#if we have a thread and you want to continue

[rottingpink]

free use

cw. cnc, established relationship, free use, going at it CONSTANTLY, p/v, breeding, corruption kink, unprotected sex

synopsis. since discussing the idea of both of you being willing to fuck whenever, your husband has not let up off you.

"we should try something fun."

your husband lifts his gaze slowly from the newspaper he was reading.

"fun?" he indulges you, tilting his head slightly to search your face. you suggested something without a description intentionally to make him ask for an elaboration, meaning what you're about to tell him will either be very intriguing, or the complete opposite. he searches your features in an attempt to determine which it'll be. "what kind of fun?"

you pause to make him squirm in anticipation. "i was thinking," you murmur, tracing your finger along the couch's lines with your fingertip, a sign of nervousness. "we could try… being available to each other. like whenever one of us wants-" your face goes warm, "sex."

the newspaper lowers down to his lap so your husband can stare at you intently, but he doesn't move otherwise. he's seated with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his legs apart in a lazy manspread, looking way too composed for what you just suggested. your body is so tense right now that you feel the urge to take a cold shower before the conversation continues. why isn't he saying anything?

"available," he echoes your choice of words. "as in free use."

you nod, trying not to squirm in your seat. "mhm."

he hums, tongue running over the inside of his cheek, and his eyes drag over your body as if he's already imagining all the different ways he can catch you off guard and ruin you. just as you suggested.

"sweetheart," he murmurs quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside, "do you even know what you're agreeing to?"

you shrug, a guileless glint in your wide eyes. you couldn't seriously be asking him this. you, who cries within the first ten minutes of him fucking you and tries to crawl away from him when he's pounding into you, wants to be free use for him, constantly? "i trust you. there... shouldn't be any issues."

he leans back in his chair and lets a silence pass once more. he seems to be considering it. the longer he goes without talking the more you squirm. he lays a cheek in his palm, and continues. "and why do you want to be free use for me?"

your eyes widen and your lips press together. you're nervous but trying not to show it. "it's not just me, you know. both of us are available for each other. i just wanted to suggest it because it's been on my mind a while."

"mm. no other reason?"

you hesitate a second too long, and he notices immediately. his eyes narrow ever so slightly. "well," you fidget, toying with a thread on your shirt to break eye contact just long enough so you don't explode. "i just thought it might be exciting."

"exciting... how?"

you puff out a soft breath and try to play it off. "i dunno… like, getting dragged into a public washroom while we're out grocery shopping. or, like… in the car. pulling it over so we can go to the backseat. or while i'm doing laundry."

"so you mean you want me to be so desperate i can't wait and have to have you. right then, right there."

you fidget again, but nod. "mhm."

he laughs once under his breath. "that's cute. so if you're half asleep," he says, "and i want to wake you up with my cock inside you, you won't mind? or if we're on a hike and you're in one of those pairs of leggings i really like, i can put you up against a tree?"

you nod, but look away bashfully. "i said whenever."

he hums and looks away for a moment in an attempt to stay calm while he processes. then he looks back at you, tutting with a pitying look on his face. like you're a lamb up for the slaughter.

"you don't know what you just agreed to," he says affectionately, like he's sorry for you.

you frown, feeling like he's underestimating you. "yes, i do."

he smiles. "you really don't."

the first time he tries out your new agreement is when you're brushing your teeth with him the next morning. you're standing at the sink in just one of his old t-shirts, groggy, hair messy, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth as you blink blearily at your own reflection. he's behind you, pretending to brush his teeth too, but he's just looking at you.

your thighs are bare. the shirt rides up when you lean forward to spit into the sink, and he can see the crease where the back of your thighs meet your plush ass. he's entranced by the quiet way you operate when you're still half asleep and unaware of how good you look.

he swishes some water in his mouth and spits, setting his toothbrush back in the holder while watching you. you didn't notice he was ogling until you look up to meet his gaze in the mirror reflection to see him reaching around to pull you flush against his chest, lifting his hands under your shirt from behind to cup your tits. you don't wear a bra around the house, much to his convenience.

"just trying something fun," he murmurs into the curve of your neck, kissing the soft skin there. you tip your head a little, a pleasant feeling washing over your body as his thumbs roll over your perked nipples. he then wraps his hand around your throat to tip your head back. "aren't you so pretty?" he coos, one hand toying with your breast while the other gives your throat a light squeeze. it does nothing for your sanity. your brain might as well be slipping out of your ears.

you try to respond, but all that slips out is a helpless little whimper, the toothbrush still dangling from your lips.

"you're already shaking," he says softly, letting go of your throat only to glide his hand down the front of your shirt, past your navel, and into the waistband of your thin cotton panties. "and it's not even been a minute since i started. why're you acting like some helpless little virgin?"

you slip the toothbrush out of your mouth and drop it in the holder, using both hands to hold his wrist to keep yourself steady. "you're being mean," you breathe, embarrassed by how quickly he's unraveled you.

he hums, slipping his fingers inside your tight pussy to find you warm and wet. your hips jolt, but you don't move away. "i'm doing what you asked of me," he corrects you, his tone patient. "you said 'whenever,' remember?" he begins to lift up your shirt and tosses it onto the counter beside you, and your panties come off right after. then he pushes you forward so you're bent over onto the smooth marble in front of you.

he leans over your back, palm pressing down gently between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. "you know what your problem is," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, "you get way too ahead of yourself. then you ask for things you're not ready for."

"baby please," you whine, grinding your hips back, only for him to pull away. he's teasing you. you look back at him with frustration, wanting friction against your sopping core, but he's not allowing it.

you feel him hook a hand under your knee to prop your leg up on the edge of the sink for a better angle, and he tuts at how messy your little pussy is so soon. he spreads you as much as you can go, then nudges his clothed bulge against your core, listening to your breath hitch and breathy pants to leave your mouth. "hmmh... that spot... do that again,"

he hushes you patronizingly, tugging his pj pants just low enough for his cock to be free. you're completely bare in contrast. with a hand pinning you down and the blunt press of his cock between your thighs, he slowly, maddeningly starts to slip it inside with a purposeful roll of his hips, and the stretch immediately hits you. you feel so full with just the first few inches of his fat cock in you.

your mouth opens around a silent moan, eyes rolling back. your grip on the counter tightens while he rocks into you steadily, holding you firmly while his gaze flits from your hole sucking him in and the lewd look on your face in the mirror.

"you wanted this. look at yourself. look how pretty you are when you're being used."

you try. you really do. your eyes flutter open just long enough to catch sight of your own flushed, wrecked reflection, your hair a mess, mouth parted, as he slowly fills you up to the brink, tip kissing your womb. his hand gathers a fistful of your hair to tip your head up.

your head spins as he thrusts into you roughly, flesh slapping against flesh making nasty sounds that echo off the bathroom walls. "y-you're... haaa gonna be late f'work," you moan as he fucks into you deep and rough, his thick cock curving just right inside you to keep bumping against your sweet spots.

"shit... y'wanna talk about that now?" he tugs your hair a little to make you squeal, using it to keep you in place like it's a handle. "i'll grab breakfast on the way there," he says into your skin. "this is more important."

you reach behind blindly because you're desperate to feel your husband or hold him, but he pushes you back down, then leans down to push his chest flush against your back, his skin hot against yours. he nudges his cock deeper in you at the new angle, moving a bulky arm to wrap around your neck and fuck you in a chokehold.

he groans against your ear, rutting harder now, his rhythm starting to lose control while your back arches for him, trying to take more even though you're so full. his hips snap forward with more force and he chuckles into your ear when you let out a garbled, " 'm gonna cum..." followed by a loud mewl. he groans, slamming into that one spot that gets you to tighten up around him each time his mushroom tip gives it a kiss.

"hmm, ask nicely, sweetheart," he nips your ear and bottoms out with an obscenely wet squelch. "mmmm.... c-can i... fuck, c-cum? please, 'm gonna..." your eyes screw shut and your pussy gushes around his thick shaft, leaving your thighs slick and shaky.

he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you so his cum can shoot as deep inside you as he can. he doesn't pull out right away. arms wrapped around your middle, nose pressed into your hair like he's anchoring himself.

"god," he mumbles, still pumping you full, and there's now a creamy ring where his cock enters your cunt. "filled your little pussy all up, didn't i? now i'll feel bad leaving you like this."

you're too wrecked to answer, slumped forward against the sink, letting him hold you up. he reaches for a washcloth by the towel rack and dampens it so he can clean you up, giving you little kisses the whole time while you cling onto him. he keeps praising you, too. "did s'good for me, pretty baby."

he leaves you with a soft peck on your cheek. "ill see you later tonight..."

it doesn't stop after that morning in the bathroom. that was just his warm up, after all; his first taste of what you gave him. the second the floodgates opened, there was no closing them. poor you.

there's the time in the gym changeroom, right after your shared workout ends. you're both sore and sweaty, and you duck into the locker room so you can grab your stuff and head home with him to shower. however, the second he sees your flushed skin and damp chest through your sports bra, he doesn't hesitate to tug you into one of the showers and sit down on the bench, tearing off your clothes and tugging you into his lap.

he'll stuff your panties in your mouth so your moans are muffled, and fucks up into you hard and fast with no shame, even as he hears people talking and shuffling about behind the flimsy shower curtain. "you're gonna make a mess on me, aren't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "you like knowing someone could walk in right now and see you like this? my sweet girl, cockdrunk in a gym shower?"

he makes you cum on his cock, stuffs you full of his seed and leaves with you once the coast is mostly clear.

next was the hike. you're halfway up the steep trail with him, on a quick break on the grass off the main path. you'd just bent over a little to re-tie your laces since your boots had been far too tight, when he'd come up behind you, grinding against you and palming your ass through your leggings in broad daylight.

"shouldn't bend over in front of me unless you want me to do somethin' to you," he mutters, voice low and warm at your ear as he presses himself closer, fingers kneading into the backs of your thighs.

he doesn't give you a second to argue before he's guiding you face first to a tree and dropping to his knees. he pulls your leggings down just enough to get what he wants, and the air hits your slick folds pleasantly. you whimper, bracing yourself as he spreads your ass to have your pussy fully presented to him.

"gonna be quick," he whispers, "just a little taste." he mumbles, before shoving his face right into your cunt.

you gasp loudly and your hands shoot up to brace against the tree bark right in front of you and dig into the wood. you tremble and let out a shaky breath when he licks a slow, nasty stripe from your pussy up to your clit, shaking his tongue a little so it slobbers over every inch of your drooling pussy lips, occasionally prodding your hole.

his hands are firm on your thighs to spread you open wider, dragging your hips back toward his mouth while he eats you out filthy and sloppy. his nose nudges your clit, tongue flicking in and out of you, then slipping deep inside.

you bite your lip and your eyes, wide and panicked, glance toward the trail. anyone could walk by since you're not that far off the path, hidden, but not well. if someone wandered off long enough, they'd find the two of you.

"god," he moans into you, closing his mouth around your pussy lips and sucking gently, then going back to make out with your pussy. "taste so fuckin' good, babe. made for me." your orgasm hits so fast that you barely have time to warn him, pushing back against him so you cream right into his mouth.

you intended to have one wholesome weekend without your man ravaging you on any available surface in the vicinity. a family gathering that your parents are hosting. you enter the countryside house with your husband's hand on the small of your back to guide you inside, smiling politely as your relatives greet you both with warm hugs and laughter. everyone is in a good mood, sipping drinks, chewing on appetizers. there's music playing, and scents drifting from the kitchen.

he lasts about twenty minutes into the evening before he leans down to whisper filth into your ear while everyone else is distracted in the dining room. "you keep looking up at me like that and you're not leaving this place without my cum dripping down your thighs."

you stiffen, body heating up with arousal instantly, even as your face stays composed for the sake of your family standing two feet away. your husband knows exactly what he's doing. he brushes his lips just under your ear again, letting his breath brush over your skin while his palm subtly slides down to squeeze your ass through your dress, making you yelp.

he's all over you most of the evening. hands holding your hips from behind, cupping your ass, arms around your waist, smelling your hair... blatant public displays of affection. he keeps whispering things. "you're dripping through this dress," he murmurs while you're getting drinks in the kitchen. "do you even know what you look like right now?"

you try to push him away, but he's already behind you, brushing your hair over your shoulder as if he's helping, just to kiss the back of your neck. he's all over you right up until you take a break to get away from the party for a bit before dinner. you choose your childhood bedroom as an escape, needing one second away from him before he decides to finger you at the dinner table or fuck you in one of the bathrooms, but he follows you shortly after.

you just entered your old room, not realizing the door didn't click shut behind you. you make it two steps before he grabs you and pins you down onto your back in your old twin bed.

you jolt. "baby! where did you- what are you- "

"shhh," he murmurs, lips already brushing your neck. "just missed you. five minutes."

your body reacts before your brain can catch up. you tip your head to the side for him, breath catching as he kisses behind your ear and tugs the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pushing it under your tits so he can cup your bare mounds. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they stiffen under his touch, and he groans at your soft whines, pinching and rubbing them with his fingers while he kisses down to your chest, laving his tongue over the swollen peaks. he's practically slobbering on them, one bulky hand playing with one while his mouth works on the other, sucking sharply and then releasing with a wet pop.

he drags your panties down and off your ankles, spreading you into a shameful position to get a good look at you.

"fuck, look at this mess," he thumbs over your pussy with light pressure, teasing you. "this for me?" you whimper a soft yes, causing him to chuckle softly. he leans over you again, playing with your hole while his other hand wraps around his cock to stroke it slow and firm from tip to base, aligning himself with your hole. he doesn't make it easy for you and put it in straight away, instead tapping his cock against your folds and listening to the nasty little squelches that come from you. he slides it up and down, delaying your pleasure to make you desperate.

you gasp and mewl, thighs already lifting for him as he lines up and starts to press in slowly. your body clutches around him immediately, the stretch making your head spin. "ohhh my- fuck," he groans, pushing in all the way until he bottoms out. "tight as ever. made to be fucked in."

you moan breathlessly and tip your head back, letting him start to plow into you. he doesn't waste any time in putting one leg up over his shoulder and thrusting so deep that his balls squish against the curve of your ass and his shaft forms a faint print in your belly from how huge he is. your head lolls back with each of his deep, grinding strokes.

"look at you," he whispers, eyes trained on your filthy expression. "getting ruined in your childhood room. all the innocent memories, corrupted by this one." he mocks you while fucking into you harder. you moan loudly, hands fisting at the sheets, then clawing his biceps, then running down his torso. you have no idea what to do with yourself right now. he's fucking you into oblivion and now you're completely out of it.

"bet your parents think you're still their good little girl," he pants, rocking into you, stretching you out with his fat shaft with every drag. you can feel every vein and the exact angle in which his cock curves inside you. "they don't know you're upstairs getting your pussy wrecked like this."

"fuck! baby slow down, ahn, we're gonna get caught mmfuck, please!"

"please what?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to an unbearable pace. "please fuck me harder?" he punctuates the question with a sharp thrust so deep inside you your vision swims. "or please fill me up in my little princess bed?" he coos, grinding his pelvis against yours. your mouth falls open in a silent scream as a particularly deep thrust hits your sweet spot, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine while your back arches off the bed, pressing your heaving tits more firmly against his chest. you can basically feel his heartbeat against yours, thudding in time with his sloppy thrusts.

" 'm gonna cum inside you," he grits, pounding into you hard, cock scraping against your plushy walls and the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every inward thrust. "goddamn, look at me. want you to -haa- remember this." your nails scrape his back. you're crying out softly, trying to stay quiet, but you're so close. you clamp down on him so hard when it hits that he chokes on a groan, hips stuttering as he starts spilling into you with a harsh jerk of his body.

his cock jerks and pulses as he hilts inside you, the thick head flaring inside you as he releases ropes of hot cum pumps into your greedy cunt, your womb quickly filling to the brim.

within seconds, excess semen is already bubbling out around his shaft, dripping down onto the sheets beneath your ass. your pussy clenches and ripples, desperately trying to milk every last drop of him, and he continues rocking his cock inside you as he cums, fingers moving to play with your clit, and you cum shortly after, gushing around his cock and adding to the mess on the bed.

[houseofhyde]

I LOVE MANCHILD BUCKY SO MUCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! can u pretty pretty please do something literally anything where he picks the reader up and he's so strong and whatnot 😛😛😛 love ya thankssssss ur the best

wine, dine, whine. a manchild drabble.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. bucky's plans go to shit on the night of your birthday. yet, beneath city lights and raining skies, he learns how little you require to have a good time. it turns out, all you need is bucky's strong arms. warnings. smut ( unprotected piv, strength kink, sex against a door, clothed sex, creampie bc i'm a whore with a very specific kink 🧍‍♂️, fingers are getting put in pussies and mouths!, the bucky barnes begs agenda 2025™ continues, lowkey sub!bucky ), protective!bucky aka guard dog!bucky, anger issues, banter, unlabelled relationship bc i like torturing these two losers, angst, fluff, the overall vibe when it comes to the narration of this is a little bit different to manchild due to this being told from bucky's pov but hopefully it's still enjoyable! reader inclusivity. bucky is able to pick the reader up (which, duh, he's a super soldier, bestie <3) and one mention of his jacket being too big for her. wordcount. 3.6k (we're playing fast and loose with the term 'drabble') hyde's input. i've realised i have a strange obsession with having it rain a lot when it comes to these two ( as y'all will see in the next full-length fic i'm writing abt them ), but they just give me such rainy couple vibes, y'know? ( i sound stupid 🤠 ) i hope you enjoy, anon! thank you for requesting, you are the best <33

Fate is either a gigantic cunt, or she simply hates one James Buchanan Barnes.

Every little thing that should have gone right tonight has taken the left exit into wrong-ville. First, it was the missed reservation — Bucky tried to argue the ten minute delay was out of your control but the restaurant had already handed your table off to someone else. Before the soldier could choose between grovelling and threatening, your hand clasped onto his and you dragged him someplace else. Just when he settled into the perfect routine of sipping his wine and admiring the glow of you across a candle-lit table, your dinner arrived and, with it, more problems: the edge of your plate had been ‘decorated’ with crushed almonds. While he was red with anger, you were calmly apologising to the waiter for not having mentioned your allergy. In the end, you both ate the food off his plate.

Slipping off to the bathroom at one point , he’d been confronted with a crooked tie and the fact he’d put his cuff links on wrong — meanwhile, back at the table, you were the image of a goddess, elegant and effortless, wrapped in a pretty black dress and a pair of stilettos. Another disaster struck after dinner, back out on the streets, when a stranger shoulder-checked you and caused the ice cream you’d just bought to fly out your hand; while he wanted to grab the stranger by the scruff of the neck and force them to apologise, you busied yourself with stealing a bite from his cone.

Then came the rain. Unwarned, unreported. The sky simply gave a deep cry and the heavens opened up, dropping buckets worth of water down. Bucky hurried to cover you with his suit’s jacket and you used the downpour as an excuse to tuck yourself into his side, arms curling around his mid-riff and head finding rest against his shoulder.

Now here you both are walking the rainy streets of New York, clothes reduced to soaked rags that cling to each inch of skin, and Bucky’s wondering if this is all his fault.

When he’d first learned it was your birthday this morning, a confession that cut off any loose threads of sleep still clinging to him, you had been adamant that it wasn’t a big deal.

“Birthdays are like assholes, Barnes,” you swat at his butt with the tea-towel you’ve been using to dry the dishes — this is the routine as of late, he washes them and you dry them. “We all have one, doesn’t mean we need to go around announcing it.”

Looking back, he should have left it well-enough alone. But he hadn’t been able to ignore that something that wouldn’t sit right in his chest when you told him you had no intention to celebrate yourself. As far as Bucky is aware, your existence is a blessing, an admittedly irritating flickering light illuminating the tunnel of infinite dark he’s spent most of his life wandering through.

How could he possibly sit back and not let you shine?

“I spy my with my little eye,” your voice pulls him out the pit of guilt he’s digging for himself, drags him back up to street level where you’re soft and present at his side. An arm over your shoulder, he encourages you to burrow deeper against him. “Something beginning with… P!”

You must not be very good at this game, as the likely answer is glaring at him from across the street in red neon lights: Pizzeria.

“What are you, four?” Bucky’s rolling his eyes and fighting off the red of endearment rushing to his cheeks.

“Watch it, soldier,” one of your fingers pokes into his side. “You’re already towing the line of predatory with our age-gap.”

The rain is but a drizzle now, and Bucky despises the way it has you stepping out from his embrace, curious and excited to let feel the drops of water run down your face.

“You can’t say I’m not the strongest centenarian you know,” he states, without even knowing the reason why.

Perhaps a part of him craves to prove to you he’s a worthy choice, more than just a nighttime companion but someone you can let yourself rely on, rest against, plant new roots in your life with.

He’s been thinking about it lately, more often than a man of his nature would dare voice aloud, how much of your time he’s allowed to pollute, and how much of your heart he’s allowed to consume. For all his wondering, he can’t bring himself to ask, in fear of finding out the story of you two he’s been writing in his head ends sooner than he intends.

“You’re the only centenarian I know,” you’re ahead of him on the sidewalk now, walking backwards and turned towards him to see his reaction as you tease him. “Not even my grandparents, rest their souls, would be as old as you.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he’s trying to reach for you, feigning annoyance as the excuse to pull you back against him, where he wants you to belong.

But you’re nimble, faster on your heels than he expects you to be, and he marvels at how easily you evade his hands, feet moving so easily they almost seem to dance along the ground.

“Don’t worry, give me the greenlight and I’ll happily call you great-granddaddy while you hit it from the back-”

Like a lion pounces on a gazelle, he dashes to close the distance between you and swoops you up into his arms.

“What have I told you about watching where you’re going?” It’s an empty chastise, one that not even he pays any mind to, not when he’s so enthralled with the weight of you clinging to his neck, a vibranium arm holding up your back while his flesh one is tucked beneath your bent knees.

Your eyes are watching him, a smile upon your face that tells him you have no intention of looking at the river of a puddle he’s just rescued you from stepping into, sacrificing the polished leather of his shoes and the hem of his trousers as he walks you both across it.

“It’s more fun when you do it for me,” you wink at him, and Bucky’s in pain.

He’s known war. He’s known torture. He’s known what it means to lose every thread of autonomy, becoming nothing but a vehicle through which to kill. Never has he known ache quite like the one you carve into his heart, with something as simple as a smile and as soft as a kiss.

Deflecting his own thoughts, he jolts you higher up into his hold, closer to his chest, and renews the grip his hands carry you with. No puddles lay ahead anymore, left behind for you to finally spot over his shoulder, yet the soldier shows no intention of putting you down.

“You just had to prove your point, huh? Strongest man I know.”

The breeze brushes the skirt of your dress a little too high for Bucky’s comfort, not when there’s a group of men spilling out from a bar across the street. He readjusts his right arm, making sure the fabric stays caught beneath his iron grip.

Maybe that’s why it takes him a moment to notice you’ve altered his earlier claim, taking his age right out of the discussion.

“I never said man-”

You gasp, Bucky freezes.

“Put me down,” a command he obeys with heartbreak yet no hesitation, returning you gently to the pavement and keeping a hold on you until he’s sure you’re steady on your feet. Before he can step back, you shake your head, “Come here.”

Like a puppet, he gives himself up to you. Lets you tug him closer by his tie. Watches you place his hands firmly around your waist. Relishes in the squeeze of your arms interlocking behind his head.

Standing right in front of him, Bucky feels like he’s seeing you properly for the first time tonight.

Rivulets of rain run rampant down your face, smudged mascara paints an image of modern art across your cheeks, your lipstick has faded away to reveal the real hue of the lips he’s forever longing to kiss, the pretty shape of your dress has melted into your figure and the sleeves of his jacket keep sliding down over your hands. For every sense of the word, you’re a mess. A completely and utterly different woman to the one he stepped out onto the streets with hours earlier, before everything had gone wrong. And you’ve never been more beautiful.

Or more demanding, “Ok, now spin me.”

“Spin you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to spin you?” It’s not outrageous, he’d argue, to seek confirmation when faced with such a strange request.

“Am I speaking fucking latin? S, P, I, N me, Barnes!”

Let the record show that there’s not a single thing, no matter how confused or skeptical it may leave him, that Bucky wouldn’t do for you. So, of course he spins you.

Gripping on tight to your waist and straightening his back, he lets his feet shuffle around in a circle and watches how your own lift off the ground.

“Happy?” He asks, his own existence hinging on your answer, as he puts you back down.

“No,” you shake your head, lips splitting in an eye-twinkling smile. “Again!

He does it again, and again, and again. Until you’re a twirling, giggling, grinning mess surrounding him. Until he feels himself begin to struggle for balance. Until a group of strangers are holding up their phones and recording the private bubble you two are living in. And, for a moment, he can almost picture it.

The before, the normal. A 1940s kind of New York, stained in the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder, and playing main stage to a love story for the ages. He imagines all the ways he would have won over your family, all the old-fashioned traditions he’d play privy to just to earn your hand. His sister would have loved you, and not just because she’d always complained at being stuck with only a brother, but because you’d be as loud, and as outspoken, and as crass as she’d always believed women should be. The kind of life where he’d leave for war with a promise to return to you, and he’d make damn sure of keeping that promise, arriving back at shore to greet you with a kiss and a ring.

When the fog around his wishful eyes clears, he’s left with the blinding lights of modern New York and the smell of your perfume. There’s no bitter feeling, however, no hatred towards the life he finds himself in now, leagues and bounds away from what could have been. It’s not perfect but there’s you, and that seems about as close to it as Bucky can imagine.

“Oh no!” You exclaim, laying a hand across your forehead as you pretend to fall faint against him. “I’m just ever so dizzy, Mr Barnes, I think you’ll have to carry me home!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of walking cab?” Despite the annoyance put behind his question, he’s eagerly offering you his back to hop onto.

“No, no,” you’re swatting him around, pulling on his strings again to command him just how you want him. He willingly gives himself to you every time. “Do it the same as before.”

One arm at your back, the other at the back of your knees, he’s lifting you against him again. For a moment, the creative part of his brain, that had painted a picture of another decade, tempts him with the thought of how this is the very same way a man carries his bride. The thought of such devotion makes him sick with shame and anticipation. 

“Everyday you sound more like a spoiled brat,” and he’s the one to blame, giving way to your every whim and plea.

Your response is physical, a hand grabbing onto either side of his jaw and giving his head a shake, “God forbid a girl wants to enjoy the view of this handsome face!” 

Even though he tries to frown, he can’t help the way he turns to putty with your touch.

The rain comes to a complete stop and leaves behind a satisfying freshness in the air, one that smells like hope and tastes like possibility. Or maybe that’s just the effect of having you pressed up against him, not only seeking safety in his arms but finding rest, head atop the very point where metal welds into flesh.

Here he is, a creature more disjointed than anything Frankenstein could create, and wanted only ever for causing harm, providing respite to a soul he’s spent months trying to save from herself.

Perhaps fate doesn’t hate him so much.

“The answer was party-pooper,” you interrupt his dwelling, like you do best, and make quick to clarify for his questioning glance. “To my I-Spy prompt.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

Carrying you is child’s play, as easy as breathing to the super soldier. That doesn’t stop him from putting on a show of readjusting his grip, jolting you enough into the air to earn a huff out of you.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” a finger trails over his mouth, catching on his lower lip and giving it a gentle tap. “You’re the one that’s been sulking up a storm all night.”

“I wasn’t sulking-”

“You literally were pouting at me from across the table, James.”

“I just wanted you to have a good night.”

Do you notice blood staining the tips of his ears with a blush? And, if you do, would you believe him if he said it was from the bite of the wind?

“I am having a goodnight, how could I not?” As your arms secure themselves around his neck again, he feels the brush of your lips atop the collar of his shirt. If only your lipstick were still intact, he could wake up tomorrow to a visceral stain of your kiss on the fabric. “I’m wearing a pretty dress and being carried by a hunky man.”

“Sometimes I think you only want me for my biceps,” a sarcastic comment feels easier than letting himself sink into the knowledge that he’s made the cut in your requirements for a good time.

“Guilty as charged! I’m using you for this hot bod and fine piece of ass.”

Just when he’s thinking of kissing you, you beat him to it, pulling yourself up to press your lips against his.

It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s chaste. The kind of kiss one could blink and completely miss, but Bucky savours every second of it. Even if it does cause him to stumble with his next step.

Drawing nearer to your apartment, he wonders if you notice the way his pace is slowing, the way his feet are beginning to drag, the way he’s stretching out each step for as long as he can.

When he grows tired of the sound of passing cars and the muffled music from bars, he seeks out your voice.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Depends what you want to hear,” you’re back at his shoulder, eyes slipped closed as you enjoy the subtle sway of your dangling legs. “There’s two things I’m thinking about.”

“Two or a million things,” his own voice is falling into a whisper, something sacred he wants to save for your ears only. “I want to hear all of it.”

For a moment, there’s only the tread of his footfall, and the calm of your breathing, and the wind singing a solemn tune. Then you speak and drown him deeper in his melancholy.

“You don’t need to get angry for me,” a montage of deep breaths, flaring nostrils, clenching jaws, all from tonight and completely selfish, born out of an ire that you had met only with kind eyes and forgiving words. “I don’t want a weapon, I just want you. And if that anger is the real you, then I want it too, but not if you’re forcing yourself to get worked up because it's what you think I expect.”

“Anger kept me safe,” and, if it could do that for him, then surely it could keep you safe too. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

“Then we can find out together,” you say it so sincerely he wants nothing more than to make it a reality.

Not just the prospect of relearning himself, but the togetherness of it all. A unit, a pair, a couple. Not just a man and woman living under the same roof. Would you want the same, though? Or is the way he touches you just something you enjoy, no deeper feeling buried beneath layers of skin?

“Do you wanna know the second thing I’m thinking?” There you are again to pull the brakes on his train of thought.

He nods, too afraid of the tight feeling in his throat to speak. But you, his little spitfire, are afraid of nothing and lean up to shamelessly whisper into his ear.

“About how good you’re gonna fuck me when we get home.”

The two of you barely make it past the threshold of the door.

Despite the fact his hands are on you, you’re the one leading the charge, pulling him in by his tie to meet your welcoming tongue. There’s a noticeable thud as your back hits the door but your grip tightens him against you before he can worry.

“Want you to show me how strong these arms are, Buck,” you hiss against him, clutching onto the bicep of the arm that’s snuck itself beneath your dress and writhing as his fingers swipe over your soaked folds.

Sanity has long departed from him, abandoning him to the wreckage of you. He’s barely cognisant of his own undoing, losing himself in the way you react so perfectly to his fingers curling into your cunt. You don’t let him enjoy it for too long, barely a moan ripped out of you before you’re unbuckling his belt and setting his dick free from the confines of cotton.

Following your orders, his arms hike your legs up around his waist and settle your back a little higher up the door, forcing him to gaze up at you in worship. It’s a blessing, he concludes, to watch your mouth drop into an ‘o’ as he guides you down fully onto his cock.

There’s no time for teasing. Everything is desperate and reckless, teeth clashing against teeth, hands digging into hips, skin slapping against skin. The hinges of the door shake at your back, in perfect tune with each thrust of Bucky’s cock, and, when he catches your hand gripping onto the handle, he redirects it to his shoulder and relishes in the sting of your nails digging into his flesh.

“Please,” he’s not sure what he’s asking for, but his mind tells him to grovel, to plead, to pray. “Oh, please, fuck!”

“Yes James, that’s exactly what we’re doing,” you somehow find the time to giggle, and he swears he might just lose his mind when he feels your walls squeeze around him. “I didn’t think you’d have a senior moment so soon.”

You’re so irritating, and maddening, and endearing. Bucky’s all confused, mind oscillating between turning you around, pressing your face into the wood, and showing you just how ‘unsenior’ he is, or focusing on how ridiculously breathtaking you are to gaze up at.

If you’re a siren, then he’s a sailor who’s more willing than ever to drown in the waves with you and your melodic moans. Hungry eyes pull up the hem of your dress and seek out the sight of your pussy fucking itself down onto his cock. Lost in the sight of your bodies syncing together, he’s none the wiser to his open jaw until he tastes your fingers sink inside it.

“Look at you,” you coo, and he loves it, works harder and fucks deeper to hear more of it. “A big, bad soldier who’s whining for me.”

And he is. Pathetically, unabashedly, lips wrapped around the girth of your two fingers and letting you feel the vibrations of his pleasured whines. 

Bucky is the first to crescendo, with a fractured whisper of your name followed by stuttering hips. His eyes roll back as your legs lock around him and force him to deliver, devote every last drop of himself inside of you. He comes through just in time to press his thumb to your clit and guide you off your own edge into paradise, squealing and cheering against the door before he swallows your sounds with his lips.

In the dark of the apartment, you two search for a single breath between you, lazy-boned against the door as hands simply trail over one another’s outline.

“So,” your hand in his hair, tugging lightly until his chin rests on your chest and his hazy eyes stare up at yours. “Was tonight our first date?”

“No,” he almost laughs at how quickly the smile falls off your face, but he’s too busy rushing to fight away the disappointment that seeks to replace it. “You won’t have to ask when it’s our first date, you’ll know.”

And there it is again, the smile he likes best.

“Aww, does that mean I’m not getting a goodnight’s kiss?”

This time he does laugh, slowly bringing your feet back onto the ground and bumping the tip of his nose against yours.

“What you’re getting is tied to the bed and ruined until you forget your own name.”

+ extra hyde

· reader really loves to walk bucky like a dog (as she should!) · also its been a week since i posted manchild &, i don't mean to sound pathetic and emotional but i'm on my period so give me a break, i'm really happy that you all liked it enough to not only give me really kind feedback but to want more of them :( i love writing so much but i kind of hit a wall creatively about 8 months ago. i'm currently getting a degree and part of that degree requires me to not only write a lot but to write outside of my comfort zone (romance) and, despite achieving a first, it really just drained me and sucked the fun out of writing. so it's been really nice to feel myself slowly chip away at the writer's block & a big part of that has been thanks to every like, comment, reblog, and ask you guys have sent. thank you for making this loser (me) happy <3

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Stress. (Dorian/Reader Oneshot)

VERY self-indulgent dorian oneshot work keeps kicking my ass and a hoe cant do this no more

might be a lil ooc so sorry about that

---

"Alright, what happened now? Was it that bloke again?" Dorian asked, sitting next to you on the couch near your legs. You were currently sprawled out over it, still in uniform and face-first into the pillows. Work was... work. Annoying, and filled with stupid people who would gladly give your life for a fifty-cent raise.

You flinch when you feel Dorian's hands on your back, gently starting to massage your shoulders. You sigh and shake your head.

"No... It's both the new girl and the GM. I understand she's new, but you put a person on hold to turn and ask: 'Hey, I keep trying to put in their request but it's asking for a phone number, what do I do?' I dunno, maybe fuckin' ask them for one?! 'Where do I put these papers?' Where have you put them the last seven fucking times?!" You exclaim, becoming frustrated at the memory of their stupidity. "I really, *really* don't mean to be mean or rude, but GOD, just use your brain."

Dorian listens silently, continuing to rub your back. He moves and shifts so that your head now rests on his lap, his hand on your shoulder and holding you close.

"'m sorry, luv. You don't deserve that, no one does." He replies softly. "Why don't I order some food an' we can sit 'n watch the telly while we relax, hm?"

You nod, briefly wondering how Telly was doing at the mention of watching TV. Instead of moving, Dorian stays, eyes never leaving your form as he tries to comfort you with his touch and silence.

"I'm so tired of this job... it feels like nothing I do is ever enough for them." You murmur, turning so that you face Dorian. He frowned, eyes turning to worry at your exhausted expression.

"There's a host position opening up at the club I work at if you want to join me there." Dorian offered, carefully threading his fingers through your hair.

"I don't want to work with people anymore, Dorian... they're all... too much." You sigh, closing your eyes as you lean into Dorian's touch. He hums in response, trying to think of ways to help you. He hated seeing you like this, stressed and exhausted, instead of that lovely smile he'd kill for.

"Maybe you could get in contact with Celia or Volt and Eddie? 'm sure they'd be happy to give you a job." He suggested. "Penelope or Holly might be able to help, too. Hell, maybe even Willi."

You think Dorian's words over, going over every object turned human who would be glad to help you. Nodded, you sit up, leaning back against the couch cushions.

"Yeah... I'll talk with a few of them. See if they have anything better for me." Dorian smiles at your words, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and giving you a half-hug.

"Great. Lemme go get us somethin' to eat an' then we can do whatever ya want."

"Whatever I want?" You question with a smirk, hinting at something more.

"Of course, luv." Dorian replied, a cheeky grin forming on his lips. "Whatever you want."

---

god i suck at writing endings mb mb.

once again VERY self-indulgent but too nervous to write for a s/i or oc lol

anyways thanks for reading, stay safe and happy mwah

[alexanderlightweight]

Good Morning! I hope your day is starting out beautifully.

I would like to read an update on bitter trap of truth/ this deadly bouquet of love/bleed for desire. Whichever one you are most inspired for today, I love your writing.

NSF/NSFW doesn’t matter.

you know it started out with Nightshade and tea so it did start out pretty good (evil phonecalls interrupted but it was a good start!)

Nightshade was like 'baba we must have snuggles and play and you need to rub my belly and i need to be on your lap and oh. baba your face is dirty. cream? don't worry baba i won't let the cream stay on your skin! and i need a treat and what is that? are you eating? oh no ty baba i dont want just water. baba you have terrible eating habits how am i supposed to have extra snacks if you don't eat more?'

i hope you enjoy this, first part here

<3 lumine

this deadly bouquet of love

Alec has had it.

He truly has.

Not only is the shadowworld suddenly writhing like a pond of catfish being fed, it’s turning into a time of tumult and Alec is still in the middle of his courtship.

 He does not have the time to let Izzy and Jace get away with their usual insubordination.  In fact he’s completely washed his hands of personally training them, requested the Clave send him an adequate tutor and mentor — his own shadowhunters are too used to his parents and his own example and giving them leeway — and had been promptly told to just let Hodge train them.

It’s not going well.

Izzy’s comments have grown more biting and Jace’s arrogance which temporarily flagged has swelled up the longer the private lessons continue.

It’s a mess of a headache and Alec really doesn’t need to be dealing with this when he’s meticulously polishing small blowdarts before dipping them in a potion. Magnus is the one who gave him the potion, so Alec isn’t exactly worried that it’s unsafe but he’s still irritated at the unfairness of it all.

If Alec had realized how redundant nephilim courtships could be or how ridiculously long they could take, he would have found a different way to express his intentions. Especially considering the original attempt was an accident.

Completely serious, but an accident.

He and Magnus could be holding hands.

Alec isn’t even pushing for kisses — even though Magnus looks very kissable and his lips are soft and he smells amazing but that’s not the point.

The point is that Alec is being punished.

Clearly.

There’s no other reason for Magnus to continue to draw this out and Alec isn’t sure how he’s going to handle juggling both his personal wants and his responsibilities.

—

Magnus is delighted.

It’s been absolutely ages since Alexander’s done anything beyond graze Magnus skin and the potion itself is harmless, except Alexander doesn’t seemed pleased.  He’s staring at Magnus’ arm with dark eyes that Magnus can’t decipher and then his shoulders droop. He looks tired and despite the victory of getting Magnus with the dart, he seems displeased rather than proud.

“Oh no, no you don’t.” Magnus snags a thread of magic around Alexander’s wrist the moment his shadowhunter sends a longing look towards the roof’s edge and tugs him over.  He ignores  the way Alexander’s scowl deepens — because not once does his shadowhunter reach for a weapon or tell him to stop.  “What’s this, hmm? You’re normally so eager to see me and talk to me when you drop by?”

“I don’t have time to just be denied what I want, Magnus. I’m not stopping the courtship, but I don’t have time to play games I already know I’ll lose.”  Alexander doesn’t seem upset, the tired smile on his face isn’t irritated, merely exhausted and… ah. Magnus’ darling looks heart sore and Magnus wonders if perhaps he’s let his little game run on a bit too far.

As delightful as this entire endeavor has been, he’s always known that Alexander doesn’t actually enjoy targeting Magnus but truly, when was the last time Magnus has ever had someone so invested in just the possibility of holding his hand? The temptation of Alexander and his ardent devotion is too much and Magnus knows he’s been greedy but he also knows when the time to be generous is.

“But will you lose this time, sweetheart?” Magnus asks and Alexander’s eyes go wide as Magnus leans in and nuzzles him, their cheeks pressing together and Magnus’ goatee catching on Alexander’s stubble with a raw scrape that has his boy shuddering.

“Please don’t play with me like this, not tonight.” Alexander murmurs and Magnus sighs and lets his fingers finally touch like they’ve been craving to do for weeks.

“I’ve hardly been able to resist, Alexander. As much as I enjoy how you blush and fluster when I tease you, I’m not actually trying to torture you.” 

Magnus kisses Alexander then, pulling him in with fingers in Alexander’s hair and sighing in ecstasy at the way Alexander stiffens and then eagerly melts against him.  Alexander is pliant, hands firm and steady on Magnus’ skin but he’s willing to be manhandled however Magnus wants, arching into every touch and moaning into the kiss when Magnus deepens it rather than just pull away.

“There, was that worth the wait?”

Alexander nods, eyes glassy with delighted pleasure and then he’s holding out his hand, a stubborn expression to his jaw and despite having just kissed him breathless, Magnus knows exactly what his darling is asking for.

“Kisses weren’t enough?”

“They were nice and a bonus, but I was promised I could hold your hand.” The way Alexander’s voice rasps, already kiss-hoarse and debauched but still stubborn is strangely charming.

Magnus still isn’t sure why Alexander is so fixated on holding hands but then his warm fingers tangle with Alexander’s cool one and he feels a sudden calmness, as if he’s been re-centered and he sees Alexander looking a their hands with delighted awe.

“There was always a chance I could eventually fuck a man. Kiss him in the shadows and only have tidbits of the life I want.” Magnus holds back the seething anger at even the idea of it, too invested in the way Alexander swings their joined hands. “I know it’s a bit mundane. But most shadowhunter couples I know don’t hold hands. They fuck and kiss and have children and some of them share affection, but this? This is what I’ve wanted. Not a quick fuck in an alley without names for safety. This.”

Magnus suddenly feels a burst of emotions that he refuses to name or even attempt to decipher and brings Alexander’s knuckles up to kiss them.

“I will hold your hand whenever you like, Alexander.  Even if you refuse to woo me any further.”

Alexander’s brow furrows, his eye twitching and Magnus laughs and leans closer to kiss away his disgruntlement.

“I tease, lovely. You’ve more than wooed me. I think rather than being the target of your aim, I’ll enjoy being the target of your affections. Besides, now if you craft me presents I can watch as you do it.”

-

AN:

Magnus has a competency kink: i know he has better aim than this. wtf alexander.

alec who has a 'i dont want to hurt the man i'm falling in love with' kink: i'd rather he think me an incompetent fool but how is shooting him going to get him to hold my hand faster????

magnus realizing alec is a bit delicate: oh, okay sweetheart it's fine. you can hold my hand and just kill targets for me instead?

alec: oh thank raziel. i am 100% okay with this. i will probably be fine killing most anyone you point me to just like, not you.

-

magnus was having the time of his life. he's being chased/wooed/etc politely? he gets to direct how things are going? he went a little overboard but that's valid and it got fixed the minute he realized alec was actually getting upset and depressed about the situation.

alec would love to spar with magnus etc. he just doesn't enjoy fake assassinating the man he's fantasizing about marrying.

magnus: oh.... oh he's a soft romantic. oh my. i did get lucky, didn't i. competent and sweet and pliable.

alec still sulking and nuzzling Magnus, giving him kisses and hugs and generally being a limpet: i don't have to go back tot he institute till the afternoon. can i stay this time?

magnus: i think i would destroy something if you tried to leave, so yes. also i do realize and regret that i could have been having this for weeks. it's ragnors fault. he suggested it.

ragnor: do not bring me into this! i clearly was on the poor lad's side. you took what you wanted to hear and ran with it and we both know it!

magnus: ... okay well, we still both got what we wanted, right alexander?

alec ignoring everything to just lean against Magnus and hold his hand and breathe him in and like: mh'mm just let me know who you want me to kill.

ragnor and cat: ... really? really magnus?

Magnus: ... he offered!

[babacontainsmultitudes]

AH. So that's why they put that content warning. I see!

[sequencefairy]

the problem with internet friends is that you cannot just headbutt them as tho you are a cat because that doesn't work via text-based messaging systems.

[electricea]

also i've been really mulling this over and i think early on, i sort of closed myself off to phantom thief threads due to a lot of issues with godmodding (muns giving their characters information they shouldn't canonically have like somehow knowing ryuji is a phantom thief or trying to toss mementos/palace threads at me) and i think i'd like to try and do more phantom thief stuff, i also just really want to improve and get better an action and combat and heist threads and it's a good way to practice and i think the middle ground i've come up with is acceptable - like maybe semi opens or 'closed' starter calls - as in to other phantom thief/persona user muses or muses who explicitly know and have my permission to know ryuji is a phantom thief? that or muns i know for a while and would really trust to handle it tactfully and not just be like 'aha! you're a phantom thief!'. i do feel a bit weird about keeping it a bit more semi selective as i generally like to be open to everyone but given past experiences, this is something i want to keep close to my chest and maybe in time i will be but like i said, just looking to get back into things and this could maybe be a fun first step.

[grimowled]

MUTUALS !! give this post a like if:

we haven't interacted yet (even if it's just with another muse), you don't know how to approach or are just bored or, you can't get enough of stolas and want MORE

and I shall send the creepy birb your way with something short maybe and sweet :>

reminder: by default you will get canon divergent creepy stolas BUT ... if you want canon compliant, just say 'give me the sad prince!'

[the-haunted-office]

( @5mind - Continued from here!)

Doom finds this whole thing absolutely hilarious, especially considering she's the one who wrote it. That's part of her whole play in all this - to see how long it takes him to figure it out. Besides, being seen together in public now? Maybe they'll attract the paparazzi, or some fans, and that'll make this whole thing even more hilarious.

"Oh, are you sure? Are you afraid a hug will melt more than your heart? Or are you afraid it might set you on fire instead? Well, maybe if you didn't go through all that trouble of dousing it in gasoline... Or maybe that's the whole idea behind chemistry, ehehehehe," she giggles as she skips along after him, making sure she's wearing her bunny ears so she's more recognizable like she wrote herself in the fic.

[hazbinbargainbin]

Between murder and scandals and everything else under the false suns, It's no wonder she's called an early wrap on things. It's a shame...he was starting to loosen up a little before /someone/ forgot to how to shut his mouth. Ah well. Can always try again next year.

For now, Satan's going to be staying in Gluttony for a bit. Help the B's out with whatever they need for the time being.

@qveenofgluttony

[impossible-rat-babies]

also setting aside 14 shafting so many female characters, papalymo is my roman empire of characters the game doesn't pay lip service to

[ravenshour]

@apurekindness cont from here

he could tell that she looks worn out, exhausted. they wanted to help her out in anyway they can so providing a distraction seemed like a good start. while he didn't know exactly what she was dealing with at the moment, he knew that grabbing her attention and pulling it away from it may be the first step at helping her. if she wanted to talk about it, she was open to it---if not, she didn't have to and he would just sit there and enjoy her company regardless.

offering a smile, Jamie nods. "yeah, o'course. where sounds good t'ya? anythin' ya fancy right now?" honestly, Jamie loves food and he could go for just about anything. you probably won't hear him complain, unless it's super spicy and burns his mouth---damn his genetics.

[twistedisciple]

Could it be? Could it truly be? Zelestia had thought she was the only wind who had left Elyos but there he was Gregory's, well, back standing before her! His clothes seemed a little off but that green wavy hair was clearly his. One thing did bother her though, he didn't say a word he too was coming?! It hurt her a bit to not have known beforehand but a dear member of her family was simply that, dear and... she would share a word with him for not telling anyway.

With a tone in which the anger she tried to convey was truly not there the Mage Dragon spoke to her family. "Gregory! How dare you not tell me you were coming here too?" The words spoken to his back slowly began facing him. "Oh but i am so happy to see you here! I hope the trip wasn't too exhausting, have you taken a walk around here yet? If not we could take a walk togeth-"

Huh?

His face was exactly the same from his eyes to his jawline but where a perfectly clear skin should be there rested ink and piercings, so did his ears and torso. Either Gregory at his age was going through a phase or this simply wasn't the man she considered a son. "...Oh."

Maybe it was the fact he'd heard that name before, uttered by both Lady Nel and Lord Rafal at least once each, that his ears perked hearing it again, an unconscious shift in attention from the cobblestone road he followed toward the marketplace to the woman that was calling for someone some paces behind him. And maybe it was the fact that he was already primed to the familiar that the sound of it made his skin crawl, because there was something uncanny about it. Right and wrong at the same time. Like holding a quill with his left hand instead of his right.

But that wasn't his business, really. She was a stranger, and he kept walking.

So did she, her voice coming closer until Griss' curiosity got the better of him and he turned, startling at the sight of a face he thought he'd never see again. That stopped him dead in his tracks.

"What?! Ze--" He was breathless, speechless, and relieved all at the same time, and his face couldn't decide what emotion it wanted to convey. Bared teeth made a half-smile, half-grimace, and though something deep down compelled him to search for proof of his disbelief, the rest of him refused it. The color of the ribbons that wrapped her horns was different. But what did that matter? He had died alongside her, and now he was alive again. Whatever power that brought him back had to have brought her back too, and maybe she'd needed new ribbons.

"--phia..?" The end of her name trailed into confusion when he recognized the disappointment in her two-toned eyes. All other thought dissolved as grimace turned to snarl, brows falling low over his eyes. He hadn't done anything. What was that look for?

"Why're you staring at me like that?" he snapped defensively. Only belatedly did the woman's voice finally catch up to him, unwinding the scowl a little as the pieces began to snap together. "Wait. Were you the one calling for a Gregory just now?"

[arcanacontained]

"I heard a crack." (From Viktor)

General unwell starters

Jayce paused what he was doing at his desk and put the screwdriver in his hand down on his desk. 'I heard it too. By the sound of it, best case scenario it was your leg brace, worst case it was your leg or a hip.' He guided Viktor towards a chair and sat him down.

'Are you in pain?' The hunter knew it was probably rhetorical. Careful he crouched down to assess his partner's leg. Talis' brow knitted into a frown.

Hazel eyes narrowed, he glanced up at Viktor. He needed his partner's consent to move him further and investigate to see whether it was his bones, or with luck, his brace. 'May I move your leg?'

[unfaithd]

have some ask box energy so here's an open invitation to send me anything from my prompts tag !! if you have questions about who is available , check my pinned or dm me

[mohammedmtargaza]

Imagine this:

Hello! Have you ever heard of a "city of the dead"?

It's a place where the living reside, but they're dead! They're doomed to die, either quickly through direct targeting or slowly due to the absence of vitality in their city

Wherever you turn, you find nothing but death, displacement, homelessness, destruction, hunger, thirst, ignorance, disease, and rampant infection.

It's my city! It was fully with life until the butchers passed through it! Since the beginning of the massacres, I've been struggling to save myself and my family.

I am Mohammed from Gaza I’m sharing my story with hope in my heart, because your kindness has already given us so much strength.

a 31-year-old living amidst the war in Gaza, a place deeply affected by conflict and hardship. I hold a Bachelor degree in Medical Laboratory Sciences , I graduated with very good But Unfortunately, I did not get a job opportunity.

my family

Before the outbreak of war, my family and I had a comfortable life in our beautiful home filled with cherished memories. However, since the conflict began, our lives have been turned upside down. We now find ourselves living in a small tent, exposed to the harsh elements and constant threat of violence.

Our home, which once embraced us, is now destroyed It became a remembrance

👉 Watch the video

A picture of me and my family in front of our destroyed house.

👉Our house was bombed in the 2008 escalation and we built it, and also in the 2014 escalation the house was destroyed again and we rebuilt it, and in this 2023/2024 war the house was also destroyed.

Every time we start again, the Israeli occupation destroys us again

Life is unbearable. It has become hell for us. destruction, no education, no future

We can't stand it anymore

The situation here is dire. Food and basic necessities are scarce, and famine and malnutrition have become rampant. Our lives are hanging by a thread, and we fear for the safety and well-being of our children every single day.

The cost of living here has become extremely high. All of our resources are going towards securing food and trying to escape from disaster, desperately seeking a lifeline.

We are yearning to escape this nightmare and rebuild our lives in a safe place.

However, the cost of traveling to a safer area was beyond our means.

Each ticket cost $5000 per person,

a sum that was impossible for us to bear. Now, the border crossing is closed, and things continue to worsen.

We want to collect donations to leave Gaza if the crossing opens

That's why I am reaching out to you, dear friends. Your generosity and compassion can make all the difference for me and my family. Your donations will enable us to flee this war-torn region and start anew, away from the horrors of conflict and instability.

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

$5 may seem small, but for us, it’s a little relief, a moment of comfort, and a reminder that kindness still exists. ❤️

Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #533 )✅️

verified by @bilal-sala7 ✅️ ( #36 )

With all my love and gratitude

Mohammed and family

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