#just a lil ficlet for fun

[shieldofiron]

Set You Free

Threw this up on Ao3 too

It sounds like a joke. That thing was in his head, speaking in that stilted voice and once it was gone Billy couldn’t stop talking. Couldn’t stop fucking talking, partially because he was scared that it would turn into the wrong voice, partially because he almost couldn’t believe he had survived.

“I don’t want him here, he hits me,” He told the nurse when his dad came to visit.

And just like that they’d barred his dad from the hospital.

Max had come by with her little boyfriends and he’d talked their ears off, half crying, about the year before, about the monster, making no fucking sense, until the littlest one with the creepy haunted doll look sat beside his bed and patted his hand.

He just couldn’t stop talking, but he had to because Harrington was apparently visiting today with his girlfriend or something.

And so he sat silently as Harrington rambled on about the mall, about some freako sounding Russians and fireworks.

“Anyway. I guess what I mean is I’m sorry, cuz I hit you with that car. And if Mike hadn’t pushed you out of the way you’d be dead, and… I’m real sorry, Hargrove,” Harrington said, “For all of it. Mike and Will are like obsessed with telling me how you saved all of us so, I just wanted you to know that… thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Billy nodded, glancing over at the girl who hadn’t said a peep.

“So you forgive me?” Harrington glanced up with those pretty puppy dog eyes.

Billy nodded again, biting his tongue.

“Great!” Harrington nodded, “I’ll go down and get us some coffee or something, and then we can all catch up. Robin, coffee?”

“Black,” Robin nodded, “And get something that won’t make Billy hurl chunks, please.”

“Got it… uh… ginger ale?” Harrington looked at him.

“Just water. I’m missing like ten miles of intestine or some shit,” Billy grumbled.

Harrington blinked, startled, “Right.”

He left with a few of those kicked puppy dog glances, and then Billy was alone with the girlfriend. Robin. The thing is he kind of liked her before she became Steve’s girlfriend.

“I liked you too. And I’m not, by the way,” She folds her hands in her lap, “Steve’s girlfriend.”

Stupid talking thing.

“You’re kind of interesting, Billy Hargrove,” She smiled, and then she frowned.

They just kind of stared at each other, until sweat started to form on his brow.

“Don’t tell him I’m gay,” He blurted out at last.

He knew it, she knew it. Caught him and Tommy having a… moment under the bleachers a million years ago. Billy used to see big poufy band geek uniforms in his nightmares for weeks, but she never said anything.

“I wouldn’t,” She shook her head.

“But I might,” Billy growled, “You gotta keep him away from me, girlfriend or no.”

“Why?” She wrinkled her nose.

“I’m… gay?” He almost scoffed. What was she not getting?

“Okay. Again. Why would Steve have to keep away from you?”

“It’s fucking… wrong. Wrong to have feelings for him. Disgusting pervert shit ok,” Billy frowned, “I told Max he shouldn’t come.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong.”

Billy bit his lip so hard he thought he might draw blood.

“The kids too. Everyone should just stay away.”

“Even me?” She shuffled in her seat, “Is it dangerous for me?”

He glanced at her, not sure what she was saying. Why didn’t people just say what they meant?

“Listen, I don’t really know what happened to you, but I think you staying away from everyone and everything is kind of what got you into this shit in the first place,” She shrugged. “Just sayin’”

“That’s not why it happened,” Billy muttered.

“Then what happened?”

“I was… trying,” Billy’s throat felt right but he pushed through it, “To be normal. And it didn’t work, because I’m fucked.”

“I don’t think you’re fucked. And I don’t think…” Robin scooted forward, taking his hand, “Look. I don’t think you’re evil or anything.”

“I killed people and I have a gay crush on your friend.”

“Okay, that fucking thing killed people and people get fucking crushes every day,” She shook her head. “It’s not a crime.”

“It kind of is.”

“Only to cops,” She rolled her eyes.

He exhaled, “fine. I still kind of like you.”

“Same to you, Billy Hargrove,” She patted his arm, “just remember. The truth will set you free. Maybe Steve won’t think you’re evil either, you know.”

Billy was about to answer when Harrington swung into the door, “The nurses said you could have one of these dinner rolls too.”

“Course you fucking charmed the nurses,” Billy grumbled, “They fucking hate me.”

Harrington just laughed, gamboling in like a happy puppy and setting up Billy’s table.

“The truth,” Robin mouthed over a fluffy cloud of brown hair, “Will set you free.”

[withacapitalp]

She’s still here.

It’s been seven days since she showed up. Or, at least, it’s been seven days since Steve noticed her. If she died the night of his party, the way Nancy said she did, then it’s been ten days. 

He can still remember the first one. His grandfather. Steve was six when Grandpa Joe died. A freak heart attack when he was in the middle of brushing his teeth. Steve had been forced to go to a strange room filled with people wearing black who were talking in soft hushed tones and crying. 

His dad said that his Grandpa was in heaven, a far away place he could never come back from. No one listened when Steve attempted to tell them that Grandpa Joe was right there. 

Steve kept trying, explaining that his grandfather wasn’t in that box. He was sitting next to Grandma Annie, brushing his hand through her hair while she sobbed into her hands. He even waved to Steve, and he was speaking, but Steve couldn’t hear him. 

Grandpa Joe had faded at the funeral. One minute he was sitting next to Steve, trying to say something, and the next he was gone. Steve’s dad had been forced to carry him out of the church when his son had started screaming about not being able to hear. 

After that, he stopped telling people when he saw the ghosts. He acted like they didn’t even exist. 

In the end, it didn’t really matter that he could see them. They only ever lasted for a few days after dying anyway. The longest he had ever seen was five. There was no point in interacting when there was only one way things could end. Eventually the spirit burned through whatever energy was still keeping them tethered and they would fade away. 

At least, that’s what he always said to himself. 

But she’s been sitting by his pool for seven days. Maybe ten. And she didn’t show any signs of fading. She just sat there on the diving board all day and all night, staring down at the water and dragging the toe of her sneaker along the surface. 

It was like she was a skipping record, repeating the same five seconds over and over. 

Steve usually tried to ignore them, he had a rule about speaking to the ghosts. They weren’t supposed to be here anymore, and talking to them only delayed the inevitable. 

But if she was staying this long, then she needed something, and Steve felt like he owed it to Nancy to at least try and help. 

So for the first time since his grandfather, Steve approached a spirit and called their name. 

“Barb?” 

[necrotic-nephilim]

your Kon post was sooooo good, like yes the core four are queer platonic, however Kon is hypersexual enough to have made out with (or more) everyone in young justice at least once, yes, including the non-corporal Greta don’t ask me how that worked

I love all of these posts!!! how many of these ask game things do you have in your inbox??

thank you so much!! and i ABSOLUTELY agree with you on hypersexual Kon (truly i just adore characters with grooming/rape trauma like Kon coping through the lense of hypersexuality) and even if YJ is queerplatonic, Kon has made his way through most of them. including Greta. he's creative he'd find a way. probably involving TTK. bc TTK in sex is a thought i have daily. endless potential for using it to basically turn someone's body into a living fleshlight he can manipulate from the inside out- specifically have a TimKonBart idea in my head about that where Kon coaches Bart through sex, since Bart is a speedster with a bonkers refractory period who struggles to feel satisfied, and Tim is caught between them getting used to get Bart off with Kon using TTK to manipulate Tim's body. fun times. fun ideas.

currently, i have one more ask game ask in my inbox (tho always feel free to send more!) that's BruJay focused. though i *do* also have a couple other asks that are just ideas i pan to use as prompts for full fics. just haven't gotten to those yet bc i'm currently busy with packing to move states so. i have *not* had the time to write i wish i had. i will not reveal too much but one involves JayTim fucking during the Titans Tower incident, another is JayTim with animal traits leading to porn, and then another is Tim/Kon/Jon with incest kink stuff. so! i have many things planned, i just need to settle into my new place, however long that takes.

[actual-changeling]

It's not that she isn't scared.

She is. She is absolutely terrified, but she also knows what it is like to be terrified and alone, when fear paralyzes her and she is pushed to the center of the world and swallowed whole. No one comes to save her, no one steps between her and the hands clawing at her.

Well, no one did.

Gunshots echo in her ears, and while she isn't hurt, dizziness is a blurry layer in her vision, and she is pretty sure the seat belt left a nice straight bruise right across her chest. Unimportant, though, considering there's still a bunch of people shooting at them, and with her breaths coming too quickly and shallowly, it's hard to see through gaps in the doors and windows without feeling like she will topple over.

Distantly, she is processing what Joel is telling her, do what he says, stay quiet, crawl into a hole, don't come out, and it all makes enough sense to quietly nod along. Her side is pressed against the cold metal of the car, her knees hurt even though they shouldn't, and Joel is so close that the heat radiating off of him in waves is like sunshine on her skin. Ellie is scared, terrified, but he is right next to her, and somehow that makes her fear meaningless.

"Look at me."

Joel's words cut through the rushing noise in her ears, and her gaze locks onto his face, clinging to the oddly familiar shade of brown and concern that leaves her aching. Outside of Riley, no one has ever given a shit about her, not like this, not ever, yet he looks at her like she is worth something.

"They're not gonna hit you," he breathes, knuckles white around his rifle, and there are about a dozen reasons why he is lying, why that statement is nothing but a hopeful prayer directed at a god that has long stopped listening.

Ellie nods regardless, absently realizing amidst the shots and shattering metal that she might be scared, but it is not for herself, not anymore.

"You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet," Joel continues, unblinking, and there is something in his eyes that leaves her breathless. Everything inside of her is screaming to stay next to him, to not move unless someone grabs her and tears her away from him, but he is asking her to get herself somewhere safe, and if that means he'll be able to focus better and not get shot, she can swallow her rising panic.

"Okay?"

"Okay," she responds, finally realizing what he actually meant.

It's not an unheard prayer or foolish hope; it's a promise.

They're not gonna hit you because he will not let them, and she might not believe in god or fate, but she does believe in him. As the world threatens to rip whatever is left of her life out of her, Joel steps in front of her and keeps her safe.

[kinnbig]

My current WIPs, in the order I last looked at them and for which I have actually written something

thank you for tagging me @kimchaybrainrot I love u (also I am 👀 at all of those but especially the KenBig HI I'M LISTENING INTENTLY.)

Chart Topper chapter 7 (Arm) - I've been working on this today! I love the concept for this chapter and it's finally getting there 🥰

Burnout aka "phoenix fic" - ah yes. the KenBig wip that was supposed to be a lil 2-3k fic that only took a week or so to write... that is now sitting at 20k four months later and still isn't done. rip. I love it so much though, I'm so excited to be able to share this one

assorted kiss prompt ask game ficlets - whoops. TWO MONTHS AGO I did an ask game for fic prompts to try and get me out of my writer's block.. and it worked! I posted 6 kiss prompt ficlets! but uh. there are 11 more in various states of completion 💀 personal faves include some ArmTankhun, some fucked up KenBig, and some RamKing ft Ram wearing a skirt 👀

ArmKhun fake dating fic - one of my favourite fic concepts EVER that has sadly taken a backseat in my brain because of Chart Topper and Burnout. but SOON I will return to my beloved

f/f KimChay - uhhhh. this is just shameless femslash pwp because. I think they should have been lesbians.

Let Me Live in Your Mind chapters 3 & 4- this fic is not abandoned I promise I'm still working on it! I'm just. slow 🫣

Footnotes aka "the Big and Ken centric pain and sadness compilation" lmao - this was suuuuch a huge project for me that I started basically immediately after KinnPorsche ended that just. idk. it's so long. it's not abandoned but it's very much on the back-burner rn

there are also many many half-written oneshots in there that I didn't put in the list because they'll probably never get finished (RamKing fake dating au, ArmKhun fic where Khun kills Korn, a KimChay exes with benefits thing, etc etc...) I just hoard WIPs like a dragon in a cave I can't help it!

I think lots of people have already been tagged so sorry if this is a double tag! but I'm tagging @sidras-tak @giraffeter @tumsa @prismatic-witch @days-of-storm @cytharat @snickerdoodlles - but no pressure of course! 💖

[boxofthings]

For the prompt!!

Injured Ghost in battle with a new to 141 Roach?

Or if you'd like

Roach/Ghost fic where they first get together?

Here's some injured!Ghost with FNG!Roach :)

This one was a bit hard for me, and overall it turned out a bit dumb, but I hope you enjoy!

I'll also go back and do the second prompt when I have time :)

Read on AO3

---

He's cursing up a storm as soon as he hits the ground. 

The bullet wound gushes a bright red through his jacket, but he can't spare himself a moment to properly look over the damage.

His rifle aims forward and steady regardless of his downed position, and he radios in a frustrated distress to the rest of the squad.

He almost hopes no one comes to help him so he can finish off the enemy forces by himself. He's done it before, with much less blood in his body than now, and he'd been faring extremely well until the slight slip-up of a lucky shot through his abdomen.

If he weren't so emotionally stunted, he'd maybe grant himself the displeasure of embarrassment, but all he allows himself is angry resolve.

The wound isn't that bad, he tells himself. He can still push forward.

\The dilapidated walls are poor coverage for an injured soldier on enemy lines, but he uses this as leverage and peeks around the corner to shoot right through the weakened cement, right where he knows two hostiles are hidden behind.

Unfortunately, his opponents can do the same, and Ghost barely has a second to scramble away before a force of gunfire rips straight through his own barrier, earning himself two knicks to his torso and leg.

He's still fast, despite the injuries, and manages to drag himself to another corner of the building, completely negligent of his newly sustained ailments. He fires in the direction where the bullets came from, and the gunfire ceases.

He's trained himself for years to withstand the pain. The mission comes first, and then his well-being, it's his purpose as a soldier, after all.

But now that the adrenaline has started to slow, he's beginning to feel the familiar creeping pain flaring up his body.

He checks his comms again and only hears a mirror of his own situation. The captain and whatever subordinates are with him are locked in a much similar gunfight.

He's on his own, as usual. But it's nothing to let himself be slowed down by.

With a pained grunt, he hefts himself up from his crumpled position in the corner and keeps his gun trained forward as he staggers through the halls.

Ghost is efficient. He knows he took out the majority of the hostiles on his end. Now all that's left is the straggling remainders, and then he'll be done.

With blood pulsing through his ears, he forces steady breaths as he searches through the area. 

He finds the bodies of men he'd just taken out, limp and bloodied on the concrete ground. There's no one else in the vicinity.

He's about to radio in with Soap, ask for the extraction point and allow himself a few spare breaths to look over his injuries when he hears the telltale shuffle of a boot.

He turns around with razor-sharp precision, fast and ready to fire, but the enemy is just a second faster than him, and another bullet hits him right in the hip.

Before Ghost can shoot, he's yanked to the side painfully. And in his daze, he barely catches the FNG finishing off his attacker in a clean and efficient shot to the head.

"The fuck?" he shouts, hand coming to press hard on his abused side. It's damp upon contact.

After surveying the area, the FNG turns to him and crouches down to press his hands onto the more serious wounds on Ghost's person, lifting his vest so he can access the injuries.

"I had that," Ghost seethes. If his new teammate hadn't pushed him to the ground, he's sure he would've landed the finishing blow just fine.

The sergeant ignores him and gives him a once-over, followed by a grimaced "You're injured."

"I was fine," Ghost reiterates. He's about to express more of his frustration when the other starts wrapping a tourniquet around his middle as tight as possible.

The pain zings through his veins in hot pulses, and his grievances promptly die on his tongue.

The adrenaline has fully simmered out, and only now does Ghost begin to feel the painful burn of the bullets fully. "There might be more-"

"Took care of them."

His grip on his gun falters, and he feels his hands begin to shake.

"Why'd you even take this area alone?" The other signs after finishing the second tourniquet. He moves his hands upwards and begins to poke and prod at the injuries on his abdomen. Ghost hisses.

"I always do this." 

The FNG has the audacity to snort once he says this, and Ghost feels his hackles rise. "The captain is aware of my capabilities. I don't need the new recruit underestimating my skills."

"It's Roach," the FNG says simply, completely unperturbed, as he continues to feel up Ghost's torso.

He's getting frustrated–frustrated and indignant at having the new guy come to his rescue, only to berate him immediately afterwards.

He swats Roach's hands away and begins to stand.

His injuries flare in protest, but he ignores them as he limps toward where he remembers the exit being.

He uses the walls as support, bloodying them with his palms as he staggers by.

Roach is immediately at his side, offering his shoulder as a crutch, but Ghost deliberately pushes further away from him.

He's secretly glad the newest duckling of the squad isn't vocally talkative. He can easily ignore the insistent hand gestures waved beside him.

That is until Roach steps in front of him, eyes narrowed in what can only be annoyed finality.

He offers out his arm and shoulder again, clearly leaving no room for protest, but when Ghost only stares at it, he sighs. "If you don't want to lean on me, I guess I'll just have to carry you."

Well, now Ghost is really annoyed. Who was this subordinate to be talking to him as if he were incompetent? Ghost's lips curl back in a sneer, and regardless of the mask, he's sure Roach can see it.

Roach takes a moment to study Ghost, taking in his peeved expression and stubbornness to cooperate. He takes a step back, and Ghost thinks he's won.

Except instead of the shoulder, Roach now offers him his hand, innocently stretched out, palm up, awaiting Ghost to take hold of it.

And the momentary confusion the action brings purges almost all of his previous ire.

Roach is still looking at him expectantly, and now it's Ghost's turn to sigh. They shouldn't be wasting time anyway. The hand, not currently clutching his side, now intertwines with Roach's, the blood now staining the sergeant's glove, too. 

They make their way out of the building, down several flights of stairs, and maneuver through the destroyed mess the fight had left behind.

Surprisingly, Roach had not said a thing, had let Ghost lead the way, gun loaded and ready while still holding onto the lieutenant's hand.

It must've been an odd image, but Ghost would take this over being fireman carried like a sack of rocks. And at least he still had the autonomy to walk on his own as opposed to if he had leaned on Roach for support.

Still, it wasn't often he held hands on the battlefield after getting shot at–wasn't often he held someone's hand at all.

When they reach the exit, Ghost comms in for the extraction point and requests the carrier pick them up closer to him. Soap responds with an affirmative.

While they wait for the rest of the squad, Ghost looks down at their locked hands, then back at Roach, who doesn't seem even a tad bit bothered by this display.

He gestures a quick "ok?" hand sign, and Ghost grunts a tentative "Yeah."

It's only when the captain arrives at their location does Roach release his hand from Ghost's, and he doesn't feel like unpacking the psychology behind why that makes him feel strange.

---

Once he's strapped down in the carrier, he allows himself a minute's reprieve. As soon as Soap had seen him, he'd requested medical evac specifically for Ghost, and he was too tired to protest.

Now, as the medics aimed to stabilize his more serious wounds, he realized that Roach had joined him in the carrier and was still at his side, strapped to his own seat and staring intently at Ghost.

His empty hand twitches.

He supposes he should at least praise the sergeant for his tight work, even if Ghost had been sure he could've handled it without him.

But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, the sergeant signs a humoured, "Want me to hold your hand?" and Ghost immediately retracts all his previous sentiments.

"Shut up, bug."

[gible-love-nibles-archive]

^ His face when Aspen makes the seventh "Just a city boy" joke about his outfit

[nonstoplover]

sleep without you ~ charles leclerc (cl16)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

song inspiration: sleep without you ~ brett young

summary: charles struggles to function properly without her by his side, or a story of a night without his girlfriend.

words: 2.1K

warnings: nothing, just fluff and a slightly clingy charles baby <3

a/n: idk why but this song honestly screams charles to me whenever i hear it, so i just had to make it happen. also this was supposed to be posted on my one year f1-aversary as celebration (well technically it should be more if counting my childhood f1 years but anyway), but i was so caught up in another wip that i couldn't do it. so happy anniversary to me and f1 (two weeks late) with this lil ficlet <3 thankful for all that f1 gave me.

big thanks to the amazing lovely silverstonesainz for helping me make this better and to the equally awesome monzabee for making me much less anxious with her words. love you sm queens!!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Charles spends a whole afternoon trying to convince her to have a night out with her friends. Just because they're in a relationship doesn't mean they can't have fun without the other as well from time to time. There are still a couple of weeks left of winter break, plenty of opportunity to spend time just the two of them before the season starts again. So the usual point of view, the usual reasoning doesn't stand a chance – that they should spend as much time together as they can, before he's back to travelling all around the world.

"Go to a club, grab some drinks, dance and laugh the night away", he tells her. The usual bestie coffee dates or walks in the park that she usually raises as argument are not the same as a night out, and she hasn't done that for so long now. Definitely not since he's been back home, and he knows just how much she enjoys dancing her heart out.

(y/n) agrees after a short while, accepting his reasons, knowing full well that he's right, and after a few phone calls she starts getting ready, soon walking out the front door, dressed all pretty and dolled up.

Doesn't take long before Charles realises what he's done. A feeling tingles in his chest, one he recognises swiftly. He's miserable. Solely because she's not there by his side, as he makes dinner, eats it – all by himself –, before settling on the couch to occupy himself with a movie. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't even know what's going on, he hasn't heard a single line, too busy thinking about her.

When the credits start to roll, he switches the TV off with a surprised look in his eyes – how did it already end? He doesn't even remember the first scene ending. Then he moves into the bathroom to do his night routine, from taking a shower to putting on some skincare products, all the while wondering how long she will be out for? Will she come home soon? Hope tingles in his chest that the answer to his question is yes.

Having finished with everything, Charles lies down in bed, trying to read a book, then scrolling on social media, doing anything to keep his mind from straying over and over again back to her. He knows this is stupid, he was the one telling her to go out, why is he like this now? Lying awake on his side of the bed, the fingers on his right hand tracing figures onto the sheet where her body usually rests.

This is pathetic, Charles thinks. He never thought he would be like this, so miserable and impatient just because she's not at home, with him. He's tossing around, unable to find a comfortable position for himself – it seems like he forgot how to sleep without her. No matter how many times he's had to do just that, in hotel rooms all around the world. The past few weeks erased all those nights from his mind.

The delicious scent of her shampoo fills his lungs when his face lands just a bit too close to her pillow, and all of a sudden it's like he's burying his nose in her hair. It only makes him miss her more. Sleeping is impossible, he knows it now. He's only daydreaming, not actually dreaming, of her arriving home and being in his arms again.

Charles imagines the way she dances in the middle of the floor, her hands in the air, shouting the lyrics loudly to the song currently playing – most probably something she knows and loves –, and he can't help but smile fondly. Just the thought of her having fun is enough to make him happier, even in his misery.

He pictures a scene where a random guy tries to get too close to her, as it has happened so many times, whenever he leaves her alone for a few minutes at any club they've been to. It doesn't matter where they are, doesn't matter if they spent the night so far together, all over each other, someone comes into the picture immediately when he leaves, either to grab a drink for the two of them, or to go to the restrooms.

It's not like he doesn't understand those guys. She's simply gorgeous, and radiates such a vibrant aura that everyone is drawn to her. He honestly just finds it funny at this point. Nothing makes these men back off more effectively than her. Oh, the amount of times he bit back laughter watching the scene unfold from a distance. Seeing men crumble and disappear looking all ashamed, what a sight that is. And he doesn't have to do anything.

He wonders how many times she's had to fight off guys so far tonight, with him not even in the club, and he finds he can't wait to hear all her stories of the newest victims. Pierre never understood why Charles found it so amusing, he didn't seem to get it. The trust they have in each other. Knowing that it's him she'll come home to at the end of the night is enough to make him only feel entertained by each instance, and not irritated at the slightest bit.

But thinking about (y/n) fighting off men is only good enough entertainment for a limited amount of time, and soon the smile fades back into a miserable pout on his lips, as his thoughts turn back into ones of impatience, trying to make time move faster with short little prayers falling as mumbles from his lips.

With a sigh, he eventually sits up, looking around to find something he can do. At last he decides on grabbing a drink himself, maybe it will help stop the flow of thoughts racing in his head. A little welcomed dullness.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on the liquid in his glass, enjoying the feeling of the light alcohol gently burning his throat on the way down, numbing his tongue along the way. His fingers stay restless, now drumming on the wooden surface. A few minutes later he realises they play a song, soundless except the soft thud of his fingertips with the occasional louder tap or little scratch of his nails when a finger finds a different angle to hit the table with.

A melody appears in his mind as he watches his fingers move, imagining how it would sound if it was his piano instead of the kitchen table. He would go sit at the beautiful, white instrument and try it, but he doesn't want to be so loud at such a late hour. And anyway, he's way too comfortable sitting where he is to stand up and go somewhere else.

He looks out the window, catching sight of the moon – almost full, just a tiny bit of it missing, and Charles examines the craters that are visible to the naked eye, though only as spots of a darker shade on the round shape.

Maybe he'll name this new musical piece that's being born in his head right now after her – well, if he ever finishes it. He'll keep the usual format, three letters of a city name and a date, only this time putting the time and place of when they first met. Or should it be the time and place of when he first asked her out? Or their first date? Or when she agreed to move in with him? God, there are way too many options to choose from. He decides to put this problem aside for now, he's not in a rush to name a song not even written yet.

As the clock on the oven changes all four numbers to display 2am, the action rouses his attention and makes him tear his eyes away from the moon and look at the numbers instead.

He would've never ever thought that he'd be like this.

Raising his glass he notices that there's only a small sip left in it, which he downs in a short moment. His tongue darts out to gather all the minuscule drops that might rest on his lips still, not wanting to waste even that much of the delicious drink. Then he stands up, placing the glass down into the sink, making a mental note to clean it in the morning before (y/n) wakes up.

Just as he ponders putting another movie on, maybe only as background noise if nothing else, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants. Taking his time, Charles pulls the device out, expecting nothing more than a useless notification from a social media app he shouldn't spend so much time on anyway.

Instead what he finds is a text. From her.

in a cab, be home soon &lt;3

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile, one that you could almost call giddy. It's not just the thought that she's going to be here soon, but the fact that she remembered to text him to let him know. He's in her mind, just like she's in his, even though she's been out with friends, having fun, drinking, while he's only been at home, all alone with his misery.

Now he can move back to bed happily, knowing that shortly she will join him.

It truly doesn't take long until Charles hears the front door creak as it opens, then the familiar jingle of her keys hitting the drawer in the hall, and his heart flutters with happiness. Finally. The high heels she chose to wear hit the floor with a soft thud as she presumably removes them, and the growing anticipation in his body seems to eat him whole.

Her steps grow louder and louder as she moves closer to the bedroom, and time slows for Charles. He watches in slow motion as she appears in the doorframe, being propped up on his elbows to have a better view, a lazy smile curling onto his face, and his eyes lidded with drowsiness.

"You're still awake?" (y/n) giggles, pausing in her steps for a second as her eyes take in the view he provides lying there. His lack of reply to her text made her think he's already fallen asleep.

"Of course," he mumbles. "Come to bed."

His voice is whiny and he behaves like an actual child, he knows, but he can't help it. He wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep beside her, feeling her warmth against his skin. That's the only way he can.

"Let me get changed first," she starts towards the closet, when a grunt of pure displeasure sounds from him along with the thump of his back as he falls into a lying position once more, making her glance back at her boyfriend. "What, can't wait a single minute?"

"No," he protests, pouting . "I've been waiting for hours."

His accent comes forth stronger when he's sleepy, and she can't help but smile adoringly upon hearing it. He's just so cute.

"Okay, fine, you'll get one kiss," she gives in. Charles resembles a lost puppy and she's sure he knows that's her weakness. She can't ever say no to anything when he looks like that.

So that's how she finds herself crawling into bed, trying to get as close as possible to the boy without causing damage to her dress. He grins, as much as his tired facial muscles allow, awaiting her lips touching his own. His pout becomes even more apparent, right until the moment he finally gets what he wants. His goodnight kiss. It's soft, slow and just so full of love it makes both their hearts flutter.

Then she caresses his cheek gently, whispering a barely audible good night, sleep tight to him, before moving back off the bed to disappear in the closet, leaving Charles to think about how he'd happily convince her again of going out if it means she'll come home to him, looking so radiant, properly buzzing with energy, eyes shining, hair messy but still looking so breathtaking. It's obvious how much it meant to her that she had this night out. He made her happy with telling her to go out with her friends, and he didn't regret it, despite all the miserable hours.

By the time she finishes her night routine and walks back into the bedroom once more, he's fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the room. She bites into her bottom lip to keep in the giggle threatening to burst out, and with a heart full of adoration and a head slightly dizzy from the drinks she's had, she gets in bed beside him, snuggling up close to him, revelling in the feeling of his arms instinctively finding their way around her body even when he's sleeping.

He truly only waited for her to come home and give him a goodnight kiss to finally be able to fall asleep.

[muldermuse]

Naughty List (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Gator comes round to reader’s house on Christmas Eve to get his gift.

This is in the two sinners world.

18+ only!! Smut ahead!!! Fic includes sub!Gator, dom!f!reader, oral (f recieving), mentions of wax play and piv sex, teasing language, use of restraints, dry humping, use of underwear as a gag, mentions of spanking with belt, panty kink????, brief aftercare. Reader fucking loves being mean to Gator hahaha I love her (me).

This is the completed version of this lil ficlet. And apologies, I was going to post it on Xmas day but I was too drunk and merry to edit and write. I’m not 100% with this one but it was fun fun fun. Like all the two sinners stuff is. Thank u all for reading and engaging with the series. ❤️ u all.

Ok seeing Gator on Christmas Day is out of the question. He’s spending the day with Glenda and Roy reciting their favourite psalms and thanking the lord for a bountiful Christmas. Glenda goes all out at Christmas, it’s obviously her favourite holiday and she constantly updates her Facebook with pictures of a content looking Roy and an exhausted looking Gator. No doubt, Glenda will have made him a piece of her artwork and bought him some novelty socks. He’ll smile at her and press a kiss to her cheek but you rejoice in the knowledge that thoughts of your Christmas Eve are running through his head. 

[sent at 13:30] You: got your Christmas present at my house. Door will be unlocked for when you finish at 6. I’ll be upstairs 🎁

[received at 13:42] Gator💩🐍: am i on the nice list?

[sent at 13:43] You: no. See you at 6 💋

***

His Christmas present is you- OBVIOUSLY. But it’s a version of you that Gator only really gets when he begs and even then, you don’t always give it him. He asks for this when you eat his ass or when he’s had a week of getting non stop shit from his daddy or Glenda. 

He wants you to turn him on that much his brain switches off.

He wants you to be in control and dominate him. 

You’re wearing a red lace set with garters and pointy red heels. It’s nearly pitch black by the time Gator arrives. You’ve left one lamp lit downstairs to guide him up but, honestly, he knows the layout of your home like the back of his hand. In the bedroom, your curtains are open with the twinkling of outdoor Christmas lights provide occasional flickers that illuminate your white linen bed sheets. A cinnamon candle is glowing by the door and nearly blows out when Gator enters as dramatic as ever. 

You’re sat at the end of the bed waiting for him and you smirk as you take in his expression- seemingly enthralled by your red look. 

“Crawl to me, baby” your voice is low and by the way Gator drops to his knees without hesitation and a look of relief on his face- you already know how tonight is going to go. 

He’s slow in his movement, keeping eye contact with you as he crawls towards your open legs and stopping a few inches from your panties. His eyes are fixed on the damp spot on your red underwear and his shuddering breaths are filling the room. You run your hands through his slicked back hair as you try not to recoil at the unnatural feeling of brushing your nails through hair gel. 

“Y’wanna taste?” He looks up at you with the most love sick eyes you’ve ever seen, he nods slowly as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip. You grip his hair in your hand as you push him into your panties, “make me cum with my panties still on baby- y’don’t deserve to taste properly just yet”. He groans as he pushes his face further into your pussy. He’s messy with it and you can feel his spit dripping down between your legs. It feels so good and the knowledge that he’s desperate to please you brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Take my panties off and make me cum on your tongue Gator, don’t let me down” you throw your head back on the bed as you feel Gator rip your panties down your legs and throw them across the room. He’s that desperate to make you cum he’s moaning into your pussy as he eats you out and you know he’s palming himself over his cargos. Your back arches as you clamp your thighs around Gator’s head and cry out as you cum. 

He’s pressing hot kisses to your thighs as your pussy clenches around nothing, you can feel your breathing begin to regulate again as you come down from your high. Your hand smoothes over his ruffled hair, “that was so good Gator. You did such a good job…good to know you can do something right”. His smile drops at your final sentence. On trembling legs you head over to your closest to get the box that Gator both wants and dreads. The box is full of sex toys, restraints (some crudely made and some from a hidden sex store in town) and things that you’ve seen at a local store and thought could be fun and sexy. Jax has contributed to the box, he bought some candles and teased you for hours by slowly dropping hot wax over your chest whilst fucking you softly. Gator was devastated when he found out and had begged you to do it to him the next day. You weren’t as gentle and he fucking loved it. 

You can hear him kicking off his boots and unzipping his cargos. 

“Did I tell you to get undressed?”

“No but uh- I thought…”

You softly kiss him, tasting the remnants of your cum on his plush lips. “Don’t think baby, I know how hard that can be for you. Just lie on the bed dressed how you are now- hands above your head”. Your voice is authoritative and Gator never wants to disappoint you when he’s in this headspace. 

As soon as his hands are placed at your headboard, you click pink fluffy handcuffs around them and make sure that they are tight. There’s something about the sight of your local Sheriff tied to your bed with novelty pink handcuffs that you love. You’ve taken a picture before and when you really want to fuck with Gator you’ll send it to him when you know he’s working with his daddy. You look at Gator, a silent check in to make sure he’s okay and he replies with a quick nod. He looks fucked out already, his lower face is red from the lace rubbing against it and his usually perfectly placed hair is disheveled. He looks desperate and that’s exactly how he wants it. You retrieve your panties from the floor and sit over Gators clothed cock. 

“D’you really think you’re on the nice list this year baby? Can you tell me anything nice you’ve done for me?” 

You slowly start to grind against his hard cock. When you look down, you can see a wet spot of his pre cum soaking through his cargos. You can feel him thrust up to try and get some friction to his achingly hard cock. You quickly rise so he gets nothing. 

You grip his cheeks so his lips purse out “this isn’t good boy behaviour, Gator”. You inch closer to his face, “if you move again without my permission, you can fucking crawl home to her and fuck your fist to thoughts of me like some pathetic fucking loser”.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m f- I’m so sorry” he can’t think straight. His hands are in tight fists at the top of the bed and the sound of his breath filling the room. In and out. In and out. Probably trying to slow his breathing so he doesn’t cum when you start to grind down on him again. 

The red underwear is quickly pushed towards his face. “Can you smell my cum baby? You were so good at doing that. Y’want another taste?” He nods as the balled up fabric is shoved into his mouth. You watch in awe as his eyes roll back whilst the makeshift gag stifles his moan. Rotating your hips slowly, you start to rock against his hard cock. 

“Y’know when Jenson was round here a few nights ago. He left his belt, he was desperate to get his pants off as soon as he came in the door”. The fabric of Gator’s cargo is beginning to feel damp, you know it’s a mix of his pre cum and your arousal covering his work pants. It feels so good for you so you can imagine Gator’s getting close to cumming. His eyes are locked onto your body, watching your hips steadily swirl against him. “I was thinking I could use his belt on you, maybe could’ve bent you over the bed and used it to spank you”. His eyes screw shut and you can’t help the laugh that slips out. His body is stiff with tension underneath yours. 

“Gator,” you chide, voice high and mocking “are you gonna cum thinking about me using some guys belt on you? Thinkin’ about me punishing you?”. He thrusts up and rather than backing off him you press your pussy harder against him. Rocking your hips back and forth on his cock and hearing him whimper through the lace underwear in his mouth. You lower your lips to his ear as you order him in a whisper to “cum in your pants before I send you back to your girlfriend and daddy”. He thrusts one final time against you and moans loudly as his eyes screw shut. His hands are in tight fists as he pulls off from the headboard and breaks the handcuffs into two pieces. With his now free hand, he pulls your underwear out of his mouth with staggered breath. 

He’s cum in his pants; the already dark fabric now a darker colour around his crotch. His hands are covering his eyes with the broken restraints around his wrists like pink fluffy bracelets. You hear him curse under his breath as his breathing starts to normalise. He’s usually a bit vulnerable when you take control so you’re more affectionate than usual. Normally, after he cums you’re both in a hurry to leave, not wanting to stay in each others vicinity to enjoy the post orgasm bliss. It has to be different when it’s like this and you both silently know it. He sits up on the bed and you get in his lap again, slicking his hair back down and helping him get out of the now broken handcuffs. You press a soft kiss to his forehead and he grips your hip as a wordless thank you. 

Before he leaves, you hand him your panties with the smell of his spit and your orgasm still on the fabric. He smirks as he tucks them into his back pocket. 

On Christmas evening, he sends you a picture of his hard clock with your panties wrapped round it. It immediately turns you on as you can picture the scene. Glenda and Roy will be asleep in their rooms as Gator is fisting his cock with your underwear. His lip will be red from biting with him trying to keep his moans from slipping out. He’ll be thinking of you and it makes you feel fucking great. 

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: [image attached]

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: best Christmas present this year

[amostnobleyandere]

Yandere! Scaramouche x GN! Reader

summary: reader lives in a small town and hates it, scara drops by, and then they get kidnapped.

A/N: tiny-whiny, teeny-weeny lil ficlet!

!!! do not read if you are not comfortable with yandere content !!!

warning(s): YANDERE, yandere content, kidnapping, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, forced affection, forced marriage, scara has a bad temper and is irritated af literally all the time, mention of blood and gore for two seconds

—————————

people in your little village had always told you that your reckless behavior would lead to something dangerous. something that you wouldn’t be able to handle. the warnings had been thrown at you throughout the years, but never seemed to have any effect on your behavior.

in fact, they had warned you about him before you had even met. the second he came into town, actually. he was the fatui harbinger that walked across nations like he owned them, looked at people as if they were weeds at his feet, and spit burning words with an acid coated tongue. he was shrewd and had an explosive temper that matched his arrogant personality. he spilt blood without care, laying battlefields in rivers of crimson. he was not merciful, not kind, and you were certain there were no traits that could have possibly redeemed him as a man, much less a human, now that you knew he was made from clay and paint rather than flesh and blood.

it was just a way to have a little fun; that’s how it had started, and that’s how you had rationalized it. for once in your life, you were flirtatious, bold with reckless abandon, and charmingly lovely with a man, doing your best to grab his attention. the only appeal of trying to form a relationship with him came from the fact that he was a harbinger and had seen the world, something that you had always dreamed about; it mattered little to you that he was cross and sarcastic, as long as there was a possibility that he would let you see the world outside of the quaint huts and humble farmland that you grew up in

you did recognize that you were practically walking to your death; you really did. you weren’t so stupid to think that pestering a harbinger, someone so desensitized to human suffering, blood and gore alike, would leave you with no consequences.

but, you had lived in a small town in the secluded countryside, with homely people and an itch to see the unknown. your life felt repetitive, stuck, and it nearly drove you mad. so yes, when one of the harbingers of the Tsarita, a god among mortals, suddenly lodged himself into the boring domesticity of some random no-name town on secret business, you became a little overexcited. for once, something big was making waves in your life, with the violet haired man at the center of it all. the rush went to your head quickly, and you found yourself playing a game that had dire consequences if (when) you lost.

you were friendly at best, and coy at worst. you vied for his attention. you greeted him cheerfully when he obviously did not want to be greeted. you smiled when his temper went off and he snapped at you with that vile mouth, all cruel words and biting remarks.

worst of all, you talked with him. you spent time with him, walked and made conversation, not noticing how he almost relaxed around you. looking back on it, you think that was what had put the nail in your coffin.

there was no sign that he was attached to you, and you were content with your rocky companionship in the end.

one day even, he said he had never met someone so forward, but he spoke the words with a sneer that revealed his displeasure at your persistence.

you took that sneer as a sign that he wanted nothing to do with you, however persistent you may have been. that he would simply use you as a source of entertainment, and then leave, leave your little town, like you so desperately ached to.

and you told him this, too. you told him about your dreams, your hopes, one day with a sad smile and a bitter laugh. perhaps it had just been the fact that you were talking with someone who might sympathize with you, or at least, consider your words of traveling the world and treat them as if they could actually become reality.

on this day, his eyes did soften. he looked at you not with irritation or annoyance, but with a placid and neutral expression. he did not speak. his eyes only looked through you, meeting your gaze and not turning away. his silence quickly began to make you uncomfortable, and you changed to subject with a forced laugh, excusing yourself to go back home, as the sun went down behind the hills and the glow began to dim from your skin.

he left the next day. that was all you expected to see of him in the end. you returned back to your daily life easily. you were not happy, but remorsefully indifferent towards the fact that the last bit of something new you would probably ever see had left forever; you tried to be.

one day, however, when night had come over your village and all was silent, there was a knock at your door. you got up, not expecting to see the harbinger standing there with his arms crossed, that same placid expression on his face.

you watched his eyes narrow. he dismissed your reasoning with a wave of his hand. he dragged you outside.

that was the last you saw of your little town.

you travel now. You have to, with him being your husband. but, you never got to see the world. you could not take a step outside of the little bubble he had formed for you. the only joy that came of the never ending travel that was now your life happened when he allowed you to come and walk by his side to explore, letting you gawk and flitter around until he dragged you back with him into your little bubble, his hand on your wrist.

you are draped in riches, silks chosen by his hand, and are given every luxury you could ever need.

most importantly, you are his spouse, first and foremost, and are expected to act as such. you entertain yourself at home while hes gone, and greet him when he comes back. it was an easy routine to follow. almost as easy as the one you had back in your old town, which now whenever you thought back to it brought tears to your eyes. at least your life had belonged to you solely, back then. now you are the spouse of a fatui harbinger.

you had stopped trying to get him to let you go, after your last attempt to protest him ripping you from your ordinary life only got you a dismissive wave of his hand and a disinterested glare. never mind that this isn’t what you had meant when you said you wanted to travel the world; he was making it happen. it was better than being stuck in that quaint village for the rest of your mortal life, right?

hadn’t he given you what you wanted? the only price was to stay here, with him, with everything you could ever need at your feet. the only price was your freedom.

[amywritesthings]

it's my (second) favorite time of the year!

since i have had one (1) wisp of crisp fall air, i have been dying to write some fall time fun / halloween-related drabbles to KO my burnout and get back into the writing spirit. i totally don't know what i'm doing, but we're gonna vibe anyway to celebrate the season + my milestone of 2.5k+ followers!

some housekeeping rules !!

anyone can participate. (haaay followers how are you?)

you can send as many prompts, questions, + game items as you'd like!

if you're like 'dang amy i wish you'd write this blorbo but it's not on your prompt list of possibilities' please send it anyway!

i may not answer a drabble or ficlet prompt due to muse, time, etc but please do not take this personally.

i won't interact with anything hateful or nasty about a character, ship, show etc. i don't care for negativity, so please keep it on your doorstep and not mine!

have fun!! this is meant to be silly fun! event submissions end 11/01.

activities !!

FICLET/DRABBLES | feel free to send me prompts from links one, two, three, or send me a totally original idea. they can be halloween / fall related, or a random au idea connected to a story i have already written.

ASK ME ANYTHING | got a burning question about a story of mine? have inquiries for me as an author? dying to know my thoughts on a certain show, movie, or video game? just wanna ask what my favorite color is? send it in!

GAMES | fuck - marry - kill: blorbo edition, 3-song playlists for canons (ships or solo) or self ships, truth or dare, etc.

FOR THE LOVELY MUTUALS | send a 🎃 and i'll write you a lil note

characters/fandoms under the cut:

attack on titan — levi ackerman, armin arlert, eren yeager, annie leonhart, hange zoe, erwin smith, jean kirstein

jujutsu kaisen — gojo satoru, choso kamo, megumi fushiguro, yuuta okkotsu, inumaki toge, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, sukuna

my hero academia — bakugou katsuki, midoriya izuku, kirishima eijirou, toshinori yagi, todoroki shoto, dabi, hawks

fields of mistria — march, orlic

wind breaker — sakura, umemiya

baldur's gate 3 — astarion

love and deepspace — xavier, sylus

pedro universe — din djarin, joel miller, dieter bravo

please note: i'm happy to write polyship/threesome dynamics as well

[mandiemegatron]

\\ 𝑭𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊 & 𝑷𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 //

18 + ONLY, MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Rated: M, sexual themes present. // period sex, rough sex, inappropriate uses of fishman senses 😈

A/N : hehehehe didnt I tell yall I'd be posting something abt this ? This ask has been running rampant in my head since I got it and this was what came to mind. Half headcanons, half lil ficlet, incredibly filthy all around 🤭🤭💖💖 as always, these are my own personal headcanons, you may enjoy and use them as you please but DO NOT claim them as your own, I WILL cry. And also be nice if you don't agree - you can just move along, no need to be mean 😤 OKAY smooch smooch love you all so much, be good my lil tangerines! 💖💖💖💖💋💋💋 [if u see errors.... no u don't 💖]

♡&♡ ; Living on the Ploar Tang was a wild experience - not only due to being one of the two women on board but it was definitely a big factor. It took three months for Shachi to finally admit he had a huge crush on you, only for his mouth to drop open when you admitted with bright red cheeks that you liked him too. Everyone on board felt like they could finally breathe afterwards, laughing and poking fun at the two of you whenever they saw you together, but neither of you minded, deciding to laughing along instead. You loved how silly he was, how carefree and uplifting he could be and you couldn't deny, it kinda made you horny. Warmth would spread easily over your skin when he flashed those sharp teeth at you, a loud laugh falling from him at whatever Penguin said. You made it your mission to jump his bones as soon as possible. Luckily, you didn't have to wait long, getting pulled into his and Penguins shared room and having your brains fucked out all night long.

♡&♡ ; your third time together was almost perfect, halfway in the middle of ripping each others clothes off when Penguin burst in the room, eyes wide and face bright red as he took in your naked breasts. He quickly covered his eyes with a shriek, mostly out of embarrassment for you rather than himself, and you couldn't help but laugh. You quickly ran to the door and pulled him in, shutting it behind him and taking his hands from his eyes. You couldn't stop the cackle that rose as he immediately stared at your tits, fingers twitching in your grasp as he fought an inner turmoil. Shachi pulled him out of it by saying, "You can touch her, ya know." Immediately, Penguin pulled his hands from yours and grasps your breasts, thumbs brushing over pert nipples, cashing you to whine softly under your breath. Taking a hand away to grasp the lower part of your face, Penguin gripped it tight enough that you couldn't move away and smashed his lips into yours.

♡&♡ ; Your first time with both of them was memorable, for more than one reason. Hands clawing at skin, leaving angry, red marks and lips pressed anywhere they could reach, the three of you tangled in each others arms. With you kneeling on the bed, sandwiched between your boys, you couldn't help but wonder how long they must have talked about doing this. Their hands were too precise, kisses too desperate and needy - something told you this wasn't a spur of the moment thing.

Shachi's sharp teeth dug into the spot between your neck and your shoulder, biting down hard enough that it broke skin. A guttural groan rumbled from him, muffled by your skin as his tongue roughly licked over the wounds. He had two fingers knuckle deep inside you, his other hand roughly gripping your hips in a death grip helping you fuck down on his fingers.

You didn't see how his eyes moved to Penguins, only looking to him when he pulls back to laugh, a confused sound coming from Penguin behind you. You narrow your eyes, your hand resting on his chest poking him a few times as you huff out,

"What?"

Licking blood from his teeth, he chuckled out,

"Nothin', just.... I made a bet with Peng and he lost."

You turned your head to glanced up at Penguin, who wore a bright red face, his hands stilling on your breasts, your nipples still caught in his fingertips.

"...I don't get it..."

Pulling his hand from you, Shachi raises it to your face, a wicked, almost sadistic grin on his face. You groan loudly in irritation and embarrassment at seeing his bloodied hand, your face turning bright red to match.

"G-god, I'm so sorry - fuck! I'm early, that's such bullshit, I'm so sorry-"

You suddenly wince as you realize Penguins hands had been beginning to grip your breasts a little too tight, your hands moving to tap his forearms (the code word you chose just in case things got too overwhelming) but you paused as Shachi moved to the side.

You were only able to give him a quick, confused look for a second as it quickly turned into an expression of surprise as you were tossed forward, your hips in Penguins rough hands as he wrenches your hips up.

You moan as he suddenly enters you, his hips snapping against your ass as he lets a low, filthy groan fall past his lips. One hand leaves you, only to slap harshly against one cheek, a sob pressing past your lips as Shachis hand gently runs over your hair.

"F-fuck, Y/N, fuck, fuck-"

Penguin finally begins moving, his thrusts desperate and calculated as he pulls right out to press right back in, your velvety walls fluttering around him as he pulls you closer to the edge.

Shachis hand tightens in your hair and your head is lifted, your eyes taking in the sight of his weeping cock. His breath is shaky as he stares down at you, his pupils blown to the point his eyes were almost entirely black, the sight sending a rippling shiver down your spine.

You took no time bringing his cock into your mouth, your tongue swiping over the length and cheeks hollowing, making sure to mind your teeth. You gag as his hips snap into your face, his fat tip bruising the back of your throat as he face fucks you. His head falls back, his own moans falling in tandem with Penguins and your own, the room echoing with sounds of sloppy fucking.

You fall apart first, pulling away from Shachi for a moment to cry out, tears and your essence staining the bed as you squirt all over Penguin. The man gives a shuddering cry, his pace quickening with deeper and more shallow thrusts, sobbing out your name as his hips snap into you a final time, feeling his cock twitch as a gooey warmth fills you.

Shachis free hand grips his aching cock and he places the tip on your swollen lips as he rasps out,

"You better fuckin' take it all, babe."

Your mouth falls open and your tongue envelopes the bottom of his tip. He groans at the sight, giving a few more rough tugs and he falls apart, your mouth immediately taking him in as you suck him down, eyes squeezing shut as you gag back at the texture. When he can't take anymore, he pulls your head back and whimpers out your name, his breathing shaky and quick as he stares lovingly down at you.

Cleaned, showered and in matching pajamas, you sat in Penguins lap with your legs in Shachis, one hand in each of theirs. Penguin would press gentle kisses to the side of your neck every once in a while, a soft almost purring sound rumbling in his chest as he brushed his nose against any skin he could reach.

For some reason, you were having difficulty paying attention to the movie the projector-snail was showing on the wall, suddenly turning to Shachi who rose an eyebrow at you while pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"What did you mean earlier?"

He chuckled and asked innocently,

"Whatchu talkin' about babe? I said a lot of things earlier..."

You rolled your eyes as he wiggled his brows at you, a sneaky look om his face.

"What bet were you talking about?"

Both boys froze.

You sat in the silence for a moment until you finally sighed out loudly,

"Uh, hello?!"

Penguin only groaned, hiding his face into your hair.

"Oh! Yeah, that, huh..."

Shachi could only snicker for a moment before he finally admitted with a smug look,

"I bet Peng that you were gunna bleed today."

Your eyes widened and your face burned, a shocked sound falling past your lips before you asked,

"Are you fucking serious?"

Penguins grip around your waist tightened and you pulled your hands away from them to groan into your palms, embarrassment taking over before it was replaced by utter confusion.

"Wait, what? How?"

Leaning closer to you, his nose brushed your neck and he pressed a few butterfly kisses along your skin before chuckling softly,

"...We could smell it."

Your mouth fell open and you pulled your face into your hands again, this time nearly screaming into them. You pulled them away after a second and you breathed out,

"Holy fuck."

Shachi laughed, grinning at you before pulling you into a deep but quick kiss, his sharp teeth playfully nipping your bottom lip.

"Yeah. Is that hot or what?"

You can't help but snicker softly, rolling your eyes again as you admitted,

"Homestly, I'm just glad you guys aren't turned off by, ya know... all that."

Penguin shook his head, pulling away from your hair to press a kiss to your temple as he murmured out,

"No, it's amazing, you're amazing."

You turned your head slightly to narrow your eyes at him jokingly.

"I am amazing, yes, but this is not amazing. You don't get it, if I could make you guys feel the pain I have to deal with, you'd want to die. But, I love you regardless."

Penguin grins down at you and laughs out,

"But it is amazing! We get to fuck you raw like this, and as much as I love being safe with condoms..."

You turn a bit in his lap as he pulls you into a demanding kiss, his tongue easily dominating yours for a moment until he pulls away, a dark look in his eyes as he almost moans out,

"There's nothing that feels better than filling my honeys pussy."

[jcbbby]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, a gift for everyone! It's a little Caleb Sykes ficlet! Enjoy. :) (I have a longer fic still in the works, btw. This is just a fun lil one off.)

“Give me a whiskey. Double.” Caleb’s deep, gruff voice barked at the barkeep as he sat down at the counter.

The man behind the bar nodded, reaching for a glass and the bottle. A wet popping sound followed by the glug of the pour was music to Caleb’s ears after a long day of travel. He had been riding across the sprawling wilderness for days, sent by his brother to attend to business for the family. There was a matter of debt owed to the Sykes, something that not only were Caleb’s skills and tactics best suited for—but intimidation was something that Caleb reveled and excelled in.

Caleb took his hat off, inspecting it briefly. He brushed a spot of dirt off the brim, setting it down next to him on the counter.

“That’ll be 25.” The bartender set the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Caleb eyed it suspiciously, glaring up at the young barkeep. “This look like double to you? It don’t look like it’s worth even 15 to me.” He growled.

“Well, I-“

Caleb stood up, moving his coat to flash the pistol on his hip. “Now, I’d think real carefully about what you say next.”

The barkeep swallowed harshly, nodding once as he reached again for the bottle. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He poured another couple glugs into the glass. “On the house.” He chuckled nervously.

Caleb glared, forcefully taking the glass in his hand and taking a swig. He spun around in his chair, leaning his back against the counter of the bar. Surveying the inside of the saloon, his eyes fell upon the unlikely pairing of a young brunette seated awfully cozied up to an older, larger gentleman.

He drank as he watched on, the brunette giggled and twirled her hair, raising a glass of ale up to his sweat-glistened lips almost forcefully. The man chuckled heartily, obviously drunk on the ale and seemingly drunk on this woman. Caleb noticed her hand inching closer to the man’s small satchel of coins, tied to his belt loop. He smirked to himself, quickly realizing what was unfolding in front of him.

The woman extended a small switchblade from the hand, distracting the man by pressing herself against him as she swiftly sliced the roped tying the bag to him. Caleb took another swig of his whiskey, chortling into the glass. Impressive, he thought.

“If you could excuse me, honey. I just want to freshen up for a minute in the powder room. Don’t you go anywhere, okay?” The woman giggled, running a finger along the man’s plump cheek.

As the woman turned around, her smile and bubbly demeanor quickly fell. She made her way toward the back of the saloon, but instead of entering the women’s lounge, she took a sharp turn, scurrying out the side door. Through the window, he watched her slink around the back corner of the establishment. He slugged the rest of his glass of whiskey back, reaching for his hat. He knew he couldn’t let this girl go.

The young woman smirked to herself, plopping down against the back wall of the saloon.

“Too easy, as always.” She chuckled to herself, working to untie the purse and count her haul.

The last several years of her life had been spent on the move, thieving; her only means of living. The comforts of home had evaded her since she was a little girl. Orphaned at the age of 10 due to Typhoid fever, all she knew was survival. She had spent some time in an orphanage, which was a horrible existence. It was overcrowded from children who survived attacks in the Apache Wars and run by strict clergy members. She learnt to steal and fight during her time there, lest she go hungry or be intimidated by the other children but was kicked out at 14 to make room for more. Since then, she had been making her own way, by any means she could.

Caleb quietly approached, rounding the corner at the back of the building.

“Well,” he chuckled. “That was mighty impressive.”

The girl quickly reached for her knife, holding it out in front of her. “Back off.”

Caleb sighed. “Woman, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gun fight?” He flashed his pistol, smiling wickedly.

The girl huffed. “You gonna kill me over a few coins?” She tossed the small purse towards him, it landing and spilling at his feet. “Fine then, give it back to your chowderhead friend.”

Caleb bent down to pick the money up. “Oh, I’m not with him, no. And I’m not gonna kill you, darlin’. No, see… I could use a girl like you.” He smirked.

“I ain’t no prostitute, mister.” She scowled.

He chuckled. “No, you certainly ain’t, are ya?”

“You sayin’ I’m too ugly?” She came to her feet, brow furrowed, offended.

Caleb let out a full-belly laugh. “My god, you sure are a feisty one! No, woman, I’m just tryin’ to tell ya I’m impressed with your skill. I watched you hustle that man in there. I think we’d make a great team, you and me.” He handed her the coins.

She slowly took the bag from him, sizing him up for a moment. “Yeah? And who are ya?”

“You familiar with the Sykes family?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re a Sykes?”

He smirked. “The name’s Caleb. And you?”

She took a beat before answering. “Violet.”

Caleb smiled. “Mighty pretty name for a pretty face. Violet what?”

Violet shook her head. “Just Violet. I ain’t got no family, and I ain’t got no family name. I ain’t got nothing.” She tucked the bag of coins into an inner pocket on her jacket.

“Well, you want somethin’?” He smirked.

She looked up from securing her pocket. “Like what?”

“How’s about you come with me, and we can turn those few measly coins into much more.”

“Keep talkin’.” She returned his smirk.

He slowly approached her, his hand reaching up to her cheek. His finger ran along the outside of her cheek and down her jaw. “And maybe…more than money. Maybe a family name to go with it.”

Violet stared up into his piercing blue eyes, icy and deep. To anyone else, they would have been cold and imposing. But to her, they were inviting. She didn’t know him, but she swore in his eyes it was like an ocean of promise.

[staranon95]

dincobb summer bingo anyone?

i was tossing this idea around in the dincobb server today and thought that we need another lil event for the community! have some fun, get creative, get to know each other, and just have a big summer blast

tentative dates and stuff have yet to be decided. probably starting the summer solstice for when the bingo goes out and posting begins at the end of august.

any type of creative input will be welcome! podfics, ficlets, one shots, pinboards, collages, playlists, sketches, line art. even if you have a long suffering wip you'd like to finish, feel free to take a look and see if any of the prompts inspire you! i want to welcome anything and everything to this

until the details are more finalized, i'm currently looking for summer themed prompts! feel free to message me here if you have any ideas. i'd love to get the ball rolling on this

[pouralaura]

pinned post: writing

spoiler alert: most of it is about the devil guy

my take on Raphael is very whimsical and indulgent; I like to highlight his flaws (pride, namely) and his weird idiosyncrasies. I generally write him with some more borderline taboo proclivities and as a bit of a fetishist because, to me, that's decadent and indulgent and the height of whimsy and core of his character. my Tav (both the faceless version I use in my longer fics and my own Eris), meanwhile, is also very prideful, but she's extremely self-aware and in her own head about it all the time. she finds Raphael pathetic and endearing and incredible; Raphael finds her to be his perfect vice. they're absolutely apeshit about each other in everything I write and they're both big time switches

asks open, prompt fill requests are more than welcome, and I am always open to taking comms through DM here or on twitter!

fic links below (all explicit, please heed the tags when you get there):

who will burn who: a university AU in which Professor Raphael and his favorite student have a Mutually Pleasurable Arrangement (read: he gets her off during his class and she gives him her underwear which he then enjoys thoroughly)

teeter: an exploration of Raphael and Tav in Act III and how they're far too proud to admit their feelings for one another, even when things escalate and become extremely sexually charged between them

I won't speak of love: a oneshot focusing on Tav's indecision and dislike for playing the hero, where her time with Raphael is the only thing that makes her feel normal and in control of something for once

your pout or your fist: a VERY silly pre-relationship oneshot in which Raphael taunts Tav with a portrait of himself and Haarlep in Tav's likeness and she gets extremely salty and horny about it

Indulgences: a theatrical and dramatic oneshot where Raphael and Tav enjoy a little priest and confessor punishment roleplay teehee

tomorrow means nothing: a white lotus AU where Raphael is a hitman and Tav is a pretty young thing who can't stop running into him on vacation

debasement: this one is feet. I wasn't kidding about the fetishist thing. but it's not about the feet, it's about the indulgent whimsy of it all and how Tav embraces it and indulges him in turn. give it a shot I swear it's actually really fun

other stuff:

if the shoe fits: a lil Astarion x Tav fic that was literally just an excuse to put a pretty man in a corset and thigh-high boots and write about him using said boots in extremely explicit ways

tumblr-exclusive ficlets:

reflection (my Eris x Raph)

hold your applause (potatocrisp's Zarra x Raph)

anyway, hope you enjoy!

you can find me on twitter and ao3 at the same @.

[riality-check]

👉👈 could i request another lil ficlet that includes steve getting comfortable with his body as it changes over time, that shit is so healing

Hi anon, of course you can!! I love getting requests, even though I might take a bit to answer them!!

I'm going to take this one in a slightly different direction, if that's alright with you. I've got a couple of thoughts about Steve and migraines that I'm using this opportunity to share.

(For those who missed it, this ficlet is the one anon is referring to!)

Steve thought, like most people, that his twenties would be filled with adventure. He'd get to party, make mistakes, learn about himself, and have fun. He'd go places and find a place to call home and maybe even a person, too.

But he's twenty years old, and at least once every two weeks, he's out of commission because his brain decides to scream at him.

Scream is probably too kind of a word. Jackhammer through his eye socket fits better, but that takes too much effort to say.

Today is one of the jackhammer days, and Steve doesn't even get all the fun warning signs and the aura before it sets in because he wakes up to pain so bad that opening his eyes feels monumental.

Woo-hoo, twenties!

He rolls over to smash his face into his pillow. It blocks out the light, and the pressure helps, but being face-down is going to make him nauseous in a few minutes.

What he'd give to be normal.

A hand snakes its way into his hair, lightly ruffling it, and while, normally, Steve considers himself exceptionally lucky and ahead of the curve (for once) for already having found his person to call home, right now he wishes he were alone.

Not really. The hand in his hair has to go, though. It's too much when breathing hurts.

He groans and tries to move out of the way, but that hurts, too.

"Oh, shit," Eddie whispers, taking his hand away. "Migraine day?"

Steve hums, though it ends up being more of a whimper.

"Okay," Eddie says.

The bed shifts next to Steve, and the sound of footsteps appears and disappears. Before Steve musters the courage or willpower to turn back over and open his eyes, the bed dips again, and gentle hands are rolling him over.

He groans in anticipation of the light, but it doesn't hit his eyes. Eddie must have closed the curtains.

"Water is on the nightstand, along with your meds. I don't know how much they'll help now, but if you can stomach them, I think you should take them," Eddie says softly. "Do you want the ice pack?"

Steve nods, just barely.

Gently, Eddie places the ice pack, already wrapped in a towel, on his forehead. Steve sighs when the cold makes contact with his skin.

"Sorry," he rasps. He's glad Eddie brought him water, even if he can't make himself grab it yet. His voice is a wreck.

"What for?" Eddie asks, lightly running a hand up and down Steve's bare arm.

"Making you do this."

Eddie huffs. Steve cracks his eyes open to see him frowning, like he expected.

"You don't make me do anything," Eddie says. "Do I make you do anything on the days my nerve pain flares?"

"No," Steve mumbles.

It's just not fair. The monsters are dead and gone. Steve is young and strong and hot and able, except for the days when he isn't. He shouldn't have days when he isn't, not when the shit that caused them is dead.

He wishes this was something like the Mind Flayer. Something that could be exorcised from him or cut out like a tumor. Something that can be killed.

Steve is good at killing things. He isn't good at fighting by standing down.

"So, we have a day in," Eddie says, still quiet. "I wanted to finish my book, anyway. Mind if I read next to you?"

"Sounds good," Steve says.

He closes his eyes again, hears the rustling of sheets as Eddie gets settled in next to him.

It does sound good. Eddie has a way of spinning things, of distracting them both from both of their pain.

Steve wishes he could see himself in Eddie's eyes. He wonders what he'd look like. He wonders about the thoughts that Eddie doesn't share.

He's long grown past the misguided belief that those thoughts are bad.

Steve isn't good at fighting by standing down. But he thinks, as the light sound of Eddie's steady breathing and the blissful dark and the pleasant cold of the ice pack start to lull him back to sleep, despite the pain, that he doesn't have to fight. That this is just a condition of existence, just something to be lived with.

Not an enemy. Just baggage. And Steve can use his arms to hold it instead of swing.

He isn't normal. Neither is Eddie. And that's okay, too.