#and then whenever it stepped out of line...

[alinathinkstoomuch]

HANDS WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: it was supposed to be sangrias in the shade, but somehow you ended up wet....in rossi's bathroom....with your ex….based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, tension relief via hands.... aka fingering, mutual pining, mirror kink making an appearance AGAIN!! use of the iconic ‘it’s nothing you haven’t seen before’ line🙂‍↕️ word count: 1.4k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

You hadn’t planned on actually getting in the water. When Rossi sent out a group invite for a ‘pool party,’ you assumed it was code for day drinking in expensive shade, not full submersion. You wore sunscreen, not swimwear, which, really, was poor planning on your end. And on Morgan’s, who elbowed you mid-sip, accidentally sending you plunging into the deep end of Rossi’s pool.

To be fair, you probably needed the cool-down. Rossi’s extra-strong sangria had been heating your body and face at an alarming rate, your skin prickling with that telltale flush of warmth that showed up whenever you were too hot or thought too hard about your ex-slash-boss in a navy polo (both of which were happening currently, all at once.)

Still, you could’ve done without the saturated walk to the bathroom, waterlogged, dripping, and tasting chlorine behind your teeth, your flip flops letting out a series of humiliating squelches that echoed like applause for your misfortune. 

Rossi’s guest bathroom was absurdly nice. Bigger than your first apartment and, if you were being honest, not miles off from beating your current one which you considered an upgrade. Though now, standing in the gleaming expanse of marble and mood lighting, your so-called upgrade felt more akin to the BAUs printer room.

Your reflection was…questionable. Your hair clung to every piece of skin it could claim and your eyeliner left faint bruises beneath your eyes. You grabbed a cotton pad from one of those silly little acrylic containers, and began undoing the damage to your makeup which stood no chance against Morgan’s clumsiness. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted your ministrations. 

“Better be a bottle of wine from Rossi’s cellar in your hand,” you called out, “because that’s the only form of apology I’m accepting from you.”

There was a pause.

“I can offer a towel.”

Definitely not Morgan.

“Hotch?”

“Are you decent?” he asked, tone infuriatingly polite. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you blurted out, way too quickly.  “Sure.”

You reached for the door handle and opened it a few inches. He stood there, holding a neatly folded towel with both hands like the six perfectly rolled ones already stacked on the shelf somehow weren’t up to par. 

He handed the fluffy thing over wordlessly, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange.

“Thanks,” you murmured, using it to blot the water beading at your neck.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He took a step closer. “Did you hit your head?”

You shook your head, showing him that it was still attached and mobile. “No. Just slipped in gracelessly, that’s all.”

He nodded, his eyes cataloguing you. You dabbed the towel along your collarbone, suddenly aware of the movements you could control and use to deceive him. Control the hands, control the nerves. Keep your eyes low, keep your breathing even. Pretend you’re not trying to remember what it felt like to have his mouth on your shoulder instead of cotton. 

“Could you, um…” You cleared your throat, setting the towel aside. “Undo the back of my dress? The knot’s too tight.”

He looked like he was considering your request with caution. His eyes dropped briefly to the damp straps clinging to your collarbones, trailing upward in dainty lines to the knot at your nape, fabric embedded gently in skin.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” The phrase tumbled out carelessly, making you cringe a little.

“Turn around,” he said softly. 

You turned like he asked, gathering your hair to one side and exposed the knot at the back of your neck. In the mirror, you caught him stepping closer, his warmth already bleeding into your skin, a feeling that pulled you straight back to all the times he’d sneak up behind you mid–morning coffee, or in the evenings when you were taking off your makeup.

Your hands dropped to the counter, trying to keep the memories at bay. His fingers touched your shoulders first. Almost tracing the straps of your dress, as if remembering where they used to lead.

You held your breath. 

He worked on the knot with the same precision you’d watched him exude in everything he did, a reminder of how deeply it lived in him, spilling into even the most simple tasks. The fabric loosened quickly under his fingers, the damp straps slipping free from the bow. You felt the front of your dress begin to slide—not all at once—peeling away in the more precarious places, clinging stubbornly to the rest.

Your hand shot up to your chest, clutching the fabric against you. 

Hotch stilled. 

His hand hovered near your shoulder, caught between choices with vastly different outcomes. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush the curve of your arm. His touch traced up, settling at your shoulder. 

He stepped closer, and then his lips were on your skin, just below your neck.

A kiss. Then another, lower.

It might’ve seemed unlike him, if you hadn’t already seen every side of him. Words could’ve been cleaner than this, less complicated, but they’d never come easy to either of you. So you chose to believe that this was his way of speaking, of saying I missed you, without letting it tremble in his throat. 

You let your hand fall, the dress slipping completely. The air got to your skin before he did, a cool breath across your chest, followed by the warmth of his palms as he cupped one of your breasts, the other sliding around your waist and pulling you to him until there was no space left. 

Your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder. You reached one hand behind you, finding his cheek, holding him there as his mouth worked its way down your neck. He leaned into the touch, into you, his hips pressing forward.

The hand at your waist shifted, gathering damp fabric in his fist, and then he was lower. Sliding between your thighs like he’d never unlearned you. His fingers found your clit and began to move in circles. You pressed your palms flat against the counter while the rest of you burned. Your eyes fluttered shut, not from modesty, but from the overwhelming feeling of being touched like this again. 

“Look,” he murmured against your ear, his breath brushing your neck. “Open your eyes.”

You obeyed just as your other hand reached for his thigh, gripping him as he began to pick up the pace. 

“Still know what you like.”

“Yeah,” you managed, tilting your head to the side, giving him more of your neck, your shoulder, whatever he wanted. “You never forgot.”

“Not once.”

Your eyes flicked back to the mirror, to the image of yourself, the image of him working you over and through. “You always did like watching.” 

“Only when it’s you.”

You would’ve scolded him for that comment, because he wasn’t allowed to say things like that anymore. But clearly neither of you were great at following boundaries, your current predicament becoming your prime example. You felt his fingers grab your waist a little tighter, like he couldn't believe you were his again, even if it was only for now. 

Then your balance wavered as he slid his fingers inside you, one, then another, your mouth conjuring a moan before you had the chance to stop it. You could feel yourself getting close, the release edging up fast after months without anything that didn’t start and end with your own hands. 

“Right there, isn’t it?” he asked, fingers curling in a way that made it impossible to answer. All you could do was nod, over and over again until his name tore from your lips as you came. 

His palm braced against your stomach, keeping you upright as your body bowed forward. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a minute to collect your bearings. And when your breathing started to even out, you felt him reach around you, gathering the straps of your dress that had fallen before he retied the knot at your neck. The same one you’d asked him to undo. Go figure.

A knock at the door brought the two of you back to reality, causing you both to stiffen.

“Everything okay in there?” Emily’s voice called.

“Yeah,” you answered, mid cough. “All good. Be out in a sec!”

There was a pause, just long enough to think she’d walked away, before you heard her add, “Will that be both of you?”

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[wordsofyore]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem. Reader

You know this isn't really normal.

It would have been one thing if this was just a good old crush. Typical stuff, as far as crushing on someone usually goes for you--someone forever distant, forever unattainable--the perfect candidate to pin all your hopes and dreams on for a time, until you inevitably become lucid and tear down the billboard-sized image of the man in your heart. Rinse and repeat. The distance keeps you safe and comfortable.

And a part of you dares to admit the quiet part out loud--you enjoy the yearning. The sting, the bittersweet soup of emotions and what-ifs.

But now, that all-important distance is the very thing you are breaching without even deliberating on it, a compulsion akin to a moth being drawn to a flame. Perhaps it wouldn't have been a big deal if it had been any other man. Yet, it is.

Because you're crushing on Lieutenant Simon fucking Riley.

It isn't hard to miss the guy, with how he is, of course. The forever skullface-masked behemoth of a man has a habit of drawing one's eye to him the moment he enters a room, without having to utter a word. Half the time he merely grunts anyhow, but your ears pay their due attention any time he deigns to quip something in his no nonsense Mancunian accent.

And your poor little battered heart sings in delight, every single time.

Of course, as a lower ranked service member, your schedules don't really match with someone of his tier, so you make sure to linger around the gym and common areas, and certain entry points to catch sight of him, whenever you can. Observing. Noting habits and preferences. Carefully penning them down in the personal journal you like to hide under your pillow. He's a creature who's as enigmatic as it gets, and the mask makes it that much harder to get a read on him. It's only when you're 20 pages deep into your journal, recording your stream of consciousness in the dead of night, that you get the inkling that maybe, just maybe, this might be a little too much.

Stalkers were supposed to be creepy, maladjusted, sinister little characters, preying on their victims until things reached a boiling point. And while you had a low opinion of yourself in many regards, you didn't quite consider yourself to be that level of depraved. Yet isn't this what it was, really? Stalking, despite keeping a sizeable distance between yourselves (because Lord knows being observant is an essential requirement in this line of work, and you are more than aware someone of Simon's calliber would be even more so. The last thing you want is to be caught by one of his mates, or God forbid, Simon Riley himself, in this shameful act).

This rare moment of precious lucidity casts a fog on your spirits, a thick concoction of shame and desire and guilt.

You know what? Yeah.

Maybe this is a bit much. Maybe you shouldn't be leaving little gifts for the guy (fairly practical supplies, really, things like good quality tea brands you couldn't find on base), despite making sure you wouldn't be caught on surveillance. There were things at stake here, important things like your goddamn career and reputation. You might be addicted to pining and habitually putting your heart through the wringer for no discernible reason, but you knew your limits. You had to.

And no, you certainly didn't want his attention on you--you wouldn't know what to do with it, the very thought makes your palms sweat and legs jittery.

The gifts were all unsigned and without notes, at least. And generic enough that he could assume one of his mates left them out of the kindness and generosity of their golden hearts. Something like that.

Reduce the frequency with which you hover around him--another no brainer. And of course, one last, critical step, getting rid of that stupid little journal, regardless of how sad it made you feel.

It has all these cute little tidbits about him, things you like to read over when insomnia grips you in its capricious hold. Some dry joke he muttered to his Scottish sergeant, the way he drinks his tea, a little too detailed description of his lips and jawline the times he lifts his mask to eat at the mess hall. Even a few amateur sketches. And of course, generous amounts of waxing lyrical about his forearms and thighs while he's working out at the gym. Bloody embarrassing.

So the next time you find a chance to finally breathe, you reach for your pillow, flipping the sad little sack over to reveal the incriminating piece of evidence, armed with a pair of cheap scissors. Only for your heart to drop to your stomach at terminal velocity when you find nothing beneath. Your right hand helplessly clutches the scissors while your left pats the bed as if doing so would conjure up the well-loved journal out of thin air. Did you misplace it somewhere yourself? Or were your mates being little shits, snooping around like rats for a practical joke, and accidentally discovered the little paperback? If so, fuck them--you won't be living this down. If not get outright in a little hot water were a senior with a stick up their ass gets word of it. The worst outcome of course would be if Simon Riley himself was to somehow learn of this too, the cherry on top of a shit cake.

You force yourself to take a few calming breaths--if nothing, your stint in the military at least taught you this much. It's okay--you'll just have to check every spot you frequent and cross them off your list. At this hour, the juniors will at least be out of your way with their curfew. Silver lining and all that.

_

Except, by the time you make a whole damn lap of the base and come full circle, you're tired to your bones and miserable beyond words. Because no amount of keeping calm and carrying on is helping you when you can't see skin nor hide of your purple prosed diary.

Leaning your forehead against the door of your room, you sigh in defeat, the rattling of your heart loud in your ears in the silence of the hallway. Everyone else seems to be asleep at least, missing out on being an audience to your soap opera.

"Fucking hell..."

Just as another quiet string of expletives leaves your mouth, in what's like the blink of an eye, you feel the presence of a looming figure, causing you to whip around in defense, fists locked, ready to fight.

Except when you have to crane your neck to meet the person's gaze, you already know who it is before you, standing so close, his hulking mass invading your space with the casualness of an aloof cat. Your hands drop uselessly the moment you are pinned beneath his gaze, pressing yourself up against the door in a bid to create some breathing space.

"Lookin' for somethin', love?" Simon Riley gruffly asks with a tilt of his head, placing his hand against the wall next to your head. His very first words to you. Your head almost goes blank.

"Uh," you avert your eyes, voice hitching, "N-No? I'm not sure what you're talking about, LT-sir."

"Is that right, soldier," he more so states, leaning in ever closer, cutting off your viewpoint of anything besides himself. "Been watchin' ya."

You balk at the matter of fact statement.

"Watching... me?" you grimace.

Riley merely grunts, before adding, "Got myself a cute little stalker, ain't I?"

All you can do is impersonate a dying fish as you stare up at him in abject horror, overworking heart beating out of your chest.

"Not seen you down the gym in a bit. Or in the mess," he stops for a moment, as if remembering something, "Or the shootin' range."

"Again, I have no idea what you're implying here, sir," you quickly lick your dry lips and decide to stare at his broad chest with great interest instead, propriety be damned.

"Let's not play dumb, love. You're a smart girl," Simon huffs, almost as if holding back one of those dry laughs, "You like me?"

This time you can't restrain the soft gasp you let out as you jerk up at his frank question.

"What...?" you faintly ask, stomach churning.

"Do you like me?" He enunciates his words this time, as if that was the core of the issue. The corners of his eyes crinkle with what looks to be amusement. His brown eyes almost look welcoming. Like home. Like a warm hearth in the dead of winter.

Of course you like him.

You like him so damn much you don't know what you should do with these feelings. And you do want to be frank, just like he's encouraging you to be. But you're equally terrified of verbally confirming what you've been up to, straight to the man himself. You can't help but want that layer of plausible deniability.

"You," Simon leans down further as if that's somehow possible, with how he's hovering over you, mere centimeters away, "like your egg banjos wi' a daft amount o' raw onion. Listen to the same three songs when you're workin' out," he tilts his head, thoughtful. "Like sneakin' off to that cat shelter when you're off-duty. Even helped 'em name one of the kitties after me."

By this point, you'd qualify as a mute. You feel lightheaded even.

"Want me to carry on, love? Or shall we just sort a proper date instead?" he sniffs, looking a touch bemused. "You got a few things wrong about me in that little journal o' yours. I'll be settin' those straight, don't you worry."

[codfxrn-blog]

INHALE; RHETT ABBOTT

I’m sorry, English is not my first language.

━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━

There was something very natural about having Rhett Abbott in her home. As natural as breathing. Like the smell of coffee in the morning or the sound of the blinds swaying when the wind sneaked through the window. His presence had become part of the place.

Over the years, their friendship had been cemented by stories, by comfortable silences, and glances held too long. And then, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, they had become… that. Lovers, intensely passionate.With all the messy order that implied.

He came whenever he wanted. Sometimes with ranch dust on his jeans, other times with his soul tied in knots after a fight with his father, or after failing to win the rodeo competition. And she, as always, opened the door without asking. Though lately, he didn’t even knock anymore. He knew the door would be open. It always was.

That afternoon, Rhett had finished work early at the ranch. He helped his father fence a new section of the land, and even though he was tired, his steps led him automatically to her house.As always, he didn’t knock. Just pushed the door open and walked in. The sound of the TV came from the living room, a soft, feminine voice speaking about conscious breathing and stretching.

As he walked down the hallway, he stopped at the wall—the space that connected the corridor to the living room—like a frame where she was the painting.And there she was.

She was in the middle of the room, the yoga mat stretched out, practicing. Her feet grounded, hips raised, her body forming a perfect inverted V. The tight athletic wear clung to her like a second skin, revealing every line, every curve. Every inch.Rhett leaned against the doorway, crooked smile on his lips, a wooden toothpick between his teeth. He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched her. Like she was his favorite show.

“Doing yoga to destress?” he asked suddenly, his voice rough, almost a growl.

She lost her balance.

Her foot slipped. Her hips lowered. Her arm trembled. She didn’t fall, but the jolt was obvious.

“Your mom recommended it,” she said with a sigh, trying to recover her posture.

Rhett laughed. A low, warm sound. He crossed his arms.

“How sweet—trying to win over your mother-in-law,” he teased, mischievously.

They had never put a name to what they were. They weren’t a couple, not officially. Just lovers who turned to each other when they needed it.She tensed. He noticed immediately.

So he upped the stakes.

“If you wanted to relax, you could’ve asked, darling. You know I’m available for you.”

She didn’t answer. She simply stretched her body forward, as if the pose could neutralize the fire rising in her neck. As if ignoring him would be enough.

Rhett walked over to the couch and dropped onto it with a sigh. But the view… God. The view in front of him seemed like a gift made only for his eyes. Her hips swayed with every movement. The tight clothes left nothing to the imagination.

The curve of her ass, firm and high, held him captive.Rhett bit his lip, hard. Tried to look away. Think about anything else.

It didn’t work.

He sighed. An involuntary, loaded breath. Uncomfortable.

She heard it. Didn’t look at him, but that sound tattooed itself on her skin. Like a note vibrating in her chest.

“Why don’t you come try it?” she said suddenly, without turning, voice neutral.

She could see him from the corner of her eye. He was staring at her, not even trying to hide it.Rhett huffed, but stood up. Walked awkwardly to the mat. Stood behind her and, with very little grace, tried to mimic the movements.

But his body was unstable. He wobbled. It was like watching a colt try to dance ballet.

And then, it happened.Clumsy. Intentional. Perfect.

He lost his balance. Fell onto her. She lost hers too. The world spun for a second, and the next they were on the floor, tangled up. His back cushioned the fall, she on top, panting from the impact.

“I think I’ve got better poses to show you,” he said, voice broken by their closeness.

She settled into his lap, not pulling away. Moved subtly, slowly, provocatively.

A mischievous smile curved her lips.

Rhett groaned. Soft, restrained.

“Maybe I want you to show me,” she whispered, before leaning in for his lips.

The kiss was a jolt.Heat, humidity, and pent-up desire.

Their mouths sought each other slowly at first, as if trying to memorize every corner. But soon it turned urgent. Voracious.

Rhett’s hands slid up her back, tracing her spine like he was claiming territory. She arched, settling better into his lap. Her hips began to move, wordless, without instruction.

The heat between them was blistering.

“God…” he whispered, barely holding back. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

But she did. She felt it in every reaction of his body, in how his fingers dug into her waist, in how his legs trembled. She dropped kisses to his neck, gently biting. Rhett closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling, caught in a spasm of restrained desire.

She teased him with slow movements, syncing with the rhythm of her breath—the same calm she used for yoga. But this time, every movement left Rhett breathless.

Their bodies were so close they felt like one. Clothes became a nuisance. The floor, an ally.His hands explored her thighs, her ribs, the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric. She gasped, trembling beneath Rhett’s expert touch. His mouth moved down her clavicle, every kiss lighting a fire, deeper, rawer.

“Tell me this isn’t just a game,” she murmured, voice shaky, just as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Rhett looked at her. Serious. Intense.

“It never was.”

And there, on that mat, among whispers, breathless gasps, and eyes full of truth, all the rules disappeared.

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were fixed on his, and without needing to speak, something in her chest tightened—as if all the confidence she’d had straddling him vanished in an instant. Because “it never was” sounded too honest. Too final.

“Rhett…” she began, barely a whisper.

But he didn’t let her doubt.

One of his hands cupped her face tenderly, fingers tracing her jawline. His other hand remained firm on her back, anchoring her to him.

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, in that raspy voice made just for her.

Then he kissed her again.

But this time, it was different. No urgency. No wild desire. It was slow, deep—like he was asking her for something he didn’t know how to put into words.

And she gave it to him.

Because anything else would have been a lie.The room seemed to pause. Outside, the world went on—horses grazing, cars passing on the dusty road… but inside that house, on that mat, it was just them.Her breath was soft, warm, pressed against his neck. Rhett slid his hand beneath her sports bra, fingers slow, exploratory—like he was trying to memorize her with every touch. There was no rush. None. As if they both knew that this time… there was no turning back.When she arched and her chest met his hands, her body shivered in a new way. His fingers trembled on her skin. He touched her like he wasn’t sure he had the right—but couldn’t help it anyway. Every part of her responded to him with a mix of fire and vulnerability.

Then he whispered against her ear:

“I never wanted this to be just physical… but I told you with my hands, not my mouth.”

Those words landed heavy between them.

She pulled back slightly. Not to flee, but to see him. Really see him. His face. Those eyes that always seemed somewhere else but now were only on her.

“And what is it now, Rhett?”

He didn’t answer right away. Swallowed hard, like something huge was stuck in his chest.

“Now it’s everything,” he said. Low. Almost a confession.She nodded.And leaned down again, slowly, until she was on top of him once more.The movements returned—gentle, synchronized. This time, they weren’t bodies seeking relief. They were two people giving themselves to each other with overwhelming honesty. Every breath meant something. Every brush, every gasp, every held-back moan… was a declaration.

Rhett traced her waist with his lips, descending with slow kisses and a devotion that felt religious. She tangled her fingers in his hair, guiding, not demanding. He knew where to go. When to stop. When to rise again and kiss her sternum, her neck, the corner of her mouth.

The sound of their breathing filled the room.When she closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders, Rhett stilled. Watching her. As if that moment, that expression on her face, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re mine, do you know that?” he said with a hoarse voice, that blend of desire and tenderness impossible to resist. She opened her eyes.

Didn’t say *yes*. She didn’t have to. Because she already was.

And she showed it—with a slow roll of her hips, with a breath-stealing kiss, with a whisper against his lips:

“And you’re mine, Abbott.”

Later, when everything had calmed, when their sweaty bodies lay tangled on the mat, she nestled into his chest. Her fingers drew invisible shapes on his skin, like tracing something she couldn’t say out loud.

“You think your mom would recommend this for stress relief too?” she murmured with a teasing smile.

Rhett let out a low laugh, one that came from deep in his belly.

“I don’t know. But I’m not telling her it was her yoga that got me to pin you to the floor and—”

“Shhh…” she interrupted, laughing. “Leave it at that. The session worked.”

He glanced at her sideways and, without thinking, kissed her forehead.

“Guess I’ll have to come every day then.”

“As if you don’t already,” she teased.But this time, the joke held something more. A promise. An unspoken truth.

Rhett stayed silent, stroking her bare arm. The world could keep spinning, but for now, it was enough to stay there. With her. In that house that was no longer just hers, that had become intimately theirs.

The sunlight was what woke her.

The rays slipped unfiltered through the curtainless window, casting warm lines across the carpet, the bed, her face. She frowned, annoyed. She’d forgotten to close the drapes the night before. Instinctively, she moved her leg to get up, to stretch her arm and chase sleep back into the shadows.

But she couldn’t.

A warm, firm weight held her by the waist. An arm. Heavy. Strong. Trapping her with a gesture as intimate as it was unusual.It took her a few seconds to process it.

Rhett Abbott hadn’t left.It didn’t exactly surprise her… not really. But it did throw her off. Because he always left before dawn. Always.With the first light of day, he was already back at the ranch, buried in horses, dust, and his father’s voice. She had gotten used to that. To the silent emptiness in the bed. To the cold sheets beside her.

But this morning was different.

Rhett murmured something unintelligible against the curve of her neck, still asleep. Then, as if she were his favorite pillow, he curled closer, inhaling deeply, burying his face into her skin.She stayed still. Tense. Her heart pounding.

Why had he stayed?

She didn’t dare move, as if any motion might shatter that fragile moment—this small miracle of stolen intimacy.

Minutes passed. Long. Warm.And then he stirred.His breathing changed first. Deeper. More aware. Then his fingers. They traced her shoulder lazily, sliding down her bare arm with a reverent rhythm. Until his lips found her skin—a soft, warm kiss right in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

“Are you awake?” he asked with a raspy voice, still heavy with sleep and lingering desire.

She didn’t answer. Kept facing the window, pretending to sleep. But he knew.

He knew the moment his hand slid a bit lower. And when he touched her waist and pulled her closer, the reaction was instant. A faint moan escaped her lips. Just a whisper.

But he heard it.

“Sun’s barely up and you’re already this wet,” he murmured teasingly, pressing his body against hers.

His arousal had awakened. She felt it against her backside—hard, present. A wordless declaration. Her hips arched instinctively, and he took the opportunity to slide the sheets lower, slow and deliberate.

She still didn’t speak, but her body said everything.

Rhett kissed her neck, then her collarbone. His tongue traced a path toward the center of her chest, every caress sparking immediate reaction. She arched into him, still pretending to be asleep, but there was no doubt anymore.He moved lower, attentive to every inch, to every quiet moan she released as if it belonged to him. When his lips captured one of her breasts, she stopped pretending. Slowly, she turned to face him.Their eyes met. He looked at her like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

“Good morning...” she said with a weak smile, already surrendered.

“The best one ever,” he replied, before kissing her softly.

And then he melted into her.With delicious slowness.

With the tenderness of someone who knows that body isn’t just about desire—it’s a sanctuary.

The movements were soft, rhythmic, intimate. There was no rush, only connection. Every sigh between them was like an unspoken word. Every gasp, a silent confession. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him closer, and he held her tight, as if he never wanted to let go again.

Pleasure came slowly, built with glances, touches, and staggered breaths. When they climaxed together, they did so in silence. Only the faint creak of the mattress and their racing heartbeats filled the air.

And afterward, the world seemed to stop.She traced her fingers through his hair. Rhett buried his face in her chest. They were tangled, naked, sweaty, and yet… it was the calmest she’d felt in a long time.

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asked after a while, her voice soft.

Rhett lifted his gaze. Rested his forehead against hers.

“Because for the first time… I didn’t want the sun to rise without you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was beautiful.

A silence that said everything.

She smiled.

And then she knew:

They weren’t what they used to be.

And maybe—just maybe…

Now they were ready to become what they never dared to name.

[setmeatopthepyre]

fish

fish! oops 600 words of what can ail thee, knight-at-arms? set some time after this.

[read on Ao3] or below

-

At mid-morning Tommy leads them into town. Buck is keeping an eye out for a bathhouse when something far more enticing catches his eye - the market. He had not realized it was market day, but the prospect of shopping for more than the most basic of wares fills him with delight.

“See if they have honey,” he instructs Tommy as they hitch their horses to a post. “I have a promise of cryspels to fulfill.”

Tommy’s smile is a bemused one. “There is no need, Evan. Save your coin.”

“A promise is a promise,” Buck says, as sternly as he can when he feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards whenever Tommy so much as deems to glance at him. He cranes his neck, attempts to get his bearings amongst the market-going crowd, a few of which glance their way with curiosity. “Where do you think the fishmonger is? There is a recipe I have been meaning to try.”

“You will find no fishmonger here,” Tommy says. His mouth has lost its delightful curve and has straightened into a thin line. He sets off towards the nearest stalls.

Buck frowns and follows him into the throng. “How come? Did you not say this is where two rivers meet?”

“The lord of these lands forbids it,” Tommy says plainly in that way he has that Buck is beginning to suspect is supposed to bely the fact that he has many thoughts on the matter.

“Forbids what? Fish?”

“Fishing. The rivers are his. If commoners want fish, they will have it from the sea.”

Buck glances around, immediately feels foolish, as if waves of briny tide would suddenly burst forth from the market square. “But- the sea is nowhere near here.”

The other knight’s voice is flat. “I believe that may be the point.”

It is past noon when Tommy finds him again. Buck is bartering over use of the piemaker’s oven, the woman’s price a ridiculous one when he asks no labor nor ingredients from her. He is beginning to suspect she may take offense to his insisting on making his own and is about to explain when Tommy beckons him over and both fight and apology are drained from him in an instant. He concedes to the piemaker’s price and then begs her pardon to meet Tommy, his feet carrying him the paces without a conscious thought.

“Hey,” he says, boyishly breathless.

“Hey,” Tommy says, blue eyes sparkling like the azure sea so far from here. “I got you something.” He gestures for Buck to come closer and Buck can not help the way his heart beats faster at the simple proximity as he steps in, their backs an effective wall to any on-lookers.

“For- for me?”

“No, for the other handsome knight I have been spending my days with.”

“Where is he? I’ll fight the bastard,” Buck quips, earning him a brilliant grin. Any other jokes die in his throat when he sees what it is Tommy has been carrying, bundled up in cloth. It is a trout, big enough to feed them both with plenty to spare and fresher than any he has ever seen at markets before.

“How-?” he starts, opens his mouth again, closes it. “Tommy, what-“

The other knight’s eyes sparkle with amusement at his obvious floundering for words.

“I-I thought you said there was no fishmonger,” Buck finally manages.

“I spoke the truth.”

“And you said the lord had forbidden fishing.”

“This is also true.”

“But how-- Tommy, did you steal this?”

“Surely you do not think so lowly of me.”

“We-- you-- Surely a knight must follow the rule of law.”

Tommy gives him an easy smile, wraps up the trout again, and Buck is momentarily caught by the breadth of his hands as he does so.

“I told you, Evan,” Tommy says, nudging him playfully. “I am no knight.”

-

-> send me a prompt and make me write <-

[igorluvr]

‘POWER | kwon jiyong x reader

PAIRING: gdragon x reader

CONTENT: smut, angst, situationship/toxic relationship, power imbalance, praise & degrading, fingering, dacryphilia (the tiniest bit), accidentally wrote him with a neck fetish or smth idk, bondage, oral & unprotected sex, orgasm denial, knife play, he’s not emotionally abusive he’s misunderstood i swear !!

SYNOPSIS: you knew who he was to the world: confident, untouchable, power incarnate. but behind closed doors, you saw something else— something raw. when he touched you, it wasn't just desire— it was desperation.

AUTHORS NOTE: first smut fic ahhhh 😓 i honestly had sm fun with this what the flip, writing this made me miss my ex #comebackhomebae

also apart of the übermensch series !!

words: [2.6k]

YOU should’ve known the moment the line between love and lust blurred, everything would fall apart. At first, it was sweet, innocent, perfect. But as the months went by, your relationship warped into something more depraved.

Every day, there was a new issue at work. Usually, you’d comfort him and reassure him that it would pass, but over time, he started growing cold toward you. He ignored your messages, passed you without a word— like you were already gone, and every time it happened, a sharp ache spread through your chest.

You kept telling yourself it would get better, but it never did. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it, another argument would start. It was like he didn’t care about fixing things anymore.

So, you ended things. Told him if he wasn’t going to try, then what was the point? What hurt the most was that he didn’t even seem to care. Instead of accepting his mistakes and trying to make things right, he acted like none of it had ever mattered to begin with.

“Jiyong, I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice trembling as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, throat raw from holding everything in for too long.

He didn’t even look at you. “Do what?”

“This! Us! I’ve tried so many fucking times to get through to you, but you don’t even care!” Your voice cracked as the tears finally fell, cheeks wet and burning. “I understand work is hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m nothing. I’m not your punching bag— I’m not just here to take your anger!”

He let out a slow exhale and shrugged. “Then don’t.”

You froze, eyes wide. He didn’t even flinch. You stared at him in disbelief. After everything— after every night you held him as he cried over the pressure, every time you stayed up just to hear about his day— this was his answer?

“If you’re so tired, just leave. What do you want me to do? I can’t change how you feel.” he muttered, still refusing to meet your gaze, as if your pain was a burden to him.

You stepped back like he’d slapped you. “Unbelievable.” you whispered. “Do you even hear yourself? You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

He scoffed under his breath and leaned back, arms crossed as if he'd already checked out of the conversation.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

Your sadness turned into blinding rage. All the late nights, the ignored calls, the way he made you feel invisible— it all came rushing up like fire in your throat. You snatched your purse, your keys, anything that belonged to you with shaking hands.

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, pain laced in every syllable. You didn’t mean it— you loved him so deeply it hurt— but in that moment, you needed him to hurt too. You wanted him to feel every bit of the pain he left you with.

Fuming, you stomped out the front door with your arms full, not bothering to look back. You decided that if he never cared, you wouldn’t either.

That had been a month ago. At first, your breakup went somewhat smoothly. Neither of you called each other— no texts, no profile views, nothing.

But after the first week, none other than Jiyong appeared at your front door, claiming he left some of his things.

Long story short, you ended up doing more than just finding his belongings— being left with countless hickies and rather sore legs. It didn’t stop after that, though. Every couple days since then, Jiyong stopped by with another lame excuse— and you let him in each time. Because as much as you hated yourself for it, having a piece of him still felt better than having nothing at all.

Now, it had been over a week since he last came, and as much as you hated to admit, you missed him. The smell of his cologne on your sheets, the way his voice rasped your name against your skin, the weight of his body tangled with yours like you were something he couldn’t let go of— even if you both knew that wasn’t true.

Your life dulled into a head-throbbing silence after the breakup. No unexpected knocks at the door, nobody to hold as you went to sleep after a long day. It was just you now — you and the thoughts you tried so desperately to outrun.

Hooking up with Jiyong, if even for a few hours, had been the only thing that made you feel alive. It was toxic— you knew it. But he brought you to your highest highs, even if he plunged you into your lowest lows right after.

You stared at your phone, debating whether to break the silence. Just one message, just to see if he’d respond. You hated how desperate you felt, hated that your body still ached for someone who had emotionally abandoned you long before the breakup.

But before you could talk yourself out of it, there was a knock at the door. Your heart jumped, you didn’t need to check who it was— you already knew.

Your hand trembled on the doorknob, torn between shutting him out and the part of you that still craved his touch. Finally, with a shaky breath, you gave in— unlocking the door because, deep down, you wanted this.

He stood there, hood up, hands in his pockets like nothing had changed. “Left my charger,” he mumbled, voice low, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him.

Bullshit.

You didn’t answer. You just stepped aside and let him in, even though every rational part of you screamed not to. Because even now, after everything, a piece of him still felt better than none.

Walking around, Jiyong entered and exited rooms as if he were actually looking for something— but you knew why he was here. It was the same reason everytime.

You hated how much power he had over you. He literally just walked in your house as if he owned it after a week of no contact, and you just let it happen. It was like he put a spell on you.

Leaving your room empty handed, Jiyong turned to you.

“Can’t find it” He said with a smirk on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Can you help me look?”

You smiled, already knowing exactly where this was going. Your body moved willingly, betraying every protest your mind tried to whisper. You stepped into your room, pretending to search— eyes scanning drawers, fingers tugging open a basket next to your bed, doing anything to look busy.

You told yourself you were only playing along, just going through the motions. But deep down, a part of you wanted this, needed it. Because no matter how twisted he made things, Jiyong was the only one who could make your body forget it all.

You were crouched beside the bed, fingers aimlessly shifting things around when you heard him behind you— voice low, lazy, and dripping with heat.

“You look good like that— bent over.”

A flash of heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to hide the smirk tugging at your lips as you answered, loud and dry. “Whatever, Jiyong.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t stop him. And he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped closer, voice low and rough. “Can I?”

You swallowed hard, breathless, and nodded. His hand then grazed your lower back, sliding down over the curve of your ass.

His fingers pressed firmly, possessively— like he was reminding you who you belonged to. “I missed this,” he murmured into your ear, lips barely grazing your skin. “Missed you.”

“I need you, now.” you whispered, breath hitching when his hand slipped between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips jolted instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“I know you do, baby.” he whispered, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck, biting just hard enough to make you whimper. “No matter how much you say you hate me.”

You could’ve stopped him, but you didn’t want to— not tonight. Not when your whole body remembered what it felt like to be his. Leaning into him, back arching, your head tilted back to give him more access.

You yearned for his touch, your past issues leaving your mind as soon as he laid a finger on you. He was your weakness, your addiction.

His fingers broke the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin just beneath as his lips dragged along your neck. The way he touched you made you dizzy— slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you piece by piece.

“Already so wet” he murmured, voice low and smug, fingers now gliding through your folds with a dazing rhythm. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

You didn’t respond— you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you with every shaky breath, every low moan spilling from your lips as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles that had your hips grinding back into him instinctively.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your spine as he pulled you closer, hand gripping your waist like he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

“God, you’re so needy,” he growled, his voice rougher now, almost breathless. Your moans turned into gibberish and incoherent whines as you felt your stomach tighten familiarly, but just when you thought you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped.

“Do you want this, princess?” He asked, removing his hand from your waist to turn your head towards his. “Say the word, and I’ll make you forget every reason you left.”

All your pride, all the promises you made to never let him do this again, evaporated on your tongue as you spoke up, practically whining, “Fuck—yes, Jiyong, please.”

He smirked, satisfied with your desperation, and in one swift motion, picked you up and threw you onto the bed. You barely had time to react before he practically tore both of your shirts off and latched onto your mouth.

“You beg so pretty for me,” he said, pulling away and panting like he’d just run a marathon. “You always do.”

His mouth found your neck in no time, sucking on that spot he knew drove you crazy, while he fondled your breast using his free hand. With each bite to your neck, he rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you grind up against him out of pure need.

“Not yet, pretty,” he teased. “Gotta get you ready first. Don’t you wanna have fun?” He smiled— just as cocky as he was when you were together.

You whimpered under him, the ache between your thighs unbearable as he continued to toy with your body like it belonged to him— because in a way, it always had.

“Jiyong,” you breathed, fingers curling into the sheets as his tongue dragged lazily along the edge of your collarbone. “Please…”

“Oh? Now you’re polite?” he teased, voice soaked in poison. “Didn’t sound so sweet when you walked out that door, did you?”

His words stung, but the way his fingers slipped between your legs silenced every ounce of pride you had left. He pushed your shorts down your thighs, then leaned back to take in the sight of you— panting, flushed, and needy for him.

“Look at you.” he muttered, dragging his fingers slowly over your soaked panties. “You hate me, right? But your body…” he smirked as he pressed against your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “doesn’t lie.”

The way his fingers circled and teased was enough to have your back arching, your chest heaving as your body screamed for more. Jiyong held your hips down, forcing you to stay in place and endure his restless teasing.

He leaned down again, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.” he whispered, “Beg for me like you mean it.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to give up your pride— but the words fell out anyway, breathless and broken. “I want you, Jiyong. I need you.”

With that, he yanked your panties down and spread your legs, gaze darkening as he settled between them. “Good girl,” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Let me remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Then his mouth was on you— hot, skilled, relentless. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth had you unraveling more and more beneath him, gripping the sheets like a lifeline as he devoured you without mercy.

Your thighs trembled as his tongue worked you over with slow, devastating precision. He knew every inch of your body— every spot that made you squirm, every rhythm that made your eyes roll back, and he didn’t let up— not even for a second.

“Fuck— Jiyong,” you moaned, back arching as you tugged at his hair, needing something— anything—to ground you.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, gripping your thighs tighter as he sucked on your clit just long enough to have your legs threatening to close around his head.

“Oh no, baby,” he muttered, pulling back from inbetween your thighs just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark and full of lust. “Keep those legs open for me. You wanted this, remember?”

You nodded frantically, too close to stop, too far gone to care about anything but the knot building inside you— tight, hot, and on the verge of snapping.

He slipped two fingers inside you with no warning, curling them perfectly as his mouth returned to its place between your thighs. His pace was brutal, overwhelming, yet perfect.

“I can feel how close you are.” he muttered against your core. “You gonna come already? Hm?”

A string of broken cries left your lips as your hips bucked against his face. He held you down firmly, tipping you over the edge with a deep suck to your clit that sent your vision blurring.

You came with a gasp, voice catching in your throat as your body flooded with pleasure. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and whimpering from the overstimulation, trying to push him away.

Only then did he pull back, licking his lips with a smug grin like he hadn’t just completely ruined you. “Still hate me?” he asked, voice low and hoarse as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, as your lips hung open, unable to speak— because the truth was, you didn’t even know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, body trembling from the sensitivity when Jiyong stood slowly, towering over you like he owned every inch of you. His eyes were dark, hungry— but calculated. Like he had more in store.

“You think we’re done, baby?” he asked, voice low and commanding, tugging your jaw up to meet his gaze.

Before you could even answer, he gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. His grip was tight, possessive—but beneath it, you caught a flicker of desperation. Like he was afraid of losing you more than anything.

You heard the faint clink of something metal before you felt the cool press of leather circling your wrists. He strapped you to the headboard with deliberate care, then tugged on your arms a couple times, making sure you couldn’t move.

“Jiyong,” you whispered, testing the restraints, “What are you—”

“Shh.” He kissed your temple. “You okay? Are you comfortable with this?” he asked, eyes still on the belt as he pulled it snug.

Nodding quickly, Jiyong made a low ‘tsk’ sound as he shook his head. “Gotta use your words, baby.”

“Yes, please touch me, Jiyong.” you breathed.

A dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “That’s my good girl.” He reached into his back pocket and, to your surprise, pulled out a small, familiar knife. Your body tensed, heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear— from thrill.

“You know I’d never hurt you” he murmured, dragging the blunt edge of the blade down the center of your stomach— slow, teasing, just like the other times. “I just like watching you squirm.”

The cold steel drew along your skin, just enough to make you shiver. Then, it slipped beneath the bridge of your bra. With one clean flick, he sliced it straight down the middle— fabric popping loose, freeing your boobs like they’d been trapped for too long.

You gasped, nipples hardening at the air hitting them. Jiyong returned to your neck once again, hands wandering all around your body as if he were admiring a work of art.

“Spread.” he said as he lifted himself from your body, not raising his voice. You obeyed, opening your legs to display yourself for him under the dim lights.

“Look at that,” he whispered, letting the ice cold blade trail up the inside of your thigh lightly. “You let me back in after everything— and now you’re dripping for me.”

He tossed the knife aside safely, then leaned in, his lips brushing your neck as his fingers slid between your legs. But instead of giving you what you wanted, he hovered, traced, toyed.

One finger pressed in, achingly slow— then out. You felt so embarrassingly empty, like there was nothing but air in your body. You whimpered, pulling against your restraints. “Please, Jiyong… please.”

He kissed your throat, open-mouthed and slow, tongue dragging against your pulse. His mouth left wet trails on your skin, giving you goosebumps from the cold air clashing with it.

“You don’t get to come,” he whispered, lips against your ear, “not until I say so. Not until I’ve fucked the memory of any life without me out of that pretty little head.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much you wanted that.

He moved between your thighs and dragged his tongue through your folds— slow, precise, agonizing. Every movement was calculated, every groan from his throat deliberate— all to make his teasing that much more unbearable.

“You sound so pretty for me.” he spoke, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them just right. “You always do.”

As you stretched out by his thick fingers, your moans increased in volume. And when your body started to tighten; hips twitching, breath turning shallow— he pulled away again.

You cried out, frustrated, desperate.

He leaned over you, rubbing slow circles on your clit with maddening restraint, just enough to edge you again and again. “Not yet,” he warned with a smirk. “You wanna come, baby? You’re going to earn it.”

Even knowing how wrong it was, you still wanted him— wanted this. You weren’t giving in, you were choosing it. Nodding quickly, your voice nearly broke as you pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Good,” he said, kissing your bound wrists. “Then stay just like that.”

Fondling with the button on his jeans, he unfastened his pants, dragging them down along with his boxers simultaneously. His cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen with a wet, heavy sound that made your mouth go dry.

He stroked himself once, twice— slow and controlled, eyes locked on you the entire time. “You see what you do to me?” he asked, voice rough, teasing. “You’ve been teasing me too, princess. All those days without texting me… acting like I didn’t exist.”

He climbed over you again, the head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds but never pushing in. Just enough to make you squirm in desperation.

“But now I’ve got you tied to your bed,” he whispered, lining himself up and gripping your hips. “Now you’re mine again.”

He ran the thick head of his cock through your folds once again, gathering every drop of your slick, making you shiver as he teased your entrance. He didn’t rush it. He took his time— dragging the tip up and down, groaning low in his throat as you whimpered beneath him.

When he finally pushed in, it wasn’t aggressive, he had just the right amount of force that made your eyes water.

A steady, stretching pressure that had your back arching, mouth falling open. He eased in inch by inch, watching every expression wash across your face, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your thigh to ground you.

“That’s it, good job, love.” he muttered, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”

Once he was fully seated inside you, he gave you just a second to adjust— his hand running soothingly over your stomach, your wrists still bound above you, completely at his mercy.

Then he pulled out halfway and thrust back in, harder this time, setting a rhythm that was rough enough to leave you gasping, but not enough to hurt. Every thrust was deep yet controlled, performed to drive you crazy, not break you.

“You feel that?” he growled into your ear, hips slamming into yours with a sharp snap. “Every inch of me inside you, stretching you open. You were made for me.”

You moaned helplessly, legs trembling as he kept going, his grip on your thighs tightening just enough to anchor you in place, to let you know you weren’t going anywhere.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice breathless against your neck. “Say who you belong to.” He dipped down to place wet kisses on your chest, tongue drawing patterns on your skin.

“Fuck— You, Jiyong. Im all yours.” You whined, throat going dry as you struggled to get your words out. Jiyong let out a satisfied hum as he kept going, hips snapping into you even faster.

Tears of overwhelming pleasure welled in your eyes as he hit the spot that drove you wild. Suddenly, he lifted your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest.

The new angle pushed him even deeper inside you as you cried out in pleasure. You tugged at your restraints as he pounded into you relentlessly.

The sound of the headboard knocking against the wall echoed through the room, but you barely registered it. Your focus was on Jiyong— on the way his body moved against yours like he knew you inside and out, like this was the only place you belonged; beneath and completely giving yourself to him.

Your thighs trembled against his hips, legs still folded against your chest as he buried himself deeper, over and over, with an overwhelming rhythm. Your wrists ached in their restraints, every ounce of control you once had belonged to him now.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and dark as his thumb traces firm circles on your clit. “Falling apart just because I’m inside you. Crying for me, begging for me... this is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, nodding as your back arched again. The burn in your stomach was unbearable, once again feeling that your pressure in your core. You were close, and he could feel it.

“Not yet,” Jiyong hissed against your ear, slowing down just enough to make you sob out of frustration. “Not until I say so.”

“Please— please, Jiyong,” you choked out, tears slipping down your temples as your body trembled under him. “I can’t... I need to—”

He cut you off with a sharp kiss, biting down on your lower lip before pulling away. “You can. And you will— for me.”

Then, without warning, he shifted his grip, pulled out almost completely, and slammed back into you hard enough to pull the breath from your lungs. Again, then again.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a flood. It ripped through your body with an intensity you hadn’t felt in months— your muscles clenching, vision blurring, cries spilling freely from your lips.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick and hoarse now as he chased his own high. “That’s it. Just like that.”

After a few more brutal thrusts, his climax followed. Jiyong's head dropped against your neck, breath hot against your skin as his body tensed above yours.

The room fell silent, filled with your combined panting rather than words. The sheets tangled beneath your bodies like evidence of everything you promised yourself you wouldn't do again.

A heavy ache settled in your chest as reality began to return, creeping in through the cracks his touch temporarily sealed shut. You looked up at the ceiling, wrists still tied, lips swollen, heart pounding for reasons far beyond lust.

After a few minutes, Jiyong finally moved. He slid out of bed without saying a word, pulling on his boxers before disappearing into the connected bathroom. The sound of water running filled the silence, and for a brief moment, you thought maybe he was going to leave.

But he didn’t.

The water shut off, and not long after, he returned— shirtless, damp hair pushed back, a wet washcloth in one hand and one of his oversized shirts in the other.

Without a word, he climbed back onto the bed, gently untying your wrists before wiping you down with the warm cloth. The soft heat of it contrasted with the cool air and the sting still lingering on your skin. He moved slowly, carefully— like he hadn’t just torn you open in every way imaginable.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No. It’s what I needed.” Sometimes, you hated how tender he was afterward— how it made your chest hurt in a different way. But this time you felt yourself melting into his touch, as if he were healing all your problems.

After cleaning you up, he helped you into the shirt, his fingers brushing your hips as he slid it over your arms. You winced slightly when the fabric grazed a sore spot, and he stilled, eyes flicking to yours.

“Sorry” he whispered, rubbing your skin with his hands softly to ease the pain

You managed a small smile. “It’s okay, I’ll feel better soon.”

Once you were dressed, Jiyong laid beside you again. The space between you was small but felt so much bigger. The silence was heavy with things neither of you knew how to say.

Your eyes wandered toward your ruined bra, the torn fabric laying limp near the edge of the bed. You gave Jiyong a sharp look.

He caught it immediately, smirking faintly as he leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t worry, jagi,” he said. “I’ll buy you five more.”

After the storm of lust passed, he traced circles on your back softly. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, voice raw and honest. You wanted to believe him, and for a moment, you did.

Unfortunately, you both knew that tomorrow, nothing would be fixed. Nothing would be different. Yet here you were again, wrapped in the same cycle.

He knew how much power he had. The way he kissed you like a promise, only to vanish like a ghost. He always came back. And you always let him.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence said enough.

When you looked at him, neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew. This cycle would repeat, no matter how much you wished it wouldn’t.

You hated him and you hated how happy you were to let him in, but most of all— you hated how you still loved him.

taglist: @breakmeoff @steponupbabe @tabibabib @mintymuse @heartubeatusalon @sternilei @julseysmel

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Touch

Wrote this while on holiday. Used my own experience for the reader, hope you all enjoy it!

You hated physical touch, Bucky noticed. Whenever anyone went in for a hug, you would either dodge the attempt or stiffly stand there, arms fixed to your side as if you didn't know what to do with them. You didn't allow anyone except those closest to you like Wanda or Steve to hug you in the first place, so most had given up on trying or did it on purpose to get a rise out of you like Tony. You'd also pull away if anyone accidentally touched you, scooting to the opposite side to prevent any more accidental touches.

With him, however, it seemed as though you were making an effort to maintain the physical contact. You never outrightly said anything, but sometimes Bucky would catch a glimpse of what looked like longing in your eyes whenever he and Steve would hug, see you shift slightly, taking a small step towards him before turning away and pretending like nothing happened. There were times when your knee would accidentally touch his under the table or vice versa and you would pull away slightly before deciding against it, letting your knee rest against his. There were times where your arms would brush against each other's but you wouldn't mive your arm away, instead plating it in the spot that would cause your arms to gently press against each other's.

At first, Bucky had brushed it off as nothing. Maybe it was just your way of letting him know the two of you were close friends in your eyes, but then Sam had pointed out how you didn't do that with anyone else and then suddenly he had to reconsider his views. He started noticing how you always took the seat next to him during meetings, scanned every room he was in for him and then quickly look away when the both of you made eye contact. He started paying more attention to how you always smiled when looking at him, perked up whenever he was mentioned, and remembered even the smallest detail about him.

"They like you, obviously." Sam had snorted when he had asked him why you did all these things. "At this point, you might be the only one who hasn't caught on."

Since then he had been trying to make an effort to let you know that he returned those feelings. He began initiating more physical contact, fingers lingering on yours whenever he passed you something, 'accidental' arm brushes whenever he was near you, purposely choosing the seat next to you during meetings so that your knees could bump into each other.

You began to lie next to him on the couch, giving the excuse that he was warm whenever someone would tease you for being so close to him. Your arm would be pressed against his back and neither of you would move until someone forced one of you off the couch. You'd always offer to let Bucky try some of your food and drink, snag some of his whenever you thought he wasn't looking, lean over his shoulder to peer at what he was doing. You'd find all sorts of ways to bother him, whether it be spinning the chair he was sitting on or making funny faces in an attempt to make him laugh while he was working out. Speaking of working out, your workout schedule started to line up with his and the both of you would always share the gym.

Bucky started noticing how his heart would flutter whenever you so much as glanced in his direciton, how his heart rate would speed up when you mentioned his name, the comforting silence that would fall upon the both of you when relaxing on the couch, him with a book in hand and you with a phone. He started making your coffee for you just the way you liked it, took note of your little likes and dislikes, made all sorts of excuses just to spend more time with you.

Still, neither of you said anything and that was getting on the nerves of the rest of the team. Clint had started a betting pool for how long it would take before one of you made the first move while Sam had set one up for who would be the one making the first move.

Then something happened.

The next thing everyone knew, the air around you and Bucky had changed. Tony swore he had caught your head resting on Bucky's shoulder during movie night but nobody else had witnessed it. Bruce swore that the two of you had held hands while walking down the corridor together but he had been the only witness so no one really believed him. Sam swore he had seen you hug Bucky back but the most anyone ever saw was your hand on Bucky's back when he hugged you after coming back from a long mission, the exact thing you would do whenever Wanda or Steve hugged you. No kisses, no obvious hand holding but there was definitely something different in the air when the both of you interacted, and the lack of confirmation was killing the entire team, save for Steve and Wanda.

Bucky had told Steve about you asking him out in the most awkward way possible and you had told Wanda about your not so little crush on the Winter Soldier. Wanda also knew about how exactly you had asked him out and it tickled her every time she recalled it.

Apparently you had found it a good idea, with that tired brain of your after a long mission, to simply ask Bucky how one knew that one liked someone. Bucky had been both confused and amused, but had answered the question with all honesty. It had led him to asking you if there was someone you liked and your silence said it all. You'd shifted in your spot on the couch, anxiously playing with a loose thread from the couch cover, biting your lip nervously.

"Yes?" You'd squeaked after a while.

"If you don't mind me asking, who is it?" Bucky had asked cautiously. He had an inkling of who it was, but he did want to hear it from your lips.

"Uh…" Your mouth had opened and closed like a goldfish as you floundered for an answer.

"Do I know this person?" He'd later found out that your long period of silence was due to an internal debate about whether he indeed did know himself.

"Yes."

"Are you alright with telling me who this person is?" At this point, he'd just been waiting for you to confess outright.

"If…I said it's you?" You'd finally squeaked out. Bucky's chest had bloomed with warmth, a soft smile making its way onto his face.

"Then I like you too."

That was the start of a quiet and subtle relationship. Small touches here and there, no fancy dates, just rooftop hangouts at night, munching on burgers and fries underneath the starry night sky. Neither of you felt the need to constantly sit next to each other, being more than happy to just leave the other to hang out with their group of close friends. This feeling was nothing like how it was in all those movies he'd been forced by Sam to watch, there was no grandiose change, no big confession, just a not so subtle attempt to confess over a small talk on the couch, seeing affection in the small things you did for each other.

Your love for each other was found in the way your hand would try to hold his in public then decide against it, the way you made an attempt to hug him back whenever he hugged you, even if it was just an awkward 'arms around him what do I do with my hands' hug. He appreciated the way you would accept the high-fives he sent your way whenever you got a strike during the weekly bowling sessions, cautiously pressing your palm against his. His heart fluttered when you initiated the hug for the first time, carefully putting your arms around him then pressing your body against his, letting your head rest on him.

His relationship with you really was nothing like what he was told a romance would be. In all honesty, he very much preferred it the way you both were doing it, he didn't have to worry about grand gestures or fancy dates, all he had to do was focus on loving you the best he could, and be the best version of himself for you.

He smiles when he feels your hand find its way into his, silently asking for permission to hold his hand. He intertwines his hand with yours, giving it a small squeeze.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

[yyxandere]

Can do a bit of expansion on how Dante and Vergil would react(or however else you would word it) if the reader had fangs? You don't have to do this, I'm merely curious about your interpretation of the two. I really enjoy your writing too. Glad I found your blog.

-ˋˏSINCERELY YOURS. . . ->

Sure thing anon!! I’m so glad you stumble across my blog and it piqued your interest, it’s honestly very flattering\(//∇//)\

Dante loves the fact that you have fangs, he wants to put his fingers or both his thumbs in the side of your mouth and wants you to bite hard, don’t worry about hurting him darling, he’ll heal those fang punctures in no time, so keep biting him hard will ya?

Dante would step his game (unfortunately) to see you laugh or smile to one of his stupid ass jokes or his dumb pick up lines (that he probably searched up in the internet and practiced it infront of Lady and Trish to ask both their opinions… both women hated it, but he knew the more dumber it is the more likely it would make you laugh.)

He doesn’t care if you’re a demon or human if you have fangs he would act like a damsel and you’re the scary vampire here to drink all his blood up! But don’t worry your “blood-bank” isn’t going to squirm or resist you, he’s now pulling down the collar where his nape is and looking at you very seductively, his little charade is ended with you slamming the door shut with a kick down puppy like Dante.

Unlike his brother—Vergil here is a master of subtlety, he would be fixated on your fangs especially when Vergil is the type of yandere to fixate on his darling and uncover secrets about them or deeply analyze them.

But Vergil is so emotionally constipated, so he won’t out right say what he wants especially when it trifle things such as your fangs, yet whenever you have any little quirks regarding about your fangs, like biting you lips whenever you’re nervous, or whenever you’re eating steak your fangs always goes first into the meat, he has it all written down and now hiding im his shrine behind his closet. .

Ever since he started falling inlove with you (unhealthy obsession ahem.) he started reading vampire love stories mostly about the love interest who are the same gender as you.

One day he read a story that was a vampire love story who had the same description as you and the love interest was a white haired man like him, and oh boy, did he eat it up like a starved man inside a buffet.

Everyone noticed the change of literature but whenever someone every barely says anything related to it he would go on a ten hour rampage of how the author is a very respectable individual with their works, the way the author writes the characters the dynamics it’s so poetic and it’s DEFINITELY not because he can self insert himself in the story…

Now all I can think about is having a make-out session with Dante or Vergil and you biting on his lips and when you pull your lips out of his own, his blood is now on your lips and not gonna lie it turns them on.

[nanamis-bigtie]

don't close your eyes

↬ itadori yuuji x gn afab!reader ↬ masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, reader has a vagina (no excessive body descriptions), aged-up character, piv sex, mating press, messy sex (lots of drool descriptions), yuji has a big dick, bottom reader summary: after weeks of dating you're finally having the first sex with your boyfriend word count: 1.8k a/n: repost from the old account. divider by saradika

Yuuji's embrace beams with warmth and safety.

Even now, shed off your shirts and melting into each other, making out on his mattress, you feel spoiled just from their touch, from the tight and surprisingly soft loop wrapped around your back. The heat is building up slowly, simmering in your abdomen and lazy, steadily crawling into the furthest crevices of your body, up to your lips where you're sharing it with him. There's esurience but no hurry; you're tasting each other with patience of hours to come, hidden in meticulously build cocoon so close to the surrounding world yet—as isolated as you only can in his room, thin wall separating you from his roommates frolicking in the shared living area, long-forgotten movie still playing on laptop, abandoned on the make-shift table made of books.

You move your hands from his broad back to his chest and Yuuji groans into your mouth when you squeeze a handful of his pecs. They're so big and soft yet, whenever a pleasant spasm runs through his body, you feel power flexing in them right under your curious fingertips. For a try, you sink your nails into his skin, not hard, just enough to leave crested-shaped lines. You're squeezed tighter in response, for the first time today, for the first time ever. The ever-loving touch of your boyfriend—the same arms that cradled you in moments of stress, that carried you bridal-style when you sprained an ankle, that adored you with the softest, the warmest puppy love—finally dares to show lustful fangs. He pulls you into him, flush against his muscular torso, one hand slipping down to your ass and guiding you to take a better seat.

Hard, pulsing bulge, perfectly palpable in the confines of gray sweatpants, presses right at your core and sends a different, hotter shudder across your body.

You mumble his name with a ragged breath, finally breaking the kiss that lasted for what feels like hours. Yuuji pulls away just enough to look at you, a string of saliva still connecting you two, his face flushed, and pupils dilated under barely open lids. His lips are dark red and swollen, drool shamelessly pooling at their corners; it takes everything from you to not immediately lean for more, even with your lungs in desperate need of fresh air.

"You okay with this?" He asks once he finally finds words, his voice strained and shaking nevertheless.

It's the last call before the gate closes and irrevocably leads you to another step of your relationship. You're not each other's firsts but you've been taking your time as if you were, Yuuji always making sure you're feeling comfortable with every new milestone and leading you there with a strong, yet gentle arm wrapped around your waist. You've never felt so loved and adored before, with the passion and submissiveness of a guarding dog, surrounded with his warmth until you've grown addicted, unable to think of any other flame than his.

No, no one else could need you like this. No one else could make you squeeze your thighs around them so desperately, afraid he may slip out of your reach once you stop.

You still loosen the hold, giving him place to act upon your agreement. "More than okay."

There's suddenly more of his tongue, more of his raw power nearly crushing you with the last kiss, finally revealing what Yuuji is capable of once let loose off the leash. He knocks air out of you, in no time has you mewling under him as he picks you up with ease and changes position, pressing you to the mattress now. Treated like a flower for weeks, you've almost forgotten he's a beast, and you're no better than dust in comparison to his strength. If only he wanted, he could tear what you're still wearing off you, but he's busy devouring you, wet and hot lips skimming down your neck, nipping at your chest, sucking your perked with pleasure nipples. He leaves a trail of saliva behind, truly like a dog, and there's only more with each passing second. He tries to leave hickeys, doesn't have enough patience, just licks you instead, sipping your scent straight from your skin and groaning in pleasure whenever you spasm for him.

He finally stills at your navel, whimpers as he pulls away, his face flushed and messy with his own drool. There's genuine pain in his eyes when he has to abandon you, even if just for a minute; he trips on his way to his backpack as he can't peel them off your figure.

You lose no time, already pulling your shorts and underwear down to your ankles. Time spent on intense make out pays off, you're wet and leaking, ready to take him without much prep despite his size you've already got to feel with your hand. Lifted on elbows to see him better, you kick clothes off the mattress and spread your legs for him, ready and impatient.

Yuuji turns straight into the perfect view, a box with condoms slips out of his hand at the sight, but he catches it mid-air. For a moment he fumbles around, not sure if he should put it away first or just drop his pants instead, finally decides on the latter and almost trips when trying to kick them off. His hard cock springs out of his boxers a moment later; it's fat and leaking and throbbing in anticipation: a treat that has you licking your lips. 

With hands shaking, Yuuji tries to slide a condom on, fails time after time, desperation, let loose after the patient hunt, his biggest enemy in the crucial moment.

"Lemme help," you beckon him closer.

He almost pounces on you, thinks twice at the last moment and kneels between your legs instead, holding himself at the base as you finish the job for him, your own hands at the verge of shaking too. His eyes drink up your body, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth again, until he has to wipe them with a hand before leaning for the last, shallow this time, kiss before the main event.

"Can I put it in?" Strain in his shoulders tells how badly he wants to do it, he explores your cunt with fingers first instead.

You grab his wrist and peel him away, "I want to feel it stretching me."

Yuuji doesn't need to be told twice. He scoops your hips to rest in his lap, cock flush against your sex, then guides your legs to rest against his shoulders. He kisses the sole of your foot on his way, wet lips ticklish for your sensitive skin. Laughter doesn't take anything out of the heat between you two, just urges him to take a proper sip of you faster.

He spreads your moisture, still lingering on his fingers, all over his cock, and lines himself up properly.

"Oh...god," he shuts his eyes tight, his face taunt and exploding with scarlet as his tip slides past the tight ring of your entrance. Incoming snap is written all over his expression, an ungodly amount of self-control is needed for him to not just slam himself whole into you, but he keeps it up, patiently stretching you inch by inch in.

Yuuji fills you up just right, the line between immense pleasure and stretch beyond discomfort deliciously thin. His pulse is thudding through your body, your rhythms united in the most intimate way possible, and when he finally bottoms out, even your breaths melt into one. He sways you both gently for a while, trying how much is allowed and expected, each slow thrusts splitting you into shattered pieces. Eyes rolling at the back of your head, you claw at his massive thighs, prompting him closer, craving only more with each move and each draft of air hissing through your taunt throats.

He listens, always obedient, always such a good boy.

Your legs are flicked towards you, knees almost by your head, as he easily folds you in half and advances on you with the whole weight and power of his body. He's so deep now, deeper than anyone else before, and stretching you up in ways you've never thought it's possible for you. Throbbing of his dick almost reaches your chest, the scent of his sweat finally breaks through the thin layer of simple shower gel he's coated himself an hour or two before, saliva almost dripping straight from his lips into your open mouth. 

He's closer than ever before, almost absorbing you whole into himself.

You're given three deeper breaths to reconsider the position before Yuuji starts pounding into you, the last coil of restraints finally snapping. It's not only his hips, he's taking you with the power of his whole body, from heads to toes, as if he tried to bury himself into your hot cunt. He tries to speak, words only die between whines and grunts, drown in chaotic, deep kisses, flooding you with his tongue and drool.

"It's... All mine," he manages to choke out, maybe about cunt, maybe about your body as a whole, it doesn't matter to you now, when folded in half and manhandled as if you were a mere fleshlight. Still, there's only love and care, each thrust slamming into you with passion and yearning of weeks of building the tension for this moment only. 

You're both drenched in sweat, so close you swear you can feel his scars and the finest of his body hair. His thrusts almost push you off the mattress; he pins it down with one hand above your head, the other cradling your face into the crook of his neck. His scent is sharp there, the pressure of his touch suffocating you in the most delicious way possible. 

Your hole flutters tight around his length, his rumble of pleasure resonates through your body: the final, littlest impulse that finally sets you on fire and drowns you into pleasure until you're seeing white, and your body loses tension.

Yuuji's rhythm stutters in response, eases as he lifts himself above you, sparing you much needed air.

"Oh god..." He mumbles, eyes fixed on your blissed out expression. "You're so—"

One more sharp thrust later, he tenses too, and comes with a desperate, choked-out I love you whined into your ear. The union of your rhythms breaks, and your bodies start to drift apart. His cock is still nestled deep in you and your thighs are still flush to his sides—but the heat has simmered down to flame barely tickling your skin. 

The beast has turned docile, relaxed in your arms and purring softly when you slide fingers through his sweaty hair.

Yuuji lets your legs rest flat and nuzzles up to your neck, wiping the drool off his lips against your moist skin. Both of his arms sneak under you and squeeze you close, lust gone and replaced by lazy love and satisfaction.

His embrace beams with warmth and safety again.

[lovely-skyzzz]

✿˖˚ ༘𐙚 Fluffy flowers exchange for ʚ @tillichan ɞ

Authors note: This is my first time writing for other people (and in awhile in all honesty) so I hope you enjoy this Tilli! I tried my best 😞💔

𑁍 Rose - What makes them realize that they're in love with you?

It would take some time for Atsushi to realize that he has any sort of romantic feelings for you due to his mindset of thinking he’s undeserving of love, life, and other similar feelings. On top of that, I feel as if he’d have a large admiration for you and would think his strong desire to be around you is due to the fact he wants to learn from you. Not until later, when speaking to someone about his feelings, would he finally realize that this admiration for you is much different. He realized that his heart raced with you whenever you simply smiled his way, how kind you are to animals and humans alike, how nurturing to everyone you are, and how you manage to stay calm in almost any situation. Even when you tease him, he feels the heat rushing up to his ears and can feel his heart beating through them.

He loves everything about you, and it took him embarrassingly long for him to realize.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𑁍 Lavender - What do they find attractive about you physically and mentally?

Mentally he’d like how patient and nurturing you are. As I’ve briefly mentioned, he admires your empathy for everyone and everything. It doesn’t matter if it’s a person, an animal, or a bug. You never fail to show kindness and he finds that to be beautiful.

Physically he'd like to compare hand sizes with you. It doesn’t matter if it’s his human hands or if it’s his tiger claws, he finds it sweet regardless. He’s gentle when he does so, holding his hands up as he waits for you to slowly press your palm and fingers just over his. With his tiger hands, he’s even softer, making sure he doesn’t hurt you at all. I think he’d also find your dimples to be adorable, often trying to make you smile just so he could see the small indents appear on your soft cheeks.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𑁍 Aster - Courting/flirting headcanons. How would they act around their crush?

Atsushi would be very awkward when attempting to flirt with you. He’s essentially a nervous wreck whenever he tries to even perform any pickup line on you and he’d manage to fail miserably every time. He even tried asking advice from Dazai but would never use it considering… It's advice from Dazai. So he’d end up back in square one. Soon, when he does get out of the awkward era of flirting, he’d transition to cheesy flirting attempts. They’d be incredibly endearing but at the same time, you do cringe internally.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𑁍 Hyacinths - Jealousy headcanons. Are they likely to get jealous? What do they do when they feel jealous?

Atsushi isn’t too likely to get easily jealous. That’s only because he wouldn’t necessarily realize someone was flirting with you or he wouldn’t think much of it. At first, that is.

When he does realize someone is flirting with you, instead of jealousy, he gets more insecure than anything. Again, this is due to how low his self-esteem is. While he trusts you and knows you wouldn't leave him, there’s always a nagging thought in the back of his head that darkens when someone is just a bit too close to you. Give him a bit of reassurance later, he needs that.

However, if he notices you getting uncomfortable that’s most definitely where he would step in. He’d grab a hold of your hand, squeezing it gently if someone was flirting with you aggressively. If the person didn’t take the hint and it worsened he’d glare at them, sass them, then finally pull you both out of that situation. Once you two managed to flee that conflict, he’d make sure you were alright and comfort you if needed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𑁍 Camellia - Love language headcanons. What's the type of love language they like to give and receive?

His love languages would most definitely be quality time and words of affirmation.

He seems the type to enjoy quaint dates, like taking a stroll through Yokohama and holding your hand gently as you both chat about everything and anything. He’d enjoy tending to your plants with you as he’d enjoy partaking in anything you find to be enjoyable. He doesn’t need big grand dates either. Something as simple as making dinner together, watching a show or movie together, buddy reading, or sitting in silence as you both work on something, makes him feel content.

He’d also appreciate receiving words of affirmation. As mentioned prior, he has an extremely low self-esteem. So even when he’s secure in the relationship, he will unfortunately still have a nagging thought in the back of his mind making him think he wasn’t good enough for you and why would someone like you love him? Some simple words that bring him back down to earth and that remind him that he is deserving of love, that you're his and he’s yours can help a lot.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𑁍 Morning glory - Are they very affectionate? Are they touch starved? How do they ask you for affection?

Atsushi would be moderately affectionate along with being ever so slightly touch starved. At first, he was a bit hesitant to initiate anything due to not knowing what would be appropriate. He at first would attempt small things like, for example, holding your hand. You two could be taking a stroll down the park and suddenly you’d feel Atsushi's warm hand entangle with your hand. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him due to his nervousness. However, as soon as you smile at him and give his hand a squeeze he’ll be melting on the spot.

Later on in your relationship, he’d get more comfortable asking for some sort of touch and wouldn’t feel as nervous asking for any sort of warmth from you. This is when you discover he is just a tad bit touch-starved as he is always asking to entangle your hands together or to link arms no matter where you two are.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Last Line/WIP Whenever

I was tagged by so many lovely and talented people in the last three days that I can't even remember. I'm just going to throw out a mass tag here. @redheadsramblings @paramortality @holdingontojupiter @sofiemystique @crimsen-khalessi @silshinobii @caughtnyact @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @pocket-vvardvark @skyrim-forever @starfleetteddybear @guacamolleee @draco-illius-noctis @kirain and anyone else who wants to play. This is from Even in Death Flowers Bloom. I should have this up tomorrow. ...then I can start working on another chapter of my morally grey Emmrich secret society AU. You can find the first chapter here if you're so inclined.

Anyway, cough up your goodies. I want to see what's cooking. <3

“Where were you last night? And this morning? And for that matter all afternoon?” Eleanore blows over the top of her teacup as she lifts a delicate brow.

When Iris had let Eleanore into her apartment—or rather Eleanore had barged her way into her living quarters, she had said nothing. For once in her life, she had been strangely silent. No chitter nor chatter, no laughter nor mirth.

It worried Eleanore.

It was all Iris could do to keep herself going through the perfunctory motions of making tea. Water, heat, steam, and pour. Tea was easy. Tea was simple. It was predictable and had steps in sequential order. It did not deviate, and it did not disappoint.

She picks up her own teacup, sipping on whatever it was that she had made. It did not matter; she did not taste it. “Out.”

“Uh-huh…were you with Volkarin perhaps?” She smiles ear-to-ear. “Did you—oh, you did, didn’t you? How was he? Did you—”

“Leave it alone, Eleanore.” Her words snap each syllable carefully articulated.

But her friend had never learned how to to let better off alone. “Oh come now,” she wiggles her brows teasingly, “he did make you come, didn’t he?”

The teacup in her hands shatters onto the floor.

“I told you to leave it be, Eleanore. Why do you never know how to listen? Is there something inside of you which makes you have to push so that you might have your way? Did you maybe possibly think that—” The rest of her sentence is left unfinished, voice breaking apart like the remnants of porcelain on the floor.

“What happened, Iris?” She tries again, voice soft.

[monetmightexist]

i didnt pay attention to qsmp federation lore so i made shit up and called it good.

at the end of the day i want your main takeaway from this to be that cucurucho has long ass hair and you cant change my mind about that. this is propaganda. and it is working on you. you love long-haired cucurucho. you will draw long-haired cucurucho. or write about him. you will put them through hell and back. so long as it gets its long hair. because whats the point of it all if he doesn't get his luscious locks.

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[whendidyou-leaveheaven]

Re-watching Civil War and afsghdjfjghhhj

Over-protective!Steve. U know?

[akkivee]

naughty busters drama track: youthful riot summary

i’m not good enough to give a line by line tl of the track but i tried to make it as comprehensive as i could without it. you can listen to it here but if you can buy dawn of divisions vol 3, please do!!!! cdjapan has it in stock still!!!!

———

the drama track opens up with the end of otome’s coup speech and ichiro watching the televised event.

otome: instead of foolish, warmongering men, women will be the ones to give the world a fresh start!!

ichiro: whoever just became our leader better be powerful because nothing is going to change for us.

time passes, and ichiro’s just gotten done with his tasks of the day. he figures he might as well go home when he hears footsteps approaching.

kuukou: found ya, ichiro!!

ichiro: oh kuukou!! what’s up??

kuukou asks him if he’s seen the news and upon ichiro’s confirmation, he tells him he should know what these are and tosses him a mic. ichiro’s surprised, and kuukou explains as soon as he saw the power the mics had from the televised coup, he knew he had to give it a try and signed them both up for their mics. it’s then ichiro recalls that these are the hypnosis mics and kuukou demands they give them a whirl, to which ichiro agrees to do tho he sounds a startled by the sudden activity.

kuukou gives a self-introductory rap but when the blow lands on ichiro, ichiro comments it’s a little underwhelming and kuukou wonders how to get the output of power he’s seen. kuukou tells ichiro he’s up next and ichiro delivers his own introductory rap that similarly feels weak. ichiro speculates rapping skill may have an impact on their power so kuukou suggest they better get to practicing then!! agreeing, ichiro says that they need to get good with the mics as fast as they can because this will be the newest weapon everyone will get their hands on. kuukou sees his point and says and they need to stay ahead of the game, which is exactly what ichiro was thinking so they better get on it he exclaims!!!

—————————

we flash forward and training is done. kuukou suddenly started chuckling to himself and ichiro asks him what’s he laughing at. kuukou’s feeling good about how hard their rap training was, ichiro’s lyrics were strong and just about knocked him unconscious!!! ichiro asks if getting knocked out was really something to laugh about and kuukou tells him something along the lines of, “one should buy a lot of hardships.” well, ichiro does see benefits of their training and kuukou tells him soon they’ll both be knocking fools out together, to which cracks ichiro up a little.

ichiro suddenly gets a phone call. he answers the phone and after a brief conversation, states that he’ll be there shortly. kuukou asks him where he’s going and ichiro replies he’s been called in by mozuku.

kuukou: ah the corrupt priest huh…. guess that’s where we’re headed to next.

ichiro: it’s not like you have to follow me.

kuukou: stuuuupid. ain’t this something about your job?? what kinda partner would i be if i left you to do all the work alone?? so let’s go man.

and as kuukou walks away, ichiro pauses and quietly laughs to himself before following after kuukou.

—————————

the next scene, ichiro walks in mozuku’s office, followed shortly by kuukou.

mozuku is pleasantly surprised to see kuukou, as it’s been awhile, and asks if he’s here because he’s missed him. kuukou lets him know he’s the last person he wants to see. laughingly, mozuku says he’s so cold to him.

ichiro steers the conversation back to why mozuku asked him to come in. mozuku tells him he’s requiring a bodyguard service. for himself?? no, for a man who goes by the name osaragi, an investor known for evading taxes. kuukou asks if that’s the kind of guy that they’re guarding and mozuku confirms.

mozuku: do you remember tomabechi zakuro?

tomabechi zakuro, leader of the group Extortion, was the man who terrorised unami and her sister from dhbat manga chapter 12

apparently his right hand man, teshigawara, is after him. ichiro’s familiar with him, he’s the one who stepped up to take over the group after they helped put tomabechi in jail. kuukou asks why he’s after him and apparently he took off with all their money made in their name and left behind a wake of territorial disputes as well.

kuukou scoffs, that’s boring as shit.

mozuku: boring as it may be, i will be paying handsomely.

mozuku again tells ichiro to bodyguard this man and he’ll be sure to provide extra reinforcements.

grimly, ichiro accepts the job.

—————————

we next cut to our boys arriving at their rendezvous point, a business by the name of ‘Lounge.’

kuukou: tf kinda shop is ‘Lounge?’

ichiro: i’m not too sure either, but apparently you buy drinks and get to talk to women.

kuukou: *gives the most exasperated sigh* people really spend their money on this?? that’s so stupid.

ichiro comments to never mind what people spend their money on and they enter the shop.

once inside, they find a man laughing uproariously. ichiro hesitantly asks if he’s osaragi and introduces themselves as his bodyguards mozuku assigned to him. osaragi grumbles at the fact they’re just a bunch of kids and wonders if they’re capable at all. ichiro audibly reels in some anger and affirms that they can. well, as long as they don’t fck up, the money is his and osaragi commands them to stand off to the side so they don’t kill his drinking vibe.

they step away and kuukou swears at osaragi under his breath, calling him a pig. ichiro feels that and let’s kuukou know it’s fine if he’s not up to it and can go home. kuukou again chides ichiro, saying a partner is supposed to always stand by his side. besides, he’s looking forward to beating up some small fries.

kuukou: so i’m not leaving

ichiro: *chuckles* well, i’m glad you have my back, aibou-san

kuukou: *softly laughs* that’s right, just leave it to me!!

the moment is ruined when osaragi beckons them over like they’re his pets. very disgruntled, the two approach osaragi, who asks them if they drink tequila. kuukou firmly tells him he does not. osaragi insists tho, they can drink and do whatever they want to the women here, since they all owe him money. osaragi passes kuukou a glass imploringly, but kuukou, in a fit of anger, takes the glass, repeats he’s not drinking and makes to make a mess—

but ichiro stops him.

osaragi sneers at them, and ichiro declines for them, saying they’re here to bodyguard him, not to play around. osasari groans that they’re so uptight and sends them back to their spot since they’re making his drinks taste bad.

kuukou is ready beat the stuffing out of a pig.

ichiro quickly tells kuukou to calm down, they just gotta put up with him for the night. not mollified but putting it aside, kuukou brings up how those girls are under his command due to their debt to him. ichiro’s concerned about them too, but they can’t make any moves that might put their situation at risk. the girls need to be the ones to ask for help. kuukou concedes with a sigh, saying that’s a rather adult way to look at it. ichiro denies this; he’s only able to come to that conclusion because of his experience in this line of work.

if something goes wrong and he’s blamed for it, ichiro would feel like crap. kuukou hums in thought.

the doors suddenly burst open and a man demands to know where osaragi is. osaragi is in a panic and yells at ichiro and kuukou to protect him. they step up, itching for a fight and to their surprise, it’s teshigawara. they asked what happened to the men stationed outside and teshigawara and his men laugh, saying they made for some good punching bags. ichiro doesn’t understand how they took out so many of them and teshigawara reveals his hand:

he has a hypnosis mic.

so that’s what it was, ichiro muses, and their men hadn’t picked up mics yet. teshigawara is confident they have the upper hand here and tells them no amount of grovelling will save them if they get in their way. is that a threat, ichiro asks but it’s the opposite really. teshigawara feels thankful to them for getting him to the top of extortion, so he’s offering them a way out.

kuukou chuckles and asks ichiro what he’d like to do and ichiro answers they’ll make their own way out.

they take out their mics, much to teshigawara’s surprise, and spit bars about climbing to the top as a diss to teshigawara hand me down position.

their rap sends them flying!!!!

both ichiro and kuukou taunt their fallen enemies and it’s then osaragi shows himself, surprised the brats completed the job but pleased. kuukou scoffs at him and ichiro, job complete, excuses them from them scene.

but osaragi stops them from leaving, and demands they stay on as his bodyguards. he thinks they’re very well suited for this kind of work and offers to pay three times as much as mozuku’s offer. ichiro refuses and makes to leave again, but osaragi instantly knocks the price up to ten times the amount!!!! and offers up the number one hostess of the joint!!!! and they can have their pick of any of women he has under his control, repeating they can do whatever they want with them.

kuukou walks up to the lady osaragi is presenting to them, and tells her,

kuukou: hey miss. if you always hold your tongue, then nobody will ever understand what you need.

hostess: …………..please help me.

kuukou huffs, satisfied.

kuukou: ya hear that, ichiro-san??

ichiro: loud and clear. osaragi-san?

osaragi: so we have a deal??

ichiro punches the living daylights out of him. no they do not.

kuukou teases him, like whatever happened to not interfering where they aren’t welcome?? ichiro quips back that times change which draws out kuukou’s gremlin laugh, oh is that so??

ichiro lets out a deep sigh and says it’s time to go home.

as they set out, it strikes kuukou that they should make a team name for themselves.

ichiro: is it really that important??

kuukou: stuuuupid of course it is!!!! it gives proof that it existed.

ichiro: *pouty* well in that case, go ahead.

kuukou: but what would be a good team name……?? well, since ichiro’s suuuch a rebel, why don’t we go with “naughty monks”?

ichiro: that has nothing to do with me at all???

kuukou: you don’t think so?? then how about—

—————————

the scene changes for the final time and a man is on the run. he very quickly runs into a dead end tho, and, exhausted, turns to reckon with his fate.

kuukou: *laughs* i gotta admit you’ve got some big balls to be acting up in our territory!!!!

man: who……. who the fck are you guys?????

ichiro: we’re ‘naughty busters’, asshole!!!!

[bluejaybytes]

IT IS DONE. I 100%'D SIDE ORDER IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY. Cleared the tower with all palettes, bought all hacks, bought all items from Cipher, got the Low Hacks Eight badge, got all Jelleton entries, and got all chips entries as well as maxing out the chips that max out at ten and NOT five. My fastest clear is 17 minutes with DJ Octavio's palette, and highest score is Marina's palette with 83k points. My favorite palette and palette with the most clears is Frye's palette with 6 clears, and my least favorite palette is Big Man's palette with only a single clear, tied with Eight and Murch's palette for the spot of least clears, and my first clear was with Sheldon's palette.

Genuinely I could not be happier with Side Order. The only critiques I have are minor and not hugely impactful on how I feel about the DLC as a whole. Easily worth the money and despite the fact I've now done every conceivable thing the game has to offer in terms of completion, I absolutely expect to continue playing and having fun with it for a while further

[ahalliance]

“the doctor disliking guns and the military in new who is out of character” girl did you somehow miss the fucking time war the story keeps bringing up?