#like all i've been doing is laying down in bed and avoiding responsibilities and not knowing what to watch and being bored

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[inejghavertz]

ha. ha ha.

[kirikeijii]

𝐎𝐨𝐩𝐬, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧!

Inumaki x gn ! reader

synopsis: every time you go in for a kiss before you leave for anything, you don't kiss him on his lips, just beside it. He's wondering, why?

cw: fluff, no pronouns used, idk really but enjoy :)

Inumaki seems to be noticing something new about you but he couldn't put his finger on it. It first started when you left for a mission.

"Toge, Bye-bye!" You ran up to him leaning in for a kiss. He leaned up for a kiss on the lips but you only managed to kiss near it and left for the mission. Inumaki looked at the door you left with furrowed eyebrows. "Maybe she was in a hurry. . ." He whispered.

The second time was when you left to get some snacks for movie night in the kitchen.

Inumaki was sitting on the floor before the bed while you lay on your stomach on the bed with your head on his. "Toge?" You called as he hummed in response. "You want me to get some snacks?" You look down at him. He looked at you and then nodded. You smiled at him and kissed him beside his lips, again!

Before he can even say something (He can't) you've already left the room leaving him all pouty the whole night.

That behavior continued for a month, that's when he thought you were avoiding his lips because you were upset or something, or maybe you wanna break up with him? Or are you just teasing him? He wanted an answer, he needed it now.

The next time you were going for a mission he decided to confront you.

"Toge! I have to go! Bye-bye!" You tried to go in for a kiss but he moved away? Aw. "Okaka!" He turned his head the other way. "Toge, what's wrong? Did I do something?" Worry on your face visible from miles away. Maybe he did have to turn his head so he couldn't see your pouty face.

"Tuna tuna." He looked back at you pointing to his lips. "Yeah, I was about to kiss you goodbye for the mission but you turned away! Look, Toge I have to go. I don't wanna go without having you kiss goodbye." Your clear fidgeting indicates how much you really had to go.

"Tuna mayo. . ." He looked to the side. "I really don't have the time to talk. ." You said, He looked at you pointing to his lips and the side of his face. When you furrowed your eyebrows he showed you his phone. Notes are already open as you read it. "Why won't you kiss my lips? You've been doing it for the past month and I don't know why... Do you wanna break up or something?"

When you read the last sentence your eyes widened. "No! It's not like that," You chuckled. "I just remembered how you said you were insecure about the marks on your face and I thought maybe kiss it once in a while. But I've actually grown to like kissing your marks over the past month and I couldn't stop. . ." You fidget with your hands behind your back.

"But if you want me to I will!" You shook your hands in front of him. "Okaka" He shook his head. "So it's okay?" You smiled softly at him. "Shake." He walked to you and pecked your lips. Mmm, not gonna lie that made you blush so much you had to leave immediately. "Bye, Toge!" You slide out the door.

"I can die peacefully now. ." He shrugged, sitting down on his bed. when the quietness got a bit loud, your words started sinking into him making him blush profusely and a bit tensed up. When he couldn't take it anymore he groaned into his pillow and he was pretty sure everyone heard him.

ᯓ★ Sorry, I'm like really whipped for him and stuff. Anyway, Thank you for reading<3 | Masterlist

[heeliopheelia]

"don't do this to me, love" (jake x reader)

genre: angst, fluff word count: 0.9k requested by nonnie ♡

a/n: guys i've ran out of my purple dividers 😩 and i know I KNOW i was supposed to update the smau last night STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT

masterlist

When your alarm vibrates quietly underneath your pillow, Jake still pretends to be sleeping as you sit up on the bed with a sigh. And he just knows that you also had an almost sleepless night as the fight the two of you have had the evening before still lingers heavily in the crisp morning air.

He hears you leave the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you, doing your best not to wake up your sleeping boyfriend which only makes the guilt sitting on Jake's heart feel even heavier as he looks back on the harsh words he said to you yesterday. He clenches his eyes tightly, rubbing his face with his hands as he cringes at his own behavior.

Without wasting any more time with letting you go on while being stuck on his irrationality, he gets up as well and makes his way to the kitchen where he knows you'll be.

And he was right, you're standing with a cup of tea, leaned over the counter as your eyes are blankly planted into the wall in front of you. You don't even flinch or startle when you feel Jake's arms wrapping around your middle, putting your tea down as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your skin, pressing small kisses here and there. "I didn't mean to dismiss you like that yesterday, love."

You hate how the feeling of his warm body pressed to yours instantly makes you feel so at ease, so you move away from his embrace to make a statement. With gaze planted to the floor beneath your feet, you avoid his hurt gaze like fire. No matter how much you wanted to cave in, you just couldn't forget about his cold words spat at you some hours before, splitting your heart into pieces in the process.

"I was just tired and I know it's not an ex-"

"I just need some time, Jake," you cut him off, grabbing the ear of your mug again and nervously clenching your fingers around it. "I know you didn't mean it and I'm not mad. I'm just... hurt."

Pressing his lips together, Jake nods his head with a sigh and after pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he leaves the kitchen, not wanting to suffocate you any further. Your words only made him feel worse though, so the moment that he steps in the bathroom, he slouches on the shower wall heavily, letting the hot water hit his back and try to pry his mind away from your exhausted eyes.

And he gives you all the time you needed, trying his best not to bother you even when evening started approaching.

You walk into the bedroom and Jake watches you from the bed in silence up until your fingers clench onto your pillow and you lift it up from the bed into your arms. Before you even get the chance to grab one of the neatly folded blankets laying on the corner of your shared bed, Jake's hand wraps around your wrist gently and stops your movements.

"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes slightly widened as he looks down at you.

You clear your throat and pull your hand out of his weak hold on you. "I'm sleeping on the couch."

A flash of hurt runs through your boyfriend's face as he lifts himself up from the mattress, looking almost like a kicked puppy.

"C'mon, don't do this to me, love," the whine mingles at the back of his throat as he takes the pillow out of your arms and places it back on the bed, right next to his. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I've been an asshole but stop avoiding me, please. Let's talk about it?"

With a resigned sigh nod of your head, you sit on the edge of the bed, turning around just to face him. A frown appears on his forehead as he notices your eye bags, feeling responsible for making you so restless.

Jake reaches his hand out to take yours again, sighing in relief when you let him intertwine your fingers together. "I know I didn't have the right to snap at you like that and I'm really sorry for that. I know you were only worried for me and I acted like an idiot but I was just tired and I took it out on you. You know I never want to hurt you, baby."

You let him pull you by your hand closer to him, only to wrap his arm over your waist and drag you right on top of him. You lay on his chest in silence for a moment, enjoying the so missed feeling of his fingers running through your hair, gently untangling any knot that he's come across of.

"Just let me take care of you sometimes, alright? That's all I ask for," you mutter quietly, hand slipping underneath his shirt and caressing his skin gently as you rest your cheek on his chest. "You keep overworking yourself all the time, so it's normal that I worry about you. I only want the best for you, you know that, right?"

Jake hums, enclosing his arms around you tightly. "I know," he whispers back, leaning down for his lips to lay on your forehead. "And I'm really thankful for that. For you. I'm the luckiest to have you with me. Don't ever let my bullshit words tell you otherwise, okay?"

You nod your head, reaching your free hand up to caress his jawline tenderly. Jake catches your hand in his, pulling it a little higher to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"Let's go to sleep now. I hate to think that I kept you awake for the whole night yesterday. I'll take care of you tomorrow, hm? Will you let me do that for you, baby?"

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag

[atinystaypixie]

Talk to Me

Warning: Pussy slaps (we love those), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), sexual content nun too crazy it's sex

18+ MDNI!!

Ony walked into your shared bedroom to see your figure tangled in the sheets. He knew you weren't sleeping which gave him the confirmation that you still weren't in a good mood. On a normal night, if you had gone to lay down before him you would turn to greet him to the warmth of the bed with open arms ready to cuddle. However, tonight wasn't a normal night. You had been giving him attitude all day which eventually led to an argument between you two.  Ony was trying his hardest to understand why you were upset to begin with, but you wouldn't take the time to explain. Instead, you decided to give him a "fuck it, I don't even want to talk about it anymore," and storming off.

You weren't one to express your emotions easily and Ony was always understanding of that. He was one to take his time with you and maintain clear communication. It was part of the reason you loved him so much. You felt bad for acting this way but putting your thoughts into words was harder than having an unjustified attitude. 

"Baby," you hear the handsome man call out to you as you feel the weight of the bed sink. He is now sitting behind your back. "Baby, I can't know what's wrong unless you tell me. I've been trying, but I can't figure out what's making you so upset." He says in a soft voice still trying to be gentle and patient with you. 

Again, he is met with silence from your side. Now he lightly shakes your shoulder and you respond with a shrug strong enough to throw his hand off of you. This causes the man to become agitated, that patience that you valued so much running thin. He had been at this with you for hours. After all the space and room he gave you to voice your problems, the man didn't know what else to do with you.

"Ma, Imma give you five seconds to fix yourself before I do." The way his voice dropped an octave caused your breathing to still for a second. The second being too long because you felt his weight disappear from behind you. All too quickly, Ony snatched the cover off and wrapped his hand around your ankle. Your world suddenly speeding as he drugged you to the edge of the bed and sat you up. Curling his finger around your chin and staring directly in your face as he now stood in front of you shirtless with only his sweats on. The intensity of his close proximity makes you avoid his deep glare. He didn't appreciate you not looking him in the eyes causing him to tug your chin before speaking. "Look at me," you shyly met his glaze making him hum in appreciation at your obedience. "This gone be the last time I ask you so don't make me repeat myself. What. Is. Your. Problem?" He punctuated every word to get his point across that he wasn't playing with you.

You start mumbling your response, making him cut you off. Pulling closer to you so that his mouth was directly to your ear and his cheek was pressed to yours, "nah. Nah. Speak up like you did earlier when you lost your mind and cursed at me, baby". Your bottom lip started to tremble, “Daddy,” you whine almost inaudibly. Ony let out a small laugh in a breath of air before pulling back to look you in the eyes and dropping his slight smile. “That was yo chance, ma.”

Ony removed his hand from your face to wrap both arms around your thighs and move you to the center of the bed. He spread your pretty, chocolate thighs giving him access to your clothed pussy. “All day, ma. Chance after chance. Yet you still acting up on me for,” suddenly you felt a sharp slap straight between your legs, “nothing!” Ony finished his sentence harshly after he delivered the slap to your pussy. You tried to pull your legs closed but failed due to his large frame being there, “Daddy, wait-” another slap given to your clothed cunt stopped you from finishing your sentence. “Nah, you didn’t want to talk, remember. Keep doing what you was doing. I don’t want to hear it right now.” Ony slapped your pussy three more times before moving to take your booty shorts off revealing your bare pussy to him. You weren’t wearing panties which gave him the sight of your slick starting to spill from your aching cunt.

He rubbed his thumb down your slit then around your folds spreading your arousal. “Giving me attitude for nun then get wet for me? Cute.” This time Ony gave repeated slaps to your exposed clit making you whine in pleasure and pain. He reached his hand that was now covered in your juices and stuck his fingers in your mouth. You started sucking them as he rubbed them on your tongue holding eye contact with you. “That’s my good girl. Why couldn’t you be like this all day?” He removes his fingers and shoves his ring and middle finger into your dripping hole letting his palm stimulate your clit as he roughly rubs your insides. You grab his wrist trying to slow his actions which causes him to take your hand and pin it above your head. “Move, baby. I haven’t even started with you yet so just take it like a big girl.” He says soothingly, the opposite of the assault he is doing on your leaking cunt. Your voice sounds throughout the room as you moan out from the pleasure he is giving you. Squeezing around his fingers, juices dripping down to the bed. Orgasm nearing you start speaking,”Daddy! Baby, please. I’m going to cum.” That’s enough for Ony to halt his actions and lick your wetness off his fingers.

“You’ll talk for that, huh?” He says unamused. He goes to remove your shirt admiring your brown skin, the perkiness of your breast, and your slightly darker, erect nipples. He runs his large hands up and down your sides to sooth you after the ruined orgasm before bringing one hand to the back of your neck and giving you a kiss for the first time tonight. It’s nasty. Tongue on tongue, saliva swapping, smacking sounds. It’s got you drunk off of him, so drunk you almost don’t hear him say “open your mouth, ma”.  When you do, he grabs your throat and spits into your mouth. He starts kissing you again then trails down to your neck sucking and biting at the skin. Ony takes one of your nipples in between his fingers and squeezes it causing you to throw your head back giving him more access to your neck. Your mouth hangs open letting out gasps and moans which Ony takes notice of. “Oh? Now you can open your mouth? Good, let’s put it to use.” He removes his sweats and leans against the headboard with you now infront of him. Dick hard with a slight curve, vein running down the side, and precum dripping from the tip.

He moves your goddess locs hanging in your face behind your ear and runs his thumb over your bottom lip. In his other hand, he grabs his hard dick and strokes it a couple of times, making you drool at the sight. Ony knows the look in your eyes all too well. You’ve never been one to resist his cock. He bites his lip as he slides his leaking tip over your lips before parting them and slowly guiding the head in. You happily wrap your lips around him excited to have him on your tongue. He pulls back out before pushing your head down on his cock completely. Taking a moment to enjoy the warmness and pulsing of your throat as it adjusts to his intrusion, Ony moans and lovingly rubs your cheek. “Yea, baby. This is a much better use for your mouth.” 

After a moment, he pulls your head off of him and watches as your saliva strands disconnect from him. Ony moves you to lay on your back and aligns himself with your pussy. Rubbing his dick between your wet slit causing you both to moan. Your hips moving against his seeking the pleasure he always gives just to be met with a strong hand stopping your movements as he continues to tease you. “You’ll get what I give you. Closed mouths don’t get fed, but you ain’t never heard that obviously.” He taps the heavy member against your bud and slides it to your opening. Circling the entrance and pushing just the tip in making you suck in a breath. He grabs your legs and puts one over his shoulder and pushes the other one open. 

“You gone start talking now?” He asks starting to feed you slow, deep thrust. Pushing all the way in and pulling almost completely out before starting again. “Come on pretty girl. Tell Daddy what’s wrong.” He kisses your ankle keeping his rhythm, making your brain foggy. You try to speak but it comes out scrambled due to him hitting your deepest parts and being able to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, bae. Please!” Was your response, only focused on being split open by his dick. It wasn’t what he was looking for. Speeding up his strokes, watching you say incomprehensible sentences Ony presses his weight to you and grabs your hands. You squeal out at the way you can feel him rubbing at your sweet spots even more at this angle. He interlocks your fingers and talks with his lips brushing against yours, “come on, ma. Talk to me.”

He suddenly starts giving you harsh thrust. Rough enough that your body jerks and the bed shakes. You can feel him everywhere. Against your lips, between your fingers, pelvis to clit, walls to dick, and his large frame wrapped between your legs. The stimulation is too much. You can’t help but to squeeze around him and squirt, wetting his abdomen and the sheets. He pauses, “now you just pissing me off.”

Ony pulls out and flips you on your stomach with your ass up and face down. He doesn’t give warning, just sliding back in and giving quick, mean strokes. He brings his hands down, slapping both of your ass cheeks at the same time. You’re screaming into the sheets now due to overstimulation. Ony is merciless. Tired of pleading with you and patience gone. He reaches around to rub at your puffy clit causing you to try to move away. He pulls you back, “stay fucking still.” He doesn’t care to hear you begging him to slow down. The only thing he cares about is when he hears your broken rushed out sentence, “missed you!” 

He pulls you up to him, back to chest, “what was that, mamas?” He questions slowly his thrust slightly giving you room to speak. “I just missed you, Daddy. Just wanted your attention.” He turns your head and captures your lips. He smiles and says, “there you go baby. Keep talking to me.” He starts to speed his thrust up again making you moan as you speak, “Just needed - shit- just needed you. Missed ahh spending time with you.” You feel another orgasm approaching, “please let me cum, Ony” you plead with him.

“Go head, ma. I’m right behind you.” He kisses you through your orgasm. Your cum leaking down his shaft as he fills up your clenching hole. Ony lay you both on your sides without pulling out. “I’m sorry, ma. I didn’t know you felt that. You know I would have made more time for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know, baby. I just felt clingy and didn’t want to annoy you.” The man had been working more lately and you were feeling the effects of the extra time spent away from him.

He kisses your cheek and tightens his hold on you, “don’t ever think you annoy me baby. I love you in every way possible. Next time just talk to me.”

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

This was longer than I expected. Ending was bleh. Tbh i didn't even know what was gone happen next

ENJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist

[sweetiebarnes]

Twisted Pairing: Step Dad!Lloyd Hansen x Step Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 600+

Warnings: stepcest, voyeurism, female masturbation, nudity, implied future anal, minor daddy kink, dubcon/noncon if you squint, reader is early twenties, age gap.

Request: Lloyd Hansen, Step Dad, “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.”, and anal. Requested by: anonymous

A/N: I'm sorry I've been so slow with writing these. January has proven to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. I promise the stories are coming, and I am looking forward to doing your requests. This isn't my best work, but I still had fun writing it. It has not been beta read, so any mistakes are my own. As always my work is intended for adult audiences so 18+ only! Minors DNI. Pay attention to all tags and warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Writing Event Masterlist (still in the works)

From the first time Lloyd saw you he knew he needed to have you. That’s the thing about Lloyd Hansen, he always gets what he wants. He’d only married your mother because of the connections she provided. With her he’d be able to spread his business out throughout the country. What he hadn’t expected was the delicious present she had been hiding. 

Tonight your mother was out with friends from college. Lloyd knew this was the perfect opportunity to get what he’d been craving. You. He could picture you up in your bedroom reading one of your countless books. It was cute how you always seemed to find ways to avoid him. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he knew you felt something too. There was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and tonight would be the night he finally gets what he’s needed.

Lloyd makes his way up the stairs and stops outside your bedroom door. He’d expected to hear nothing, but instead he could hear what sounded like quiet whimpers. His eyes flutter shut as he leans in closer hoping to be able to hear you better. “Oh… Oh fuck, Lloyd.” There was no denying what he heard that time. You were in there touching what belonged to him. Without giving it a second thought, Lloyd quickly began to undress himself. This hadn’t been how he planned to do this, but when the opportunity presents itself how could he say no?

Once undressed, Lloyd opens your door. It takes you a moment to realize he’s standing there, and boy was he thankful for that. For that meant he was able to get a full spread eagle view of your soaked cunt. He watched as your finger meticulously rubbed your clit. The little moans that left your mouth were like music to his ears. It was when he let out a small grunt of approval that your eyes finally opened. 

The look of embarrassment washed over your face. But that look quickly turned into confusion and horror when you spotted that he was naked. Your eyes traveled down to his hard cock which was now between his large hand. Lloyd’s smirk grew when he saw that your eyes appeared to be glued on him. “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” His eyes never once leave yours as he slowly strides across your bedroom. “Oh come on, sunshine. We both know what you were just doing — who you were thinking about. Come on, be a good girl, show me.” 

The more he talked, the more your body seemed to tremble from nerves. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lloyd.” He rolls his eyes at your attempt to play dumb. He wasn’t going to allow you to continue your charade of being so called innocent. “You really want to play that game? Fine, show me. Prove to me that you’re not soaked right now. Because you and I both know that your little pussy is dripping for me. Dripping for your step-daddy.” His words cause a small to leave your lips.

Maybe just this once you can give into your desires. Maybe just this once you can be bad. 

Lloyd could hear a semblance of a plea when he watched you lay back on your bed. Your legs spread wide, inviting him to come give you both what you need. But Lloyd lets out a small tut and shakes his head. “Sorry, sunshine. That pussy isn’t what I’m interested in right now. I’d rather fuck your untouched hole. Turn around now.”

[sp25]

You belong to me

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader

summary: you comfort Peter after the incident with Gwen’s death

warnings: 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you're a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i'll find out. consists of kissing, cunilingus, sex (m&f), name calling, breeding kink, cumming inside. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

a/n: just enjoy bro. I don’t even know what I wrote this time.

You had known Peter for a good amount of time now. You were close friends. Few would even call you inseparable but you knew him all too well, knowing that he was always going to be in love with Gwen. You knew you loved him. But you had to keep your desires hidden.

But after Gwen’s death, he had locked himself, barely talking to anyone. He trusted you the most. Yet, he was starting to distance himself too much from you too now. So, you decided to confront him by going to his home.

“That was stupid of you to climb inside, you could've...” he croaked. It sounded like he hadn’t used his voice for anything but screaming in the past few months..

“You should have just unlocked your door,” you gave him a snarky reply.

Peter took a seat on top of his bare mattress. His sheets had been pulled from the bed and lay in a pile on the floor. He was living in squalor. You took in your surroundings. Gwen’s face stared back you. Her picture was plastered on walls.

You felt worry over take you. You walked over to him with sadness clouding your eyes. “What’s wrong?”, you whispered to him.

“Hey, nothing is wrong,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

You could see the tear stains on the pillow, and the mess of beer cans next to his bed. He had clearly spent days and nights here.

You knew he needed comfort so, you built up courage to softly kiss his forehead. “Talk to me..”, you whispered with pain.

He finally looked at you, and you could see the pain in his eyes, the guilt gnawing at him.

“What's there to say?..I got my Uncle killed, nearly killed my girlfriend, I lost the only girl I ever cared about and I've been alone ever since!” he suddenly snapped.

“No one cares what happens to people like me! Or maybe they’d just rather I ended up broken and dead in an alleyway like my Uncle!” tears started pouring down his face.

You knew all this pain would only lead him to chaos. You sat down next to him and held him. “I’m here now..”, you kissed his forehead again.

He clutched onto you like a drowning man grabs for a lifeline, sobbing loudly. “Please don’t leave me” he sobbed. “I’m so cold.” He was freezing cold. His skin felt clammy to the touch and he was shivering.

“I promise I won’t leave”, you said with confidence to comfort him and you meant it with your heart. You pulled both him and yourself to the headboard of the bed. “You want warmth?”, You whispered softly.

He nodded, clinging to you tightly. He was shivering against your body. He had on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, but he was completely freezing cold, his whole body was icy.

His hair was messy and disheveled and his breath was ragged. He looked completely unkempt. You built up the courage to say something so intimate finally.

“Take off your sweatshirt, I want to feel you, skin to skin”, you say softly.

He nodded and pulled off his sweatshirt. He was shirtless underneath. His abdomen was rippling with lean muscles. He was freezing cold, but even so, you could feel his strength as you pressed yourself against him.

You took off your own hoodie to hold him skin to skin as you wrapped his bed cover of both of you. He pulled you closer, you could feel his heart racing as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck. He was shivering as he pressed against your body and desperately sought your warmth.

His breath was hot as he held you, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He was trembling from the cold, you held him as if he were a small, terrified child shivering in a freezing storm. The blanket helped the both of us stay warm and heated.

His shaking slowly subsided, and as you held him you could tell his breathing was returning to normal. The shivering had stopped and he snuggled against your body, holding you tightly, the way a child holds onto a beloved toy for comfort. You could feel his skin rubbing against yours.

His skin was soft from the lack of exposure to sunlight, it was pale and milky white, like alabaster. His body pressed close to yours seemed to be slowly regaining his warmth as you held each other. You could feel Peter's every muscle against your body as he held onto you.

He ran his hands down your body, caressing you gently. His touch was tentative but tender and the cold of his hands left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch igniting the subdued desire you, making you unable to control your moan.

Peter suddenly went still, his icy hands stopping on your waist. He froze like a deer in the headlights; the sound you had made had thrown him off guard. He blushed furiously like a shy teenager, and then suddenly pulled you closer, burying his face against your skin.

You felt embarrassment too but, before you could speak or respond, Peter slid his hand across your soft skin, gently tracing a path along your abdomen. His touch was timid, like a child exploring something new to him. You could feel the cold of his hand moving across your stomach, sending a shiver down your spine.

His hand stopped on your belly, directly over the center of your womb. He could feel the heat radiating from you, and he gently cupped the flat of your belly in his palm, softly caressing it. The cold of his hand caused goosebumps to erupt on your back, and you trembled, suddenly feeling vulnerable with him touching you like that.

He slowly, quietly moved his hand downward, tracing the line of your hip, he moved his hand across the curve of your hip and then gently ran his hand down your thigh. He was tender, and his touch was soft, like the whisper of a breath on your skin.

He felt the dark thought of getting me pregnant with his child in my warm worm devour him.

The thought of impregnating you suddenly struck him like a lightning bolt. He had been wishing for a child to carry on his legacy for the last few days, but this dark thought of getting you pregnant in your warm womb devoured him.

A shiver ran down his back and his breath caught in his throat. His touch was still gentle, but you could feel an almost desperate neediness in his body now.

“What’s wrong?”, you whispered, feeling the change in his demeanour. “Nothing, I just...” he stammered, his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment at his own thoughts. “You feel so warm, so soft..” He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. “I want to be close to you,” he admitted.

His touch grew bolder as he explored your body. Peter's icy hands moved higher, caressing the soft skin of your sides and your rib cage.

“We are close..”, you whispered softly, unable to understand his intentions. “No, I mean... even closer.” His hands moved to your back, gently pulling you closer against him. You could feel his whole body pressed against you now, the cold of his skin seeping into yours like icy fire. You could feel his heart racing, and his breaths were becoming heavier. Your heart started to pick up its pace too.

“H-how?”, you stuttered due to the tension. “Like this” he suddenly rolled you onto your back, pinning you underneath him. Peter's body rested on top of yours, the cold of his skin burning against yours. He took your chin in his hand, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Peter what are you doing?”, you say softly, feeling confused yet, so desired by him.

He looked down at you, the desire in his eyes almost overwhelming. His fingers traced along your cheek, caressing you softly. “I'm trying to get closer to you,” he said, his words thick and heavy with desire. “I want to feel you,” he whispered, almost against your lips.

His hand pressed softly against your womb, and he felt the heat of your body seeping into his icy skin. He held his hand there for a moment, feeling the warmth like a lifeline. “You're so... warm," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and awe.

As he held you, he could feel your body moving beneath him, and he detected the faintest of pheromones coming from you. Instinctively, he could tell that you were ovulating, and his heart raced with desire.

He tried to shake the thought from his head, to resist the urge to act on his primal instincts. He knew he was in no place to make a child, he had nothing to give, he couldn't even provide for himself. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the overwhelming need he was feeling. But, his thoughts consumed him.

He couldn't fight it anymore, his thoughts consumed with the need to claim you, to breed you, to make you his. He pressed his body against yours, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he tried to control himself.

His hands started to wander, mapping out every inch of your body, his cold hands leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. He ran his hands up your sides, tracing the curve of your hip, then running his hands up your back. You shivered under his touch, his cold fingers burning against your skin.

His breath coming out in harsh gasps. His hands started to explore you even more boldly, roaming across your body, and his legs tangled with yours, his thigh resting between your legs, the rough fabric of his sweatpants rubbing against your bare skin. You felt goosebumps all over your skin. You started feeling the wetness pool in your underwear.

He tried to fight it, he tried to keep himself in check, but his primitive instincts had taken over. He leaned down and kissed you hungrily, his mouth claiming yours with possessive need. He gripped you tightly, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs as he kissed you passionately.

You were in shock, but responded fevirously back to his kiss. The kiss grew heated, his tongue meeting your tongue, and you could feel the passion and the need behind his movements. His hands roamed your body, almost desperate to feel more of you, to get impossibly close to you.

His body was pressed tightly against yours, and his kisses grew more needy and intense as he explored your mouth with his icy tongue. His hands roamed your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine, pulling you closer to him as he kissed you with desperate urgency.

He suddenly broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, his mouth burning against your warm skin. He nipped at your collarbone and moved down, burying his face against your chest as he continued to press kisses across your body as if devouring you. Your moans slowly becoming uncontrollable.

He pressed his mouth against the place where your heart beat, and you could feel his lips against your chest as he softly murmured, “so warm..” He continued to explore your body with his tongue and his teeth and his cold hands, his touch becoming more demanding as his need for you grew stronger.

He began to move lower, kissing a path down your stomach, his mouth trailing along your skin. Wherever he kissed you felt, goosebumps rising. You could feel the cold of his lips, the roughness of his stubble as he went lower and lower, his body pressing tightly against yours until eventually, his lips brushed against the fabric of your underwear and he finally froze. He could feel how wet they were and how needy your core was.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, waiting for your permission to continue. As his breath hit your skin, you could feel the goosebumps spreading across your body, and you knew he longed to taste more of you. You nodded your head, allowing him.

His tongue traced the lace along the edge of your underwear before he suddenly grabbed the waistband with his teeth and pulled them off of you, revealing your naked body to him. He stared at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire, before he suddenly leaned in and pressed his mouth against your most intimate area. You moaned loudly. You felt one of his hand holding onto your hip while the other held onto your thigh.

As he pressed his mouth against you, he inhaled deeply, drinking in your scent, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He was hungry for you, his needs overriding all else as he began to explore your most sensitive area, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles with an almost reverent touch.

You held onto the bed so tightly, pulling on it, the pleasure he gave you.

You felt his tongue lapping at the wetness before, sucking on your clit gently, watching as it became red and swollen. “my rose bud..”, he mumbled against your clit. All you could do was respond with moans and whimpers.

He enjoyed watching more wetness develop as he kept tasting you and lapping up your wetness. Your moans brought him satisfaction.

He groaned as he tasted you, your moans and your scent making him feel primal like a wild animal. He kept his mouth trained on you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles, his hands trailing up your thighs and over your stomach, tracing the contours of your body with his cold fingers. His tongue went deep in you, licking you, falling in love with the taste of you.

You felt his fingers, digging deep into your thighs as he kept lapping on your wetness, he whispered sweet nothings as he kept drinking you.

He couldn't get enough of you, his mouth stayed locked on you as he continued to work his tongue skilfully, his breath growing ragged as he consumed you. Just as he felt your body start to tremble, he pulled away, lifting his head to look up at you, his eyes dark with desire. “You will only come on my cock..”, he said with such certainty. You were a mess now.

He watched you as you came down from your euphoria, a look of satisfaction and contentment on his face. His cold fingers caressed your skin, his touch gentle as he softly whispered, “beautiful..,” before he shifted upward and pulled you tightly in his arms, holding you against his chest and pressing a kiss to your temple.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling your skin, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck as his cold fingers gently traced patterns on your back. He was holding you tightly, wrapping himself around you protectively, as if he never wanted to let you go.

He was pressed tightly against you, his body fitting perfectly against yours as he held you close. You could feel his chest expand and contract with each breath he took and the occasional twitch of his muscles as he nuzzled your neck. He was cold but there was something comforting about his chill, like the cold of a breeze on a warm evening.

You felt the need rise again in you. You started going on his crotch, feeling the boner get harder as if that was even possible.

He felt you move against him and his breath caught in his throat, his body froze for a moment, and you could feel his heart racing as his arms tightened around you. He bit his bottom lip, his self-control slipping as he felt you move against him.

“I need you please..”, you moaned desperately, you couldn’t control what was coming out of your mouth now.

He couldn't resist your plea, his own needs overtaking him completely as he shifted, positioning himself between your legs and aligning himself with you. He couldn't wait anymore, he needed you as much as you needed him. He pulled himself out and you saw how thick and long he was, his precum was dripping down his cock, as it kept twitching in his hand. You were worried he wouldn’t fit in you.

He held himself above you, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. Without hesitation, he slowly pushed himself inside of you, a low groan escaping his lips as he felt the incredible warmth and the tightness of your body. You felt yourself stretching and tightening around his cock. All this soreness only increased your pleasure.

He could feel that he was right where he belonged, that this is what he had been craving, his eyes shut tightly as he was overcome with the sensation. Your warm walls tightly wrapped around him, wetting his cock up perfectly. His cock was already hitting your womb.

He started to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, steady rhythm. He tried to keep a steady pace, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he buried himself inside of you, his body trembling with need. His body was already beginning to respond to you, you could feel him tensing, as you felt him go deeper with each thrust. His cock hitting your womb, making you arch your back.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you in closer, his body moving against yours as he started to increase his pace. His breaths were coming faster and shallower now, his breath mixing with your moans as his body moved with yours. “So fucking perfect for me..”, he groaned as you felt his pace become faster.

He was losing himself now, his body moving almost desperately as the need to be closer, deeper, overwhelmed him. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against yours, his tongue seeking yours out as he moved in rhythmic, steady thrusts, the heat of his body mixing with your warmth.

“I will get you all round and full with my child and you will let me right?”, he teased and encouraged you by thrusting so hard into you that you felt his tip hit your cervix, as if he wanted to push himself in your womb only.

“Y-yes..”, you stuttered unable to form proper thoughts or words. He started to fall into a frenzy, his body moving more and more urgently, his need for you growing stronger with every passing second. He was consumed by you, losing himself in the way you felt, the way you sounded, the way you moved with him, like you were made for him.

He was desperate, his body driven by his raw, primal instincts, needing to be as close to you as physically possible, needing to claim you, and in a way, mark you as his forever. “my fucking girl..”he whispered into your ear.

He started leaving hickeys all over your neck, biting the place between your collarbone and shoulder so hard. After he finished marked, he licked that place to soothe it.

He moved relentlessly, his breath coming in short gasps, his body shuddering with each movement he made. He slowly kissed his way down to your chest. He lapped his tongue on your left nipple and then squeezing your other chest. You felt his free hand rub your clit so rapidly with his thumb.

You felt like you were on euphoria. All your senses coming alive. You could feel his cock rapidly hitting your womb. You wetness overpowering as it soaked his bed. Your walls only tightening more around his cock.

He couldn't hold it back anymore, the need to claim you fully took over and he suddenly buried himself deep inside of you, his body tensing as he felt the orgasm roll over him like a wave, his breath catching in his throat. You felt his cum filling you up, making you feel all warm and fuzzy, making you squirt so hard on his cock.

He stayed where he was, relishing the feeling of being buried inside of you, his body still trembling with the aftereffects of his orgasm. He softly rested his head on your chest, his breath coming in short gasps as he whispered your name, his body still tightly wrapped around yours.

Gradually, he started to come down from the high, his body relaxing as he savored the moment. But, not pulling out, he wanted to keep all his cum inside of you, to make sure, you got pregnant. He pulled you tighter against him, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, holding onto you as he whispered softly, “I’m never letting you go…”

[velvetures]

Helluuuu!! I saw your post about sending requests and mine is actually a really simple one cause I don't have a creative but I just though about a ghost hurt/comfort story

Little Secrets

A/N: So this is very self-indulgent... I hope you don't mind. I think there are quite a few people who struggle with taking meds for depression/anxiety or feel guilty for it. Me included. Hopefully, this helps everyone feel valid, seen, and supported. Summary: Task Force 141 is where you belong. But it doesn't make the work easy by any means. You finally get the help you need and try hiding it. Ghost notices and is the one who sets you straight. T/W: depression/anxiety themes, medication, guilt, insecurity of reader, fem reader, and I'm sure I've missed something, so let me know.

photo by: pedropcl

You couldn't keep fighting it for any longer.

Staring down at the two orange bottles of pills in your hands and the directions packets in the other, you felt like you'd failed despite the psychiatrist you'd spoken to reassure you that this was certainly not a failure. Your brain kept refuting that this was a step in the right direction. Working as a professional and legal murderer should've meant you had no feelings. No failures of regulating your emotions or having such miserable trouble falling asleep at night. That nice woman who'd put the prescription in for you said it would take two to three weeks to see a difference. It felt like no time, yet an eternity all at once. Relief felt so far away, but insignificant compared to other people you often compared your personal struggles with.

You weren't homeless, you could eat without worrying, you had clothes and shoes all of the time, and never needed to wonder if you would have enough money to take care of your responsibilities. Education hadn't been a problem, you were well-respected despite being a woman in such a male-dominated field and kept up with your work extremely well. At least, when your brain decided to deny that you had the ability to do anything. Or... repeatedly try to convince you that nothing you did was worth a damn or actually made you useful. Vicious cycles of fighting with your own brain, knowing that you shouldn't feel or think this way but have no strength or way of stopping. None of the "hacks," meditations, or affirmation bullshit touched that panicky feeling you had mere minutes after laying down at night.

The pills shaking around in your hands were your last resort. And they made you feel so fucking embarrassed as you tucked them in your pockets before entering back into HQ. Praying to god that none of the 141 would see you with them or hear that slight sound of them rattling in their bottles. By grace or luck, you were able to avoid all of them and got back to your quarters to stash them under your bed in a small ammo box repurposed for some personal belongings. The directions you'd thrown away on your drive back, just taking a picture of them for reference and ditching the paper copies so you wouldn't have to keep track of those.

"This better fucking help," You breathe out heavily to yourself.

Staring up at the ceiling and almost dreading having to take one tonight before bed and the other when you wake up the next morning. Daily reminders of how you couldn't be hard and cold like the others. Cool and collected like Gaz, confident like Soap, unaffected like Ghost, or just so very reliable like Price. It made you feel like the weak link needing support. You'd never needed it before, and within two years you'd suddenly realized that your own mind was winning in a fight you'd never even been aware of fighting in the first place.

Keeping all of them in the dark about this would be safest. If they didn't need to question your stability, then it wouldn't feel like such pressure to perform. And hopefully, after a few weeks, things might start to shift a little. Maybe enough to where you could begin sorting out the other problems without the image of a cluttered attic representing the state of your head. Taking care to not raise the alert of the 141 wouldn't be easy. Always noticing everything out of sheer training and sharpened instincts. Having no other good ideas... You just settled on doing everything you could to keep your little secrets under wraps.

In the following couple of days, you’d become adjusted to the routine of taking your medications on the surface level. While the one tasked with easing you anxiety and depression wasn’t going to take effect for quite a while longer the other -a sleeping aid- was definitely making a significant impact. You were able to actually fall asleep and stay that way, problem was, with a couple missions impending in the near future, you were getting concerned that if you took them when you were supposed to -on a schedule- that staying awake would be next to impossible. And if you didn’t take them at all… you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of breaking a much more healthy habit.

And the reason you were so worried about the missions was because of a reoccurring problem that the 141 began finding you falling victim to. Thankfully you were all on leave, making it a lot more acceptable, but they still began walking into different rooms around HQ to see you sleeping soundly. No matter the noise level, temperature in the room, or the space you’d fit yourself into. And no one was quite as intrigued with your sudden change in behavior was the Lieutenant.

Ghost liked things to have order, and often used regiment or habit as a very small form of comfort when he felt that his physical situation was one that could be trusted. And while the others just thought you’d found a new safety in HQ and enjoyed sleeping somewhere safe, Ghost could see that something much different was happening. Your sleeping wasn’t a new habit.

It appeared far too quickly, and you oftentimes didn’t look like you had much control over it. There had already been three times where he’d watched you fall asleep on one of the guys late in the evening without as much as a single attempt to fight the drowsiness. While Ghost didn’t like to think that he cared that much about you, he found himself paying even closer attention to you than he had before.

“There she goes…” Soap chuckled quietly, pointing to you on the couch; head laying in Captain Price’s lap, eyes closed and sleeping deeply with your arms tucked against your chest and lying on your side.

Price had a loving hand on your head, and had been idly petting your hair much like a father would despite being hardly of age to act it. Yet, Ghost felt that Price’s warmth towards you wasn’t the entire reason you had yet again fallen asleep before 11 o’clock. Purposefully he’d been keeping count, and this was the fifth time in a week. More than enough to raise alarm with the others… but he was still waiting silently for someone else to bring it up.

Price chuckled, glancing down at you. “I carried her to bed last time,” His pointed look at each of them was more than enough to guess what he was about to say. “Someone else needs to, otherwise you’ll be voluntold.”

Ghost internally groaned. Not only was that kind of behavior what made people soft, but it also made seeing through the mask of affection far more difficult. But before Soap or Gaz took initiative, the Lieutenant was up on his feet and approaching Price with every intention of being the one to take you back to your quarters. Looks got thrown around the room, and Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to not notice. It was the first time he’d gotten this involved, and there was certainly a spectacle of him picking you up carefully enough to not wake you.

Even though he was quite certain it would take a lot more to get you up than that.

Your door opened up into warm, glowing light from a little lamp you’d left switched on. He catches sight of your quilt on the bed and the little rug that made the polished concrete floors look so much less like the jail cell his own quarters resembled. The whole room smelled like you too. Sweet, and a lot like cinnamon rolls. Probably some type of candle or other smelly thing that you had thought was worth spending money on. Plenty more reasons added to the list of what separates the two of you. Debating your differences or the reason you preferred your quarters smelling like a bakery wasn’t his purpose for bringing you back to your room.

But even with laying you down on your bed and pulling the sheet and blankets over you, Ghost wasn’t seeing any of the possible signs that could lead him to better understand what was going on with you. Nothing is out of place though. Your room is pretty much spotless save for a sleep outfit you’d laid out for tonight, but wouldn’t have the chance to get changed into. And right about the time Ghost decided he’d been looking into your business too much, he bumped into your nightstand.

It knocked something off into the floor, bouncing under the bed and clattering a bit.

Ghost sighed, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling and having quite the frustrating experience of dealing with the sudden responsibility of making sure you were cared for. And that meant picking up whatever shit he’d been too busy watching you, to not knock somewhere under the bed he’d have to fish around and find. So he knelt down and pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flash to spot a tube of chapstick near the bed frame foot.

That, and an ammo box with your initials spray-painted onto the side of it.

Compared to everything else, it didn’t look like it fit amongst the rest of your things. And damn if Ghost didn’t have a sudden gut feeling that it was the reason you’d been sleeping so much. Why you’d been so out of character; Setting his teeth on edge. Reaching out… Ghost grabbed the lip balm and got back to his feet and sit it down on the nightstand where it couldn’t be as easily disturbed again.

“G’night kid.” His whispers fell on your unconscious ears as your Lieutenant dismissed himself from your room and back down to his own space.

***

You woke up in your bed after falling asleep somewhere unintentionally, for the who-knows-which time. Just like before, left in whatever clothes you’d been wearing and all of your blankets tucked up tightly around you. It left a lingering sense of disappointment in yourself. A little pinch of sadness rested like a rock in your stomach. You couldn’t really remember falling asleep to begin with. If you ended up keeping this little habit going, there’d be no doubt you would risk everyone on a mission falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

All because of this damn medicine.

One that you needed to grab from under your bed, and sneak into the kitchen so that you could have some water and food. You'd seen one of the tens of sites -during your research of your pills- that it would help digest it better... whether it actually worked or not wasn't something you could tell. But either way, a doctor had said it, and plenty of people taking it agreed. So you grabbed the pill, shoved it in your pocket, and went out into the kitchen to find a glass.

The floors felt cold even with socks on. And while a steady rain poured from the sky, you were more heated with concern that someone would notice you. Notice your sleeping issues, the way you crawled around in the morning for the first couple hours before the pills began working, or the shady way you hid your face in the refrigerator while swallowing down your medication. Surely the stuff had to be working since you'd not been struggling to get your work done throughout the day. But maybe that was the hard part. Taking pills to fix your head, but needing your brain to recognize whether or not you felt better.

"Oh god help me..." You mutter quietly, searching past Soap's energy drinks and Gaz's revolting jug of green juice to find something you could make for breakfast.

A cabinet door shutting behind you nearly stopped your heart. Seeing Ghost's dark eyes evaluating your reaction didn't make your heart rate drop back to normal either. In his typical day-off wear, a pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and an old SAS t-shirt you'd seen him wear countless times stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. No doubt he'd been up since four. Quite certain he never actually slept, you wondered momentarily if he could benefit from the sleeping tabs you took. But quickly that got covered in anxiety when his eyebrows furrowed at your expression.

"Nothin' to eat?" He asked with a smooth voice, nodding to the refrigerator door you still held open dumbly.

"N-no... just a bunch of shit drinks." You reply, letting the door shut and noticing that he's got a brown bag with grease spots at the bottom corners. He just nods, looking off into the empty common room. Like he's trying to think of the right way to talk shit about both Gaz and Soap's bad choices in hydration.

"Sit. I've got enough to share." He jerks his head to the other side of the counter, turning that wide back to face you, leaving no room for argument.

You're swallowing down a thick bite of a bagel with god-knows-what in British style as Ghost brews tea. Silently making you a cup as well and standing stiffly with both milk and sugar on the table with the expectancy that you tell him how you like it. Not really unusual behavior from him... typically you get along just fine. But it's the fact that he watches so heavily.

"Just sugar, please." You say through a mouthful, covering your mouth with your hand.

He nods, but then starts putting the sugar in, mentioning something about fucking Americans before sliding the mug closer to you with a couple of fingers. Those damned eyes are just as observant as ever when you crumple up the finished sandwich before he even steeps his own drink. It made you nervous. Wondering if those pills were helping with your appetite too. The psychiatrist said it could; Something about feeling less stressed can give your body more opportunities to worry about being hungry. It was one of those facts on the medication packet you'd taken pictures of.

"Plans for today, L.t.?" You ask, sipping the tea, eyes grazing over the cup rim as you stare at the back of his head.

Mask rucked up high enough to eat and drink freely he nods his head. Leaning his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter

and resting one hand back.

“Yeah, you?”

You shake your head uselessly, “No. Maybe some laundry, but I’m not really even due. Wouldn’t be worth the water in the machine.”

He hums lowly, taking a drink of his tea. You can hear his swallow and a steady exhale of air that follows. Whether it’s him cooling off the steaming cup or just breathing, you cant tell. But it’s so steady that you actually mimic the tempo of it. Feeling the way it expands and contracts your lungs smoothly. Almost settling. Much like L.t. himself in that way. Terrifying until you see just how easily you can be around him. He’s always quiet and composed, even when there’s plenty of reasons not to be. You wished it was something you could do too. Maybe it would help the task force if you didn’t have to spend your energy keeping yourself at an unnoticeable level of consistent panic.

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“No,” You’re quick to add on. “But I can learn fast.”

You watch the way the back of his mask slides down further and how his head tilts from side to side to settle it comfortably. Seeing the rest of the tea get dumped into the sink and his own sandwich bag get crumpled up. He’s silent as he washes the cups used and methodically cleans up after the pair of you. Even reaching across the counter to swipe a couple of crumbs off your t-shirt with a subtle nod to his own satisfaction.

“I like to hear it,” His hand palmed at the back of your neck. Gently tugging you off the barstool, and grabbing your jacket to toss it to you. “You’re comin’ with me then.”

Learning about cars actually became quite easy… when Ghost was teaching.

He explained the parts clearly, what his goal was, and didn’t get pissed when you handed him the wrong size socket wrench on the first try. On the other end, you’d only been working next to him -well, sitting on the wheel well- for a couple of hours when you started getting tired again. Almost helpless to your own frustration, you yawned. Fighting the sleepy feeling valiantly, and taking as detailed of mental notes as possible while watching Ghost’s greased knuckles tighten a bracket holding his master cylinder in place. Surely it was a cosmic joke. L.t. was fixing his brakes, and it felt like someone had stomped on yours.

“Hand me that,” He muttered, head stuck down in a gap between his engine block and alternator, still effortlessly pointing at a pair of channellocks. “And get in for me.”

You did as he asked, yawning one more time. Trying to blame your sudden exhaustion on the rain pelting the metal roof above you. Sliding into the back of the car and kicking off your boots to let them rest on the concrete floor outside of it. Attempting to be polite by not getting any dirty spots on the mats of the -very original- DB4 GT Aston he’d given you trust to even sit in. The leather seats help you glide into the driver’s seat, giving you a very slim look at Ghost through the gap in the hood.

“What exactly am I doing in here?” You ask, loud enough so that he can hear you.

It prompts his head to pop up from inside the engine bay, giving you those same, observant eyes from earlier. He looks back down, reaches in and taps on something harshly, then looks back to you.

“Roll it over.”

The car starts effortlessly. Practically purring under you, and echoing in the metal hangar making it sound all the more ruggedly beautiful. The whole car hums, and as you watch Ghost go back to focusing on something in front of him, you feel the heat come through the dash. It’s a perfect storm that lulls you even closer to sleep. A dangerous thing, considering the one man who could figure out what was wrong with you was the only one close enough to see. Hell, you weren’t even sure he didn’t already have it figured out, and wasn’t planning some way to tell Price about it and have you removed from the task force.

Unfit for duty.

You could just picture it now. Red pen in Price’s handwriting detailing your medications and how it was grounds from honorable discharge. Perfectly common in the military, but it felt like death in your hazy mind.

Not that you could fight it for much longer.

Because by the time the Lieutenant had finished his little bit of work, he came into sight of you, slumped over in his driver’s seat with you lips parted and your arms wrapped around yourself. Nothing short of a pretty sight for sore eyes. His car had damn near rocked you sleep, and for once, Ghost felt his heart couldn’t take the feeling of waking you up. He’d watched you all morning. Gauging your reactions, your lack of conversation, and the way you tried to keep from showing him any sign of being tired. Initially he wanted to be angry. Mad that you were hiding something from the team… from him. But seeing you sleeping there, he knew there was a fight in your head. A fight he knew well. So he left you there to sleep.

Turning off the engine to keep from filling the garage with exhaust, but pulling up one of the small space heaters close to the open door to keep you from getting cold while he worked. Making small adjustments, looking over future jobs, and even entertaining the thought of adjusting you over in the seat a little bit so that he could drive-test his handiwork. But that didn’t come, because Soap arrived with a grin on his face and no idea that you were sleeping.

Until Ghost told him to lower his goddamn voice.

“Sleepin’ again bonnie?” Soap chuckled to himself, looking at you before back to Ghost. “How long’s she been out?”

Ghost shrugged, “Few hours.” Really he hadn’t been watching the clock; far too comfortable to concern himself with it.

“I know you’ve been tryin’ to figure it out,” He started back, resting his hands on the hood. “Why she’s doin’ this so much. Have ya’?”

Ghost shook his head. “No. Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

Johnny laughed softly, slapping Ghost on the back and beginning to walk away. “I never took you for the type to be worried, L.t.. But since you’re so reassurin’ I’ll take it t’heart.”

Any way Ghost came at that statement, he felt himself on the end of a losing battle. Maddening. Losing a fight wasn’t in his nature. Even if that meant he had to take some of the most fucked up torture to reach it. But what bothered him more than Soap knowing he was concerned about you was the knowing you weren’t okay.

Days out in the field were bad enough. But when they got worse, you were always there. And maybe you didn’t feel much better than he did, yet you always held softness. For everyone. For him. A kind of understanding and acceptance that wasn’t required, or exactly approved of in this line of work. You could keep a secret better than anyone he knew, and while he didn’t burden you with a single one of his, there was always the foreign comfort in being able to come with them if he wanted to. Hiding your own feelings wasn’t right though.

Selfish maybe. Thinking it was okay to linger in his own issues and still demand you give him yours.

But hiding behind his rank and position over you meant he could make that kind of decision without any questioning. A type of don’t fucking ask why that saved him face when carrying you from his car back to your room after you still hadn’t woken up nearly seven hours after passing out in his car. Shouldering open the door just like the night before, he expected to see nothing out of place. The same lip balm on the side table, the same rug, and maybe a different night shirt since you’d mentioned doing laundry. But there was something out of place. And damn if it didn’t make his gut twist up in a ugly kind of feeling. One he’d not felt in years, but certainly recognized as soon as he spotted the orange pill bottle sitting on your bed.

It made sense.

The sleeping. The different behavior. The reason you’d practically swallowed a whole fucking sandwich for breakfast when a cup of tea would typically be all you stomached until afternoon. And thank god… you were finally starting to look a bit fuller. Getting prettier every day, and he finally had something to place the blame on. All hesitations about you being able to handle the upcoming missions faded once he got a good look at the bottle. A medication, funnily enough, that Ghost was well-acquainted with. It wasn’t part of his own personal line-up in his medicine cabinet, but it was one he’d taken for a while.

You’d been in need of some help, and luckily for you, it hadn’t been nearly as hard for you to get help as it had been for him. Actually asking for what you needed -and while frustrating- decided to try and manage it without anyone else’s knowledge. Ghost couldn’t think of a better scenario. Realizing that the only thing he needed to know about was your side effects, and how to best manage them alongside you. Thank fuck you weren’t sick… well… sick in a way that someone couldn’t help you with. A way that he couldn’t help.

So, he sit down in on the floor in your room and waited.

Your wake-up call came in the form of sleepy eyes opening to see the massive silhouette of Ghost sitting in your floor. Dark eyes much softer than you’d expected, and a much more concerning sight of your pill bottle resting in his massive hand. A sight that sat you up ramrod straight in your bed, gasping softly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Price.” You sputter, rushing to get the words out of your mouth. Terrified that he’s going to get up and run out the door. Just sitting long enough to let you get a good look at his plan before exposing you to the Captain as some sick kind of satisfaction.

His eyes narrow a little, “Don’t tell Price?” His voice sounds hoarse. “Don’t tell Price?”

It sounds that much more broken and gritty when he repeats it. Standing up to meet you a bit more level, fisting the pills in his hand, and lightly making them shake. He can’t understand your fear. Completely blind to the fact that -much like him- you’re fearful of being shamed. Misunderstood for it. Or worse. Ghost can’t recognize why you’re looking at him as if he’s going to be the reason your life ends. When in all reality, you don’t see how he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t feel safe coming to him.

“You’ve been takin’ these… fallin’ asleep on everyone, and-and struggling for who knows how the fuck long…” It’s hard for Ghost to keep his tone even, thinking about it. “Why didn’t you tell me. you should’ve told me. Said something. Anything.”

Caving in on itself, your chest burns. Eyes locked on his and scanning every confusing moment of emotion and each shift as it comes and goes.

“You wouldn’t…”

Ghost takes a fast step closer, “I wouldn’t what?” His hand drops the pills on the bed and quickly grabs your face, soft fingers pressing into your jaw. “I wouldn’t get it? I wouldn’t do what you needed me to? Wouldn’t let you sleep on me?”

Your lips open in surprise at the softness in him. All of him. The gentleness of his fingers, how his eyes lay silkily on you. Even his voice, falling so softly despite it’s rough tone and deep sound, feels like he’s terrified of you being scared away from him. Like that gentle hold on your face is all he can manage, and he’d rather do anything other than let you pull away from it.

“You have to know…” he starts weakly. “You have to know that - that I would do… anything you needed me to. Anything to make this easier for you. Even somethin’ small, I’d do it for you, honey.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated 🤎

[mncxbe]

Heyy hope you're doing well!! I'm not sure if you have done this before and sorry if you did but could I request akutagawa and reader fucking after a really long time? Like the reader was on a really long mission out of Yokohama or with her friends or whatever which causes Akutagawa to....you know be pent up after being away from his s/o for so long and super needy. I just feel like he would absolutely pounce on them once they return lol!!

oof oof yes anon you cooked a good idea👀 tbh I see him being super impatient and needy but he's too prideful to show it at first. but anyway I hope you like this hihi♡♡

°☆○

Teasing♡

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ Aku degrading you lil bit (use of word slut)

Akutagawa's patience was starting to wear off with each torturous second that passed. It's been two hours since you got home from your trip to Kobe and you didn't so much as lay a finger on him.

Naturally, you hugged him as you entered your shared apartment; shopping bags hanging loosly from your arms, luggage rolling behind you on its little wheels, but nothing besides that.

And oh, how cruel you were to him. You knew how much he missed you, how your two weeks absence has been utterly unbearable, how pent up and needy he was. You noticed his bulge the moment you entered your apartment yet still did your best to avoid granting him the sweet release he needed.

You busied yourself with unpacking the luggage, took your time with a boiling hot shower and, pouring yourself a glass of wine, lounged on the couch.

"Come on, sit" you urged him with a sly smirk on your face, innocently patting the empty spot beside you "I've got so many thing to tell you about my trip"

And so Akutagawa sat himself next to you and listened absentmindedly to you rambling on about your vacation. He couldn't even focus on what you were saying; he was too focused on the way your pretty lips wrapped around the brim of your glass. It should've been his cock instead.

At some point you noticed the glazed look in his eyes and chuckled lightly, placing a hand atop his thigh.

"Something wrong sweetie?" you asked, voice tinged with mirth.

Your boyfriend scoffed in response and gave you a suggestive glance. "What do you think, hm, sweetie?" he replied begrudgingly, purposefully articulating the last word.

"Ya know. If you want something you should just ask for it" you continued teasing, raising the glass to your lips.

But Akutagawa wasn't a man of many words and his pride didn't allow him to indulge your little games, to beg you to take care of him; so he simply took what he wanted from you.

As for now your face was pressed against the pillows on your bed, back bent into a perfect arch as he drilled his cock inside you. His body was stretched along your back, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin and you could clearly make out every little moan and grunt that rolled past his lips, his hot breath dripping all over your neck and cheeks.

"Ryuu~ fuck baby s'too much" you babbled out between soft moans, fingers clawing at the damp sheets beneath you.

"Shut up" he spat, voice laced with annoyance as his thrusts grew deeper and faster. "All you did tonight was talk, talk, talk like a broken record. Shut up and take me like the good little slut you are"

Pearly tears pooled at your lashline as your walls fluttered around him. You weren't used to this side of him, so demanding and mean but you didn't complain at all. The tip of his cock kissed your sweet spot with each thrust, making you see entire constellations.

One of his hands came to rest on the small of your back, deepening your arch in an attempt to ground himself as he picked up the pace.

"Ya like that sweetie? Being fucked dumb on my cock? Bet you missed it these past weeks you desperate slut"

You were too far gone to utter any clever remark about how he was the needy one, not you; so you resumed to mumbling a mhm as you closed your eyes shut and bit down on your bruised lip.

Your boyfriend buried his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly, the warmth of his breath sending waves of pleasure through your body. He was close, desperately chasing his own release and you knew it.

You managed to find the arm that supported the weight of his body and brushed your fingers against his. He took the hint and placed his hand on top of yours, fingers entertwining with your own as he squeezed them tightly.

"You close too baby? Wanna cum?" he uttered between ragged breaths, any hint of malice in his voice now gone and you nodded.

"Need to cum f'you please"

"Then go on. No one's stopping you baby you've earned it" he urged you and on cue you gushed around him, spasming walls milking him dry.

"Shiiit~ fuck sweetie" he groaned as he pressed his hips flush against your ass, spilling his load inside you. His arm finally gave away and he toppled to the side, laying beside you, your hand still in his as he drew little circles on it with his thumb.

"Thank you baby. I really needed this" he huffed, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck and you shivered lightly, still coming down from your high.

"Anytime" Your skin tingled as he wrapped an arm around your waist and breathing against your neck, mumbled a soft 'I love you, missed you so much' before closing his eyes. Weariness took over your body too and soon enough you drifted into a deep slumber in his arms.

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Listen

I'll tell you how it's possibly going to end (because I've seen enough catastrophising and worst case scenario thoughts on here to last me a lifetime)

Dee Bradley Baker teased that the ending is "bittersweet", didn't he? And that the way the epilogue plays out is "affecting and beautiful". That "the emotions that are in play are real, human emotions, not just one of being a family member or a friend, but also of being a father, a father to a daughter."

Bittersweet means not everything is good but not everything is bad either. Which means that the finale doesn't have to end in only tragedy. Yes, there will be hurt, we might lose someone. But the end might actually be full of hope.

And isn't Star Wars all about hope?

They're going to bring it full circle. In episode 2 of season 1 - the very beginning of the show - the Batch visits Cut and Suu and the whole episode is essentially about them teaching Hunter how to be a parent and forcing him to look at his new responsibility from a different angle. They recognize his paternal instincts immediately, they see how he is with Omega and give him a lot of advice, saying things that stay with Hunter for the entirety of the show moving forward and affect his choices and reasoning. Cut is the one who makes Hunter realize that he has to do what's best for the kid. Cut is the one who gives him the idea of leaving the soldier life behind and finding, and I quote, "a remote piece of land on a distant planet." Like Pabu! Suu warns him that kids have a tendency to find trouble. They tell him he has no idea what he's in for but they also show him how to do it right.

Hunter's only priority since then has been keeping Omega safe and away from the war, away from the Empire, settling down and giving her the normal life she deserves. A thought instilled in him by Cut, who did the exact same thing - left the war behind, settled down and put his family first. It became Hunter's sole purpose, his main character arc, becoming a father and embracing the role is pretty much all he is about.

The finale will remind us of that.

Now, we won't avoid tragedy. That's granted at this point. There will be death, there will heartbreak. Nothing will ever be the same again. But every end is a new beginning.

Maybe we'll lose Crosshair, Maybe we'll lose Wrecker. Maybe both, hopefully neither. But no matter the final outcome, the very end is going to be about Hunter and Omega. The hunt for her will be over, the target on her back might be gone but they can't go back to Pabu, they won't risk it. So Rex and Echo track down Cut. Find him on a remote piece of land on distant planet, just like he said. And they arrange everything.

I can see them landing. Hunter stepping out in civil clothes, with a bag over his shoulder. He shakes hands with Cut, Omega runs to hug the kids. The atmosphere is sad and melancholic but everyone knows it's for the best.

Maybe they move to a house next door, maybe they live nearby. Hunter puts Omega to bed, lets Batcher lay down at her feet. He sits by her side until she's asleep and then steps out onto the porch where Cut is already waiting. They share a drink and a conversation, calling back to everything they've been talking about in 1x02 and how Hunter's view of things has changed since then. Now he understands his role in Omega's life. Understands the sacrifices he had to make and knows with full certainty he would make them again.

We haven't seen or heard about Cut since his episode, so a whole show ago. To bring him back in the finale and tie it all together? End it like that, in a full circle moment? It would be perfect.

And it fits to what Dee was saying, because this kind of ending is affecting, is beautiful, and most of all, it is bittersweet. Because at last Hunter gets his wish. He gets to raise Omega away from the war, give her a normal life and a happy childhood - but at the cost of losing everything else.

This might just be wishful thinking but I really hope this is where we're headed.

[mish-anthropy]

This week's featured smut: "When Undead Hearts Beat 🔞" featuring Astarion & Devi

Once again, I come bearing smut!

The smut demon ordained to visit me, and I entered a kind of fugue state and ended up writing a fic about Astarion Ancunin and Devi Sharae - two characters I've only written about once before.

I hereby present: When Undead Hearts Beat 🔞

This is an AU where Astarion's nightmare from my work No Harm Shall Come to You has come true. In this story, Cazador turned Devi into another of his spawn, carved infernal runes on her back and tried to use her for the Rite of Profane Ascension in Astarion's stead. He found her just in time, their companions slaying Cazador as Astarion rescued Devi.

But now they have to make sense of a world where they're both vampire spawn. And it's up to him to help her come to grips with her new powers—and her new weaknesses.

Summary:

Astarion Ancunin and Devi Sharae have had a rough few months. And what's the best thing to do when things get rough? Well, if you were to ask them, they would say it would be a good time to have sex. And they've done a lot of that recently. But all they've really managed to do is avoid having a long overdue conversation about how they really feel about one another. Finally, they take the time to do that. And then they have sex again. :3

Tags include:

NSFW, M/F oral sex, P/V sex, Edging

Full tags and a snippet below the fold! Please leave a comment & kudo if you enjoy it, and pic of the smutty couple in question below 💜

Reblogs appreciated!

When Undead Hearts Beat

Astarion chuckled in response, his heart feeling lighter at her words. He looked at her, his eyes roaming over her tear-stained cheeks and her soft smile. “You’re so brave, Devi. Always trying to make me feel better when you’re the one who needs comfort.”

She reached to stroke his face gently. “I don’t need comfort, Astarion,” she said softly. “I just need you.”

He leaned into her touch, nuzzling his face into her palm. “I need you too, Devi. More than anything.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Devi...” he whispered.

He reached for her face and pulled her closer before kissing her deeply. His tongue gently stroked against her lips, requesting access. As she opens her mouth, he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers. “Devi,” he said again, panting against her lips.

She gasped for air as he broke the kiss. “What is it, Astarion?”

He swallowed hard, his voice cracking with emotion. “Devi... I want to make love to you. I want to hold you and just forget about everything we’ve been through.”

“‘Make love’?” she repeated after him. “You mean, as opposed to what we did earlier?” She smiled at him teasingly.

He laughed softly, a genuine, warm sound, and very much unlike him. “Yes, something more gentle. I want to make love to you, Devi. Not just take you like a wild beast in heat.”

She chuckled. “I do so enjoy when you do that though,” she smiled against his lips. “But yes... let’s try something different.”

He grinned as he kisses her again, his fingers entwining with hers. “I’m glad you enjoy it, my darling. But tonight I want to cherish every moment with you.” He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up as he stood and carried her to the bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed before climbing on top of the mattress beside her. “Once we’re settled, I think a nice, slow love making session is in order,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Mmm... That would be a welcome change from our usual fare,” she smiled at him. “Not that I have any complaints whatsoever,” she added with a smirk.

He smirked, running his fingers down her arm as he lay facing her on the bed. “I mean, I can only agree. But sometimes it’s nice to take things slow and really enjoy each other’s company,” he said, leaning in to kiss her neck softly.

Devi gasped as his cool lips touch her skin. She pushed him away gently, rolling him onto his back with a smile.

He let out a soft chuckle as she rolled him over. “I see you have other plans,” he said, grinning up at her.

“Not entirely,” she smiled. “I just thought after how you devoured me earlier, it’s only fair that I repay the favour.” She moved lower on the bed before shifting between his legs. Leaning down, she gently kissed his inner thigh. “What do you think?”

Astarion’s breath hitched as she moved down between his legs. “Oh, I most certainly approve of this plan.” He let out a low groan as Devi’s lips touched his skin. “You have such a way with your mouth, my darling.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said, nipping at him. “It’s a good thing I know my way around a flute,” she quipped, before flicking her tongue along the head of his cock.

Read the rest on AO3 here!

Please leave kudos if you enjoy it and let me know what you think in the comments! 💜

[blueaetherr]

HELLLO HOPE UR OKAY!! If u have time could u write anything with Neymar? <3 THANK U ITS ALRIGHT IF U DONT THO!!

slumber

pairing: neymar jr x fem!oc (natalia) [she/her]

warning(s): descriptions of insomnia

summary: the one where neymar can't sleep until natalia does

22:00

Entering their bedroom from the bathroom, Neymar witnessed Natalia spread across their bed. Her face planted into her pillow, her arms crossed under her body, constantly shifting her sleeping position like she was uncomfortable; it looked like she was going through it. And Neymar thought so too. In fact, deep down, he knew what was up, it was the same old every time. And yet he decided to be careful and mindful and simply ask just in case. 

Approaching their bed, he sat at the edge of the bed. At the tiny sound made by the bed, Y/N let out a small groan, causing Neymar to scoff a small laugh. She still isn't asleep yet. His initial thoughts were proving to be right. Rubbing her back, he wondered, "You okay, Nat?"

Exhaling loudly, she turned herself around so she was now facing her partner. She began rubbing a hand over her face, whole yet tired, "I've been in bed for how long and I've gained no desire to fall asleep." And Neymar's initial thoughts were, indeed, correct. 

After a long day of work, errands and many chores, the ordinary individual wouldn't take rest for granted. If they were given the chance to lay in all day, to ignore and avoid all the responsibilities of tomorrow, to sleep and not have to worry about work the next day, they would take it; anyone would. To rest up and be told that your responsibilities were long gone, it all sounded like a dream, one so attractive and irresistible. 

But according to Natalia's sleeping schedule, it seemed as if she did take the daily rest for granted from time to time. She could work, do chores and run errands, and she would still find herself tired as hell. Sleeping was where the problem lay. She had told Neymar some hours ago that she would turn in around eight because of her long day; two hours later and she was still awake, rolling around on the bed trying to find a comfortable position.

"Trouble sleeping?" Neymar hummed, letting their hands interlock. He definitely felt for Natalia. For her (sometimes) sleepless nights, for the nights he came back late and she was still awake. The tired eyes, the worn-out expressions, the deep breaths; she had to endure all that fatigue he couldn't take away nor did he know how to directly help with. He gave her hand a little squeeze. "We could always stay up and do a little something to help."

Her eyes closed, she sighed low. "And do what exactly?"

Neymar shrugged, even though she had no sight of him. "Anything you want."

Soon she did have her sight on him, opening her eyes to meet his. "You sure?" Natalia appreciated Neymar's efforts to make her feel better, she really did. But she didn't want it to seem like she was forcing him to lose sleep too. Like herself, Neymar had a long day and she knew his plan was to turn in if she had fallen asleep by now. And seeing as she wasn't, she knew that Neymar wouldn't get a blink of sleep before she did. "You don't have to, you know."

"Well, I want to," Neymar said with his grin, and Natalia rolled her eyes but in the end, it was the two of them that were laughing, clutching onto one another. He spoke like his words were so obvious, like Natalia should know by now. Of course I'll stay up with you. In what case have I not? "Now, c'mon."

00:15

"Diagonal or horizontal cut?"

"Vertical."

The look of disgust and confusion on Neymar's face had Natalia letting out a gasp before laughing, so much that she'd to cover her mouth. Despite this disgust and confusion, Neymar carried out her request by cutting her sandwich down the middle, muttering the whole time saying that there was now less bread compared to if he'd cut it any other way. But when he served her the sandwich and Natalia was smiling, taste-testing and approving his "cooking" skills with her thumbs up, he let his argument go and joined her.

In the dimly lit kitchen, Neymar and Natalia enjoyed the atmosphere they created, one kind and smooth. They laughed at every joke told, they played around as they moved about in the kitchen, they ate (and shared) one another's food. A bit of banter here, with Neymar modelling his cooking apron, and a bit of banter there, with Natalia dashing flour in her partner's face. It was a moment for them to have fun and be unserious, and that's what they did; that's what they chose to do at such late hours.

While they discussed, while they played around, while they ate and shared their food, fatigue slowly began to wash over Neymar. The hidden yawns through laughter, fanning his face to keep himself alert, his curved posture; he was ready to turn in. But watching Natalia enjoy every snack they made—witnessing her animately tired eyes—she wasn't ready for bed, nowhere near it. So he mustered up his energy and continued to entertain their conversation.

01:30

Trailing away from the kitchen, the couple wandered out to their back patio. Where the couches that were all so comfortable and cosy gave them a space to lay down and rest under the night sky. Where when the lights were on, they would star gaze, awing and pointing upward even though they had no knowledge of the stars, galaxies or any otherworldly wonders. Where the two could shy away from everyone else after a long day apart, a space for discussions that were purely gossip.

So that's what Neymar did. He let the focus of the discussion fall on Natalia, letting her take the lead on everything being said. From her work colleagues to random interactions she'd had with strangers, she brought it up. And they would have fun and be so unserious about everything; from Neymar encouraging more the gossip with his agreement and laughter to every word his girlfriend spoke to Natalia letting the discussion flow smooth like a river, her inflection and speech natural yet animated and open.

Under the stars, the galaxies and any otherworldly wonders—gossiping, laughing and more—Neymar slipped further into his fatigue. His yawns began to drown out his laughs, his eyes constantly caving and opening, Natalia holding onto him more than he was with her; he could've fallen asleep as if he so desperately wanted to. 

But watching Natalia enjoy the stars and fun and unseriousness that they were sharing—hearing her shallow breaths against his shoulder—the desire to fall asleep for the night still wasn't there for her yet. And neither was it for Neymar, so he leaned back into the couch and let the lights, both indoor and nightly ones, keep him awake during their gossip session.

2:53

Eventually, the two returned to their bedroom. Ridding themselves of their kitchen activities, they got ready for the night by laying in bed. In their bedroom, in bed, Neymar and Natalia could've done so much and more. From the innocent cuddling to one's natural intimacy. For the purpose of sleeping, they chose to lay in bed– close and intimate– and listen to music.

Music that was calming and comfortable, sounds that had the couple slowly caving into one another. Voices of artists playing that were also lullabies themselves, loud silence replacing conversations as they soon began to fall short. They remained present, of course, but just simply slower and inward and lagged from the two falling in and out of consciousness.

Under the cosy voices of singers, the silence soon became deafening. Neymar's fatigue was far too present and real, so much that he could feel it, perhaps even reach for it. His yawns were too sounding to hide now, he found himself mumbling with closed eyes, the music began to slip out of his ear range. He was ready to fall asleep, and that sleep was ready to pull him under.

Barely opening his eyes and turning his head, he smiled drunkenly. And there Natalia was, fast asleep in a slumber, her body leaning perfectly into his, her breaths shallow yet calm, her face just above the blanket. Witnessing Natalia asleep, in such peace and respite, Neymar finally let his pending fatigue too, wash over him to join her as he always did.

[eskawrites]

well, kids. i've done it. i've written tales of erathia fanfic. original fic? who even knows at this point

@sweepy-stringbean had the absolutely brilliant idea of not only making Vecna the villain of the fictional fourth movie in this franchise, but also having a flayed Moss/Max "betray" the group by quite literally stabbing Tenar in the back

and, well, it's all just kinda grown from there

(this is also the backstory to that incredible, soft tenlark art that i've been staring at for like three weeks straight. Rae, I adore your work and your mind and everything you've come up with in regards to these beautiful gay fantasy losers)

anyway

-

Tenar’s chambers always seem bigger at night. The bed is too wide, making her feel too small. The windows stand taller, darker, far more imposing than they feel when they’re letting the sun in. The air seems heavier, full of the grief she can never shake, the responsibility she’ll always carry, the doubt that fills every day.

And tonight—and most nights, recently—an inescapable sense of longing.

Tenar is no fool. She might avoid it, might do all she can to deny it in the light of day, but she knows precisely who she longs for, and why. How can she not, when Lark is the one who makes the grief and the responsibility and the doubt a little lighter? Lark can step into the room and fill it effortlessly, without even saying a word. She can bring the light through the windows, can sit beside Tenar and hold her hand and make her feel far from small.

And all Tenar can do is lay awake at night, thinking of her.

Maybe she is a fool. Or a coward, because despite all that they’ve been through, she still shies away from telling Lark the truth.

But in her defense, she really does think Lark should know by now. Everyone in the kingdom has spent the last few years questioning why Tenar chooses Lark again and again—to travel with her everywhere she goes, to sit at her right hand during meetings and ceremonies and decrees, to protect her and accompany her and advise her and challenge her in ways no one has ever managed before. Surely, surely, Lark has figured out by now why she is, consistently, Tenar’s first choice.

Though perhaps that is unfair. If Tenar cannot be brave enough to speak directly, why should Lark have to be bold enough to make assumptions?

Tenar rolls over, tangling the sheets further around her legs. She curls her arm beneath her pillow and tilts her head up to look for the moon through the window. It’s faint, nothing but a barely-there glow behind a screen of clouds.

She is a fool, but she doesn’t have to be. And maybe, just maybe, her room doesn’t have to seem so empty. Tenar pushes herself upright and kicks away the sheets.

Two guards stand outside her door—a precaution of her own doing, but one that she hates. They stiffen to attention when she steps out, then relax with a wave of her hand. She beckons one to come with her and starts down the halls.

Lark’s room isn’t far from her own, but the walk is cold in the castle’s drafty corridors. The guard following her holds his lantern aloft, causing shadows to flicker around the edges of the light. They pass no one.

There is no light seeping through the cracks of Lark’s door when they arrive. Tenar steels herself. It won’t be the first time she’s woken Lark from sleep, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. She can only hope it will be worth it.

But when she raps on the door, no one answers. Tenar waits and listens for any sound of movement on the other side. After a moment, she turns over her shoulder and looks at her guard.

“Have you seen her about tonight?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

Tenar frowns and turns back to the door. She raises her hand to knock again, but the sound of footsteps behind them stops her. The light moves as her guard spins to face the newcomer. Tenar turns, too, and relaxes when she sees who it is.

“Moss,” she says. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Moss’s grin is cheeky, if not a little stiff.

Tenar smiles back. “Looking for Lark, actually. Have you seen her?”

“Not tonight. But I’d be happy to walk with you until we find her. Save you from having to hang out with a stuffy soldier.” Moss smirks as the guard frowns and shuffles self-consciously.

“Be nice,” Tenar scolds her, no bite to her voice whatsoever. She turns to her guard. “You can return to your post. Thank you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He leaves without another word. The hallway darkens as he turns the corner, taking the lanternlight with him, but Tenar and Moss are both comfortable enough with the dark by now.

“Shall we?” Moss asks, tilting her head down the hall. Tenar nods, and together, they walk away from Lark’s room.

-

Lark leans against the wall across from Moss’s room, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the closed door. There is no light coming from beneath it. No answer to her soft knock. No sound or movement at all from within.

It’s not unusual for Moss to wander the halls, even this late at night. Just like it’s not unusual for Moss to snap at her friends when she’s frustrated, or avoid people when she’s overwhelmed, or hide what she’s really thinking when she believes her own thoughts to be too weak or vulnerable to share.

Logically, none of it is unusual. But Lark has never really been one for logic. That’s Tenar’s job, and even Tenar has been urging her to just talk to Moss lately, if she’s so worried.

And she is worried. So is Tenar. So are Arren and Ged.

“Fuck this,” Lark mutters to herself.

She adjusts the bow on her back and crosses the hall. The door is locked, but only for a moment. She and Moss told Tenar years ago most of the castle’s chambers were child’s play to break into. They’re working on it, but considering the fact that most of the threats they’ve faced wouldn’t be deterred by a locked door, it’s pretty low on the priority list.

Lark swings the door open just enough for her to slip inside and close it again behind her. Moss is nowhere to be seen, but there are still embers glowing faintly in her fireplace. Lark sighs and walks further into the room.

The desk is a mess of discarded books and crumpled papers. A jar of ink has spilled onto its side, seeping into a stack of blank parchment. The wardrobe is a mess, the door hanging open, clothes spilling out of it. None of this is unusual.

The bed is made—that part is unusual. The sheets are stiff, tucked in neatly. Lark frowns and walks over. The nightstand is empty, the lantern sitting on top of it dark and cool. She turns and walks over to the fireplace instead.

Heat still hovers around the hearth. The coals must have been recently scattered. Lark kneels before them and reaches a hand out. Very recently, she thinks.

She grabs the poker hanging by the fireplace and sifts absently through the embers. She needs to find Moss. She just—has no idea where to start.

She pulls the poker back, and it catches on something in the corner of the fireplace. Lark tilts her head and leans forward a little. A page—crumpled into a ball, half-burnt, but still solid enough for her to scrape out. She picks it up and smooths it out with shaking hands. Ink blots cover most of what hasn’t burnt away, but there’s enough to recognize Moss’s handwriting. Enough to make out a few phrases.

Sorry, jumps out at her. Then, darkness and I’m scared.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Lark scrambles to her feet. She stuffs the page into her pocket and runs from the room. Her hand goes to her bow as she starts down the hallway.

She still has no idea how to find Moss, but she has to be here somewhere. The embers are still warm. She can’t have gone far. Lark can still find her. She can still stop whatever this is. She can still help her, before it’s too late.

-

Moss and Tenar don’t speak much as they walk. Moss trails a few feet behind her, her steps so quiet Tenar keeps looking over her shoulder just to make sure she’s still there. She looks pale in the dark halls. Her hair is dull, washed out in the shadows.

“I’m not sure where to look for her,” Tenar admits. Lark has followed Tenar’s lead during most of their nighttime wanderings; she doesn’t know where Lark would go if left to her own devices.

“Perhaps she’s out looking at the stars somewhere,” says Moss.

But Tenar shakes her head. “It’s too dark tonight. All she’d see is clouds.” And she wouldn’t go sit and look at clouds—not when it’s so dark, and there isn’t even the glow of the moon to keep her company.

“She could still be looking for fresh air,” suggests Moss.

Tenar doesn’t think that’s the case, but she also doesn’t have any other ideas. Besides, Moss knows Lark just as well as she does, if not more. Maybe she knows something Tenar doesn’t.

Or maybe she’s looking for an excuse to step outside and have a quiet moment of her own. Something has been troubling Moss, lately. It’s been worrying Lark. It’s been worrying Tenar, too. Maybe, if they have a moment to themselves, Tenar can try to talk to her.

“Alright,” she says. She takes the next left, making her way to one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.

They don’t meet anyone else along the way. Everything is quiet as Tenar leads them through the double stained glass doors and out onto the balcony. The air is cold, biting even for the late autumn night. Tenar shivers as the chill seeps immediately through her nightgown, but beside her—covered only in simple clothes and a thin, hooded cloak—Moss seems entirely unaffected.

It’s obvious that Lark isn’t out here, but Moss doesn’t make any moves to leave. She stands in front of the doors and stares out past the balcony’s railings. It’s too dark to see the gardens. Too dark to see much of anything at all.

“Moss?” Tenar asks softly.

Moss shakes her head. That distant look lingers in her eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”

“That’s okay.” Tenar continues to watch her watch the night. “Is there…something else you want to talk about?”

This time, Moss’s eyes flicker toward hers. Only for a moment, though. Then she drops her chin and looks away again.

“What do you mean?”

Tenar shrugs and turns away. She walks toward the railing, giving Moss space to gather her thoughts, or her words. Or her courage.

“A lot has been going on lately,” she says, keeping her voice light. Behind her, Moss stays silent. “Farmers reporting decay in their fields. Sightings of strange creatures in the forests. Disappearances, in the border villages. I think everyone is a little uneasy because of it.”

“Are you afraid, Tenar?” There’s something almost mocking in Moss’s voice. Tenar almost looks back at her over her shoulder, but then she stops and sighs, letting her head hang.

“I would be a fool not to be, wouldn’t I? After everything we’ve been through…I know better than to doubt my own instincts.” She pauses, then, “You do, too.”

Moss stays silent.

“Moss?” she asks again. No response. Tenar lifts her head. “Please talk to me. I know something has been bothering you lately.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Her voice is dark—not angry, but furious. Tenar turns and sees Moss directly behind her, eyes dark, a shadow hanging over her face. A blade in her hand.

Their eyes meet, and Moss flinches, her arm jerking to the side even as it thrusts forward.

The whole world shrinks down to that balcony, to just the two of them—to the sharp, blinding pain in her back, and the overwhelming sorrow in Moss’s eyes.

Tenar’s hand moves of its own accord, finding the dagger at her waist and swinging up. Moss’s eyes widen as she stumbles back. She pulls her own knife with her, and Tenar screams as the blade tears through her again on the way out. She feels blood running down her back, soaking her gown. She shoves Moss away with another cry and throws the dagger—not at her, but past her. It crashes through the closed doors, shattering one of the stained glass windows.

They hear voices almost immediately, calling out in alarm. Moss bares her teeth.

“Moss,” Tenar whispers.

It’s like something breaks between them. Moss falters. Fear fills her gaze. Her arm falls, holding the knife loosely at her side. For the first time, Tenar sees tears streaming down her cheeks.

They hear footsteps, light and quick, then, “Tenar!”

Lark’s voice. Tenar could sob. She’s shaking, her legs trembling beneath her. She reaches out for Moss, but that dark, furious expression fills her face again—a look of hatred so cold that she doesn’t even look like herself. Moss backs away toward the railing just as Lark bursts through the doors.

She sees Tenar first. Terror crosses her face.

And then she looks at Moss.

Her eyes dart down to the bloody knife in Moss’s hand.

“Moss,” she breathes.

Moss shakes her head. She takes another step back. Lark starts after her, but she bolts and hops over the railing before she can reach her.

“Moss!”

Lark sprints forward. The balcony catches against her hips, stopping her even as she leans dangerously far over it, reaching for someone who is no longer there. Lark pulls her bow and starts to aim, but she lets out a frustrated growl and lowers it again before she even has the arrow nocked.

Tenar’s legs give out. She catches herself on the railing. She can hear her own harsh, broken breaths in her ears.

“Tenar!”

Lark grabs her and eases her down to the floor, but Tenar shakes her head.

“Moss—you need to help Moss.”

Lark ignores her. Her hand slips toward Tenar’s back, and burning pain courses through her veins. Tenar bites back a whimper.

“We need to get you a healer.”

“Lark, it wasn’t her. There’s something wrong, something—”

“I know,” Lark says through her teeth. “I know, she—but this looks bad, Tenar, we gotta get you help.”

“She’s in danger—”

“So are you.”

“I’ll be fine, I—”

“Tenar—”

“Lark,” Tenar says in the same voice that addresses her people, that orders her council, that leads knights onto the battlefield. “Go after your sister.”

Lark looks toward the railing where Moss disappeared, then squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips down her cheek. Tenar wants to reach up and brush it away.

Lark’s grip on Tenar tightens. “No,” she says. “Not until you’re safe.”

She looks down again and meets Tenar’s eyes, and Tenar can’t resist it anymore. It hurts. Everything hurts. She can feel the blood on her gown, clinging to her skin. The night is already growing colder around them. Lark is moving against her now, stripping her overshirt and bunching it to press against Tenar’s back, and that hurts, too—enough to make darkness seep in on the edges of her vision.

Moss is gone, disappeared into the night. Something is wrong with her. She’s not herself. Lark knows, and Ged and Arren will believe her, but will anyone else? The guard who escorted her to Lark’s door—he’ll know Moss was the last one with Tenar. Will he think Moss was acting of her own accord? Will everyone else?

Lark is shouting something, her voice cracking as she cries out for help. If the council blames Moss, will they even listen to Lark? Or will they try to stop her from finding Moss and helping her?

“Lark,” Tenar whispers. Lark turns to her immediately, holding her a little closer. “My dagger—by the door.”

“Ten—”

“Please,” she says, because she knows it will work. And it does. Lark gently lays her down, then scrambles across the balcony to grab her dagger.

She returns within seconds. One arm wraps around Tenar again while the other offers her the hilt of her blade. Tenar takes it, then grabs Lark’s wrist.

“What are you—”

“Listen to me,” Tenar says, and Lark does. She always does. It makes Tenar want to apologize. But she can’t. She turns the blade and passes it back to Lark, pressing the seal that rests in the center of the cross-guard into her palm. “Moss needs you, okay? You—you have to protect her. You have to protect your family.”

Lark nods. “I will. You know I will. But Tenar—”

“And you have to protect this kingdom. Promise me you will.”

“I’ve already sworn that oath to you,” Lark says, her voice rough. “Stop talking like this. You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to find Moss, and we’re going to fix this. We are.”

“Lark, I…”

But whatever she wants to say—the words she was finally brave enough to share—fades away as darkness clouds more of her vision. She hears Lark call her name. She hears others, too, people finally running out onto the balcony to help, crying out when they see the two of them lying there in a growing pool of her blood.

Tenar wraps Lark’s fingers around the hilt of the blade and lets go.

“Tenar!” Lark catches her hand before it can hit the stone. Tenar doesn’t respond. She looks over her shoulder at the guards who stand frozen, now, staring at the scene. “She needs a healer! Now!”

It snaps them back into action.

“Sound the alarm,” one of them barks, sending someone else running back down the hall. “And you, run ahead to the ward, tell them what’s happened. You two, help me carry her.”

They all start moving at once. Lark forces herself to let go of Tenar as they lift her and start carrying her away. In the distance, she hears the ringing of the alarm bell, followed almost immediately by the cries of more guards. Torches and lanterns start blinking to life across the grounds.

“Lark!” It’s Arren’s voice, and Ged’s. Lark turns as they appear down the hall, running toward her.

They falter as they pass the guards carrying Tenar away. Ged stumbles a little, but Arren grabs him and keeps pulling him along toward the balcony.

“What happened?” Arren asks. “Tenar, is she—”

Lark closes her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s Moss?” asks Ged. Lark can feel the weight of Moss’s writing in her pocket. Maybe she’s still on the grounds. Maybe she’s tearing through the woods, running for her life. Maybe she’s already met up with whatever force has taken her from them.

Ged and Arren understand her silence enough to know not to ask anything else. Not yet, at least. Not here. Guards still hover around them, scanning the balcony for some hint as to what happened, or just standing there staring at the pool of Tenar’s blood.

Blood that is soaking into the knees of Lark’s pants, still. She pushes to her feet, feeling sick.

“What do we do now?” Ged asks instead.

Lark opens her eyes again, but before she can respond, one of the guards walks up to her.

“I was about to ask the same thing,” he says.

Lark stiffens. She doesn’t want to sit through their questioning now—not when she doesn’t know if Tenar is okay, or where Moss is, or—

“What would you have us do, Your Highness?”

Lark stares. Arren stares.

It’s Ged who breaks the silence.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking down at Lark’s hand. “Tenar’s blade.”

Lark looks down, too. She is indeed still holding Tenar’s dagger in a white-knuckled grip. She hadn’t even realized it.

“What—”

“She put it in your hands, didn’t she?” the guard asks.

Lark forces herself to look up at him. “Yes, but—”

“Then she placed the fate of the kingdom in your hands, as well.”

“I—that’s not—it’s just a blade.” Lark stares at it in her hands. She will her fingers to uncurl and let it drop, but they don’t. She can’t.

“It’s tradition,” Ged says quietly. She turns to stare at him instead. “Especially during wartime. A quick way of establishing succession when a monarch is—”

“Tenar’s not dead,” Lark snaps.

“And if she wakes again,” the guard starts. Lark glares at him, and he holds his hands up. “When she wakes again, she will resume power. But until then…”

He steps forward, then lowers himself to kneel in front of her. Lark shakes her head. Behind him, the rest of the guards lingering on the balcony follow suit, bowing their heads. Ged kneels, too, elbowing Arren in the thigh on the way down so he takes a knee, too.

“Queen Regent,” the guard says to her. “What would you have us do?”

[sarahs-secrets2]

We Both Know (Phillip Graves x Reader) 18+࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

something short while I work on sugar daddy graves! just for funsies! Pretend this is the first time I've ever used this Phillip photo LMAO I've used them all I think so I'm just gonna rearrange them in this new format.

Based on We Both Know by Bryson Tiller

gn! (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 810

Warnings: NSFW, light smut, douche alert!!!!, fxck buddy Graves, pet names (you know the deal), swearing, low-key toxic oops

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Being a Shadow wasn't easy, especially when your Commander was Phillip Graves, the handsome blonde Southern boy. You had put effort into not falling for his charm which seemed to work on everyone. Your attempts to not fall for him were successful for about 6 months. Once the Commander had his eyes set on you, it was like hunting his prey, and he always won. 

He started off by catching your eyes across the room, then lingering touches on your arm, then your waist. His final attempt, which worked, was when he caught you in the hallway. He grabbed your arm lightly as you walked past each other, whispering in your ear to meet him in his room later. 

That night was the first time of a long string of hookups with Graves. Being the Commander meant being his fuck buddy came with rules. Phillips Graves’ friends-with-benefits rules consisted of being professional in public settings, do not expect anything more than sex from him, and he does not belong to you. These rules he established allowed him to be free while still getting his dick wet, quite the charmer he was. As much as you hated Graves’ stuck-up rules, it was nice to have a place to release the pent-up energy, plus he wasn't bad in bed. 

As time went on, the rules became looser and the line blurred, you had started to catch feelings for the Commander. It wasn't something you had expected, and you didn't know where he stood on how he felt toward you.

On this particular night, Phillip had allowed you to stay in his room instead of sending you back to yours, like usual. The two of you laying together in his bed made you think of if there was any potential for a future with him. 

“Would you ever settle down?” your voice breaking the silence in the room.

“Not now, too busy,” his eyes were half-lidded as he spoke, you could tell he was tired.

“You would never want to get married? Just fuck the rest of your life?”

“Damn right”, he laughed thinking it was supposed to be a joke, “What made you ask that anyways”, he yawned, turning to face you in bed now.

“I don't know, I don’t want to get into it”, you hoped he would be tired enough to drop the conversation so you didn't have to explain your newfound feelings towards him. 

“I’ve got all night doll, lemme hear it”

“I’m just saying if you wanted me to, I’d wait for you”, you turned to lay on your back, in an attempt to avoid his eyes. 

“We got our rules hun, don’t wait for me, this ain’t nothing besides sleepin’ together,” he adjusted so he could see your face, his hand stroked your cheek, “You knew the rules gettin’ into this, yeah?”, all you could was nod in response.

The silence coated the room again.

Your mind was racing as you finally decided to speak up again, “Then I'm not playing games with you anymore”, you swung your legs off the side of the bed grabbing your t-shirt off the floor before leaving the Commanders room, letting the door slam a little louder than usual. 

Graves smirked to himself as he watched you leave knowing how you wouldn't be able to stay away from him, and he couldn't stay away from you. 

It had been two days since you walked out of Phillip Graves’ room, and you had been fighting every urge to go back since. You had since decided the friends-with-benefits needed to end, it wasn't doing you any favors at this point, only growing your feelings towards the Commander. 

Shockingly you heard a knock at the door, even more shocking was Graves at the other side of the door. 

“I just wanted to apologize for what I said darlin’, bit harsh wasn't it” he half-smiled as he scratched the back of his neck as he scanned your eyes looking for some kind of sign. To his dismay, your face gave nothing away as you motioned for him to come into your room.

“Whaddya say, can we get back to it?” he walked towards you, resting his hands on your hips. As much distaste as you had for him at the moment, you couldn't deny how his touch set you on fire. His hands caught the edge of your t-shirt, he looked at you for confirmation as you nodded he began slowly pulling your shirt up. His lips connected to your collarbone pushing you towards the bed. 

“I missed this” he muttered against your skin in between kisses. 

“This is the last time” you breathed out as Phillip was unbuttoning your pants while you tried to slip his shirt off of him. 

He laughed, “We both know that isn't true, now is it darlin’?”

[iamthecomet]

O my o my o my

I saw a tiktok of a man. Who has a belly button piercing. And I immediately thought of Dew, and fell to my knees.

I’m not sure if you’re taking request but I wanted this image in your mind, but if it doesn’t fit your fancy that’s totally fine:)

Anyway what if Dew got one specifically for Aether, because he knew how he’d act. And when Aether finds out he goes full feral. He didn’t think Dew could get any prettier, then he does this.

I've been sitting on this for TOO long. I've been trying to decide how I want to answer it. I headcanon that AETHER has a belly button piercing (because come ON) soooo do with that what you will. ANYWAY. This is uh...nastier than I planned.

It's been a rough few weeks. Dew's had to play the long game--something he is not used to. He hates it. Hates avoiding Aether on purpose, lying to him. But it's all worth it for this moment. When he has Aether in his room, laying on his bed, shirtless and lax. The ruddy head of his cock peeking out under the waistband of his sweatpants. Dew drags his shirt up over his head and Aether makes a choked noise. It's not the usual reverent sigh. Aether's intentional about his praise. He always has a remark when Dew takes his shirt off. Always saying something about how pretty, how soft, how badly he wants to touch.

But this time? There is the strangled moan, and then nothing. Aether's eyes are fixed on Dew's belly. They're usually drawn to the nipple rings. Aether has a thing for piercings, Dew discovered it early on, and exploits it at every turn. Walking around shirtless when he probably shouldn't be just to watch the way Aether hones in on the metal.

But his eyes don't shift up this time. They're focused on the new piercing. The two ball ends of the bar through his belly button. Dew reaches over and thumbs over the ring through Aether's. "We match." Dew doesn't get a response. Not a verbal one. Instead, he's flat on his back on the bed and Aether is on top of him, wedging himself between his legs, before Dew can draw a full breath. Aether kisses him, hard, before Dew can open his mouth to say something else.

Aether licks into his mouth and trails his fingers down Dew's sternum, over the flat plane of his belly to press his thumb to the piercing. It doesn't do anything, not like when Aether does the same to his nipples. But it gives him a small jolt all the same. Connection.

Satanas he's getting soft. When Aether finally tires of his mouth and starts to drag his teeth over Dew's jaw, his pulse, down to his collarbone. Dew finally regains his breath, his words. "You like it?" Aether looks up at him, his eyes wild, pupils blown out. He looks like he's been caught, called out. He grips one hand on Dew's hip hard. He licks his lips. Aether, again, doesn't answer him verbally. He ducks his head instead to catch one of the nipple rings between his teeth. Dew's brain short circuits. Aether is quick, heavy-handed. He flattens Dew to the bed and drags his sweatpants down. He wastes no time prepping Dew and pressing his knees up by his ears to get in as deep as he can. Dew's head is spinning. Pleasure grinding through him from every angle. He grins up at Aether as he fucks into him. Aether trails his thumb over the new piercing again. And this is why Dew waited because he knew Aether would have to touch, to taste, to toy with it. And the reverence on Aether's face is worth all the time he spent trying to avoid this. "Gonna have to get pierced more often," Dew pants as he gets a hand on himself and starts to jerk himself off in time with Aether's thrusts.

"You're so fucking hot, you know that?" Aether growls.

"Only got it because it looks so good on you," Dew says, voice hitching into a whine as Aether changes the angle and starts nailing against the spot that makes Dew shake almost instantly. He rockets towards his orgasm, twisting his hand over the head of his leaking cock as Aether fucks him into the mattress. "Aeth, fuck, I'm gonna--" "Yeah. Yeah. C'mon. Make it messy for me."

Dew has one last fleeting thought about how sanitary it is for him to cum all over a barely healed piercing before he's doing exactly that. Body clenching down on Aether, and bowing off the bed. His eyes roll back in his head with the force of it.

Aether groans low and deep and then his fingers are dragging through the cum on Dew's belly. Slipping over the piercing rolling it between his cum slick fingers. Dew wants to look away, wants to close his eyes against the overstimulation, he can't. Not until Aether throws his head back and cums with a shout. Only then does Dew allow himself to sag back onto the sheets. Aether rolls off of him, their shoulders pressed together as they both come down. "So you, uh, I guess you do like it then."

"Yeah," Aether says with a laugh, "I guess I do."

[miasmaghoul]

HELLOOOO

okay so

I have an unusual question

I recently discovered my passion for writing, I've been inspired by a friend of mine and a bunch of blogs here on tumblr (including yours <3)

and now I'm trying to write smut for the first time and I feel like... embarrassed about it (?)

sooo, feel free to ignore but I wanted to ask: do you have any smut-writing-tip for rookies like me?

(forgive my poor english, pls)

First off, CONGRATULATIONS ON FINDING A NEW PASSION!!! That's a fantastic feeling. ♡

I know just what you mean about feeling wiggly about writing smut. I don't know a single writer who DIDN'T have this experience when they first wrote filth! There is a shockingly vast distance between having filthy ideas and actually typing them out. I assure you that this is perfectly normal!

Before I give my advice, please let me say that I am in no way a professional writer, so your mileage may vary here. This is what worked for my hypersexual ND brain back when I first started doing this at the tender age of [REDACTED]

My advice is this: start simple. (18+ under the cut)

Don't try to go all in during your first smut adventure - not everything needs to be an intense, intricate bondage scene featuring medieval torture equipment and a mustachioed man called Hamish. Choose something uncomplicated and more natural for your first time out - a max of two people, a simple act (i.e., a handjob) or acts (i.e., making out and mutual masturbation) and an easy to describe setting.

Next, don't worry about making it good in your first draft. Use that time to lay out the scene (x crawls into bed and y joins them, spooning up against their back) and setting up the bare bones of the events (y kisses x's shoulder and neck, reaches between their legs, uses their hand to get x off). Once you've done that, you can start describing things.

It's probably gonna one of two ways - clinical or over the top.

Clinical generally means that you're too literal and precise with your descriptions. For example:

Rain reached down and took Dew's cock in his hand. He stroked it from base to tip, over and over. He sped up once Dew started moaning and felt his own cock hardening as well. He worked Dew's cock until Dew came all over his hand and then grabbed his own cock to do the same.

See? Clinical. It gets the job done in terms of relaying information, but there's no emotion behind the words. No sound, no movement, no life. Things that I, personally, believe a sex scene needs in order to feel believable and real.

The opposite of this is the over the top sex scene. Think of this like watching really bad porn. The kind where people moan like they're about to cum when someone touches their arm, y'know what I mean? Tons of moaning and writhing and too much response to the slightest stimulation. Don't get me wrong, there's certainly a time and place for Dew jizzing himself over Rain licking his neck, but if your whole scene is set up like that it, I personally believe it becomes Too Much.

Ideally, I think, you want to strike a balance between these two things. You want to explain what's happening, but use language and descriptors that are more intimate and sensual. Which brings me to my third point - try to figure out the words and phrasing you're comfortable using before you really get into writing anything. If you don't like the way the words feel, don't use them! That alone can help make things easier to write. (As an example, outside of very specific circumstances, I hate using the word "pussy" and will avoid writing it!)

Perhaps my biggest tip is being very confident in your characters before you make 'em fuck. In my opinion. A bad/boring sex scene is one where the characters feel interchangeable. Think of it like this: a scene with Aether giving Swiss a blowjob should not be able to be read as a scene with Rain giving Dew a blowjob instead. It should feel unique, however you choose to make that happen.

Last bit of advice is probably the most obvious one: practice. Practice practice practice. Something sounds hot in your head? Write that shit down. Stick it in your notes app, even if it's just a few words. Practice by putting little scenes together in your head and then transcribing what's happening in them. Watch something erotic and think about how you would write that scene. Think of it like exposure therapy - the more you create smut, the less ashamed you'll be about it!

I will say it also helps to have a smut writer/enjoyer friend (or friends!) to bounce ideas off of, or to ask for advice. If you're planning to be active in the Ghost fandom, I can tell you that every single writer and artist I've interacted with here has been incredibly kind and welcoming. Don't be afraid to reach out!

This got so long lmao SORRYYYY