when the firefighter who had brought you in gently guided you back out. Miguel had to stop himself from snapping at his second in command when he had passed by with a pat on the shoulder and a little ‘ try be a little nice to the public, yeah?’

He had gotten that chance the next week, when you had come over during lunch time. He had been in his office, looking up from his paperwork when hurried steps ran down the hall. He had been curious, thinking he might have missed an alarm. He had followed the excited recruits, finding himself in the kitchenette where you had stood at the table. You stood with a wide smile, making quick conversation as you dished out plates of lasagna. It was still steaming, and plate after plate found its way into your hands to be served some Italian heaven. Miguel’s stomach rumbled at the mouth watering aroma, hesitantly grabbing his own plate and following the lineup. When he had reached you, your smile dimmed a bit before returning. You had shyly filled his plate, earning a small thanks from him before he went to find a spot to enjoy his food. 

He had finally gotten his chance to apologize as you were beginning to pack up, stacking your now empty trays on top of each other and trying to not let them drop as you made your way to your car. Miguel was quick to follow after you, grabbing some of the trays for you and helping you place them in the trunk of your car. He had apologized for his behavior quietly under his breath, adding a thanks for the treats this week and last week. The smile you had given him made his heart skip slightly, standing there as your car drove away. 

From then on, it became routine. Every week you would come with something new to feed the large firefighters, befriending the city heroes with home cooked meals and sweets. Everytime Miguel heard the rush of footsteps outside his dorm or office, his head would perk up and he found himself discarding whatever he was doing to go to the kitchen. On lazy days after you finished serving out the food, Miguel would sit with you at the table. He would let you drone on about your day or a book you were reading as he filled out paperwork. Even with the work in front of him, he paid every ounce of attention towards you. He would pause when writing, looking up at you to watch the ways your eyes shined or you added emphasis to your words with your hands. He would ask small questions just to prove he was listening, and you would give him an animated response. 

His favorite visit by far was sometime during winter. You had come with jugs of hot chocolate, serving it out to everyone who looked at you like you were Santa Claus. Miguel watched from afar, liking to be the last to be served so he had you all to himself afterwards. You had a gentle smile on your face, asking the recruits how many marshmallows they wanted and if they wanted some peppermint. He was completely enamored by you, the other firemen taking notice of how he was already around the kitchen around the usual time you came each week. 

When he finally came up to you, you had given him a bright smile and served him his drink. The warmth that spread in his chest from the smooth liquid made him sigh out satisfied. He had stood with you, making quiet conversation as you finished loading the heavy jugs. As you were about to leave, you suddenly perked up. You excitedly go to the passenger seat of your car, a small bounce in your steps as you hide something behind your back.

“Close your eyes Migs.”

He instantly followed your soft command, his body sparking when your soft hands grabbed his own. Something soft and delicate is placed into his open palm and he closes his fist around it when you let go. He slowly opens his eyes, thumb rubbing against the soft knitting. His heart practically sings when he sees the scarf in his hold. It's the same color as his under uniform, the fire department logo stitched into one end. He gives it a soft squeeze before thanking you, wrapping his arms around your small frame. 

The rest of the day he had a bright aura around him, not even minding the teasing banter the recruits gave him as he slipped the scarf around his neck as they all prepared to go home. 

He simply turned to them with a small smile, shrugging off their chuckles with a: “You’re all just jealous that you don’t have a pretty thing making things for you.”

Last request before the 1K Prompts!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #cherry's requests🍒 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #firefighter au

[sanyu-thewitch05]

I’ve been always been obsessed with myths, legends, and fairytales. And one thing that always stood out to me was that how various cultures all seem to have tales about magical women bathing, a man spotting a particular one with interest, and then either marrying her, or dying/having some cursed downfall eventually. So…can I request a story like that…but with a twist of course. Male Yandere X Female Nymph Reader

So broad premise…Darling is a nymph (or some general magical maiden) bathing in a body of water, combing her otherworldly super long hair, and just living her best life. Yandere stumbles across her and starts to stalk her over the course of some time, falls in love with her, etc. But Darling has played this game many times before and thinks this is dumb schmuck nth, and continues her innocent/ignorant/helpless act, thinking that she’ll be able to lure this man to kill him in a few days (for food, riches, or something, idk). What she doesn’t know is that Yandere is a lot more smarter and is also putting on his own act in front of her. Cause the twist is that Yandere is partial/descendent magical creature of some sort, and thus Darling’s magic doesn’t work on him. (He’s also had training resistance against magics of sorts or something). Anyway…confrontation happens, Darling thinks she’s gonna successfully drown him, but Yandere reveals his true colors and does some ritual that binds the two of them together for eternity (like some f-ed up magical matrimony), and of course takes her away to some magical residence? (I don’t know what this man does for a living, nor what his home would be like since I want to leave up what partial/descendant magical creature he is to you) where he proceeds to consummate their eternal marriage. Cause in his head, a magical eternal chain isn’t enough…no this man needs to see lots of babies. The literal “fruits of his love.” (Forgive me…I like babies/pregnancy/breeding/baby trapping in Yanderes. That stuff makes me go feral). Can’t wait to see what magical children are produced from this union. LOL.

This idea just seemed fun to write about…two manipulative main characters, each thinking they have the upper hand. Sorry for the long post. Hope you can have fun with the story! <3

TW: Dubcon, Impregnation kink, drugging, forced marriage, blood,

Monday

Being a water nymph of mixed ancestry is one of your favorite things about yourself. Everyone expects you to be the helpful water nymph to help sailors from sirens. Little did they know that your dad was half-siren. Of course, he didn't show any traits because the gene that makes sirens sirens is on the second X chromosome. So when your half-mermaid-half-nymph mom had you and your five other sisters, every single one turned out to be sirens with the tail of a mermaid and the trustworthy face of a nymph.

The best part is that your innocent face helped you lure sailors. Everyone is warned to be suspicious of the woman with a beautiful face and an alluring voice. Nobody expects their angel of death to be a maiden who looks like they're supposed to help you. This earned you many new bones for decorations and combs. Along with many treasures to keep. Plus, the sea creatures let you live in an otherworldly part of the beach hidden away from humans in return for killing a few fishermen. It is truly the dream of a maiden of the sea.

"La, la, la!" You joke around, playfully singing to a romp of otters.

Your long, pastel, aquamarine, wavy hair blends in with the water. The seashells decorating your hair make it look like your personal halo. Your striking blue eyes look like they could pierce through anyone. Your long dusty lilac, coral, and beige tail swishes in the water.

"So, what should I do next?" You ask the otters, going deeper into the water.

The otters swim up to you, then stop. They all stare at something behind you. You turn around and see nothing. You can't help but roll your eyes. Every so often, some human man will come along and watch you. Then, he'll confess his love to you, hoping you'll be his mythical legend wife. You accept, bring him in for a kiss, then bite him on the jugular or drown him.

"Don't worry, I'll have him gone before the weekend," You whisper to your otters.

You go underwater and swim to your grotto for rest. Planning to kill men takes a lot of work.

Tuesday

You sleep until the morning sun shines through the water. You swim to your spot and do your daily routine.

"Let me the morning sun. So much stuff has to be done," You sing, moving your long hair out of the way to expose your bare breasts.

The old topless mermaid trick. The oldest one in the book and usually worked in luring men to their deaths. You pull yourself out of the water and transform into your human form. Your hair covers your naked backside, and you venture into the woods. You hear a branch move nearby and enact your plan.

"What pretty berries," You say, bending down to show your entire bottom and pussy.

More branches move, and you smirk to yourself. You pop a berry into your mouth, and suddenly, your memory goes blank. When you wake up, your body feels so tired you decide to return to your grotto for the day. When you reached the bed, your demeanor had changed from tired to horny. You couldn't help but pleasure yourself. Every nerve on your pussy felt alive when you stroked and fingered yourself. You were seeing stars and the Milky Way when you came. You fall asleep and transform into your mermaid form.

Wednesday

When you wake up, you swim to your spot again and brush your hair. You don't even notice you're not wearing a top. A flower blooms next to you with a golden comb with a letter.

To the sweetest maiden in the sea,

My love, I've been watching you for a long time. I love the way your being becomes one with nature. Though, you should be careful about what berries you eat. Eat too many random ones, and you might not come back.

Your admirer, L.

You laugh. The love letter is cute. So is the comb. But the flower trick really impressed you. You might get a mage's loot this time instead of some fishermen's or hunters. You brush your hair with the comb, and it shows its magical properties. The comb instantly made your wet hair wavy. Usually, it would take a couple of hours for your hair to get wavy after being in the water. You hum a song while combing your hair and sink into the water while relaxing. The branches rustle and twist into a tall, pale figure looking at you from the brush. You can't see its face. But you can tell it's a man. You wink, and you sink deeper into the water. Flowers bloom a path to the water's edge.

Thursday

You sing a siren's song to lure your suitor to his death faster. Nothing happens except the trees twisting, turning, and breaking. Some even bloomed flowers. When you open your eyes to see the chaos you've done, a hand that's disappearing is reaching out to you. You try to touch it, but it vanishes like it is magic. You groan in disappointment and swim out to sea hoping for something to entertain you.

Friday

Your admirer finally showed himself. He was waiting for you at your spot. His silver hair reached his back, and his skin was so pale it shimmered. His blue-green eyes were mesmerizing.

"Hello, my sweet," The man says, pulling you out of the water. "My name's Lochlan and you're going to be my wife."

"Of course," You lie, sweetly going into his arms.

He carries your merbody in his arms, and you bite him in the jugular. Blood splatters all over the grass. His body tumbles into the water, and you hold his head underwater. Lochlan's body finally stops moving, and you let him sink into the water. You dive in, preparing to rip him apart. You can't see his body. It's gone. A hand shoves some sort of berry paste down your throat, and you gag. He slips a silver ring with a blue gem on your finger.

"Did you seriously think I would die from that? I'm half-fae. I don't die easily," Lochlan says, dragging your merbody to the shore's edge.

Your body feels hot, and you want nothing more than to return to your grotto.

"Feel familiar? You ate the key ingredient in our aphrodisiacs," Lochlan states, holding your body as it transforms into its human form. "Don't worry, you'll feel better later."

His hand keeps a steady hand at teasing your pussy. Your watery home slowly disappearing. You can't take it anymore and cry until you pass out.

Saturday

"Ahh~" You moan, climaxing again from Lochlan's fingers.

"That's it, cum again," Lochlan coos, slowing down his pace as you cum.

Ever since Lochlan took you from your beach, he's been pleasuring you. Turns out that the ring he slipped onto your finger bound you to him as his wife forever. Or at least until he wishes to divorce. But that's not going to happen.

"Are you enjoying our honeymoon, my sweet? How does it feel to be Mrs. Caspian? The next queen of the sea fae," Lochlan asks, taking his fingers out of you and sticking his cock inside you. "I waited for you for so long. You even made a cute show of singing your song just for me. I admit it got to me, but I managed to teleport myself away before it was too late."

"Nessie!" You scream, taking his cock for the 5th time today.

"Keep calling me pet names based on the Lochness monster, and I'll breed you till your stomach bulges," Lochlan growls, thrusting faster and cumming into your pussy again. "I can't wait for you to have our babies. They'll be so powerful they could rule every portion of water on Earth."

Before your wedding ceremony, you were locked inside a room the size of a small closet with Lochland. In his culture, a bride and groom must whisper their secrets to each other, then into a conch shell. Then, the conch shell is sent to sea to start the marriage with no secrets. Though you didn't need to whisper your secrets into a conch shell. Your tears meeting a body of water would automatically send your pain through it.

"Just try it, my pretty pearl. A couple of whispers can't hurt. Besides, I want to start this marriage on the right track," Lochlan pleads, clasping your hands.

You relent and bring the shell to your lips.

"I wish I could be with my sisters and family. I wish I could see my precious otters again. I wish I never met him. I wish I never had to marry him!" You whisper, eventually turning into a yell.

Your yell vibrates through the shell, almost cracking it. Lochlan snatches the conch shell from you as you cry. He looks at you with pity and lets you weep on his chest. He brings the conch shell to his lips and whispers his secret.

"I want to be the best husband for my wife. Even if she hates me for eternity. I want to return to the sea to visit my mermaid mom and her family," Lochlan whispers, noticing you looking at him.

"If I marry you, will you return me to the sea with my family?" You ask, looking into his eyes.

"Of course. Anything for you."

And that's how you got to the present. You and Lochlan fucking in his private underwater palace near both of your families. It was a nice compromise and made you feel more at ease.

"I'm about to cum, Lochy!" You moan, feeling your legs about to give out.

"Me too, my pearl!" Lochlan screams, holding onto your hips tight.

You feel him cum in you one last time and fall to the bed. Lochlan falls on top of you and snuggles with you.

"I love you, my pearl," Lochlan pants, kissing your neck.

Sunday

Lochlan is sitting with you in bed and combing your hair.

"This comb really works wonders on your hair, my pearl," Lochlan compliments, enjoying the golden comb turning your hair into beautiful waves. "Are you doing ok? I know being pregnant in your mermaid form isn't easy."

"I'm fine, Loch. I'm really tired, though," You answer, rubbing your slightly big stomach.

It's been three months since you married Lochlan. Since your honeymoon, you've been pregnant with his kids. Admittedly, he's been a great husband and is making sure your pregnancy is going well. Not only that, but you've been able to see your family.

"Lochlan, can you get me some grouper? Maybe some lobster too? I'm having bad cravings."

"Of course, my sweet."

Lochlan leaves your bed and comes back with a plate of fish and lobster.

"I brought some extra lobster for you. Eat up. You and the babies need nutrients."

"You really care for them, don't you?"

"Of course, I do. A proper king should care for his queen and future heirs. Now, eat. You need to rest during this pregnancy."

Lochlan kisses your head and feeds you.

Headcanon post

#yandere fae #yandere male #yandere boy #yandere smut #yandere dubcon #asks #yandere king

[fictionfixations]

signature spells and the person

(referencing this list because i cant remember them all)

spoilers for all books. and glorious masquerade

(note that some characters i dont know well at all. which you can kind of tell with me being super unsure. there's this person in the reblogs who elaborated on bits i wasn't quite correct on or didnt have an idea on so go read it!)

signature spells embodying the person sort of? Riddle - collar. restriction. limitations.

Deuce - not taking hits lying down. striking back. (a reckless idiot like that)

Cater - hm.. putting on an act for everyone? people pleaser? so its like. all of those little 'acts' and 'personas' he puts on are sort of 'him' in a sense. but its also not him at the same time. (like how the clones arent actually him because they're just a creation of his magic. but they are him in a way, too right?)

trey - sneaky sneaky guy who notices a lot more than you'd think. presents himself as one way but he's complicated

Leona - sand. like all his hard work turning to sand, or basically nothing.

Jack - wolves work in packs, right? he wants to work in a pack. (even though he says he doesn't). they're strong, but they do better together. ..probably. idk.

Ruggie - treating all people 'equally' (in the sense that he'd mess with them all. unless they were a serious trouble to deal with) also sucks up to people........ (and probably laughing at them behind their back for being such a 'fool' haha get it. because fool's parade..--) maybe? Idk.

Azul - exchanging his old self for an asshole basically (because he must've been a nicer guy as a bby. but then ppl were mean to him and now he's very bitter.)

Jade - acting like the more calmer and reasonable of the twins, even though he can be just like floyd, if a bit more dangerous considering he can get under your skin, get you trust him, that he just wants to 'help you'. and you tell him all your secrets. and then it 'shocks your heart' when he reveals his true colors. (like bruh. his halloween groovification message was literally, "Oooh, I love it when you flee in terror. It makes me want to chase you!")

Floyd - i don't know. uhhh. in his lab coat(?) vignette there's this moment where a guy bumps into him, is like 'hEY WHO DO YOU--' and then realizes its floyd and backs off. basically the guy who intimidates them to make them weaker, ig? terrorizing them. 'binding the heart' in fear. i mean he'll still hurt them ofc, but the point is is that he's the scary one, jade's the 'calm' one, thats his image to people. i dont know him nearly well enough to really get it.

Kalim - wishing for everyone to be happy. to dance and sing and forget about all the troubles. throwing parties and feasts to cheer them up (and granting them relief when needed). although it doesn't always end well and his attempts can end up 'useless', like how oasis maker is 'useless' when people already have easy access to water. but at other points desperately needed.

Jamil - turning him into the 'master' and the other the 'servant'

Vil - planting 'curses' in plain sight. masking it. disguising it. acting. like putting on makeup to change something. maybe. possibly. (this is weak) maybe a false reassurance. a mask.

Epel - accepting who he is (that he's short and seen as 'cute'. and so using it to his advantage.) like, seeming 'soft and dainty' but actually a guy who can beat someone up. like, 'you'll just go to sleep..' (and then the crimson part of slumber with a negative meaning. the poison apple. something that looks innocent but is actually harmful.) and then you never wake up again because you were TRICKED HAHAHA /hj

Rook - will literally do anything for what his fixations are. in which his fixations are 'beauty', which is a very vague category and include literally everything. also very very creepy and stalker-ish in the process.

Idia - honestly idfk. uh. 'responsibility'. burdens. control. it literally just represents a part of his job? idfk. its such a big part of him (also his family had the same UM so like..) that its just. who he is.

Malleus - there was this quote he said about how 'when you nap, even 500 years could pass without you noticing'. so it could be something like how time moves by so fast like that

guh.. it was "Give in to slumber, and a thousand years will pass in the blink of an eye."

Silver - I don't know him that well... i mean like there's references to him having parallels with like. i think.. aurora?? the girl who maleficent cursed. i think. dreams and wishes. i don't know i havent even seen him use it yet LMFAO (ive only finished part 2 of book 7..) maybe like. things not seeming real..? idk man. a desire to see people, to stay by their side, but can't, so instead it'll be in a dream. so either it isn't real, a mere fantasy, or, shrug. like. yknow the remember me song in coco? it's like 'and everytime you hear a guitar you'll remember and think about me' (i cant remember the exact lyrics)

Sebek - admires malleus. a lot. malleus has control over lightning or something. so sebek in turn becomes that 'lightning' that he can control, as his guard and stuff like that. 'i will be his sword', maybe.

lilia - he reflects a lot about the past imo. overly aware of things and the passing of time. at least in my opinion. how things can pass by so easily. so he takes little bits and pieces to cherish for the rest of his life, and to think back on. a trip back down memory lane, as they say.

Rollo - literally gets set on fire like his brother..?? that thing forever haunting him that its such a big part of him at this point (hating magic and hating what happened.) and him hating himself making himself see him as part of the reason why his brother died, and therefore making him literally the thing that killed him sort of?

#thoughts #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #cater diamond #trey clover #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #leona kingscholar #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #epel felmier #rook hunt #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #sebek zigvolt #rollo flamme #silver vanrouge #I LOVE that thats a tag oh my god

[lokis-army-77]

Could you write about Jason and his crew trying to summon Demon!Eddie at skull rock on halloween. And they kidnapped the reader because she’s *ahem* a virgin. And Eddie appears but doesn’t appreciate the fact the idiots tried to kill her cause he’s bonded to her. It can be smutty if you want it to but if not that’s okay too

Summoning Part 2

Demon!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 4195

It's a few weeks later on Halloween and Jason Carver, along with a couple of his basketball friends, kidnaps the reader in order to sacrifice her to a demon, little do they know, she belongs to one.

Warning: 18+ Kidnapping, attempted human sacrifice, blood, knives, talk of murder, death, demon summoning, unprotected sex, PinV sex, rough sex, squirting, orgasm denial. (I think that's everything but idk)

A/N: I might have gotten carried away...

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Masterlist (Taglist linked here)

The walk home from school was quiet and cold, typical for Halloween. The sprinkle of rain that was coming down didn’t help much. With my car in the shop and my parents at work, there wasn’t really another choice. 

I was almost home, just a street over when I heard a vehicle pull up slowly beside me. Keeping my head down, I walked a bit faster. 

“Hey, wait up!” I heard someone call. Then they yelled my name and afterward was the sound of a door shutting. 

Hesitantly, I turned to look at who was following me, only to scrunch my face up in disgust at Jason Carver and his posse of boys in his Jeep Cherokee. 

“Yes?” I asked as politely as I could. 

Jason gave me a big smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I had a question for you actually but I couldn’t find you at school.”

“Okay?” 

“Hey, why don’t you hop into the car, I can drive you home and ask you?” He threw his thumb over his shoulder. 

“I’m good, I can walk.” 

“Oh come on, it gets you out of this drizzle for a few minutes. Come on.” He was encouraging and if I knew anything, it was to not piss off Jason Carver. So, I sighed and gave in.

“Fine, I guess,” I grumbled as followed him to the car where I slipped into the back seat with one of the other boys. “So what was it you wanted to ask me?” 

He grinned at me through the rearview mirror as he put the car in drive. “Are you a virgin?” 

The question came out of nowhere, completely throwing me off guard. I could only stammer out incoherently as I looked around the car at the other boys staring at me. They had the same evil little smile which was plastered on Jason's face as he locked the doors and sped down the road. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I heard him chuckle. “Knock her out.” 

I barely had time to protest when a cloth was roughly smushed over my nose and mouth. I tried to push the hands away from me, but with every second that passed my limbs became heavier. Nausea build up in my stomach and my vision was becoming blurry. What the hell was happening? 

I stopped fighting soon after as a sudden wave of drowsiness hit me. My hands fell limply from the boy who was holding onto me and my head lulled to the side. I could hear them talking around me like I was underwater, everything was muffled before it all went black. 

When I came too, I was cold. Colder than I had been walking home in the rain. Groggily, I tried to move, yet I was met with resistance. I could tell my arms were bound behind me and my legs were the same way. Confused, I tried to pry myself out of the binds but to no avail. Calling out for help wasn’t an option either, considering there was something solved in my mouth. 

“Think she’s awake now Jason.'' I heard a voice from somewhere around me. I swiveled my head in their direction. Opening my eyes to look for the origin of the voice, I was met with darkness. A blindfold. 

I was trapped here, cold, bound, and gagged, what the hell was I going to do? 

My body tensed when I felt a hand gently caress up my arm and to the side of my face. Suddenly the blindfold was ripped away and I could now see. We were deep in the woods, and with a glance to the right, I realized it was Skull Rock, surrounded by trees. It was now night, the stars shown through the tree tops, there was a pretty good-sized camp rife burning closer to the covered part of the rock where the three of Jason’s friends stood. 

With a quick look down, I knew why I was freezing. I had been stripped of my clothes and sat up against a rock. Water droplets from the rain covered my bare skin and I shivered. Jason stood in front of me, arms crossed and eyes dark. 

I tried to say something to him but the gag kept me quiet. Jason just smirked. 

“You might be wondering why you are here. Well, that’s simple really. We need a virgin for our sacrifice and you, lucky for us, were ripe for the picking.” His fingers played with the loose hair which was falling into my face, and I flinched away from him. 

“See that circle?” He asked, taking my chin between his fingers and forcing me to look to my right between us and where the others were standing. There in the clearing was a stone circle, cleared of all leaves and other debris. “We are going to put you in the center and offer you up so that we can bargain with a demon.”

Tears began to prickle at the corners of my eyes. Shaking my head, I began to plead with him through the gag, desperate noises leaving me. I couldn’t die like this, bleeding out of the forest floor so some jocks could have their Halloween fun. 

“Don’t be so dramatic. It isn’t like anyone will miss you, we all know your parents are never around and you have maybe one friend? No one will look for you.” He held my shin tight, forcing me to look up at him. “It’s better this way, isn’t it?” 

A tear finally slipped down my cheek. Jason whipped it away and laughed. “Look at this boy’s, she’s crying. The group laughed loudly and I couldn’t help but cry more. 

What would they do when the ritual didn’t work? I’m not a virgin and I am far from pure since my encounter with my own demon some weeks ago. Would they be angry? Would they torture me if I am still alive when nothing happens? I trembled at the thought of what was to come. 

Jason breathed heavily and looked down at his wristwatch. “It’s almost time boys. Let's get everything ready.” 

Fear struck me at those words. Almost time. I was going to die in a hand full of minutes and there was nothing that could be done, no one that could help. I was deep in the woods, utterly alone. 

My heart was beating rapidly and my breathing was speeding up as well, causing my chest to rise and fall quickly. Jason reached his hand down and grasped my upper arm, jerking me to my feet. 

With my ankles bound with rope and unable to walk, Jason had to lift me into his arms to take me to the stone circle. I tried to push him away with my tied hands, beating away at his chest before he practically tossed me to the ground inside of the circle. 

I groaned in pain when I landed on the ground. Shaking the hair out of my face I pushed myself up into a seated position. More tears were rolling down my cheeks. 

Watching in horror, the three other boys came walking down to the circle with something held in their hands. Squinting my eyes, I was able to tell what they were. Knives. Long sharp kitchen knives, that glinted in the light of both the full moon and the fire behind them. 

They weren't surrounding me yet, so I made an attempt to crawl away but I was soon caught by Jason, who smacked me hard in the face. 

“Don’t do that.” He tutted. “If you fight this, you’ll only make it worse.” He dragged me back to the center of the circle. “Now stay put.” 

I begged in my head, “Please don't let me die, please save me, someone save me.” It didn’t seem to work.  

One by one the four boys took their places around the circle, Knives held by both hands in front of them. Their eyes looked down upon me and my naked body with hunger and something so dark and evil it made me close my eyes and lay back in the dirt. 

There was nothing I could do now. I was corrupted, prying would not help me, and God would not help a forsaken demon fucker. No one was around for miles, so I had no choice but to take what was to come. 

Making an effort to steady my breathing,, I listened as Jason and the others started to chant. Their voices blended together and echoed out into the forest, beyond the trees, and into the void. 

My eyes shot open when I heard the bushes rustling, hoping that it would be someone that could help me, but it was just the wind. Jason was now leaning down, hand stuck out and reaching for my legs.

Grasping them, he took his knife and slit a shallow cut down my left calf. I hissed in pain through the gag. Blood ran down my leg and into the dirt.  Jason backed away and kept chanting. My eyes darted around frantically to each boy and their knives, wondering who would be the next to cut me. 

Then, instantly, they all fell silent. Jason’s voice resonated through the sudden silence. “Okay.” 

That one word was all he said before they all sank to their knees and raised their knives to the sky. It was fixing to happen. I was fixing to be murdered. Frozen in fear and not bearing to watch, I shut my eyes tightly waiting on the pain of being stabbed by four people. 

Yet, that pain never came, only a harsh breeze and the feeling of an electric presence. It was familiar, the energy that now surrounded me. I had only felt it one time before when I summoned the demon myself. 

Curiously, I opened my eyes, surprised to find the same demon I had summoned standing over me. He looked the exact same. Long dark hair, large imposing wings, and scary horns. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from him as he practically growled at the four boys now splayed out in the dirt, their knives no longer in their grasp. 

“You dare to try and sacrifice what is mine?” The demon was dumping as he spoke out. 

Jason’s mouth hung open as he tried to speak. 

“Answer me!” The demon roared, scaring the group.

They all cowered down into the dirt, groveling at the demon’s feet. 

“We-we are s-sorry, we did not know she belonged to you. We just wanted to-to make a deal.” Jason spoke and the others nodded in agreement. 

“Ha!” The demon laughed. “A deal you say? I, unfortunately, do not make deals with those who harm what is mine.” 

He turned away from Jason and leaned down to look at me. His long fingers stroked the heaving flesh of my chest before making his way down to the rope which bound my hands. With one simple touch, the rope fell away. I let out a muffled gasp of relief as he continued down to my legs and did the same to the rope there. 

Now, tears of pure joy were streaming down my face as I rubbed my sore ankles and wrists. Quickly after I was freed, I ungagged myself, opening and closing my aching jaw. 

“Thank you,” I whispered to him so that only he could hear. He did not acknowledge me, only placing his hand over my still bleeding leg and healing it instantly. The feeling was weird, like a million tiny electric shocks happening all at once and then gone the next. My hand shot out to smooth over where the wound had been, completely smooth. 

The demon stood to his full height again and I stayed seated at his feet, not sure of where to go. 

“Now, what to do with you four,” he grinned devilishly and the four cowering boys. “Should I tear you all limb from limb, have some fun, or should I send you straight to the fiery pits of Hell now? Either way, you will not walk away from this spot alive.” 

Not knowing if I could handle watching, much less knowing, he torture these boys, I tugged on the hem of the cloth he had tied around his waist. He looked down at me, face relaxing from the pure rage which fille dit upon looking at my captors. 

“Please, do not torture them while I am here.” I shook my head at him. He gave a short nod before turning back to the boys.

“Very well, it seems you will be spared your mortal punishment, but do not think you will not endure pain for all eternity in the underworld.” 

“No, plea-” The begs of the group were cut short as their bodies were engulfed in flames, their screams taking their place. In just a few seconds all four of the boys were gone, no traces of them left to be found. 

In the now eerie silence of the woods, I could still hear the echoes of their screams as they were transported into the fiery depths. I began to shiver against the warm leg of the demon. The rain had just begun again and I was still naked, he was the only warmth I had. 

“Come here, little one.” He reaches down for me, taking me up in his arms and walking me to the dry spot under the overhanging bolder of Skull Rock and setting me down. The fire was still going and with a snap of his fingers, the fire became bigger and warmer. 

“Thank you.” I sighed into him. He said nothing, only holding me in silence. 

It may be because when I first met him, those many weeks ago, we had only had sex and then he disappeared, but right now he seemed kinder than before. I could not wrap my hand around a demon caring for me, coming to my aid, and then comforting me next to a fire. 

“Why,” I started then paused to look up at him. “Why did you save me?” 

He looked at me, dark, black eyes reflecting our surroundings like a mirror. I tilted my head, encouraging him to talk. 

“You are mine.”

“Yours?” 

“Since we have been bound from our first meeting.” 

“Oh.” 

That was the end of our conversation and I started to shiver more. I really wish I had a dozen blankets. 

The demon’s wings made a whooshing noise as their flared out before they came to wrap around us, keeping the warmth in. Most people would be hesitant to snuggle close to a demon, but right now, he was so warm and holding me so tightly to him, that I didn’t care. 

“Thank you,” I said to him once more, more than grateful that he had come to save me. 

“There is no need for thanks, I am simply protecting what is mine.” He stated matter of factly.

I couldn’t help the pang of heat that his words sent through me. A heat that rivaled even that of the fire in front of us. Now I was hyper-aware of him holding me. The touch of our bare skin on each other, how his hands gripped my skin, massaging where they rested on my hips.

It was like I didn’t care that I had almost died like I just needed him and I would be satisfied. A soft, needy whimper left my lips when he shifted my weight in his arms. My body was growing needier by the second. 

Keening into his chest, I groaned at how my nipples hardened in the chilly night air. I let out another soft whimper when he moved again, causing my legs to spread, and allowing the air to hit the sudden wetness between my thighs. 

Grabbing onto the demon’s arms tightly, I looked into his eyes, pleading. “Please.” 

“Hum? What do you want?” He asked as if he could not tell what it was my whole body was aching for.

“You. I need you.” I gasped out, surging upwards to capture him into a kiss. 

We had not kissed during our first meeting and I am not sure what compelled me to do it now, but it was a kiss to rival all before it. His lips were surprisingly tender against my own and although his teeth were sharp as needles, I could barely feel them as they nipped at me. 

With one hand gripped into the hair at the nape of his neck and the other holding onto one of his horns, I moved my body so that I straddled his legs. Opening my mouth, I let his forked tongue devour my own. The taste of him was confoundingly sweet, like nothing I had ever tasted before. How could this creature, that demon from hell, taste like absolute heaven?

Small moans sounded in my throat as he held me tightly to him, helping to grind my hips into his quick hardening cock. 

Pulling his mouth away from mine, I tried to follow yet he stopped me with a hand on my cheek. “Shall I show you who you belong to?” He questioned and I could do nothing but nod frantically, wanting nothing more than to feel his cock inside of me. “Very well.”

His hand left my cheek and pulled back the cloth which covered him. An involuntary moan came from me as I looked down between our bodies to admire his thickness and length. He was mouth-wateringly perfect, and if I had to admit it, what I dreamed of ever since he ruined me on the living room floor. 

Fucking him again had been all I could think about for weeks. Waiting on him to call upon me to continue fulfilling my service to him.

“Shit,” I hissed when the grinding of my hips caused his cock to barely sweep across my clit. It was aching to be touched and so was I.

“Fuck me, please,” I begged him, writhing in his hold. 

The demon just grinned as he took his cock in hand and slid its head between my slick folds. I trembled as he pushed into my cunt. 

“Nnhg- ah!” I cried out breathlessly, clinging to his shoulders. The stretch of my walls to accommodate him was almost painful, even so, it sent out the most carnal of pleasures through my body. 

I was so close to his face that I could clear the short groans he tried to keep quiet as he began to work my body up and down along his cock. They were so sinful sounding, the noises made a wave of arousal gush around him. 

Everything about him was titillating. Inviting in the most prurient of ways. 

“Faster,” I began to plead with him, moving my hips in his grasp. I needed friction and to feel the head of his cock prodding into the depths of my cunt. “Faster,” I whined again. 

He listened, grabbing tightly onto me and beginning to pound his hips up into me the best he could in our seated position. It was like I could feel him all the way in my stomach as he fucked me.

In my pleasure, my head lulled back, exposing the contours of my neck and arching my breasts into his face. He took this as an opportunity to capture the peaked nipple of my left breast in his mouth. 

The sensation of his split tongue as it played with my nipple was indescribable. It just felt amazing and had me rolling my hips in time with his thrusts. 

As his thrusts became faster and faster it was becoming harder for me to take a deep breath. Moans were flying out of my mouth at a constant rate. Lewd, all-consuming, moans and mewls. To my own ears, I sounded akin to the most debauched and pornographic thing I could imagine.  

My cunt gripped his cock tightly. I needed something more than just him furiously jackhammering into me. Quickly, I reached my hand down between us and began to rub tight circles along my clit. 

The stimulation of my fingers and his cock stirred up the heat within me and had my toes curling and my muscles tensing. I was so close to the end.

“Not yet.” Came the boom of the demon’s voice through the haze of my desperation. 

I shook my head frantically. “No, please, please.” My head shot forward to rest on his broad chest. I needed to cum, I couldn’t wait. 

“Not yet.” He commanded again, voice deeper, more authoritative. 

Tears of frustration started to pool in my eyes and a clammy sweat broke out over my body. I was trying so hard to hold back. My fingers stopped playing with my clit, only circling it every once in a while. IT was too sensitive to be touched too much or else I would have no choice but to let myself go. 

“A-aahh! Please,” I wailed into his chest. My hand which still held his shoulder, clawed at the skin as I refrained from succumbing to my own pleasure. 

“No.” He grunted out. 

The demon moved his hands, wrapping one arm completely around my waist as he took us from his seat and laid me on the ground. Then, his hands went to my thighs, pushing them up and into my chest. 

At this new angle, it was like I could feel every vein in his cock as he pushed into me. Screaming in pure ecstasy, I strained against him. Cunt convulsing and clenching, as if it both wanted to keep him inside of me yet also push him away. 

My body was moving of its own accord, squirming and writing in his stronghold. The slap of his skin on my ass and thighs sent a pleasant sting through me which added to the mountain of pleasure that was seconds away from toppling. 

His assault on my cunt was faster now that he was aiming down rather than up. The push of his cock into the very deepest parts of me would now be considered a stab. 

“Ah- ahhh- ahhh!” I needed something to grasp onto, something to tether me to the earth as I felt like I would fall over the edge at any given moment. The pressure was at a tipping point and it almost felt as if my cunt were going to explode. “Please,” I moan. “I need to cum. Let me cum, please.” 

Tears ran down my face as we looked one another in the eye. He did not give into my please ad he forcefully spread my legs and reached his hand down to my folds. He wet his fingers with the abundant slick and began to flit his fingers from side to side over my clit. The new, unforgiving, friction had my back completely arching off the ground. 

“Now.” He stated simply, grunting when my body went rigid. The pressure which had accumulated in my lower abdomen was finally released after a long time of being built up and held off. 

“Aaahhhh!” A scream ripped from me. I could feel the wetness of my arousal, hear it even, as it gushed out of me in a stream, hitting the demon in the stomach and flowing down both of our bodies. He did not stop driving his hips into mine as I came around him.  

My body shook as I cried out in pain, pleasure, and relief. His constant thrusts were becoming less constant and more carnal-minded as he came closer and closer to his own release. 

“Yes- ah, yes,” I mumbled, reaching out to him as he began to slow to a stop, his own seed spilling into me, filling me up. 

His body dropped on top of me, although, his arms held most of his weight off of me. “You are forever mine little one. Do not forget that.” The growl of his voice sent a shiver through me. 

I nodded in response, shining contently, settling tiredly into the forest floor. He leaned his face in closer to mine and capture my lips with his own. If I was not so warn out, I would have jumped in surprise at him initiating the kiss.  

It was a deep kiss. One which held a surprising amount of emotion at least for me. I should not be falling for a demon, even if he saved me from certain death. And surely a demon should not be falling in love with me, a human. 

When he pulled away I gazed at him through lidded eyes, smiling. “Thank you.” I yawned. He said nothing, he just silently watched me as I slowly drifted off to sleep surrounded by the warmth of him and the fire at our side. 

I do not know how I ended up back in my house, fully dressed in my pajamas, and snuggled up in my bed the next morning, but I was unbothered by it. The only thing that was on my mind was when I would see my demon again.

Eddie Taglist: @loveofmylife12@ellabellabus07@wickedwitchofwest@siriusstwelveyears@ameliakf13 @milly-louise @darkscrossfire @harrypotter-posts @dedeinspire @ccosmic-illusion @eddiesbirdie @castiels-gracex @luvwanda @whimsywisher @wool-hat7 @callsignthunder @corrodedhawkins @stefans-wife @wool-hat7 @bookfrog242

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #demon eddie #demon eddie munson

[modawg]

i literally had this percabeth (day)dream the other day and i gotta just get it out there

basically the context is percy got like kidnapped sometime during hoo and basically pulls a grover where he’s the bride to some monster/enemy and they’re trying to get there before the wedding bc it’s like binding or smth idk they just HAVE to get there and interrupt the wedding or smth bad’s gonna happen

edit: the idea was that he’d like be forced to be with this monster or enemy thing like maybe it’s a ritual and the monster wants to marry a child of the big 3 for the power it would give them yada yada

the like priest or whatever turns over and is like “ok does anyone object to this marriage” and BOOM obv the seven and annabeth bust down the door and annabeths like screaming “ME I OBJECT!! I OBJECT”

the enemy’s like “who are you to stop this marriage bitch idk you” and she gives some long ass speech abt knowing percy for what feels like her whole life and how he’s helped make her a better person and helped her reconnect with her dad while everyone’s just standing there AGAPE at this long ass love confession

at the end she’s like “that’s why i object, i object and instead i would like to make my own proposal. percy will you marry me” JAWS ON THE MOTHERFUCKING FLOORRRR

there’s like dead silence and maybe the officiant or the enemy’s like “you have no right to do that you have no ring blah blah” so annabeth yanks off her necklace beads falling to the ground and she pulls off her fathers wedding ring drops down to one knee and asks again “seaweed brain, say yes”

percy’s in TEARS

then idk how but he gets down there and obv they get married and live happily ever after the binding spell working on them instead or smth but yk long live percabeth

#hoo #pjo #heros of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #hoo fandom #pjo fandom #hoo text post #pjo text post #hoo/pjo #annabeth chase and percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy and annabeth

[dylanwritesgood]

How To Save Your Old Shit After Floods

Hi, Tumblr. My reach is small and I am but a poor archivist who can't afford Blaze, so please boost this.

Author's note: I hate to have to add this, but cultural heritage is inherently political and this made it to TERFblr somehow so... The author is nonbinary. Go get your own archivist to teach you if you're gonna be like that.

The west coast of the US is flooding, and while it might seem unimportant in the face of people dying, getting stranded, and being without power, a lot of people are also going to lose personal history to flooding. This gets talked about a lot in the context of hurricanes, but we should all know what to do to save our pictures and documents, too.

FEMA has a good cultural heritage rescue guide here: https://www.fema.gov/disaster/recover/save-family-treasures

You can contact emergency conservators for advice here: [email protected]

The Northeast Document Conservation Center is also invaluable: https://www.nedcc.org/free-resources/preservation-leaflets/overview (check out the Emergency Management section)

Knowing what to do before it happens is crucial to actually saving things. Read this stuff now! Like to save! Bookmark it! Screen cap it! Idc but keep it handy (and remember you might not have online access when you need it)!

The FEMA guide does a really good job at explaining how to dry things, but the basics are:

Separate, separate, separate. While it's still wet if you can do so without causing further damage. Salvage color photos before black and white, paper backing before plastic film. Pre-gelatin silver (black and white on paper) photographs (collodion, ambrotype, cyanotype, etc.) get priority, but most people don't have those. Remove items from frames of they show signs of water damage. Take off dust jackets, unfolder documents, etc.

Rinse with clean, bottled water if there is mud or other debris. Use a dish pan, fill it with a little water, and slip photos in carefully for a short little bath. Dip, dip, dip if you need a little agitation to remove mud, but don't wipe or swish (unless it's REALLY stuck and you're okay with the possibility of damage). Change your water often, and try to avoid agitating things or touching the image side. It is recommended to hold books closed to protect the textblock from more water when you rinse. Obviously, don't soak things. Photos are probably your most fragile material and can be submerged for up to 48 hours before it gets really hard to save them, so you don't want to add to that time.

Spread it all out. Get creative with how you keep things apart. Hang things if they can take the strain, but remember that the corners are the weakest points of paper and photos. Books can be tented on clotheslines if the binding is still sturdy (pages aren't coming loose. If they are, see the next point)

Interleave books with paper towels every 1/4 inch of pages or so. If you can, fan them out and stand them upright. Change the paper towels as they get damp (and idk, use them for cleaning tasks. Shit's expensive)

Get air moving. Indirect airflow from a fan is best. Avoid fluttering. I face my fan into a wall or upwards to diffuse the air flow.

Some staining is likely. Dried mud can be brushed from paper like book textblocks but shouldn't be brushed from photographs, so rinse photos first.

Photograph materials while they're wet and still intact. If you should lose something while salvaging, at least you have a photograph of it so it's not lost forever.

If you cannot dry things immediately, wrap individual items or small clumps that are stuck together in wax paper (ideally. Parchment can work, plastic wrap or ziplocs if you have to) and PUT IT IN A FREEZER. Not an ice chest. The goal is to freeze the water, and ice chests will soak it. Freezing buys you time. It halts water damage until you can deal with things. When it's time to dry, unwrap your items and allow them to fully thaw before even thinking about separating them.

If you find mold, quarantine those materials in sealed plastic bags and freeze. You need professional help. It is not worth getting sick because you tried to clean mold without appropriate protection!

ETA: These techniques also work on that book you dropped in the bathtub or spilled a soda on, just sayin'.

Again please feel free to share this! Fellow conservators, GLAM professionals, or those who have been there, done that, feel free to add to this! Thank you!

Edits:

This was hiding in the tags and is also a good practice! Preparation is key to reducing damage. Which reminds me--store the good stuff on your highest shelves. It won't help in cases like Hurricane Katrina, but a minor-to-medium flood probably won't reach!

#floodcleanup #flooding #California #conservation #photography #the archivist #yes im tagging magnus tags bc you people are fiends so rb to be a little archivist too #the magnus archives #libraries #bookblr #fan fiction #museum #diy #books #shelfie #archive #ok to reblog #climate change #ao3 #stranger things #lgbtqia #signal boost #the mummy #poetry #artwork #art #disaster response #disaster relief #disaster recovery #hurricane

[drabbles-mc]

Tailed

Happy Lowman x F!Reader

For Day 3 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: rope burns/knife to throat/"hold still"

Warnings: 18+, angst, injury, murder, language

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: It's been a minute since I've written for Happy, I feel like. I love this dude. I think he deserves a woman who is willing to kill for him idk.

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @anditsmywholeheart @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc @garbinge @passionatewrites @camelia35 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The bag that had been over his head for a while now didn’t bode well for him. The ropes that were binding and ripping the skin of his wrists and ankles didn’t exactly spell out good news for him either. He wasn’t too worried, though. It was concerning, sure, but it was far from the first time he’d found himself in circumstances like this. Knowing him, it probably wouldn’t be the last either.

He had a gut feeling that whoever it was that had snagged him, and whatever their issues were with him, weren’t exactly related to the club. It was no secret that the MC had its fair share of enemies, and that particular laundry list of people would’ve been a good place to start, but as far as Happy knew he was alone. And none of the people who had captured him had called anyone. If it was something to do with the MC, someone would’ve asked him about it or made some sort of phone call by this point, but there was nothing. He wondered if the club even realized yet that he had been snatched up.

Whoever these people were, they definitely wanted him for personal reasons. Happy didn’t find that to be surprising in the slightest either. With all the people he knew and the things he’d done, he’d built up quite the roster of people who would like to see him dead or dying.

No one had said anything to him since he got thrown into what he was assuming was a van of some kind. He was sitting upright so he knew that they hadn’t tossed him in the trunk of some car, and the fact that there was a cushion underneath him let him know that he wasn’t just getting tossed into the back of some U-Haul. None of those details helped him figure out who had him and why.

Since no one said anything to him, he didn’t say anything to them. He wasn’t like Tig—he wasn’t in the habit of being chatty and making things worse. Sometimes his dedication to silence also made things worse, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Happy had no concept of time as they continued to drive to wherever their mystery destination was. He could hear the murmurs of the people in the car but they weren’t talking loud enough for him to make anything out. He listened for a GPS, or even to try and catch one of them giving directions to the other, but there was nothing. The entire time he was waiting and listening, he was trying to work at the ropes around his wrists. He could feel it ripping at his skin, but he still kept at it. Again, it wasn’t the worst pain he had ever endured. It surely wouldn’t be as bad as whatever was going to ensue once he actually got his hands free.

He just started feeling like he was making a little bit of progress with it when the van made a sharp right turn with no warning at all. Happy grunted as he tipped over in the seat, quickly scrambling to try and get himself upright again. He got an assist that was more hurtful than it was helpful, feeling someone ball their fist into the back of his shirt and push him upright and directly against the side of the van with more roughness than necessary.

“What the fuck was that?!” the man next to him yelled to the driver. It was the most Happy had heard out of anyone aside from their grunts and curses since they captured him.

“Got a tail,” another man, one Happy assumed was the driver, said back to them. “Trying to lose them.”

“By turning and almost going through a fucking building?!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

The man next to him huffed. “Who’s tailing us anyway?”

“White Chevy. Two cars back.”

Happy started laughing at that—he couldn’t help himself. The club might not have known that he was MIA yet, but of course you did. He should’ve seen that coming.

The man balled his fist into Happy’s shirt, yanking him so that he was face-to-face with him. Even though Happy couldn’t see him through the dark fabric of the hood covering his head, he could still feel the man’s nose pressing against his own.

“Who the fuck is following us?”

“I don’t know,” Happy replied, “I can’t see them.”

He felt the pressure of a knife being pressed against his throat. “Who the fuck is it?!”

Happy remained silent, and the man pressed the blade a little harder into the column of his throat. Happy felt the slight pull and the residual sting of the knife breaking the skin on his neck. It wasn’t a bad cut, not deep enough to be an imminent issue, but it was a promising threat that things were going to get worse if these guys didn’t get answers.

“Someone who is gonna be a real fucking problem for you guys if they get you.”

“Fuck me,” the man next to him grumbled.

The answer must’ve been satisfactory enough, because he pulled the blade away from Happy’s throat. It was a relief, but most because Happy didn’t trust the guy next to him to have a steady hand and if the driver made another sharp turn it was going to be game over very quickly.

“What do you wanna do?” the third guy finally spoke up loud enough for Happy to be able to hear him.

There was something familiar about the guy’s voice. Happy couldn’t quite place it, but he definitely knew it. Whoever the man riding shotgun was, he was the one who must’ve had the vendetta against Happy. He didn’t know who he was or what the vendetta was, and honestly he didn’t particularly care. Happy just wanted all of this to be over with. He was much more certain that things would go his way and that he would live to fight another day now that he knew that you were tailing them.

“I don’t know,” the driver said as he made another turn. “We just, we gotta lose ‘em.”

Happy laughed. “Good luck.”

The remark was met with the guy next to him slamming the side of his head into the side of the van. It was worth it. For a moment Happy understood why Tig was the way he was.

Happy was still working against the binds on his wrists but at this point it felt like it was no use. He was better off waiting for you to sink your teeth into these guys and free him rather than trying to wriggle out himself. It clearly wasn’t working anyway.

A few more minutes ticked by, filled with chaotic turns and the driver slamming on the gas. Finally, though, he said, “I think we’re in the clear.”

All three of the men let out sighs of relief, but Happy knew that they were speaking too soon. Anyone else in his position might’ve been disheartened, but he knew that they weren’t going to get rid of you that easily. You might not have been right behind them anymore, but you definitely weren’t gone.

As if you had been reading his thoughts, the van came to a screeching halt. Happy and the other man in the seat row with him toppled forward, smacking against the seats in front of them. He heard the thudding of the man riding shotgun slamming his hands against the dash to brace themselves. All four of them were cursing as they tried to get themselves right again. Happy didn’t know if being completely in the dark made it harder or easier to do that.

“Son of a bitch!” the man riding shotgun yelled out.

Happy heard the guy next to him take a deep breath, most likely gearing up for some snide comment or more cursing, but he never got the chance as someone started shooting. Happy heard the first two hit the glass of the windshield and he immediately sunk down in his seat. It had to be you. He heard the guys firing back from inside the van, and he did what little he could do given his current circumstances and he threw his body against that of the man sitting next to him. He was rewarded with the sound of the man’s gun clattering to the floor and the guy cursing as he set himself loose on Happy, grabbing him and landing whatever blows he could as the gunfire continued.

Happy was as defenseless as he’d ever been with his hands bound behind his back and his head still covered with the hood. He was trying to kick but his ankles being tied made that difficult too. He tried to squirm and keep moving, anything to keep the hits from landing directly.

Even with all the chaos, it was impossible to miss the sound of a bullet burying itself into someone’s skull. When it happened, the entire van was still and silent for all of a couple seconds before the chaos picked back up and was even more intense.

A few moments after that, there was the sound of the vehicle doors being ripped open. There was screaming and grunting and gunshots, and Happy was just hoping that you were coming out on the winning end of it all.

“Get on the fucking ground!” you yelled as you put a bullet into the kneecap of the man that you’d forcefully pulled out of the passenger seat.

Happy had never been so relieved to hear your rage. He was so distracted by the sound of you that when he heard the back door of the van open and someone grab onto him, he automatically assumed it was another threat. If it wasn’t you that was getting him out, he couldn’t help but to think that it was someone else who had the intention of hurting him.

He thrashed as much as he could until the person spoke up. “Hap, shit, stop, it’s me,” Juice was trying to cut the ropes on Happy’s wrists, or at least pull the hood off his head, but the constant movement made both of those things difficult.

Juice’s voice wasn’t the one that Happy was expecting to hear, but it still got him to stop fighting against the assistance. There was the sound of another gunshot and then Juice finally pulled the hood off so that Happy could see. The sun was blinding, a jarring shift from the hours of darkness he’d just endured, but he wasn’t upset about it. The first thing he saw was the man that Juice had shot and killed slumped in the back seat. Once he realized that he wasn’t going to be an immediate threat, he turned his head, looking around for you as he squinted against the harsh light.

That’s when he saw you, leaning over the man who had been sitting in the passenger seat. You’d shot out both of the guy’s legs. You had your knee pinned to his chest as you leaned over him, the mouth of your gun pressed harshly beneath the man’s chin. Even though there was distance between you, Happy could see the way you were breathing heavily, he could feel the rage coming off of you.

Even though he knew that Juice was trying to free him, Happy was still having a hard time sitting still to let it happen when he knew that you were so close. Juice huffed in annoyance behind him as he tried to do his job without slicing open one of Happy’s wrists in the process. “Hold still for five seconds, Happy. Seriously.”

None of Happy’s attention was focused on himself or Juice anymore though, not when he could hear the conversation happening a few feet away.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man spat out.

You wanted to make a comment to the effect of, “I should be the one asking you that,” but then you realized that you didn’t particularly care who this guy was. You didn’t really care why he wanted Happy. You knew perfectly well that the man you were with had more enemies than smiley face tattoos. It wasn’t surprising that he had landed himself in hot water.

Juice had cut the ties around Happy’s wrists and was just about to be done with the ones around his ankles when you pulled the trigger on your gun one more time, causing the man’s head to snap back as the bullet went clean through it from bottom to top.

“Fuck,” Juice said with a shake of his head as he finally cut through the last of the rope.

The second Happy was free, he was up on his feet and making his way over to you. He wasn’t running, but you could see the determination in his stride and the set of his shoulders. When he got over to you, he held out his hand to help you up from your position of kneeling on the man’s dead body. You tucked your gun back into its holster before slapping your hand into his, both of you tightening your grips as he helped pull you back up onto your feet.

The second you were completely upright, Happy stepped in like he was going to kiss you, but you stopped him as you pressed your palm against your chest. He opened his mouth to ask you what was going on, but you quickly moved your hand up and cupped his chin in your hand before tilting his head up slightly. You saw the cut running along the side of his throat and you frowned.

Once Happy realized what you were doing and looking at, his body relaxed a little bit. He almost started laughing. All the things that had happened in the last few hours and this was what you were getting hung up on. “I’m fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you let go of his chin. “Of course you’re going to say that.”

The two of you were about to start getting into it in the middle of all the carnage you’d caused when Juice interjected himself into your conversation. “Hey, guys, we gotta…we gotta go.”

Just as he said that, you heard the sirens in the distance. That was fair, and expected after all the gunshots. You pointed at Happy accusingly. “This conversation isn’t over.”

Happy knew better than to argue with you. “Alright.”

It was a quiet drive home. You dropped Juice back off at his place with a quick thank you and a promise to reach out to him later. As the two of you drove back to Happy’s you could feel him looking at you from the passenger seat but you didn’t say anything about it. You knew that he probably had his fair share of questions, and you certainly had your own, but right now all you wanted to do was get back home. All of the questions and the conversations could wait until later, preferably until tomorrow. You didn’t say anything as you drove, but it didn’t stop you from reaching over and resting your hand on top of his on the console, careful not to touch the scraped and bloodied parts of his wrists where the rope had been digging into him only a little while before.

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday3 #rope burns #knife to throat #hold still #soa #sons of anarchy #soa imagine #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #happy lowman fanfiction #happy lowman x you #happy lowman x reader #happy lowman #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[brotherblaze]

JAILBAIT³ —simon 'ghost' riley

▹ simon 'ghost' riley/gn!reader

▹ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

▹ synopsis: it's time to go home and Ghost finds himself realizing there's never enough time to spend with you.

▹ cw: suggestive themes, a sprinkle of angst

▹ wc: ~3,5k (idk what happened)

▹ please don't try to 'educate' me abt what 'jailbait' means especially if you haven't even read the fic

You pointedly ignore the rookies working out as you step into the gym.

Even when you pass the ones Ghost had scared shitless just days earlier, you keep walking, ignoring the familiar pull of desire to antagonize. The idea of messing with them is chased away the moment it arrives but yet it tries to linger. One last laugh at their expense, one last display of power that hinges on the existence of the hulking mass of a man you call your boyfriend (one that wouldn't even exist without the ties that bind you to him).

But between the desire to antagonize and the desire of spending money that isn't your own, Simon (and his money) reigns supreme.

Ghost has retreated to the very back of the gym. He's sitting on the floor, stretching, when you come into view. It's like he's drawn to you like a magnet, his sixth sense of your presence is honed to nigh-perfection because he's already looking in your direction when you see him.

He's shirtless, though still wearing his balaclava. For a moment, you allow your eyes to trail his impressive physique, the scars and burns and bruises a collection of constellations that make up Simon Riley.

"Men are being sluts again, nature is healing." you place your hand over your heart, glancing up as if to thank a higher power and Ghost can't help but roll his eyes at your antics. "I'd also love to see you all oiled up, by the way, or with a collar and a leash—either works, honestly. Just like, a little something to think about."

"Too much of a good thing..."

You don't reply immediately and Ghost can practically see the gears turning in your head, brows slightly furrowed, nose scrunched and lips parted. "A large piece... will split your mouth." A moment of silence, and then a look of disappointment. "Why do I even bother trying to translate proverbs? I hate English—horrible, ugly language."

It's not that he's laughing at you, or your inability to translate ("Shut up, Colonizer, how many languages can you speak?" you'd hissed at him once and Simon had promptly bit his tongue because you know seven languages and how could he ever compete with how effortlessly you speak them?) but because he likes your ability to slip into a wholly different language so effortlessly. You jab him in the calf with the nose of your shoe.

"What do you need?" Because you wouldn't set foot into a gym voluntarily if it's not the first thing in the morning just moments after the cleaning crew has left. Something about the mixture of sweat and the scent of axe body spray making the inside of your nose ache. He eyes the black surgical mask you're wearing.

"Why would I need anything? Maybe I just wanted to see my boyfriend who is very handsome, by the way." You bat your lashes, the flashy fake lashes fluttering. They're heavy but it's worth it for the dramatics.

Ghost raises a pale brow.

"Fine, I may be here with a proposal." You unlock your phone with one hand and pull the false lashes off with your other. You hand your phone to him, a picture pulled up on the screen, and dig into your pocket for the lash container. "You get a blowjob—I'll even negotiate swallowing—and I get a cowboy Ghost Rider figurine. Something-something, save a horse, ride a cowboy—speaking of, did you know that Russia's Catherine the Great is rumored to have died because she was fucking one of her prized stallions and the horse collapsed on her?" You carefully place the lashes into the lash container they came in and slide it back into your jacket pocket.

"Baseless rumors, I take it?"

"Well, duh; power-hungry men hate women. She died of a stroke. On one hand, girlboss, on the other hand, ew, a monarch. Glad she bit it." You level Ghost's gaze. "I will rejoice the day the British monarchy falls."

"I'll make sure to have streamers and party hats on hand." He stands then, and you extend the black towel thrown over your shoulder. His 'thank you' is clear but low and only for your ears. "You get everything done alright?"

"Yeah, as much as my non-existent security clearance let me do. Server maintenance was boring, nothing riveting which, y'know, is good. Then, I cleaned all the gunk out of Price's laptop and lectured him about clicking on random bullshit on the internet and he was like," you lower your voice to imitate Price, "'I was there when the internet was made' like okay, you living fossil. And then I didn't wanna bother you 'cause you were getting in the zone or whatever so I asked Johnny to come to the grocery store with me 'cause I wanted ice cream and I wanted to spend some time with Soap before I leave, so we went to the grocery store—"

"Breathe."

"And this mean old lady was at the store and I got the low-sugar kind of ice cream and then we came back." You take a deep breath and hold up a plastic baggie with ice cream and a few disposable spoons. "You want ice cream?"

"Did you fight an old lady again?" There is mirth to his tone, eyes crinkling at the corners. Smiling; he's smiling. The corners of your own mouth quirk up.

"Maybe. Rendezvous in John's office?"

Phrased like a question—but it isn't one. He's learned your patterns well enough, he knows when something is a request and when something is a question. You never give him time to answer a request, just state it and leave. Even now you pull away from him, muttering something to yourself as you make your exit.

Soap is the one who beats you both to Price's office. Price looks up from the papers on his desk when Soap enters, wearing the look of a man who's seen his own demise in the form of a human being. He says nothing, only visibly shudders before he collapses onto the worn leather couch in Price's office.

"I saw Jailbait verbally eviscerate an old lady."

Price laughs, actually laughs at that, laughs like he hasn't in a while. But he keeps his joy short, cutting himself off when he notices Soap's bewilderment. He's looking at Price with the utter confusion Price himself felt when he first heard you talking to a group of friends on a video call. "Still fighting with old ladies?"

"'Still'?"

"Jailbait used to babysit for this young single mother in the building. The old hag living next to her and the kid had a habit of running her mouth about everyone, but especially about those two back when she was still alive." Price winces. His chair creaks when he leans back slightly. "Jailbait never had anything nice to say about that hag. Supposedly all hell broke loose when they overheard a gossiping session. Whatever they told her seemed to get the point across. Never heard a peep again."

"She was a bitch and she deserved to know," you announce, standing in the doorway of Price's office. Ghost's tall stature looms behind you. You step in, discarding the lid of the ice cream tub in your hand into the trash. "I take a lot of pleasure in telling shitty old people to fuck off. 'Respect is earned' or whatever."

Ghost plants his weight next to Soap and you seat yourself in his lap. You hold the tub of ice cream out to him and pick up one of the spoons. The second one is passed to Soap and another to Price.

"You ate half of it," Ghost says, balaclava pulled up to his nose as he stares at the contents of the tub.

"I only ate the melting parts. Oh, and," you point your spoon towards Price, "I think she died; saw somebody moving furniture out of her apartment when I was leaving."

"I was away for five minutes." Ghost stabs his wooden spoon into the ice cream. It's soft. "Ever think she died because you were speaking in tongues?"

"Shut up, Colonizer, your Spanish has the thickest English accent I've ever heard." The tub of ice cream travels to Soap who digs his spoon in, and then to Price, still sitting at his desk. "By the way, I need Simon tonight and tomorrow morning, so there better not be some last-minute sudden mission bullshit." You spit over your left shoulder three times and Ghost frowns at the action.

"Did you spit on me?"

"No, but I can spit in your mouth if you ask nicely."

Ghost jabs his fingers into your sides and you yelp. A litany of curses escapes your lips, all of which Ghost ignores. He turns to Price, instead, pointedly ignoring the jab you try to deliver into his thigh.

"I'm seeing Jailbait off. Plane leaves at six."

"Our company that bad?" Soap jokes. He spots the slightest hint of a smile on Ghost's lips before it disappears.

"No, but the person who decided to put a base in the fuckin' desert is an ass and I need to see the sea." You level Soap with a look. "I would put you in my pocket and take you with me if I could. And Price?"

"Can't wait to hear where this is going to go."

"This better go on my CV 'cause I want to flex at my high school reunion in five years. Also, call me if they ever start building Evas 'cause one, I want to be there and two, I want to be immortalized by being one of the first people to work on it."

There's a faint 'what the fuck is an Eva' from Price. You throw your feet off Ghost's thigh and stand, stretching out the knots in your back. Ghost's knee bumps Soap's and he motions towards you with his eyes and when Soap looks at you, you're motioning for him to stand.

So, he stands, back as straight as a board. He can feel the weight of Ghost's gaze.

"MacTavish," you begin with a smile, "if I ever get to program an Eva, I'll fight tooth and nail so you could be my pilot." The curl of your lips is soft, all kind. It has his heart stuttering in his chest for a moment before he collects himself and returns your smile.

"It would be an honor."

You pause just as you're about to step forward, a small flicker of hesitation in your posture, then wrap your arms around Soap's torso. His gaze falls on Ghost, mind reeling back to the threats Ghost had made to the rookies and yet he only nods once. Soap slowly wraps his arms around your shoulders and relaxes into your hug.

"You're... pretty cool, I guess. Hangin' out was fun." It's a whisper against his chest.

"Yeah, you too." His own volume doesn't differ much from yours.

You move first, pulling away from him, and step back., turn on your heel to walk up to Price. His chair groans when he stands and pulls you into a tight hug. There are words exchanged, just like you did with Soap, too quiet to be heard by anyone but the two of you.

Soap spares a quick glance at Ghost whose gaze is pinned on you. There's a softness in his posture, slightly slouched, hunched shoulders. Like he's tired. It disappears the moment you pull away from your hug with Price and Soap spots the shaky smile you put on. There was no trace of Ghost, just Simon, Simon who is now buried again as Ghost's back straightens and he stands, tall and looming.

Ghost takes your hand in his when you leave.

He keeps you securely at his side as you make your way down the long gray hallways of the building. People walk past, minding their own business, some of them offering greetings, and Ghost's reply is always a nod of acknowledgment.

"Maybe once you get better at Spanish we can visit Alejandro and Rudy."

His announcement is sudden, voice a bit too loud and gruff to be Simon and it almost has you stumbling over your feet. You look up at him, and he's already looking down at you, an eyebrow raised.

The gaze you level him with is one he knows all too well; he can already feel the sigh of adoration-flavored exasperation in his chest.

"Wow, you have friends?"

"Pain in my ass."

And yet he still lets you sleep on top of him like a poor man's weighted blanket, head resting over his heart.

He doesn't want to wake you up.

You'd rolled off him in the middle of the night and he'd grabbed your arm to keep you from rolling off the cot entirely. He's spent the time since awake, staring at the calm rise and fall of your chest while you sleep like a corpse. (He finds himself somewhat jealous of your ability to sleep so soundly.)

Simon Riley lives in the shadows, the saturated grays of the world. He can't ever show you off to everyone who'd be willing to look, can't talk about you to anyone who would listen lest you be taken and used against him. His fingers are stained with blood and no matter how hard he scrubs he cannot get it out from underneath his fingernails.

And fuck, you deserve so much better than him; you deserve someone who'd immortalize you in their art, in poems and letters and paintings, marble statues carved in your image in museums where people from all over the world can marvel at your beauty—fall in love the same way he has.

His chest aches and his throat is tight and he tells himself the pain is in his ribs. He tells himself the pain is there because he was shot at.

He reaches out, fingers skimming along your thigh, his touch featherlight. You swat at his hand and bury your face deeper into your pillow.

"You've got a plane."

"No."

Simon grabs the back of your exposed thigh with his cold hand and you squeal. Your hand makes harsh contact with the bedframe and you swear loudly in a language Simon doesn't understand. Your voice is much lower in this language, and he's always liked this tone so much more than the one you use when you're speaking English. This one has a roughness your English lacks.

Briefly, he ponders over taking classes to learn it.

You grumble as you gather your things and follow him out to the car.

The ride to the airport is silent.

You're dozing off in the passenger seat, elbow propped against the window and cheek resting on the back of your hand. The town whizzes by outside, with very little sign of life at this hour. All the traffic lights are blinking yellow.

The car rolls to a stop at an almost empty intersection with a stop sign. A car is approaching from the right.

"I uh..." you pause, closed fist pressing against your eye as if to chase the sleep away. Your voice is still gravelly. "I got to talking about my past relationships in therapy last week. Realized I've met most of my exes at Halloween or masquerade parties—and I've always had this weird... disappointment, I guess, like, the moment they take the mask off. Even if they're objectively good-looking." You look at him. "But I don't get that with you."

Simon doesn't say anything; doesn't want to. Doesn't want to shatter the peaceful atmosphere of your confession, doesn't want to ruin it with his callous words and awkward sentence structure because every time he looks at you, his tongue feels like lead in his mouth and he forgets how to string his words together.

He just watches the car on the right cross the intersection and presses his foot down on the gas pedal.

"I always want to see you again." And you reach your hand across the console and hold it out for him. Simon takes it. His thumb traces circles against the back of your hand. Your grip tightens, three squeezes. He reciprocates the action.

The traffic lights stop blinking yellow. The roads become more lively.

Simon parks the car in the airport parking lot. He kills the engine, and it's silent again, neither of you making any effort to move, to get out and step into the brightly-lit airport.

Gently, you untangle your fingers from his, and trail up his arm, the column of his neck, the curve of his jaw. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. An audible exhale leaves him and you smile, the taste of it bittersweet on your tongue.

Simon leans in, his nose bumping against yours, his breath hot on your lower lip when he exhales.

His lips are chapped and his mouth is desperate and he steals the breath from your lungs. Teeth sink into your bottom lip and you whimper, the sound immediately swallowed by Simon's greed. An apology to your lip is the swipe of his warm tongue, his piercing knocking against your own tongue. He makes you dizzy, head swimming with nothing but him and his touch.

He breaks the kiss first; you have a flight to catch. Time. Time—it's always like he doesn't have enough time with you, one of you is always rushing somewhere, always away.

"Fuckin' hell, Riley," you say between deep breaths, waiting for the world to re-align on its axis. "I'm getting you a lip scrub the moment I get home."

His laugh is a low rumble and then he's kissing you again.

Too little time with you.

He takes your hand in his as you walk through the airport.

He stands a few feet away as you're checking in at the front desk, your manicured fingers tapping against the steel counter. You pull your black surgical mask down at the lady's request and flash her a quick smile, then another towards Simon who can't help but mirror you from behind his own mask.

("Airports are hotbeds for disease," you'd said, hanging him one of the surgical masks in your bag, "not lettin' someone's grandpa cough in my mouth.")

Just a little while later you're standing next to Simon, watching your neon yellow suitcase take off on the conveyer belt.

You find a quiet corner away from the prying eyes of the world. Simon wraps his arms around you, pulls you against his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers clutching onto the back of his jacket as if you're trying to claw your way into his skin and hide in the space between his ribs.

His grip is tight, fingers digging into your flesh so hard it'll bruise. Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength, the little crescent-shaped scars on your hips a witness to his prowess. He'd looked heartbroken, hands shaking and jaw clenched tight, begging, pleading you to tell him when he's too rough.

But it's nice—his hands feel like safety.

When you part, he pulls your masks down to place another kiss onto your lips and the world tilts again. You clutch onto the lapels of his jacket to keep yourself upright.

And then you part again, for the final time, and Simon watches you disappear from sight as you turn the corner towards the departure lounge.

He lingers at the airport for nearly an hour until his phone rings.

"You make it okay?"

"God, people love to try my patience. Some lady approached me and asked if I could switch with her so she could sit with the rest of her family. So I ask which one her seat is and she goes 'oh it's in economy', I just laughed in her face. Now her husband is glaring at me. Like, fuck, buy your own business class tickets, who the fuck is gonna swap business for the ass end of economy?"

He listens, lips curling slightly when he tries to imagine you telling a middle-aged woman to fuck off.

You exhale, adding another swear under your breath, venom-laced and sharp as a knife. He can vaguely hear people talking in the background. The call stretches on, neither one of you wanting to hang up so soon.

"Simon, what do you call the wife of a hippie?"

"Copy. Behave."

"Me? Always." He can hear the grin in your voice and it eases the ache in his chest, his heart thrumming like it's a captive hummingbird desperately searching for an escape. When your voice rings out again, it's small, with a hint of an uncertain tremble. "Don't... d-word."

"Not even death itself could keep me from you."

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