#reader isnt mentioned

[somberauthor]

Could you write some sleepover headcanons for the beta kids(homestuck) please?

I kinda based these off of me and my friends, so I hope its not too out of character!!

JOHN

Obviously in charge of the movies (much to everyones dismay).

He occasionally brings snacks too. (Snacks meaning full sized cakes that his father made.)

He is the one who usually stays quiet when discussing sleeping positions. He doesn't argue, or make it sexual when sleeping next to someone. He may make it awkward, but not sexual at all.

He'd wake up at the same time as rose would, so before anyone else.

ROSE

Her house is usually where they go for sleepovers, but if her mom is having an exceptionally rough night she'll make an excuse.

She has Kanaya make the pajamas, because everyone agreed it would be nice to have matching pajamas when they have sleep overs.

If there is an extra mattress, she'll insist she take it. She enjoys sleeping on separate beds, because she takes over the entire bed.

As stated with John, she and him wake up first. She usually goes to make food for everyone while John stays and wishes the two left good morning when they wake up.

JADE

She is usually the one who asked everyone if they wanna hang out. And she helps keep conversations going while John starts them.

She sleeps wildly, but doesnt know it. She can and will sleep on top of someone. (She also enjoys cuddling with whoever is nearest to her) ((in a non-romantic way of course)

She also brings stuff so they can have some activities to do. (Like beads, yarn, coloring books, and so on)

She wakes up last, and sleeps like a log. So once she's out she's out

DAVE

He's the one who gets the nitty gritty information. Like when they should arrive, when they'll leave, what they'll be doing, and all that jazz

He sleeps like a log. Not like he sleeps deeply, no, he sleeps without moving. He's scared everyone because of how still he is when sleeping.

He's the one with stories to tell when everyone wakes up, because his dreams can be fucking WILD.

He is pretty easy to wake up, so he wakes up at the sound and smell of Rose cooking.

Also, to everyone being so kind in my ask box thank you!! I teared up reading some of the compliments you guys gave me!

[tojisun]

biker!simon (ghost) riley x fem reader

!! smut - minors dni; mask kink; D/s; off-screen scene discussion (like power play); dacryphilia; extended foreplay; petnames; mean simon // 2.6k words

biker!simon mlist

it is carnal. desperate. pawing hands finding each other, trying to get rid of the leather.

you fall on the bed with a huff, body bouncing as the mattress ripples, soft sheets tickling your bare skin. you look up, blinking past the haze, watching as simon gazes at you – clothed. helmeted.

there is something that stirs in your stomach at seeing the disparity – you, naked and bare for him; him guarded. shielded. like he is a mere spectator of your body. like you are made to have you served on a silver platter for him to nip at your flesh and to etch his passions on your skin. like all that you are is his to enjoy – a one-sided servitude. 

you tremble with need, watching as he fiddles with his belt, metal clanking together when he goes to unbuckle it. you bite your bottom lip in anticipation, following the way his thick fingers pinch his zipper to tug downwards, giving you a glimpse of his black boxers. then, he reaches for his helmet.

“no!” you yelp, scrambling to stop simon from removing the gear. you don’t even register what you did or how the word ripped through your lips until it resonated in the room, your chest heaving when the realization struck.

simon’s head cocks to the side slowly, looking animated with his helmet. it makes you clench your thighs close, putting pressure on your throbbing clit, and you watch with bated breath as simon’s head dips down to follow the length of your legs.

there is something in not seeing his face that has you aching, desire creeping in from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers. something that simon must have felt too because he unhooks his hand from his chin strap to continue shucking his cargos just low enough that you can see the chub underneath his boxers.

“like what you see?” he asks, his crooning voice muffled by his helmet.

your legs squeeze tighter, your arm unconsciously coming up to cover your tits. you do not answer him, too caught up in watching as he slowly palms himself through his boxers, cupping his hand around his tent like he’s reminding you what he’s packing.

like he’s showing you what he promises he’ll give you.

but your silence makes him snarl, his hand falling to his side before he stalks towards you. his shins bump the edge of the bed, then he bends forward, his big frame towering over your trembling figure. you feel like a prey caught before him, naked and grappling with the desire that chokes you because there is something addicting at being so powerless before him.

simon laughs, something faint and mean, like he knows what got you spiralling. like he understands. 

he reaches a hand out and pushes your hair away from your face. “i should’ve known that y’r a slut for this.”

the words are whispered, barely breaching the mouth guard of his helmet, but they pierce through the building static between the two of you and you couldn’t help the whimper that falls from your lips nor the willowy gasp of his name. 

simon breathes in sharply before surging towards you, his gloved hands reaching to tug your arms away from your body so he can see you again. you resist with a little pull on your end, your mind buzzing with a building fog, but simon’s hold only gains strength as he tightens his fists around your wrists. 

“show me,” he grunts, pulling you towards him.

you glide across the sheets easily, simon’s overwhelming strength stirring your desires even more. shamefully, you feel your cunt dampen, slick gathering at the lips of your pussy just at having been manhandled by your lover. you want to press your face on the inside of your arm and hide how affected you are by simon’s display of dominance, but his hands are already sliding down your sides, hooking by your hips, before stopping just at the meat of your thighs.

you tumble backwards, head falling to the mattress when simon kneels between your legs, slotting himself there like that is his rightful spot; like that is where he has always belonged. 

then, he stops. you think you know why.

“oh, sweetheart,” he croons, folding himself towards you just enough to make it easy for him to peer at your glistening heat. “look at you leakin’.”

you tear your eyes away from the ceiling to peer down at him, your cheeks burning at the attention he pours into your cunt, only to freeze, your breath getting stuck in your lungs. 

because how could you even forget?

the expanse of your wet cunt is reflected on his visor, the details stark and clear, and you hiccup, ripping your eyes away from the image and thrashing to curl into yourself. shame unfurls in the pit of your stomach, snuffing out the rumbling want that had just overwhelmed you, but simon holds you down to make you stop. 

“you have nothin’ to be shy about, kid,” he says, easing his hands away from your wrists to grip your hips. “look at me. i said look at me.”

you sniffle as you gaze back at him, flinching when all you see is your face reflected back. simon pauses at your reaction, his hold on your hips going lax.

“do you want the helmet off?” he asks, genuine concern now lining his voice. 

you blink, twining your hands together now that simon isn’t holding them. yes please tickles your lips but you hesitate, battling with yourself because-

because you still want the thrill of this – the brief imbalance of power between the two of you where you are simon’s prey, and all that you are is at his mercy; the temporary display of his darkness, stretching over the horizon as he bears down onto you, diminishing your very being into nothing but his to use for pleasure.  

because you ache to feel small. 

so you shake your head slowly, steeling yourself as you continue to look at simon’s visor, trying to see past your reflection as though you can catch a glimpse of his eyes if only to show him that you still want this. 

but more than your want, more than the hunger you have for simon, you want to show him that you trust him. 

and when you feel simon’s hands spasming from where they are gripping your hips, you know he understands. 

“okay,” he says, nodding. his bobbing head almost makes you giggle. “but tell me when you want to stop, alright sweetheart? remember your safeword?”

“mhmm,” you hum, writhing on the bed to get closer to him, sighing when your greedy hands finally get to rub along his abdomen. “cake pops.”

he cups your cheek, the leather smooth against your skin. “that’s right. cake pops.”

—

“please,” you sob, trembling in desperation as simon continues to tease his fingers along your slit. he has yet to give you a taste of what you want even when his cock weeps, staining the fabric of his boxers. you want to commend him for his self restraint but you know he is doing this to tease you. to drive you to insanity. 

simon remains unmoved, pushing down on your stomach when your squirming turns erratic, before scooping out a glob of your slick and rubbing it along your hardened clit to make a mess out of your weeping cunt. you squeal, clawing at the sheets when his fingers pinch your clit, the muted pleasure razing into something that stings. 

and yet it is still not enough.

“simon pleasepleaseplease,” you babble, blinking bleary eyes at him and shivering when all you’re met with is the sight of your tear-stained face. 

you look like a wreck with your hair sticking to your damp face, your lips swollen from the way you have nibbled on them to bite down your sobs and whimpers whenever simon ripped his fingers out of your cunt every time he felt you tighten up. 

“no cumming without my permission, doll,” he crooned, all mean and playful. 

then he’d repeat the process – fucking his thick fingers into your pussy, pumping them with a broken tempo so that you’d never get use to the stretch, crooking them just right until your back arches off the bed with a broken scream, only for simon to push you back down again with a faux disappointed sigh.

“stay put or y’r not cumming.”

it isn’t like it mattered anyway if you had followed his commands, not when simon’s too familiar with your body; attuned to the way you react when you’re near your orgasm. and you know this is all a play to him – something that gets him off as he pulls you to the edge of your euphoria only to drag you back down from your high, crooning words lilting and fading into the background as your ringing ears struggle to grasp the sudden loss of your peaking orgasm.

he plants his hand on your belly, rubbing soothing circles as a sob racks your body. “y’ve been so good f’r me,” simon murmurs. his other hand swipes at your cunt again. “gonna reward you now, princess. gonna give you what you need.”

you sigh, a happy contented sound, and simon laughs at your reaction before lifting his hand up to cup your jaw. the action is tender and soft even when his thumb traces along your bitten lips, wiping away at the thin sheen of spit that pooled at the edge of your mouth.

you watch it all through his visor, feeling breathless at the image you make. at the image that simon reduces you to.

simon notices. of course he does.

“pretty, aren’t you, baby?” his head falls closer to you as he says this, purposefully encompassing your full visage so that your teary eyes could see your wrecked self. 

you feel faint watching as his thumb finally dips into your mouth, pushing past your plush lips until the pad of it bumps into the front of your teeth. you move to suck at his finger even when he doesn’t ask, cataloguing the way your lips wrap around his thumb or how your cheeks hollow when you begin suckling.

you look erotic. sinful. 

simon groans like he is thinking the same thing, his helmet bumping your forehead.

“christ, sweetheart. y’ve ruined me.”

you giggle softly as he nuzzles his helmet on your sweat-stained forehead and squeezes your jaw for the last time before pulling away. he leaves you there on the bed, your eyes blown wide as you watch him tug at his boxers to finally free his pretty, pretty cock.

the moan that leaves your lips is pornographic and carnal, and simon jolts, his hand coming up to fist his cock as the sound ricochets in the room. you see his chest heave and, had your mind not been reduced to a needy mush, you would have realized that he’s gripping his cock to stop himself from cumming just from the sound you made.

“spread y’r legs f’r me, baby,” he growls, his hand still gripping his cock. 

and you do as he says: your hands ball on top of your chest as you spread your legs spread apart, the soles of your feet rustling against the sheets. cool air hits your dripping cunt and you mewl, feeling and seeing how exposed you are before simon.

“so pretty,” simon groans as he shuffles close, lining his cock against your cunt. “an’ it’s all mine, yeah?”

you nod, you think. you honestly don’t know. not when your attention is rooted to simon’s visor, watching with stuttering breaths as he moves to rub his cock along your folds. the first touch makes you squeal, the rush of pleasure jolts you into closing your legs. it’s only simon’s hand pressed on the inside of your thigh that stops you from doing so, the pressure he’s putting on your leg gluing your muscle onto the bed. 

“fuck, sweetheart,” he croaks, still slicking his cock along your folds, the sounds so filthy as they filter through the air. “so fuckin’ wet f’r me.”

god, this is torturous. you need him so desperately, it hurts.

you break into sobs as you reach out to grasp at his arms, feeling untethered as your sanity slips under the fog, feeling it grow taut like a band that’s about to snap when simon’s cock rubs against your clit. he tilts his head up just enough that you know he’s watching you, his beautiful eyes roving over the devastation on your face.

knowing that he’s looking eggs you on – desperation clawing underneath your skin, needing to be itched. “inside, please! simon, please-!” you hiccup. “i wan’ feel you! i wan’-”

you scream, your words petering into a garbled wail when simon finally sinks his cock in you. your head falls back to the pillows, your eyes rolling back to your skull. but he keeps on sliding, keeps on thrusting in – his cock is so long, it feels endless. 

you’re babbling, moans slithering into a noiseless squeal when simon’s pelvis finally bumps the inside of your thighs. 

he’s in. you realize with a tremble. all of him, in you.

your ecstasy bloats, peaking, and your toes curl when it explodes, razing through your sanity until all you can feel is a buzz. you go numb, your ears ringing with a growing static and you fall lax on the bed. a marionette with strings cut.

“fuckin’ hell, princess,” simon hisses, almost like a happy purr. a muted thump somewhere beside the bed tickles your ears. “you jus’ squirted.”

what?

he laughs, the sound so giddy as it spills from his lips. lips which, you realize amidst the satiated thrums spreading throughout your body, you can see. 

oh, you think with a start. his helmet’s gone.

“si?” you murmur, voice hoarse and rugged.

“i’m here, sweetheart,” simon replies, burying his face on the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. “y’came so good f’r me. so perfect f’r me.” he presses a kiss on your skin as he says this.

time stops becoming a blur for you and it trickles back to you in bits, starting from the buzz underneath your veins and the satisfying weight buried in your cunt.

oh-

“simon, i’m sorry-”

simon kisses your lips and devours your apology, his tongue licking into your mouth, claiming with such ferocity. you moan, feeling the expanding warmth running from your throbbing lips to your fluttering cunt; not yet satiated. needing more. 

you gasp when he finally pulls back just enough that his lips hover above yours, ghosting a touch. clingy even when you are wrapped around him. 

“y’came like a good girl,” simon murmurs, his breath tickling your spit-smeared lips. “my good girl.”

you let out a happy sigh when simon draws out, the drag of his cock slow and delicious, before he’s pressing it back in, filling you up once again. you feel the wet patch on his pants and his boxers, and your cheeks burn when you catalogue it as your mess. 

but god, you want more. 

“harder, si,” you mewl, weak hands coming up to tangle in his messy hair. “i want it harder.”

simon braces his arms on either side of your head, his nose rubbing along your damp cheeks until he’s pulling back just enough that you see the way his eyes are blown wide with his lust.

“anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

 he kisses your cheek – the last of his gentleness for the night.

“anythin’.”

[rene-darling]

here me out on this, afab Scara, reader eating him out while praying, since you mentioned in your 'how easy to bed each of the scara eras' that he likes being worshipped I think it'd be pretty interesting.

TO- be worshipped is to be loved.

...you pray daily, without fail you pray to your god, in a place..made best for prayer...credits [Oishru] on X

Hinted AFAB scaramouche though it's not clearly described, gn neutral reader, as reader's gender is not hinted to! Though if you squint its kinda hinted to the fact that the reader is in the church very often

So it can be perceived as nun!reader, but you can also take it as priest!reader

...scaramouche...

Wanderer wouldn't like to be worshipped as much as his past self, scaramouche would.

He finds it embarrassing to part his legs for you; in order for him to feel worshipped, he needs to feel above you, at least in the beginning. His back is cushioned by soft pillows as he tugs in your hair trying to ground himself in some way,

Tugging fists fulls he can't decide whether to pull you into the heat spreading through him or to push you away, it's too much!

And your soft, ever so sweet words- a contrast to your harsh tongue which eats him raw, a contrast to even his own harsh grip. But you never say anything. You don't complain about the scratch marks or the fist full of your hair that he pulls out

Nor about the blood that seeps from any part of you that he holds on to, his grip is never yielding, afraid that if he lets go, you'll go too.

But those thoughts get buried the longer the night goes on, spasms of his body shaking at every touch every lick every tug. His body presses against the statue of the archon, the stone carved to perfection. His gaze sometimes moved behind you to the church doors wondering what the nuns would think of the sacrilegious scene before them.

Tears as he listens to your murmur your face burned deep within him sending vibrations up his spine. Murmurs, more like prayers. The ones which would be considered holy, and innocent if not for where and how you were exactly praying.

His head rocked back and forth as if nodding in agreement to whatever you said, as if he himself would make it come true. Squirting onto your face as you drank him up like holy water,

You'll look up every once in a while, mouth dripping as you would ask him to fulfil your prayers "if- hah, if you bring me pleasure- then- I'll accept whatever prayer you wish for- AH-"

He's never felt this high, this above. Here you are at a place of worship- worshipping him. Your archon, your god. The one that he couldn't be.

Sweet slick drips down the hard stone of the statue as his legs are spread on top of either side of your shoulder. "Wh- ah mhm- am- I- I" barely a whisper, but you hear every oracle from your dear, "my archon." And with a pop of your lips as you let go of the meal that you were latched onto "my god."

That alone brings him over the edge, body slumping against the stone as tears fall like endless waterfalls. Yours, that's what he is.

[harbingersglory]

Mayhaps something with (transfem) Kujou Sara fucking a bratty reader who (intentionally) pisses her off to the point where she goes all out with her full inhuman strength, ultimately knocking them up completely by accident because she was so caught up in the moment she forgot to pull out?

I bet nobody expected her to be first out of her siblings to become a parent, least of all herself, but she ain’t complaining!

{☆} characters kujou sara {☆} notes drabble, implied fem reader, sub reader, transfem kujou sara {☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink

Kujou Sara was not one to allow herself to lose her ironclad control– she was a general, above all else, a servant of the Almighty Shogun.

Yet try as she might, you..you had a way of getting under her skin in a way that had her patience and will tested. Maybe it was the bratty, teasing demeanor that had her jaw clenched so hard it creaked, or maybe it was the provocative words you'd whisper in her ear while she was trying to focus.

It was irrelevant in the face of her dragging you back to her quarters, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed into a thin line– she tried to be gentle, but her grip was firm on her arm as she pulled you into the delicately managed room, her composure cracking like shattering glass. She wanted to wipe that smug grin off your face when she slammed her hands against the door, the wall nearly splintering beneath barely restrained strength, her expression..less than amused.

"Just what are you trying to accomplish?" She ground out, her teeth aching from how hard she was clenching her jaw– and, though she refused to outwardly admit it, your little..distraction was working far better then she wanted to admit to even herself. "I told you not to..to do such things while I'm working. Do you ever listen?"

She nearly growled– like some common beast, she thinks, and she is glad for her tempered control that she did not embarrass herself in such a way. She still had her dignity. But Archons, you were testing that control even still– the way your tongue poked out like a child, mocking and teasing, as if you wanted her to snap.

She almost considered it, but..you were human, she had to remind herself. Archons knows she's never forgive herself if she actually hurt you.

"What? Can the General not handle a little playful banter?" Sara opened her mouth to snarl back a reply, but she closed it but a sharp click just as quickly, a grimace gracing her features instead. "Is that all it takes to rile you up?"

She wants to deny it, keep her sense of control, but damn it– the way your hands glide across her skin, your nails just barely ghosting across the flexing muscles of her back..she feels her control slipping faster then she can maintain it, her lip quivering.

"You.." She croaks out in reply, trying to subdue the uneasy urge that lingers in the back of her mind with every glance down at you, every touch of your hands, every word that drips from your lips like honey. The silence is broken by a low growl, her hands tugging you off your feet and practically shoving you onto the bed.

"What? Are you going to shut me up? Or are you going to admit you enjoy it?"

Fine, she thinks, fine! If this is what you want so badly, she's going to shut you up the only way she knows she can.

She wastes little time between shoving you onto the bed and climbing on it herself, one of her hands reaching up to tangle in your hair as she shoves your face into the mattress, her other hand fumbling with your clothes– just enough to expose your dripping cunt to her, nostrils flaring at the sharp tang of your arousal, her teeth bared in a snarl.

She can't help the raspy groan that tumbles from her lips at the sight– you looked perfect like that. Quiet, your face forcibly held down, your thighs soaked in your own arousal. She absentmindedly wonders if you'd been so wet the entire time– if you'd just been waiting, no, practically begging for her to just..she can't even finish the thought, her hands trembling and her control slipping even further.

Her free hand fumbles with the hem of her own shorts, freeing her straining, twitching cock, pre cum beading at the tip. Her fist tightens in your hair as she leans over you, pressing her chest against your back and aligning her aching cock to your entrance. She almost snaps out of the fog clouding her rationality, but it returns in full force when she snaps her hips forward, sinking into your cunt with a sharp hiss.

"Fuck," Sara curses beneath her breath, groaning at the tight heat enveloping her– Archons, she'd never get used to it. It only drove her further over the edge, rolling her hips to force more of her cock into you. "Not..not going to talk back?" She growled, huffing and releasing her hold on your hair to instead slip her fingers past your lips. The muffled, garbled response was..far more enjoyable than she expected, the hazy eyed look as she sunk fully into you.

It made her feel lightheaded, to be honest. She was getting a bit too carried away, but the way your walls squeezed against her..her teeth ached for an entirely different reason, tongue swiping over the sharp points before she leaned down to sink them into your shoulder, pulling out and slamming back in with a muffled groan. Her pace was frantic after that, dragging moans and whimpers from your throat like a chorus of broken notes.

She hated how easily you got under her skin, but damn it, she couldn't deny how good it felt to put you in your place. You couldn't even get away if you tried– you were human, and while it made you fragile it also made you weak. Easier to handle.

Even if your tongue was far sharper than your appearance would make one believe.

Archons, she was so close, though. She pulled her fingers from your mouth, nearly crumbling at the moan that tumbled openly from your lips immediately after– she may have chastised you for your attitude, but she still thoroughly enjoyed hearing you. Just knowing you were unable to form anything more complex then senseless babbling was a special kind of high.

She wants to speak, but even her own words fail her beyond a low groan, the absence filled with the slick sound of her wild thrusts, caring little about the stinging ache in her thighs as she pounds you into the mattress without a shred of hesitation or rationality beyond fucking you into silence.

A small part of her, the rational part, tried to remind her to pull out– but your cunt felt so fucking good she just kept going despite the sirens blaring in her head. Even as your limbs tensed and your voice grew hoarse from screaming, she kept you beneath her, nipping at your throat to leave her mark against your skin. She was so close, just..just a little more. Just a little longer. Archons, she doesn't ever want to leave– doesn't ever want to pull out.

Her hands grasp your hips tightly as she nears her own climax, slamming back into you with a broken moan– she barely registered the fact she had cum inside you beyond the thrill of it dribbling down your thighs, not even her cock enough to keep you plugged up as she tried to gain some semblance of control through the haze.

..Fuck. She was going to regret this. She was, every so slowly, coming back to her senses– the first thing she felt was embarrassment, then panic, and then resignation.

At the very least she hadn't accidentally fucked you into unconsciousness on accident.

She was much gentler as she sat up, her cock still half hard as she pulled out, inhaling sharply at the way her cum dripped down onto the sheets. She hated how arousing it was. No– no. She needed to get a hold of herself.

But then again..you didn't seem to be complaining, at least not yet. She hesitantly lifted her eyes to see your expression, her throat suddenly feeling dry at the smug satisfaction on your face.

[spirit-mail]

Price with Reader who just can't help but sit in his lap at any chance he gets

___×× follow n request stuff so i can write more ♡

this is just another ramble.. i don't have writing inspo :/

I mean, can't blame you, Price's alwaays sitting with his legs wide open, stretched out as he listens to whatever the person in front of him is saying.

And when he's not discussing plans in his office he's just all stretched out on his chair, moanin' n groanin'– god its like he's indirectly asking you at this point! His lap just looks so empty.. and comfortable, just cant help yourself!

He loves when you're sitting, head on his shoulder while your arms rest loosely around his neck, and he gets to hold you like the prince you are. His cute little boy just needing attention! If only he could he'd take you to all his meetings, just hold you in his lap while he scolds the 141, patting your head n just treating you like a pet, an accessory on his hip to help him manage his stress.

Reader being apart of the 141 doesn't change this at all, if anything, just less frequent! He'd probably try to keep your relationship together a secret, but y'know how nosy those boys can be.. they'd find out anyways‐ whether he planned it or not. They'd definitely tease you both about it often as well, Soap making cheesy kissing noises whenever you two were in a room together, or Ghost giving Price the craziest stank eye.

[callofdudes]

i beg for Ghost angst pleAse

idea: GhostxReader get engaged! Reader d!es and Ghost is just not himself anymore

Missing half of me.

I hope you enjoy it, I love angst 😊

Cw: Angst, death, violence, dissociation, overdose of anti-depressants, depression.

Summary: You were one of the last things Simon had, and without you he crashed and burned.

Dear God he wished he could kill the sick fuck that did this. Why did he have to find out this way? You'd not been engaged two weeks and now you were gone. His fingers ached remembering how he held you after you'd said yes, how he pulled you close and kissed you until if felt like nothing else in the world mattered anymore.

Well now he was feeling the exact opposite. The world didn't matter. You were gone. Dead. The only thing he had left in his life was gone. You'd been ripped away from him like everyone else. Like the universe didn't want him to be happy.

He didn't deserve happiness.

You'd been attacked by some men who notoriously were out to get Ghost. They intended to kidnap you and use you as leverage against him, but when you fought back, they lost control and beat you so bad you were barely halfway to the hospital before you succumbed to your injuries.

Simon mourned the rest of the month. He cried every day until he felt his heart clench and the air forced from his lungs. He choked on tears as he found any sort of strength to yell and fight.

He drove his fist into the mirror in the bathroom after trying to take a shower. He'd always been repulsed by his own image but now he didn't even want to know his own face.

His knuckles bled profusely as glass stuck in his skin and pieces of the mirror lay everywhere. His hands trembled as he lost control, unable to keep himself calm for two seconds. He'd find those men, he'd find them and he'd kill them.

Once he returned to base he wasn't himself. Price remembers when Ghost crawled out of his own grave and tore at the desert sands. He was never the same man.

But this wasn't Simon. Nor was it Ghost. Simon had truly lost. There was nothing left. There was nothing. Every wall Ghost had seemingly built up had crumbled and he had no energy to bring them back up.

First it was the violence.

Ghost was much quicker to anger, finding him in the gym working at the punching bag until he physically wasn't able to move his arms. He'd train until his hands bled.

He snap at other soldiers quicker, resorting to violence faster. Snapping his hands around recruits throats, choking them until they no longer even looked in his direction again.

Price had to amp up Ghost's therapy sessions. Three times a week. But that was going nowhere. Whenever he was asking anything about you or how he was feeling it's like Ghost went into overdrive. He had no energy to put up walls, his mind had nothing there to stop the floodgate.

He just shut down. His mind felt far away, his body so close yet so far. His thoughts were empty. His thoughts weren't even his own at this point. His therapist would tap his shoulder but that never helped. It was so bad that barely anything could pull him from the deep depths of his dissociative state.

He'd stare off into the distance even as Johnny came to his side, kneeling next to him and gently cupping his head and bringing it to his warm chest. Even as he comforted his friend Ghost didn't come back.

Johnny stayed. Johnny rubbed his back, softly whispering and keeping him close and warm while the others left the room.

"I'm here Ghost. It's ok, it's just me."

Finally he spoke, his voice trembling as he finally held onto Johnny. "Y/n...??"

Johnny's heart broke as he hugged Ghost a little tighter. "No Ghost.. I'm sorry it's only me. Johnny, just Johnny."

Ghost whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled Johnny into his arms. He didn't look up at his face, not wanting to ruin the sweet illusion that he's you.

The warmth, the comfort of his hands on his back. Some things are off but that doesn't matter. He's holding Johnny and he wishes so dearly it was you.

John seemed to understand and held onto Ghost as tears flowed down his cheeks.

He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to shatter the illusion. He didn't want to lose you. You were everything in his world and he wanted to maybe start a family like you'd always wanted. He'd always said he'd start a family just because of you. He hates kids but for you... For you he would have done anything. He'd climb the tallest mountain and swim the deepest ocean just to reach you. To pull you back into his arms and hold you until he forgot the world ever did this to him.

Johnny hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry Ghost. But I'm right here if you want to talk?"

He shook his head, Johnny's voice finally pulling him too far out of the illusion that he couldn't dive back in.

"I'm sorry." Johnny whispered.

Ghost pulled his arms away, letting Johnny out of his embrace and finally saw his face, smashing whatever little imagination he had into smithereens.

"I just want them back-" he choked out, more tears falling down his face. "Why did they have to leave too!?"

"Ghost..-"

"It's taken away everything I ever cared in this damn world! It doesn't want me to be happy! It didn't stop when I was tortured and burned and buried! It didn't stop when my father abused me!"

"And yet it took away the only family I cared about. And now the person I was going to call mine for the rest of my life!"

Johnny blinked, surprised at the outburst. "The universe doesn't hate you." He sat down next to Ghost and wrapped his arms around him again. "No, no it doesn't hate you."

He rocked Ghost back and forth, holding onto him so he didn't have to hold onto himself. Ghost was completely limp. Not an ounce of fight left in him. At least... At least Johnny is here. Still a light in his world. But nothing when compared to you.

Johnny was a few stars you were the whole night sky.

Price got Ghost on some more medication. Usually when something like this is fresh Price gets him more just to help slow him down and numb everything out for a bit. He didn't want to do it, it was awful. But it was the only thing that worked.

So Ghost was put on a higher dosage. Taking a couple pills every few weeks.

He was done with this. He felt gross, the pain was still there no matter how numb the pills made it feel. He felt his hands trembling as he tried to take his morning dosage. His water glass tipped and shook in his hand as he held the pills to his mouth.

He couldn't do it. He shoved them in his pocket and walked away.

Price was up next, nodding to him as he went to the fridge. "Did you remember your pills?"

"Yes." Ghost replied, scrolling through his phone.

He'd originally had his phone background as you and him. You'd gone on a long hiking trip and took a photo together at the top. He had to get Johnny to change the wallpaper to a black screen in the meantime because every time he saw that amazing smile and the warm glint of excitement in your eyes he would burst into inconsolable tears.

He'd even started to blame himself. It was the little things. Little jabs and thoughts in his head. And then they consumed him, plagued him into exhaustion from lack of sleep.

If you hadn't been with such a trainwreck of a man. If you had dated someone out of the military. Simon Riley can only hurt what he touches. He's just like his father. No one loves him. You shouldn't either. Loving him got you killed. Simon killed you. He killed the love of his life.

Simon Riley could only hurt. He was born to kill. The world didn't make him a lover. The world would take away anything he tried to nurture.

He'd gotten more reckless on missions. Getting grazed by bullets just to feel something, to hurt himself. He wasn't a warrior, he was a man losing his soul. He would stab the men he fought, wishing it was those men. He'd stab and cut and tear, blood splattering all over him. He'd ruthlessly tear down anything in his path.

And after that, after every mission. Before he had washed away the blood. Before he'd taken off the mask. He came to you as who he truly thought he was. He'd kneel at your grave and beg for you to forgive him for what he'd done. He'd cry, trying not to touch the flowers laid around your tombstone in fear they'd wilt.

He pressed his forehead to the ground and ask for your forgiveness for all those lives he took. Begging you to still love him despite all the blood he'd spilled.

And then he'd force himself to leave and wash away the blood. Wash away the guilt. Wash away the responsibility of all the families that would hear of the death of their sons and husbands. It was a passing thought. Only a killer wouldn't regret or linger on his kills.

After another long mission, Simon came back and after his debrief he went to your grave. He kneeled, rereading your name over and over in his head. Y/n L/n. Y/n L/n...

He was so close to giving you his name. To continuing the Riley family that has died so many years ago.

The Riley family didn't deserve to continue. A heritage of blood and violence and abuse. No. No the Riley family didn't deserve to live, and someone like you didn't deserve to carry it.

He bowed his forehead to the ground, trembling as he begged you one last time for your forgiveness. That you'd still place your loving hands on him even after everything he's ever done.

Would he even go to the same place you would?? Probably not. You didn't deserve the same date he did. You deserved clean waters and soft pastures with other loving people. A place you could connect and be happy for eternity. You deserved the wonderful sounding place they called heaven.

He didn't.

He walked back from your resting place and made it to his room. He didn't wash off, he didn't clean himself. He would be judged for the monster he was.

He opened his nightstand drawer and pulled out the bottle of pills he'd made for himself after so long of skipping medication. 34 pills. It was all he needed.

He filled a cup with water and brought it to his room. He sat down on the floor and started to down the pills, one swallow after the other he emptied the bottle and laid on the floor.

He felt awful. Dizzy and lightheaded. He felt numb and pain and anguish. Every emotion he'd been feeling turned up the intensity to 100.

His fingers went numb. Time seemed to slow down. He closed his eyes and prayed that when he woke up he'd either be in the burning pits of hell or cradled in your arms. He could just imagine. He could imagine your gentle kisses placed on his forehead as you combed through his hair. The soft soothing tone of your voice as you held him against your chest.

How much he missed you. How he dearly missed you. It almost felt like your arms were wrapping around him. Pulling him to your warm body and telling him everything would be ok. Kissing his temple as you promised him everything would be alright.

Everything would be alright...

[wordsbymae]

The Fisherman Pt. 1

Continues from the prologue that you can find on my masterlist. I actually really struggled with this one, I have so many ideas of where to take it, that I couldn't really choose one consistent way of bridging it to where I want it.

The fog curled around the bay, seeping into the cracks and crevices of the island. You imagined the fog being devoured by the land itself, nourishing the barren, desolate rock you were forced to call home. The sky was near black, the sun suffocated by dark clouds. Rain pelted down, leaving harsh lines along the window you looked out from. You shivered in slight fear as the small house shook from a powerful burst of wind. The storm was frightening in its power, the lighthouse overlooking the bay failing to make a difference.

You felt nothing but disappointment.

Disappointed the fisherman was not amongst the waves. You had hoped his boat would have been dashed across the jagged rocks lining the cliffs. Instead, he made his presence known by the sound of his heavy footfalls up the old wooden stairs. He pauses for a brief moment at the last step, his weight shifting slightly. An audible creak lifting into the air. Your eyes were still trained solely on the waves crashing against the rocks. Even above the rain and wind, you could still hear the constant sound of the bay in all its chaos. You shifted your gaze from the bay to the fisherman's reflection. His sad, lonely eyes staring back at you. Almost as if he was willing you to turn around.

His mouth opens.

Then shuts.

He looks down back the stairs, weighing his options. He shifts his weight onto his back foot, the decision of leaving you alone silently on his mind.

You begin to left out a breath you'd been holding.

His weight shifts again, the creaking of the wood signalling your fate.

He begins to walk to you. You suck back in a breath, straighten your back and close your eyes.

He stops mere inches away from you. You can smell the salt on his skin and feel the heat he provides. In this cold, decaying house he felt like hell fire.

Your eyes remained shut, your ears listening to his shallow, frantic breaths, almost in time with the waves breaking on the rocks.

You open your eyes slowly, willing him to be gone. He stood silently behind you, eyes fixated on yours in the reflection.

"Will you come for supper?" he croaks, struggling to articulate each word. You struggle to remember a time you've heard his voice. Even before he took you kicking and screaming from your small village by the sea, you could hardly say you've ever heard anything from his mouth. Not even a whisper.

You turn to face him, eyes dull and lifeless. You could feel a dull ache in your belly, you imagined it was hunger. Though in the week you have been trapped within these walls, you failed to feel anything but despair. Not even the pains of hunger or the dryness of your throat for the want of water could compare to the growing emptiness within you.

You stare into his eyes. They unnerve you. So bright and cold. You remarked to yourself that they seem to be mimicking humanity rather than being of it. Looking into his eyes filled you with dread. You turned your attention back to the window, away from his soulless eyes.

"No thank you" you answer, keeping your voice level. His shoulders sag at the reply, you had been sitting at this window in the attic for hours now. Before that, the window in the kitchen. Before that, your eyes were focused on the ceilings rafters in your bedroom, counting each strand of the spiders webs swaying like flags in the breeze that floated into the house.

He sighs, disappointment flows across his face, before a dull spark of emotion makes its home on his face. You think for a second it is guilt or maybe just the way the rain on the window muddles his reflection.

You watch as his hand ruffles into his pocket, the same time another gust of wind pushes against the house. You don't fear it this time round.

His hand removes itself from the abyss it found itself in. You can't see what is inside his hand, only catching a bright glimmer of gold. It blinds you for a moment, until you blink, and the glimmer turns to nothing. He ponders for a moment, a finger plays around the edges of the small object in your hand.

"I have this for you" his voice is smoother this time, still harsh, but mellowed in its little usage. His face still looking upon the object. Eyes becoming focused purely on the motions he conducts with his finger.

He blinks slowly and lifts his gaze towards you.

You turn to face him, eyes slowly falling upon his open palm. He reaches it towards you in a silent offering. He needs not to say a word, the action screams loudly at you instead.

'Please, Please, Please, Please, Please'

Asking for what you don't know. You've tried to ponder his motives, his desires, but he never made them known.

A small golden ring laid upon his palm, a dark lilac gem sat amongst vines of gold, the gem catches the light with ease, another bright glimmer catches your gaze.

There is something about it, the craftmanship, the way light seemed to bend itself away from it, the cold that radiated from it. Without thought your hand inches towards it, hesitating just as you begin to grasp the metal.

You doubt his intentions, his motive behind gifting you this strange yet beautiful artifact. He stole you from your home, ripped you from your family, marooned you amongst a decaying house upon a desolate island. But as you gazed into the gem, the specks of gold, silver and lilac dancing in the light, the worries amongst your mind floated away, devoured like fog into the cracks of the island.

Before you truly comprehended what was occurring, the ring was slipped onto your left ring finger. You weren't even sure if it was you who did it.

Now nestled on your hand, it was warm, it felt like it had been there for years. But of course it does, because it had been there for years. Hadden it? The feeling of emptiness and despair lifted from you in a second, collected with your worries and floated away to be consumed. In fact, what exactly were you upset about? You know you had felt something, or maybe the absence of something. But it was gone, as if you were waking from a strange and unsettling dream. You admired the ring upon your finger, just as you lifted your gaze to admire your husband. He was so good to you, providing for you, protecting you. Because that is what husbands do, right?

The rain continued, even falling harder, the clouds finally succeeded in diminishing the last of the suns light, and darkness descended upon the bay. Yet, it was all perfect. The chaos and the violence of nature was so so so perfect. Everything was. Because of cause it was. You had your husband, your love, right in front of you. Everything would forever be perfect with him.

A bright smile broke across your face. You wondered for a brief second why it felt so unnatural. Oh well, these feelings come and go.

Your husband's face shone with delight at your display of emotion. A dry, flustered laugh began to emerge from his mouth.

"Do you love me?" he urged, hands rough from work gripping onto yours, thumb playing with your wedding band.

"Of course I do...um...husband!" you giggled back, stopping only to realise you have forgotten his name. How could you forget your husband's name? How embarrassing! Oh well, these things happen.

He allowed himself to finally laugh, a desperate, ugly display of pure joy. You laughed along side him, not understanding why he felt the need to display such a sight.

A feeling began creeping over you as he continued, you couldn't quite place it. It wasn't very nice though, it was harsh and almost wet in feeling, like your heart was being drowned under a roaring current. Your laughs began to mutate, from those of joy to laughs of fear, what was this growing inside you? It felt slimy and ugly, pushing out from within, like a creature desperate to be released. Tears began to flood your eyes. The pain of this feeling encompassed your body. Your husband still laughed, why couldn't he see your tears? Why didn't he feel this grip of dread that overwhelmed you?

Sobs began to rack your frame, breaths came out if huffs and gasps for breath, you didn't understand anything. Who was this man? Surely if you were married you would know him by name? Surely you would feel safe with him, but instead fear and sorrow encompassed the air you shared between you.

You looked down to your joined hands and a gleam of purple stopped your questions. The gleam grows, pulsating in beat with your heart, your cries softened, the feeling of dread and fear slowly slithered away, back down deep deep deep deep inside you.

You looked up. Oh! Your husband was looking at you, with...fear?

"Is everything okay husband?" you ask. Head tilting, tears drying upon your face. Had you been crying? Surely not.

"Yes, yes of course my love. Everything is absolutely perfect” he rushes, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

You smile back.

Everything is perfect.

[liquidstar]

crazy take: aside from actual lesbian romance stories, obviously, nothing passes the bechdel test better than moe "cute girls doing cute things" anime. its always just a group of girls, few to no named male characters, boys and dating are hardly ever brought up beyond the abstract, if at all. like we're focusing on the girls hanging out rn, we dont need to worry abt that shit. mugi just ate mio's strawberry.

[themoonking]

when people bring up the racism, homophobia, transphobia, romanticization of domestic abuse / rape / pedophilia / incest, literal actual written porn of literal actual real life flesh and blood children, et cetera et cetera on archive of our own, one of the ao3 stannies’ main defenses is “you can just filter out the tags if you don’t want to see that!” when that defense has no fucking legs to stand on.

ao3 is not an archive, it is barely even a website: a rant <3 (very long)

ignoring the fact that it’s a problem that all of that is permitted on the site in the first place (i guess child porn and racism are fine, and the people who allow it on their platform are fine, as long as i, personally, do not see it), that defense literally means nothing. it’s assuming that every little thing on ao3 is tagged properly and it absolutely is not, and if you think it is you are dumber than rocks. i mean for fuck’s sake, just touching on archive warnings and not tags, “creator chose not to use archive warnings” is literally a valid option for fic authors to use when it should fucking not be.

if someone is a freak who thinks that pedo shit is hot, they might not tag it as “rape” (archive warnings OR tags). i’ve literally seen underage father/son rape porn with no trigger warning tags but “child abuse if you squint”. IF YOU SQUINT. if someone thinks that domestic abuse is actually cool and sexy when attractive people do it, they might not tag it as “abuse”. if someone is a freak who likes incest, but bends over backwards to justify it by only shipping adopted family members, then they tell themselves that they don’t view it as incest, and might not tag it as “incest”. if someone is a racist, a homophobe, a transphobe, et cetera and they wrote bigotry into their fic (or else wrote a deliberate troll fic to trigger people on purpose), do you really think they’re going to tag it as racism / homophobia / transphobia / et cetera? and some people get kicks out of writing purposefully triggering content and either leaving it untagged or mistagging it so that people will read it unsuspectingly.

even for just general content tags, it’s a mess. people just forget to tag things all the time. people deliberately won’t tag the endgame ship of their fic because “it’s a spoiler heehee”. people use the romantic or sexual “x / y” tag instead of the platonic or otherwise “x & y” tag, sometimes by mistake sometimes on purpose. it’s a joked about issue how people will tag characters or ships that appear in their fic for two sentences.

there’s no standardization of tags, which is a pretty obvious problem. what first comes to mind is the “dead dove: do not eat” tag which should just not be a tag at all because it just has no meaning. depending on the individual fic writer using it, it could mean anything from “literally the most sickening and depraved thing you’ve ever read in your life” to “horror w/ gore”. but it applies to other vague tags too - different fic writers will have different ideas of what the tag means.

in addition to that, what is and isn’t made a filterable tag, what tags are made synonymous, et cetera, is entirely up to the whims of the site staff. as an example, if you’re trying to look for fanfiction of a singular animated disney movie, the infinite crossovers with other disney movies will not actually be counted as crossovers (which they are) because they’re classified as the “disney theatrical animated universe” (which isn’t a fucking thing), so you can’t filter them out the “exclude crossovers” way. if you try to filter out the fandom tag “disney theatrical animated universe”, it’ll show up with zero fics because that tag is synonymous with every disney animated film (regardless of if the fic author actually used the tag “disney theatrical animated universe” or not), thus also filtering out the one you actually wanted to find.

and do not get me fucking started on the “all media types tags”, which also just shouldn’t be a thing because it makes it fucking impossible to find the specific fics you’re looking for. some people use it in place of tagging a specific canon / adaptation when their fic very clearly draws from one specific canon / adaptation, and you can’t filter it out because it’s synonymous with every fandom tag under its umbrella.

as an example of the issues of both the “all media types” tag and mistagging in general: as a fan of the witcher books, it used to be a fucking ordeal to find fanfiction specifically for the books (post netflix show release). some show fans would, for whatever reason, tag their fics with the book fandom tag in addition to (or even in place of!!) the show fandom tag when their fics were unquestionably show-specific, meaning i could not simply search only in the book fandom tag. i could not simply filter out the show tag, because some show fans would, for whatever reason, tag as fucking “all media types”, when their fics were unquestionably show-specific. and alas, i could not filter out “all media types” and the show tag, so that i see only those fics which have been deliberately and exclusively tagged as the book, not only because as mentioned some show fans would tag their show fics with only the book tag, but also because the fucking all media types tag filters out the book tag as well, leaving me with zero fucking fics REGARDLESS of if the author actually used the “all media types” tag. now, thankfully, i’ve thankfully seen this issue in this specific fandom lessen, but it still occurs in other fandoms and i guarantee that it didn’t lessen in the witcher fandom because of any fixing of the site on the part of ao3 staff.

another common defense of ao3 freaks is that it’s an “archive”, and therefore can’t get rid of anything anyone posts, and disregarding the fact that that is not how archives fucking work, they don’t just allow anything and also ao3 DOES get rid of fics... when they say that they don’t like proshippers, apparently, archives have... you know... archivists. they have someone or a team of someones making sure that everything in the archive is *properly fucking categorized*. they have someone or multiple someones making sure that everything they recieve (1) belongs there and (2) is properly labeled and organized. same for libraries. meaning that if ao3 really were an archive and not a sub par fanfiction website, they’d have something like that in place. something as simple as a report button for fics with a review team that will see if something’s been mis- or untagged. they’d have some kind of standardization of tags (especially the warning / trigger tags) and have proper tagging enforced in some way. and then they could also do something like stop being spineless racists, queerphobes, and pedos have the barest minimum of content guidelines saying that you can’t post fucking hate speech.

if something is mistagged or untagged, the most you can do is leave a comment politely asking that the author fix the issue, and then hope and pray that they do that. and if that person thinks [insert form of abuse] is hot, or if they’re just straight up a bigot that wrote bigotry into their fics to be bigoted, or they’re a troll that gets kick out of deliberately traumatizing people by tricking them into reading their mis/untagged fics, they might not! AND if you see a major tagging issue on an orphaned work, or a work that has an inactive author / hasn’t been updated in forever, good fucking luck getting even a negative response.

you can’t permanently block tags (i mean even tumblr.hell has that), meaning that if you would like to search for fic without coming across something troubling, triggering, or just something you don’t like, you have to either (1) do a work around by having a bookmarked link for every fandom you’re in or every character you like with all of your tags already blocked, (2) download browser extensions that do the work for ao3 because they can’t be bothered themselves, or (3) input every individual tag every time you search ao3 and don’t forget that all of those options only fucking work at all when everything is tagged properly, and we’ve already established its not. you also can’t actually block people (you can only prevent them from commenting) meaning that if there’s a specific person you’d like to stay away from your fics or a specific fic author that you don’t like and would like to stop seeing their fics clogging up the tag, you’re out of luck (though for the latter you could insert “-[username]” into the “search within results” box, but then uh oh we’re right back around to having to input that every time or have a bookmark)

their archive warning system is shit. first of all it’s functionally useless because, as mentioned, “creator chose not to use archive warnings” is an option. what’s the fucking point of special required archive warnings if you’re going to allow people to opt out anyway. second of all, aside from “chose not to use warnings” and “no warnings apply”, the only warnings are “major character death”, “graphic depictions of violence”, “rape/non-con”, and “underage”. disregarding the fact that they shouldn’t be allowing porn of underage characters in the first place (but i’m talking to a brick wall on that issue) and that “non-con” (and “dub-con”) as terminology needs to die, it’s just fucking rape lets not use weasel words... this is a paltry list of possible warnings. there’s no official warnings for depictions of: domestic abuse, animal abuse, depictions of racism / homophobia / transphobia / et cetera, suicide, self harm, et cetera et cetera. and we return to the issue of standardization of tags. in your required archive warnings at very least, there should be a standardization of what these mean, but ao3′s own faq is just like “ehh... you decide. we’ll leave it up to you”. what qualifies as graphic depictions of violence? two people may write the same level of violence, but qualify “graphic” differently, and make different decisions regarding their warnings. and we also return to the issue of: if a freak doesn’t see something that is clearly rape as rape, they might not tag it as such.

this website gets a disgustingly large amount of money every year that it doesn’t fucking do anything with. it’s been over a decade and they’re still in fucking beta. features that would actually be useful, like an actual block system, don’t exist. they technically have a report system for abuse and harassment and such, but apparently what they qualify as abuse and harassment is fickle. ao3 defenders seem to be very proud of the legal work they do for fandom / fanfic authors, but they set aside a very small amount of the money they get every year for legal advocacy, and they actually use even less of that, because it’s not the early 2000s “anne rice hates fanfiction” era anymore - you aren’t going to get fucking sued for writing fanfiction in the first place. based on their own self-reported yearly cost of upkeep, they literally already have enough money to run the site as they are now for the next twenty years.

once again: ao3 is not an archive. it is not a library. it is barely a even a website.

[doryyaaa]

Hi 👋🏻 I really loved the hwoarang x baker reader (I'm another anon, btw) & I was wondering if I could request a part 2? Like maybe they get together after a few months and reader meets Baek later on?

hwoarang bakery meetcute pt 2 is here! 🍞❤️

(read pt 1 here)

As promised, Hwoarang shows up at your bakery’s doorstep the very next day, on the same sleepless hour when your shift is just about to begin. Though the sign firmly says Closed, he knows to let himself in. From the kitchen, you hear his sauntering steps across the shop floor.

“Hey.” Hwoarang leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and biceps in full view. “Excited to see me?” he asks with a devious little grin.

You smile back at him in a simple greeting, and pull a huge tray of bread pudding from the oven. “Good—you came at just the right time. I hope you’re hungry, ‘cos I might have baked too many portions.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hwoarang says, and goes to join you at the worktable. That’s when you notice him lugging a plastic bag filled with an array of bottled drinks—canned coffee, bottled tea, organic juice cartons and vitamin water.

“I didn’t know what you liked to drink,” he says, “so I got a whole bunch.”

You blink down at the bounty of drinks, then look back up to Hwoarang’s expectant gaze. He’d obviously been looking forward to this just as much as you have. You wonder if that initial excitement would fade over time, if he’d grow tired of eating bread, or if the novelty of an unusual bakery experience would gradually wear out.

Sure enough, though, Hwoarang returns the next day. And the next, and the next. He comes by at least five days a week for the whole month, then keeps coming back without fail. Rarely, he’d show up later in the morning, when the shop has opened officially and the work has fully occupied you. He’d buy some dinner rolls off the shelf like a regular customer, then quietly leave your favorite drink at a corner of your workstation. Another time, he’d be missing for the whole day only to show up five minutes before closing, squeaking past the door just to catch a glimpse of your face.

Three months into your little arrangement, you happen to pass by the bakery on your day off. Rain falls in a gentle shower, soaking the street. You find Hwoarang sitting hunched at the storefront, listless under the rain.

“Hwoarang?”

Looking closer, you spot the fresh bruise on his cheek, and the small cut by the corner of his lip. He has a mean glare to his face, like a stray that could bite at any time.

You kneel close in front of him, holding the umbrella over your heads. With your free hand, you slowly cup his cheek, tilting his head upwards to see better. His eyes close from your soft touch.

“It was a stupid fight. Wasn’t even worth shit. I still won though,” Hwoarang mutters hoarsely.

“I know you did. You’re strong.”

At that, he finally cracks a tiny smile. “Nothing fazes you at all, huh?”

“Nope,” you say, never missing a beat.

“Not even the scary delinquent who comes over to steal bread every day?”

“Hey, you pay up, don’t you?” Because the tip jar was always full to the brim ever since Hwoarang started coming by. You smooth out the front of his dobok, your fingers gliding over the sculpted muscle underneath.

“My house isn’t too far from here,” you say, hand over his beating heart. “How about you come over and get yourself cleaned up? It’d be terrible if you caught a cold in this rain.”

“Yeah.” Hwoarang puts his own large hand over yours, his eyes opening to you with a new intensity, hot and smoldering like a fire. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

In another month, Hwoarang starts walking the short distance with you from home to the bakery. Under the dim streetlight, he pulls up the shutters to the store and carries the huge flour bags in for you. In the kitchen, he steals a kiss from you afterwards, pulling you in close by the waist and savoring the taste of your lips, while your hands slide up his nape, fingers in his hair, and his tongue presses into your mouth—

The shop bell rings as the front door swings open.

Hwoarang grumbles as he releases you. You instantly miss the heat of his embrace, but you’re not too disappointed. Today’s a special occasion, after all.

Today, you prepare fresh-baked pastries, sandwiches, and coffee for three people, instead of two.

“Hello there.” Baek Doo-san appears at the doorway, led by Hwoarang. “Thank you for the generous invite,” Baek says with a tip of his hat. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you respond in kind. “Please, have a seat.”

Baek accepts gratefully, and you all sit around the worktable in the quiet hour, Hwoarang at your side, and Baek across from you. It is peaceful, for the most part, until Baek begins his teasing.

“So this is why you’ve been in such a good mood,” he says, coffee mug in hand. “I can’t believe someone could actually rein in that bad attitude of yours. I haven’t ever seen you this well-behaved in years!”

Hwoarang attempts to kick Baek under the table. Baek swiftly dodges with a chuckle.

“I’m a good boy, aren’t I?” Hwoarang turns to you, winking devilishly. You almost kiss him right then and there. You reach up to pick a crumb from his chin.

“So when’s the wedding?” Baek asks.

Hwoarang flushes and nearly chokes. You burst into laughter, combining forces with Baek to tease Hwoarang into oblivion. The lively energy fills the room, and Hwoarang ends up laughing along with you. Under the table, you feel his hand wrap around yours, fingers intertwined.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Billford isnt canon in a literal Sincere Authorial Intent sense, y'all 😭😭😭 please get better standards for how much creators need to include in order for something to be considered officially canon. I've jokingly said "I cant believe billford is canon" too, but I thought we were saying that lightheartedly. I thought we all recognized that it was "canonized" in a wink-wink nudge-nudge way where they fully leave room for people to interpret it as "haha isn't it so funny and clever that they're framing being betrayed by a demon as if it's a romantic breakup!" Please. I'm begging you, do you understand what I'm saying here

[fuckentoastybitch]

Phone Call

A NakedToaster x reader drabble. GN reader but reader's server username is defaulted to LovelyLola.

This is my first fic here. I wouldn't call myself a writer per se, I haven't written in a long time and tbh I don't brush up my skills often so my writings are usually very simple, the same could be said about this one but I think it's nice enough

"I don't mind at all. Take your time."

Bloombot thanked you and you left the call, leaving her with Toasty to discuss their matters in private. You were being truthful that you didn't mind leaving them. Needing some time to process your thoughts, Toasty's love declaration from a moment ago was still ringing in your head.

"Fuck it, I love you."

They really said it, holy shit.

You look down and remembered the pink note in your hand where you had hastily scribble down his phone number, but you realized the note is now folded in a few places.

Fuck, you must've crumpled it in your excitement when you asked Toasty for their name.

Before Bloombot interrupted, that is.

God, you're such a lovesick dork. Your phone was right there next to the monitor and yet you chose to grab a PINK NOTE out of all things and wrote down the number like some swooning high schooler. A grin formed at your lips regardless as you read the number in your head again and again. You're so smitten it's ridiculous.

You wondered about Toaster's real name once again when a familiar sound effect rang from your computer and you look up to see xyx had messaged the general channel. The server is back up! Everyone flooded the channel with hellos, clearly happy to see each other again. You know you are too. It's almost unbelievable you somehow had managed to persuade a bot to not bring and end to your one source of happiness in this moment.

If Bloombot had really shut down the server…

Ugh, you don't even want to think about it. Especially not right after you and Toasty had just being honest about your feelings. You found such a special person in such a short amount of time but you cared for him too much to lose them in the matter of seconds.

The #juicy-gamers channel lit up and you already knew it was Toasty.

Click

NakedToaster: I just want to tell you again

i love you

a lot

FUCK, they're so affectionate now?! How the hell will you be able to handle this?

NakedToaster: text me tomorrow?

Oh, no. Bloombot's shut down yesterday gave you too much of a fright. You decided you need to call him now.

LovelyLola: how about i call you?

NakedToaster: now?

LovelyLola: no toasty, next year

jk lol

yes now

please, yesterday scared me

i want to hear you again

NakedToaster: fsjgdjdfh

fuck

ff

okau

okay

xyx: disgustang

LovelyLola: LMAO

NakedToaster: LMAO

xyx: get out of my christian server NOW

Your palms were a little sweaty mom's spaghetti so you wipe them down on your pants before dialing his number. The first ring didn't even finish before they picked up. Someone's eager.

Not that you can blame them.

"Hel- oh fuck-"

You hear a thud on the other end followed by the sound of someone clambering under what you assumed to be his chair, a string of curses tailing their noises.

Yep. You really love them.

"Sorry, my hand was uh…"

"Mhm?" You hum innocently, just to tease him a little.

"The.. the phone slipped, " an awkward chuckle buzzes through your speaker.

"I heard."

"Shut up," his voice was exasperated but affectionate. "Fuck, is this really how we're starting our first phone call?" You both laughed.

"Seems like it."

"Hm. I thought a it'd be kinda similar to the vc but this is… different. I mean, in a nice way!" he fumbled. "It feels more personal."

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passes you both, but the silence is comforting. It feels almost as if they're really there with you. God, you want them to be there with you.

"Anyways," you hear him taking a breath. "Hi."

You smile.

"Hi, Toasty."

[metal-mouse]

Not the One to Worship, Not the One to Blame

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x gn!Slytherin MC (no y/n used)

themes: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, trauma, panic attacks, depression, self-isolating

summary: 1.4k word vomit. The battle against Ranrok is over. You are in your sixth year, and now have to deal with the aftermath that is emotion and nightmarish memories. Despite having kept Sebastian Sallow's secret, you have no interest in his friendship. However, he certainly makes a good scapegoat for all of your pain.

note: This is the first piece of writing I have posted publicly in over 10 years. It is going to be rough, as I am very out of practice. I never expected to write anything to post ever again, but I've had such a massive streak of inspiration I figured I'd put myself out there. Be gentle with me because I'm a big baby but be honest - I'm getting better at receiving feedback. I also don’t edit anything ever, so there’s probably plenty of bad grammar/confusing sentence structure/spelling errors. 

You stood alone at the top of the astronomy tower alone, hugging yourself tightly against the chilled air as you watched the sun set. The silence was welcome compared to the chaos of the Great Hall over supper. With hundreds of students meeting together at the same time, the sound of countless conversations overwhelmed you far too easily. You had eaten quickly and excused yourself from the company of Ominis, ignoring the concerned look on his face. You knew he worried, but he also knew enough to respect when you needed your space. It was one of your favourite things about him. 

The world around you was washed in a gentle golden glow that you desperately wanted to enjoy. The colours of the sky were beautiful, but no emotions stirred inside of you. You remained numb and empty. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d smiled. You wished you could feel something other than this awful cycle of misery, anger, fear, and hollowness. You wished that people would leave the past in the past. Every time a classmate brought up Ranrok’s defeat at your hands you felt like you were going to be sick. Your chest would tighten, and a clammy feeling would cling to the back of your neck as the rest of your body felt smothered by flames and smoke. You had been furious with Professor Black for being the one to share your involvement in the battle and causing this endless stream of praise and questions. All you wanted was to forget. 

Even worse than thinking about Ranrok was seeing Sebastian in the halls, in your classes, in your common room. You may have spared him from expulsion and imprisonment, but you still hadn’t found it in yourself to forgive him. Perhaps the blame you placed on him was unfair, perhaps he was an easy scapegoat for your pain. He had, afterall, caused a great amount of that pain. Yet, you weren’t any better than he was. Every night you dreamed of flashes of green and how the light left Victor Rookwood’s blue eyes… Dozens of men and countless goblins lay dead at your hand, and people actually celebrated you for this. In the beginning, you had been intrigued by the power you held. You had been eager to learn it and grow it. You had liked having a unique power that put you above others. Now, you wanted nothing more than to turn back time. You wished you’d never found out about this magic. You wished that none of this had ever happened. 

You were deep enough in your spiraling thoughts that you hadn’t noticed your unwelcome company until a warm cloak was placed over your shoulders. You flinched, immediately in attack mode as you looked at your intruder. Sebastian Sallow didn’t look at you. Instead, he put his hands on the railing and leaned out to see the world below. 

“I’ll go away if you want me to.” He said, breaking the tense silence. You watched him apprehensively, without saying a word. Sebastian took that as permission to remain in your presence. 

“What do you want?” You asked. 

“I may not be your favourite person right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re not alright.” Sebastian looked over at you. You scowled at the way he jumped straight to the point. The empty feeling inside of you was slowly replaced with anger. Not alright? What fucking gave it away? Why the hell was Sebastian the first person to bring it up besides Ominis - who had been there when you started to truly fall apart? 

“I’m fine.” You said. 

“I haven’t seen you smile since the year started - it’s now February. Not at Ominis. Not when you’re brushing Puffskeins with Poppy. You don’t even smile when Weasley makes his stupid jokes.” Sebastian stood and took a step towards you. It felt like his eyes were burning into your face. All you wanted was for him to look at anything but you. How dare he talk to you about this. Talk to you about your happiness - which he fucking stole from you. Why was he even paying attention in the first place? You adjusted his cloak around you, hating how warm it was and how it smelled like Sebastian. 

“If I haven’t smiled, it’s your fault.” A low blow. Sebastian’s nostrils flared and hurt filled his eyes, but he tilted his head as if to encourage you to carry on. You didn’t. 

“The last time I checked, you were the one acting so miserable. It’s you who doesn’t bother to even try anymore.” 

“I don’t have to try anymore. I’m a hero, Sebastian, everyone will love me all the same. Who cares if I’m miserable?” you spat out, “Can’t you see it? I don’t get to have emotions! Only people have feelings. I’m merely a tool to be used - a weapon if you will - whenever someone needs to use me. It makes it so much easier for everyone to forget what happens under the surface of battle. To forget the atrocities I’ve committed. The horrors I’ve seen. You wouldn’t understand it.” Sebastian’s eyes were wide as he stared at you. 

“Is that truly what you think? That I don’t understand? You’re not the only one who went through hell last year. I was right there the entire time. I helped you fight trolls, goblins, spiders, poachers, must I go on? 

I saw the look on your face when you came back from killing Victor Rookwood, and I knew before anyone else did what had happened. Want to know how? Because I know how it feels to fucking take someone’s life.” Sebastian bellowed, making you take a step backwards. You glanced towards the stairwell, hoping nobody was nearby to eavesdrop. 

He had been there. Sebastian had known from the beginning what you were going through, and he had helped - even if it put his life in danger. His true motives may have ultimately lain elsewhere, but you knew he didn’t want to see any more people harmed at Ranrok’s hands. Guilt pushed its way through your unjustified anger. He was certainly making it difficult to blame him for more than what he deserved. 

“Just leave me alone, Sebastian.” You whispered. He shook his head, his lips pressed in a firm line. His brown eyes were unusually glassy, almost as if he was trying to hold back tears.

“Whether you like it or not, I understand.” He was still shaking his head, stray tears indeed spilling from his eyes. Sebastian’s lips fell into a frown and quivered a little. It was an ugly face, he was not a pretty crier. Something in this insignificant flaw of his made you pause. Seeing him feel so strongly about how you felt… To show these emotions to you, this clearly meant a lot to him. You meant a lot to him. You approached him carefully, reaching up tentatively and wiped away an errant tear. 

“I know, Sebastian. I… I don’t blame you for this. None of it.” You looked down at your feet, your hand still on his cheek. 

“And I think you’re far more than a weapon. You don’t have to be the hero with me, you can be just you. I just want to see you smile.” Sebastian very carefully took your hand in his. You looked back up to his face, and you knew he meant it. 

“Can we try again?” You asked. He exhaled deeply, you could see the thoughts racing in his mind. 

“I think something could be arranged.” Ominis Gaunt’s voice made both of you jump. He stood at the top of the stairs, fidgeting with his wand. Sebastian’s hand squeezed yours tightly. Ominis walked towards where you stood, his cheeks flushed and an uncertain look on his face. Ominis held out his hand for Sebastian, who dropped yours instantly and grasped it. They shook hands firmly, and then Sebastian pulled Ominis in for a hug. 

“Boundaries! Sebastian! I will be placing firm boundaries!” Ominis protested, but his arms wrapped around his friend all the same. You let out a weak laugh that was more of a huff full of emotion. You didn’t know fully what this meant, or how anything would play out, but you knew that this would be easier with Sebastian and Ominis on your team. On each other’s team. Life was either going to get better from here, or worse, but you supposed it could be bearable if you lived it with people you cared about. You felt awful for targeting Sebastian like that. He hadn’t deserved all your hatred. Some anger and resentment, sure, but not all of it. As Ominis complained about the cold and coaxed you both back inside, you silently resolved to make it up to Sebastian. You could support him, just as he supported you.

[harbingersglory]

i know i said more dom!reader blah blah blah sorry arlecchino rotted my brain severely. tmasc bunny!arle giving me severe brain damage /pos

(he/him prns used for arle)

at a glance, the big ears and small puffball of a tail might temporarily make you think Arlecchino is far sweeter then he actually is. how could anyone who looked so cute be anything but, right?

but you know better. you serve under Lord Arlecchino - literally. tucked under his desk while he makes you slobber and choke all over his strap. you barely get to breathe with his hand fisted in your hair, keeping you right where he wants you. if you've been particularly exemplary on your little missions, he might even let you sit on his lap. though whether thats worse or not is debatable, making you cockwarm him as he works. and you'd better keep quiet, too. he's not above muzzling you or just straight up shoving his fingers into your mouth to silence you while you squirm on his lap.

maybe if you last until he's done he'll fuck you properly. bend you over his desk and pound your pretty little holes until you're unable to stand. he'll still make you clean up his strap afterwards, of course.

it's when he's in a bad mood that he really gets going. sheds the act of polite, dignified little bunny. no, he's here to break you in and use you like the little toy you are. and you'll let him, won't you? drooling all over his strap when he fucks your throat raw, drags you into the nearest room the moment he sees you to watch your eyes roll back into your head as his cock stretches you out..

he's just as much of a mess as you are when he's this pent up, though. he doesn't bother keeping up appearances when he just has some pent up stress to get out. if you could even think straight you'd notice his puffball of a tail wagging and his ears drooping as he ruts into you, panting and grunting against your ear when you cum around his strap for the tenth time. you could almost swear you heard him whimper, but you'll be in a world of punishment if you mention it the next day (he absolutely did).

[einsvei]

REAL REAL REAL. FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT. some of the twisted wonderland fans be so obnoxious about how a character “WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT” but within the same day they’ll post about how a ship is actually canon. or they’ll make a headcanon that is just them projecting themselves onto the character. like which one is it? do you hate people mischaracterizing or are you okay with people having fun? cause there’s literally nothing wrong with making headcanons, regardless of how in character it is. have fun. write whatever tf you want. but the moment i see you berate people for making shit ooc, and then go onto write the same type of shit, that’s when i have a problem.

Im glad my sentiment is shared. Honestly speaking, writing characters that either don't belong to you or that you dont have a full analytical grasp on isn't a walk in the park. Theres a lot of ways to make mistakes, and that's absolutely fine.

Some writers are seemingly alright with adding their own headcannons to characters, yet will yell at others for doing the same.

If you dont like a certain way a writer wrote/ portrayed the character, you're more than welcome to open a google Doc and try to do any semblance of a better job. However, that shouldn't be used as ammunition against the other.

If a person wants to write azul being a CEO of a conglomerate or riddle as a sheltered young master, so be it. But you know what? You're not better than them because you refuse to broaden your range.

[guideaus]

there needs to be an easy way to make tags on here bearable to view