#char: kyle

[petalpathic]

‎‧₊˚✧RO APPEARANCES✧˚₊‧

Vanessa Villanueva

Vanessa is Filipina-American. She has olive skin, shallow-set black wide eyes and full pink lips. Her hair is naturally dark, but is lightened to a golden brown. It is naturally straight, but styled in loose waves.

She is 5'6.

Kate Santos

Kate is Puerto Rican-American. She has light beige skin, deep-set dark brown eyes and her signature red lip. Her hair is dark dark brown and cut in layers, the longest layer reaching her shoulders.

She is 5'5

Kyle TH

Kyle is Japanese-American. He has tan skin, almond shaped brown eyes, and full lips. His hair is black and shaggy, longer in the back and shorter in the front.

He is 6'1

Austin Arison

Austin is of mixed European descent. His skin is fair, and his eyes are round and nearly green, his lips are medium and heart-shaped. His hair is short and brown, it gets lighter in the summer.

He is 5'10

PORTRAITS

Kyle ^

Austin ^

Kate ^

Vanessa ^

[lovebugmusings]

I’m glad you enjoyed ☺️

Hmm what do you think about Price being possessive over you when it comes to sharing you with his boys? Like, sure he’ll let them watch. He might even let them make you feel good. But letting them cum in you? Never. Because at the end of the day, you’re the Captain’s lover/partner (or whore if you want).

Which means Price’s cum will be the only cum filling up your cunt and dripping down your thighs 😌

- 🪤

AHHHH BARRACKS BUNNY BUT PRICE IS POSSESSIVE?!

when price first introduces you to his men, he doesn't miss the way they all look at you - with hunger, with desire. but he also sees the way you look at each of them. so he knows that you won't be entirely opposed to helping them destress.

so it becomes routine, to invite them over to the humble home you and price share after a mission. he is always the first to make you cum. has you against the sofa or the bed and worships you with his mouth. makes sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you and what you do for him and for his men before they're allowed to touch you.

i would say "cuck chair" but you've definitely ridden all of them on that chair, and there have definitely been occasions of two of the guys helping each other out while you were being eiffel towered by the other two

of course there are standard boundaries and rules in place, to keep everyone safe and comfortable - things like everyone has to be tested before they touch you, even though you're the only person other than each other that they fuck - but the biggest rule, one that price reminds them of often, is that they aren't allowed to cum in your pussy. ass? sure. mouth? absolutely. but pussy is for price and price alone. they're allowed to fuck you there, but they have to either pull out or wear a condom

(johnny always opts for pulling out because he'll be damned if he doesn't get to experience the feeling of your pussy walls against his bare cock)

and "might even let them make you feel good"? HA price gets some sick ego and power trip watching his pussy-drunk men eat you out. simon once came in his pants after you squirted on his face, but instead of embarrasment? bro was so proud that he was the first of him, johnny and gaz to make you squirt

@glossysoap

[davidkarofskyindie]

indiealphas (Hunter/Kyle)

@indiealphas

Kyle couldn't believe he had even agreed to this, it was the kind of bet you only make if you're a total idiot but apparently, Kyle was an idiot. It was almost a joke, "If you win, I'll walk into the locker room in a jock strap and let you go to town in front of your team mates", the kind of thing that he was sure wouldn't happen but the moment the final score happened he let out a tiny sigh and went to prepare. He slipped out to the little bathroom by the lockers and got down to the promised jockstrap and waited till he knew the whole team was in there before he took a deep breath and strode in. He passed a few people on Hunter's team, getting a little playful whistle as he approached Hunger and gave him a smirk "Well, winner winner... where do you want to claim your prize?" he said with a little twinkle in his eyes, looking up to the muscular hunk "... you wanna take me somewhere private or show your team why you're the best man around"

[abarnesrequiem]

Nascer em berço de ouro e com uma colher de prata em sua boca é muito fácil, isto sempre foi lembrado a Nora desde o minuto que a garota tomou consciência de que era um ser vivo. Fácil. Fácil suficiente para que precisassem entregar sua vida ao povo menos favorecido, fácil suficiente para que Bruce achasse que seu código de moral deturpado e distorcido era o melhor e único jeito de alguém se salvar da corrupção que o dinheiro trazia. Ainda assim Nora trocaria toda aquela facilidade, todo aquele dinheiro por um pouco de paz de espírito, ou talvez pais melhores, irmãos menos traumatizados, mentores menos enlouquecidos. Qualquer coisa que não a levasse à estar exatamente naquela posição. Parada na porta do quarto da namorada tentando pensar no que falar. Olá. Olha quem voltou. Eu juro que estou sóbria? Nada disso parecia ser bom suficiente após mais uma temporada internada em uma clínica cara com maçanetas de ouro e águas termais. Até porque não havia nada que seria bom suficiente para justificar o quão Carmellia teria que aguentar sua personalidade agora que estava sóbria. ❛ — Hi. —❜ As palavras saíram sem vida de seus lábios assim que a porta se abriu. ❛ — They let me out, as long as I don't have access to my money. So... —❜ O cartão de crédito e o cartão bancário foram estendidos sem que seus olhos encontrassem os da Isley.

[excelsiorfics]

Consider the Diamond

Date: 5th Jan 2014 Author: Eliyes Rating: General Word Count/Status: 543, completed Dynamic: Kyle Gibney & Lillian Crawley Characters: Kyle Gibney, Lillian Crawley, Logan Howlett Tags: Superpowers, Violence

Summary: Kyle struggles to understand Lil

[aeroplanestouchthesky]

I HAVE THE BEST FRIENDS. IM LOVED

[magicwordorchestra]

love love love seeing regulars in chat so much. its like taking the bus everyday at the same time and you start associating identities to the once faceless crowd on the bus. ykno

[angstandhappiness]

AWESOME

Dude, Mr and Mrs Wayne are kinda scary

[goldentigerfestival]

The way I'm in desperate need of content of Yuri adopting Mileena as his little sister and the way there is no content of that, and the way that means I have to make the content.

The way I desperately need Yuri and Mileena interaction period no matter how much they interact.

[petalpathic]

how do ros react to a shy MC? do they have a preference?

Hey nonny!! I'm not sure if you mean in a romantic sense, or just an MC who does not like talking/meeting new people.

None of the ROs will judge your MC if they're more reserved. You might have a hard time getting close to Vanessa, Kate will try her hardest to crack you out of your shell, Ky will probably relate to you the most and gravitate towards you more, and Austin will probably feel a little protective over you, since you remind him of himself when he was younger, he is shooing Kate away from you with fly-swatters.

In a romantic sense, off the top of my head, I would say the ROs don't care if your MC is shy or bold, the dynamic just might be different.

Vanessa

In the beginning, she is just completely unfazed. She's used to having admirers and whenever she meets fans they always act timid around her, so she probably just marks you off as another fan lmfao. Later on though, I think she's just confused. You guys know each other, so why are you still "afraid" of her??? (She also doesn't recognize how intimidating she is, in her head she's just a really chill and laid back girl). When she realizes it's because you genuinely like her, she finds it endearing.

Kate

Loves it and totally abuses the power of making you flustered as much as she can, making things awkward is her favorite thing to do. But a bold MC might make her flustered, she's all talk until MC switches up and outflirts her.

Ky

Just like Vanessa, he is used to having admirers, but you, someone he knows personally, is different. Honestly, you being flustered will probably make him flustered. How does that work?? I don't know.

Austin

Similar to before, Austin feels protective over a shy MC. He tries to hide it though because he understands he's just projecting and he doesn't want to be overbearing.

???

Refuses to look into it lol. Stop doing that with your face. It's weird.

Your guy's asks make my days/nights <333

[lovebugmusings]

(23 year old virgin right here ayy) anyway. this may be the wrong answer but man. i’d love to think it’s gaz who would be the most feral. idk. i just think he’d love LOVE the idea of making reader’s first time special, even if it’s just a one time thing. goes through the most effort, the most research. i don’t know man. 🧍‍♂️

i personally don’t think there is a wrong answer but you are so so right.

not only because in his eyes it’s something you’re beyond trusting him with - it’s not just sex, it’s your first time having sex - but also because him being able to i guess make up for lost years?

gaz thinks you are so stunning, just an absolutely gorgeous being. he can’t fathom someone not wanting to have sex with you (he never pushed it but damn if he hasn’t had his hand around his cock more times than he could admit, thinking about you). and maybe it was entirely your choice, maybe it was something you never got around to, maybe it was something that for reasons beyond his comprehension, nobody ever wanted to do with you. but when you start making moves to make things more intimate and start initiating things? oh kyle is so so excited to make you feel.

he’ll take it slow, let you learn the different sensations that only come from another person. draws out ever sound he can while slowing your brain down until all you can do is feel him. he’s so gentle. and i don’t necessarily mean slow, if you ask he’s happy to rail you until his legs give out. i mean everything he’s doing is for your pleasure.

like yes, gaz knows as soon as he bottoms out inside your tight, virgin hole that he won’t last long at all. but the way he rolls his hips and hips and touches you is all designed to make you feel good first (and him second, because when you feel good you make such pretty sounds and you clench around him and shit his imagination never did you justice)

and i know you said research but i think his version of research is entirely touching and kissing and nipping at your skin. “‘m studying, pretty” he’d mutter against your skin while you plead with him to just hurry up. “be patient. gotta learn what makes you tick” while his fingers slowly, achingly drag in and out of your hole

[ofspectrvms]

welcome to london, SELINA KYLE! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like ZOE KRAVITZ? well, no matter, we hear that you are THIRTY-TWO and working as an NIGHT CLUB WAITRESS / BURGLER. we also hear that you currently HAVE SOME your memories from DC COMICS and have a tendency to be CHARMING as well as IMPULSIVE. 

inspired by: selina kyle (dc comics), max (stranger things), jennifer check (jennifer's body), lisa rowe (girl, interupted).

introducing selina kyle! hello friends. here i am with my second character. i just wanted to start this off by saying i am not a huge comic person. my portrayal of selina might be a little different compared to others because i can only base her off the knowledge i have which are the movies and shows. i have done some research into the comics but she is highly based off the batman films. below is some background info on selina as well as a few headcanons. i'll be editing this as i go and grow her character further.

trigger warnings: childhood trauma, drugs and alcohol, stealing, etc.

selena grew up in a very poor part of london to a mother and father who... weren't the best. they did what they could with what they had and it still wasn't enough. so, selena from a young age learned to steal. first it was pick pocketing... and then with practice she's grown into the burglar she is today.

selina is currently a dancer down at a club to make money outside of the hits she makes at the rich homes of london.

lives in a small rundown apartment with a few cats she takes care of along with the strays who frequent the alley by her place. she often has other girls staying with her to get off their feet or trying to get clean. her apartment is known as a safe haven to the other dancers.

has most of her memories of gotham and that’s where she began to her burglary career here.

headcanons: wears lots of leather, has six cats of her own (binx, mr. man, genevieve, quinn, pooks, and sir charles), often found at the pawn shop with jewels she’s stolen, a favorite dancer at the club but doesn’t put up with any bullshit, hates to cook, used to do gymnastics as a child, and often wears multicolored wigs.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-four —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.5k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The rattle of vials cuts through the quiet sobbing as you raid the cabinet, stuffing a backpack with painkillers, sedatives, and wound care. 

"We had antibiotics on us. Where are they?" 

From the corner of the room, the response breaks apart. "I don't... I don't know about any... This is all we have."

You drop the backpack in favor of the gun at your waist, and direct it at her. "Don't lie to me."

"I-I'm not! I don't know where they are!"

A twist in your gut says she's honest. "Is there any alcohol?" you press with a curl at your lips.

"There's... some... under there."

You lower the gun and move to the sink, uncorking a half-filled bottle that reeks of absinthe. It fits snugly into the backpack. A nod to Nereida. She lowers her own gun from the young woman’s temple. Straps over your shoulders, you step into the smoke-tinged air, leaving the woman behind, when her accented voice chokes out: "You have taken... everything from us."

You stand in the doorway, watching a piece of ash fall on the scuffed leather of your shoe, then glance over your shoulder. "There is still some medicine left in there. Take what you can, get the other women, and leave. This place could be teeming with Greys soon with all the blood spilt. Travel north. We're going south." Her glossy eyes drift up from her hands. Your gaze hardens. "We will kill you if we see you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers.

You look away. "Salome is in the cell. Alive."

The flames lick at the chapel’s frame as you return to the others. The stone walls have blackened, the door swallowed in fire, windows shattered. The acrid stench of scorched wood and charred flesh burns your nose. The last survivors—the few men left after Price and Kyle cleared the barn—had been shoved inside with the Grey. 

You need to get out of here—away from the stench of blood. Clean water is urgent. A safe place to treat everyone's wounds, even more so, though the missing antibiotics linger in the back of your mind. Adrenaline wearing off, you move quickly, pausing only to hastily dress Blue's feet and Ghost's back with medical cloth from the cabinet before continuing down the main road. While everyone yields a backpack and gun, Ghost carries Blue to his chest. He hasn't once let her go. 

The flames still flicker behind you when his grip falters. He stops to adjust her weight, and you touch his elbow, speaking low. "Let Price or Kyle carry her."

"I've got it."

You don’t press, though the gnawing concern remains. How much blood has he lost? You can only hope it's clotted enough to hold a bit longer. 

The only words Price manages are instructions—what to watch for to indicate freshwater. Downward slopes, converging animal tracks. You’re nowhere near as injured as the others, yet your thighs shake, your vision blurs, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut to regain focus. You still flinch at every sound, ready for blood.

An hour out, the sun hangs heavy. Dense vegetation and a small cliffside offer promise. Carefully, you help each other down. Ghost finally relents, letting Blue cling onto Price’s shoulders so he can manage rappelling down the rocks. You stay close without thinking, your hand ghosting over his bicep when he wavers.

Then you smell it. Water.

Relief nearly buckles your knees.

A narrow creek winds between boulders, tucked beneath towering cypresses.

Everyone washes off the blood, dulling the stench. A fire will be needed to clean it for the wounds. As you rake water through your hair, your gaze drifts upstream—where cypresses give way to ripened plum trees, bordering what seems like a property. Price sees it too. He’s already shouldering his backpack, moving to check it out.

The gown pools at your ankles, dipping into the shallow water as you cross. The property is silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker. You tighten your grip on the gun, scanning the unkempt garden and overgrown path leading to the estate—a summer home fit for a family or, as you soon realize, two wealthy old fucks. Their skeletons are all that remain inside, draped in dust like the furniture around them.

Price lowers the rifle to his side and nods in approval. "This will do."

If you could, you’d strip off the stained gown and shut your eyes. Instead, you follow Ghost as he kicks open doors—nothing but a bathroom and parlor. On the second floor, the first door to meet his boot reveals a bedroom. You shake the dust from the quilt, and he carefully lays Blue down. You're already sifting through the backpack.

Ghost kneels to take her feet. He fumbles with the cloth, exhaustion stealing motor function. You help, unveiling the jagged cuts edged with dirt. Ghost grits, "They did this?"

"I did," she whispers. "I hoped you'd find me... and the Greys... they got distracted by my shoes."

Her words linger as you dab alcohol onto a strip of cloth. "This will hurt," you whisper, biting your cheek.

Ghost grips her ankle to keep it still and takes her hand, offering something to squeeze. At first touch, her nails claw at his wrist. Her lips press tightly together to muffle a small sound that dies in her throat, and then she falls silent. Her eyes flutter shut, reopening only to release a lone tear when you finish with both, then wrap them again.

"Your arms," you say, reaching for them. One is already bandaged—must've been done by them. The other is freshly cut. When you try to look at it, she recoils, inhaling sharply.

"They did this one, didn't they?" he asks.

A slight nod of her chin.

Anger leeches from Ghost's skin.

He exhales sharply through flared nostrils, then gently takes her wrist, pressing a kiss to the skin just before the cut begins.

"Let Twix clean it, baby."

Her fist clenches before she offers you her arm. More tears cut a trail down to her lips. 

"There. Let's get you something else to wear," you breathe out, stuffing the cork back in once it's over. 

What you find in the closet is at least better than the bloodied dress she was supposed to die in—a large flannel shirt that smells like old man. Blue accepts it, but stares at the shirt in her hands for a long moment before asking Ghost to look away. He does, and you help her, keeping your eyes on hers while undressing her.

You turn to Ghost. "Your turn," you whisper.

Lowering to the bed is a great effort, one you have to steady with a hand under his armpit. As gently as possible, you peel the cloth from his back. Seeing his wounds before did nothing to prepare you for this—up close, in the unforgiving sunlight. Deep, inflamed gashes ooze fresh blood at the disruption. The stench of festering flesh makes it hard to focus as you murmur for Blue to touch his hair, distract him for the first dab of alcohol.

Where Blue was able to silence herself, he cannot. Not when it’s this bad. The terrible, wrecked groan and the violent jerk of his body make you want to disappear—to run and let someone else do this to him. But you know you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t trust anyone else to. So you steady the tremble in your fingers and continue, the room heavy with his pain. It finds its way to your back, as though someone behind you is holding a whip. The phantom pain sinks into your skin with each of his groans, forcing you to push it away to steady your hand as you work.

Blue twists her fingers in his hair, whispering in his ear. "It's almost over, dad."

By the time the wounds are cleaned, redness remains, offering little reassurance. Over a day's worth of sweat and bacteria isn't something you can simply undo. You'll need to keep an eye on them for infection. You sift through the vials and push two painkillers to his lips, helping him sit up to swallow them. As you’re about to help him back down, he grabs onto your wrist, a pulse of pain pulling your gaze to where you slit your own vein. The linen strip is soaked through. Ghost silently unties it and reaches for the alcohol at the bedside table.

"They did that?" Blue questions from behind him.

"I did."

The pain sears as he cleans it, though it’s nothing compared to his.

When he lays back on his stomach, there’s no fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. Blue curls up beside him, wincing. You get her two painkillers as well.

"Is he going to be alright?" she asks quietly.

You pull the light quilt over her body. "His body just needs to rest. So does yours."

"That's not an answer, Twix."

The way she calls you out makes your face fall. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't know."

There is a pause of silence before she sighs audibly, arms falling flat at her sides and her gaze finding the ceiling. "I don't think I can sleep."

Your chest tightens at the thought of what she must be thinking of, what she must have seen when you weren't with her. The wounds you can't wrap up. You dig for one of the sedatives: lorazepam. "Here." 

It takes a while for it to take effect.

"You're safe," you whisper to her, over and over, tucking her hair behind her ear until you feel the subtle shift in her muscles as they slowly loosen from their panicked tension. When sleep finally comforts her, a shift in the air causes you to leap up.

"It's me," Nereida whispers, poking in her head. "The others are sleeping, too."

Right. The others. "They're alright?"

"Just a few fractured ribs."

"Someone needs to keep watch."

"I'll do it." Seeing the protest twist on your face, she adds, "You haven't slept in days."

She's right. It was impossible to sleep in that cell outside of being drugged.

You give in. "Patrol the whole property if you can. And keep track of the air. The flowers here should help mask our scent, but—"

"I've got it, Twix."

The fatigue truly hits when she leaves. You barely have enough fight in you left to peel off the stupid dress and raise another flannel shirt from the closet over your head, the hem resting above your knees. There is a chair in the room—that's where you sink down, knees tucked to your chest. At first when you close your eyes, the world is loud and red. Then, it quiets to black.

A dove call announces morning, and you jolt awake to fresh light from the window.

You fell asleep.

They've already killed her.

You didn't get there in time—

Your gaze lands on the small body lying in the bed beside a much larger one, and the panic escapes through a shaky breath. You inhale and exhale to calm your heart rate before uncurling from the chair to touch Blue's soft cheek. The skin is cool. You move to her father next. Palm to his forehead. Hot, dry skin snaps your touch away as if burning you. 

"Fucking shit," chokes out of you, along with a fresh wave of urgency. Blue stirs in her sleep. You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself and whirl out of the room. A fever: you need water. If you hadn't slept so long, you could've boiled some sooner. With the recovered energy, you race outside in the chilled morning air.

Nereida sits up from the porch.

"Good morning. You're the first one up. I haven't seen—"

"He is burning up," you seethe. "You should've waken me. I slept all through the night!"

Her eyes widen. "I didn't—"

You push past her. "I'm getting water."

She lightly touches your elbow. "I already got some from the creek. I boiled it over the fireplace." She rushes to show you the full metal pot in the kitchen. 

You don't pause to say thank you, hoisting the water upstairs to urgently wet a cloth and place it over his forehead. His lashes flutter, once, then twice, before fully opening.

"You have a fever," you exhale, swallowing hard. "I need you to drink a little."

He sits up to swallow a handful of the water from your palm, faint bobs of his throat, and you feel just how dry his lips are. His voice emerges low. "Did they have anything for it?"

"I couldn't find the antibiotics," you bitterly admit, swiping a thumb over the faint freckle on his temple, as if maybe, the sip of water has already changed the temperature. It hasn't. A growl pushes under your breath. "The bitch probably lied to me and took them. We'll need to experiment a bit for now."

"Sounds promising," he manages through his teeth. He glances down at his daughter. "She's alright?"

"She's okay, not warm." You inhale sharply. "Lay down. Let me look at it again."

When he does, you gently remove the bandages and are met with yellow-green pus. The sound that fills your throat, caught between helplessness and disgust, has him popping an eye open to look back at you over his shoulder. "Sorry, it's just..." Another explicative leaves your lips, and you have to bite your cheek hard to keep from vomiting at the sight and smell. Blue is awake now, sitting up against the pillow; she need only glance over once for her face to twist in concern. 

"It's bad, isn't it?" She covers her mouth.

"I need to drain it," is what you say. Luckily, it's already oozing, saving the need to puncture the wounds open. You wet another cloth and carefully press at the swollen ridge of the first laceration, making him groan through his teeth as pus begins to run down his sides. Blue has one hand back in his hair, and uses another wet cloth to collect the pus. You keep pressing, draining each irregular wound, having to remind yourself the rotten smell being released is for the better. 

After what feels like hours, it's mostly cleared. Only a bit of swelling remains, revealing just how deeply the skin was shredded, as if slashed through repeatedly in the same spots. 

"How come you were hurt more than the others?" Blue asks him the question you've been mulling over since the moment you found him. 

"I was their favorite," he mumbles lowly. "The most handsome."

"It's not funny," she presses, nails twisting in his hair, teeth grinding. "It's infected. You could fucking die."

"I won't," he says to her, but the silent, heavy glance you exchange with him acknowledges the understanding that he very well could, deepening the harsh pit in your stomach. "We have a nurse here."

"An unlicensed one." You finish securing a new layer of cloth and lean back. "And one without real medicine." Realizing you are supposed to be reassuring her, you hide the way your nails pick each other and add, "But draining all that pus will help. Eating will help even more," you look at Blue, "For you, too."

Blue and you share a meal of wild cucumbers, strawberries, and two small field mice you catch by the creek, swiftly snapping their necks before skinning them. For Ghost, you boil the bones with garden carrots to make a broth. You have to coax him into finishing it, no matter how it tastes, promising that once it's done, he can sleep longer.

By the time the others are awake, you and Blue have failed to leave his side, simply watching the continued rise and fall of his chest as if it might halt if you look away. "Please get better," you catch her murmuring. The only time you go is to speak with Price, informing him that Ghost is in no condition to travel again. 

"Twix," he interrupts you, the knowing tick in his brow, and worn smile, making you realize you'd been rambling, your tone coming off a bit accusatory. "I have no intention for us to continue yet. No one is ready for it. We need food, and rest."

"I can help hunt, I just need to—"

A firm hand finds your shoulder. His seafoam eyes glance past you at the door to the bedroom, then back into your gaze, low voice barely above a murmur. "You've done more than enough. Let us take care of the food. Just make sure we don't lose him, alright?"

You nod, and when he turns to leave, you mutter to yourself, "I'm trying."

You spend the evening draining pus, refreshing bandages, and scouring cabinets—nothing but expired vitamins. You think to check the garden for onions, their antimicrobial properties lingering in your memory, but find none. So you rinse his wounds again, scrubbing his filthy hair for good measure. For a moment, your fingers trick you into thinking his fever has dropped—then it spikes higher. His skin holds no color except for the angry red of infection and the fever-flushed sheen on his cheeks. Otherwise, he’s a ghost. As if all your efforts have done nothing.

Frustration strangles your lungs, and you palm at your forehead. His body, deprived of sleep and nutritions for days, is struggling to bounce back, to fight off the encroaching bacteria. His unyielding strength is yielding; succumbing. He needs more food and water. You try to sit him up again, retrieving a small bit of leftover broth, but he is unable to help pull his weight.

"Come on, Simon. Please."

He's too heavy for you, even with Blue pulling at his other arm.

You hurry out of the room and call for Price. He and Nereida are there quickly, his rifle ready. "No, I just need—I need you to lift him."

Price drops the gun to steady Simon up despite the heavy hiss of protest. "Gotta eat, Simon."

He holds him as you spoon broth to his mouth, having to rub at his jaw to release enough tension for him to open it and swallow. 

The room is quiet once it's all done, and Nereida stands in the doorway with her head hung low. Price carefully lays him back down so as not disturb the work you've done to his back. He glances at the empty bowl in your hands. "Kyle cut up some squirrels he killed earlier. I'll tell him to make more broth with them in the morning."

All you can do is nod and pass the bowl to him.

When they leave, the heaviness in the room has Blue picking at her wrist. You take her hand, placing another painkiller and sedative in them, and urge her to lay down for more rest.

"I'll stay up with him, alright?"

Her chin drops, and she stares blankly at the quilt. "What happens to me if he dies?"

The hollowness in her voice cuts through you. "We can't think like that," you murmur.

"Why not?" Her eyes blaze in the dark. "It's a possibility. I've never seen him like this before."

You shake your head, touching two fingers under her jaw to tilt it up so yours eyes meet. "He's stubborn, like you. And he has too much to live for. He loves you."

She looks away. "I'm not like him. I wouldn't be able to keep going on my own."

"You’ll never be on your own. He and I... we will always come for you," you swear, your voice firmer than you intend. You soften it to a whisper, breathing out, "But even if you were, you’re smarter and stronger than anyone here. There’s nothing you can’t handle, Blue. It was you who kept yourself alive this time."

"It was just luck," she murmurs, curling a fist into the sheet below her. She peers back at you. "If you guys hadn’t found me, I would’ve been bitten to death."

"No," you insist. "It wasn’t luck. You survived because you saw the opportunities, and you took them. You made time for us to find you. You are just like him."

Without thinking, you pull her into a solid hug, pressing your nose to her scalp.

"You’re just like him," you whisper again, screwing your eyes shut. White-hot tears escape, burning a quiet trail down your cheeks, and you feel her begin to tremble in your arms, silently soaking your shirt with her own tears.

Through them, she manages to whisper, twisting your shirt in her fists, "I-I don't want him to leave me again. H-he said he wouldn't."

"He won't," you promise, struggling to catch your breath through a choke, the words rushing out of you. "Never again. I won't let it happen."

After minutes, hours, like this, she grows limp with exhaustion, and you lay her back down, tucking her under the quilt and wiping your cheeks. 

You resume position in the chair by Ghost. 

This time, you refuse to close your eyes, locking them onto him—the way his cheek is squished against the pillow, the bare stretch of his arm, the curve of his ribs where an old scar splits into the new ones. You keep pulling the blanket over him, thinking maybe the extra heat will break his fever, only to rip it back off moments later, convinced the cool night air would be better. Frustration burns behind your eyes as you rub them hard, then press your forehead against the uninjured part of his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, Simon,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to trace your thumb over the freckles there, connecting them with soft, absentminded sweeps of your finger.

He needs more.

Real medicine.

Either the women are long gone with it, or it's somewhere none of them knew of. 

This is what you mull over well into the night when sleep threatens with a pull at your lids, and again, you see red. Blood-red. Like the burst of an open throat. You reopen them and jolt up to your feet, panting hard. The need for a distraction to keep yourself awake pulls you out of the room for a stretch of your legs, pupils straining against the dark hall as you stumble through it, crossing your arms over yourself. You've barely looked through this place besides what was necessary, so it's a surprise when you happen upon a spiral staircase going up, not down. 

A cool metal rail bites your fingertips as you heave upward, revealing a small attic library. Dark oak shelves reach the low ceiling, all of the leather spines neatly alined as if never having been touched even once: a capsule of time. A large window at the far end offers enough moonlight for your eyes to scan the embellished spines as you brush a finger over them, various French titles staring back at you. You work your way to the window, where the thin curtain is parted just enough to allow you a view of the creek, cliffside, and dark horizon where stars disappear into distant earth. 

"I shouldn't have believed her. I should've made her talk more." The words barely leave your lips before the stench of burning flesh fills your senses. Your hands shake violently. With a sudden, forceful yank, you tear the curtain from the rod. Your voice cracks, rising with rage. "I should have killed her—all of them. I shouldn't have let a single one walk away!"

You spin around and begin pulling books off the shelves, ripping at pages, thrashing them at the floor with a cacophony of thuds, until only half are left untouched. The years-old dust caking the covers explodes into your eyes, stinging them, and tears begin to fall, the painful kind. They come hard, ragged, anything but quiet. You sink to the oriental rug, burying your face into your knees and hugging them close as you sob through your teeth, scraping your nails into your shins.

You picture them all—the blonde man, the old woman, the veiled girls. In your mind, you cut them to shreds. Nerves severed, eyes burst. Until you’re drowning in their entrails.

There is a voice. In your head maybe. But no, it's real—someone touches your shoulder, and you flinch. You lift your gaze, and through it, make out the shape of warm, almond eyes, one of them half-opened beneath a swollen bruise.

Kyle kneels beside you. He doesn't say anything, just sits there, his knee touching yours the only point of connection. When your crying subsides, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state he's found you in, and wipe at your cheeks. "Sorry. I woke you up."

"I was already awake."

Silence hums between you, and he thoughtlessly picks up one of the books, thumbing through the pages, then quietly closes it.

"We all owe you our lives, you know. Nereida told us about all you did."

You dig your chin into the tops of your knees and stare off at the wall. "I still didn't do enough."

"You're doing all you can." His gaze pierces into the side of your face, making you feel translucent. "He'll be alright. Always is."

You don't know what to say to that, sighing through flared nostrils and looking down at your feet before over at him. "How is Ari?"

"He's alright. Just shaken, I think. Thank you for asking." A tinge of guilt finds you that you haven't checked on them enough. Ari, just a boy, and he's hardly crossed your mind through any of this.

"You know," Kyle continues quietly, his knuckles whitening around the book. "When we were in there, I didn’t know what to say to get him through it—because I couldn't see much hope myself. I had to watch, do nothing, while they made him memorize that goddamn book just to earn a meal. And he wasn’t allowed to share any with me." He lets out a short, bitter snort. "I've never felt so fucking weak. So powerless. Watching someone you love suffer, not knowing how to help them..." His gaze locks onto yours. "That has to be a pain worse than any torture."

His words catch you off guard. All you can do is reach for him, gripping his shoulders in a firm hug, evening your heart rate. He murmurs a promise about the broth, his hand brushing your shoulder before he excuses himself.

Returning to the bedroom, you check their pulses—her pinky hooked around his in sleep. You press a kiss to Blue’s hair, then, without thinking, your lips skim his burning temple.

[davidkarofskyindie]

Kyle growled a little as he pushed his boyfriend back on the bed, taking a second to be in awe of his perfect beauty on full display. His need for Taj had been growing all day and got almost uncontrollable while the party was going on, he was still impressed he'd managed to get them into a bedroom. His own shirt came off in seconds and was dropped on the floor unceremoniously before he leapt onto the bed and straddled Taj's lap "Yeah, this is how it is" he whispered before leaning down and kissing Taj firmly, his hands going between them to run sensually over the man's firm well defined chest. "I've been meaning to find a way to celebrate your big win but every time I tried to get you alone, your team mates cockblocked me... thank god for lockable doors" he joked while moving to kiss at the man's neck, grinding his jean-clad ass against Taj's bulge, taking his time and teasing his lover as much as he could "So... this a more fun celebration than the party?"

open starter - m/f/nb muse: taj ellison. a genuis hacker, college student, and track athlete. twenty-one. top-leaning, verse switch. possible connection: gf/bf looking for a quickie during a house party, academic/sports rival looking for hate s.ex, professor cheating on their spouse with their student, anything really.

The heat between them was thick—oppressive in its intensity. It stirred the desire simmering low and bright in Taj’s core, a slow burn that refused to be ignored. Time was slipping past far too quickly, and he moved with urgency, fingers deftly working the buttons of his shirt until it fell open, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his torso. He knew they didn't have long, and he was desperate to make the most of it. “So,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, “how do you wanna do this?” He didn’t get the chance to finish the thought. Their hand pressed firmly against his chest, strength and intention behind it, sending him back onto the bed with a thud softened by the mattress. A soft laugh slipped from him as he landed, gaze fixed on them—hungry, awed. “Damn,” he said, breathless and grinning. “That’s how it is?”

[abarnesrequiem]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀মন্দ⠀⠀⠀𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔𝖓.⠀⠀──⠀⠀⠀𝟣𝟪9𝟢⠀⠀𝖅 ٬

[excelsiorfics]

Coffee Disrupted

Date: Oct 31, 2022 Author: Sand3 Rating: General Word Count/Status: 1,579, complete Dynamic: Akihiro/Aurora, Jean-Paul Beaubier/Kyle Jinadu, Jean-Paul Beaubier & Aurora Characters: Jean-Paul Beaubier, Aurora, Akihiro, Kyle Jinadu, Rachel Summers Tags: Krakoa Era, Anxiety, DID, Telepathy

Summary: An anxiety lingering in the back of Jean-Paul's mind is put to rest for a moment, and then he feels antagonized a moment later.

Series: Part 9 of Le Rayon Vert