Some mistakes get made, thats alright, that's okay

I am 20 years old, just trying to work out my life

[lonelyspect12]

[rivypetals]

lipstick kiss marks with bf!sukuna

“come on babe it’s gonna look so cool!” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy eyes in another attempt to convince him.

you’d been scrolling through pinterest, following your nightly routine, when you came across a really cute couple pic where the guy had lipstick marks all over his bicep, maybe an overly used idea but you still found it pretty cute. and well, safe to say the idea had been stuck in your head for a week before you finally decided to play dirty and convince him to recreate the exact same picture for your perfected instagram feed.

and in your book, playing dirty meant mean puppy eyes and pouty lips with glossy tears sitting tightly on the edge of your lashes, threatening to spill over them.

a sight you knew he was hopelessly weak for.

you grinned to yourself. he was as grumpy as ever, letting out a long groan before throwing an arm over his eyes in a poor attempt to ignore you. huge mistake.

you were sitting on top of him while he lay sprawled across couch with his legs hanging over the armrest. fond as he was of summer, he wasn’t exactly immune to the dry heat that came with it and now he was dealing with a persistent headache for days, causing him to lay in the same spot for hours until the sun went down. currently, he was in his fourth hour of the day.

“babee,” you whined with the exact pout you knew he could never resist.

he groaned again, one hand instinctively settling around your waist to steady you. “y’know you’re a fucking menace.”

you grinned. “does that mean yes?”

a tight silence stretched across his features. he sighed as his voice crawled up to a tone so defeated.

“do whatever you want.”

you let out an excited squeal, a scream of victory, before immediately reaching for the red lipstick.

ever since you’d started dating, you’d realized no matter how stubborn or intimidating he could be, never before had it seem as he had the determination to say a simple ‘no’ to you. at first he’d been genuinely confused by it, convinced there had to be some scientific explanation for why he was physically incapable of rejecting you. well, the explanation he came up with was that he was just a guy so in love. a guy weak and devoted in love.

he seemed to accept this half scientific explanation he had for himself wholeheartedly. he was a weak man.

and well, you never opposed to his logic.

you actually loved this side of him, where he was all sharp edges to everyone else with his permanent scowl sitting roughly on his face, for you he was simply a man in love who couldn’t even say a simple no because he adored you far too much.

you smiled as you finished applying the lipstick, settling yourself more comfortably on his stomach for a better angle.

leaning down, you pressed the first kiss against his bicep. perfect. you couldn’t help giggling when you noticed him subtly flexing, despite acting like he was being held hostage.

your lips lingered just long enough to leave a perfect imprint against his skin. and you felt his shuddering breath near your ears, caressing your neck. his hand tightened against your waist. he, again, exhaled softly. the soft breath brushed the side of your face and he caressed your skin with his rough hands.

“thought you were against to this,” you teased with a knowing grin. “it seems like you’re enjoying yourself.”

he gave your waist a light smack. “focus on your job.” you laughed, swiping on the lipstick over your lips once more.

by the time you were finished, his entire bicep was covered in neatly arranged and gorgeous looking kiss marks.

“i told you this would look good.” you said proudly. “kuna let me grab my phone real quick! i need to post this! where do you think the lightning would—“ your words turned into distracted humming as you wandered off toward the bedroom.

when you came back, your steps stopped in the doorway. you rolled your eyes. “this man…”

you gotta be kidding me.

you caught him in front of the mirror, his back slightly turned, flexing his biceps and his eyes trailing the kiss marks with a pleasant glint, admiring the view in the mirror.

“oh my god, kuna you narcissistic animal,”

he ignored you completely.

you winced seeing his smirk. he changed his pose, flexed his arm again and nodded with a certain approval.

“you think i could go to the gym like this?”

“baby… what the hell?”

[pellucid-constellations]

Hidden Signals

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: No one expected you to understand fae customs just yet—much less Illyrian customs. So maybe Azriel should have made his intentions a little more obvious. He began to understand that mistake as you began to pull away. 

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Biggest miscommunication trope lol, angst, pining!, idiots in love, Archeron!Reader but really only that she was human and now fae

a/n: I can't believe I actually wrote something finally lol thank you for reading if you're heree <3 This is such a fun trope to read I love it please enjoyyy! (part 2 coming)

Read part two here!

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You slumped back into your seat, arms crossed over your stomach in a show of frustration you would rather hide. Sometimes, it was easy to pretend you weren’t falling in love with Azriel in a pathetic way. Today was not one of those days. 

The Shadowsinger had his head tipped back in a laugh, cheeks tinged a subtle pink as Mor recounted something you couldn’t hear. Well, you could, your new fae ears tuned to every sound, but you’d learned how to block out what you didn’t want. Sound had been the most disorienting sense after you’d been Made, but Azriel had done well in teaching you to hone it. 

You wished he had taught you how to tamp down your emotions as well; immortality in the face of longing and jealousy was looking bleak. 

Clutching your wine glass in twitching fingers, you directed your attention to Feyre and the babbling Illyrian babe in her lap. Things always seemed so effortless for her in this world, but that wasn’t true, and you knew it. Still, you found yourself envying her mateship and the ease with which love found her. It may have been a journey, but Rhys was clear with his intentions, and the mating bond cemented that. 

Even Nesta, harsh and unrelenting as she was, had a sure bond that she could rely on. And then there was Elain, finding her way with Lucien in minute acts that all meant something to both of them. You had tried to chalk your feelings for Azriel up to jealousy or seeking a partner in a paired-up family, but those were surface-level excuses. The way your heart raced in his presence, the spark that lit up your skin each time you touched—those were not symptoms of pure loneliness. 

But you were sure he would think it was desperation if you pursued him. He was the only single male out of the fae you knew, and you knew so few people in this world. If you started professing your love for him, waxing poetic about the simple way he smiled, you knew the pitying look of rejection would come soon after. He would wince slightly and run his hand along the side of your head as he so often did, and then he would say that he didn’t see you that way. That you were new and unexciting and a responsibility above all else—his High Lady’s sister that needed help adjusting to life as fae. 

He hadn’t exactly shown interest in you. He had been kind and attentive and bordering on adoring, but that was just how he treated his family. You’d seen it. You were not going to be the pathetic little thing chasing after him in the wake of a war. Things were at peace now, and he didn’t need to be bogged down with the toll of rejecting you. 

Still, you sighed as you watched him enjoy his night. You bit the inside of your cheek and choked down another glass of the fae wine you could barely stomach. Your sisters asked you questions about your training with Madja, and you answered them, allowing the ring on your pinky to dig into the skin of your palm. When Azriel had given it to you, sliding it onto your smallest finger, you had been elated, feeling light and dizzy with affection. You felt foolish wearing it now. 

You couldn’t take it off. Azriel seemed to look for it whenever he saw you, eyes going from your face to your hands as if on instinct. He would touch it sometimes—when he flew you over the city or took things from your hands to carry instead. You would feel his thumb brush the metal embossed with twines of azure stone and think something was there, but then he would offer you a polite smile and simply walk beside you. He would blush and laugh with Mor, but he would only smile with you. 

Pity. It was pity, surely. 

You had clung to him for weeks after being Made. Something about him brought you comfort in a newly abrasive world, so he allowed you to follow him around and you accepted his touches with greed. It had all been ordered. Rhys had surely ordered his Spymaster to ensure his mate’s sister was properly cared for, but you hadn’t been thinking about the implications at the time, pathetically seeking him out under the pretense of a genuine connection. And sure, Azriel was not cruel. He thought of you as family and cared for you as such. But your feelings were yours alone. 

“Shall I take you back? Or would you like to sleep here?” 

You startled at the sound of his voice, Azriel suddenly at the back of your chair. The room had dimmed in conversation, with Rhys and Feyre gone to put Nyx to bed and Mor only muttering short sentences in low tones that had Cassian nodding in agreement. Elain had all but vanished from the table, and Nesta was facing the fire to capture its warmth. You had missed the shift as your thoughts ran rampant. 

Your chair creaked as Azriel leaned against it, mouth closer to your ear. “Are you alright?” 

You blinked and tilted your head slightly to show you were attentive to his words. “I’m fine. Just tired.” 

Azriel hummed. “So would you like to stay?” 

Staying at the Riverhouse would mean distance from Azriel. And you could walk to the clinic in the morning rather than depending on him to fly you down. That was good. 

“Yes. That would be best.” 

“I’ll walk you back then.” 

He always walked you to your room—all the way there. He never came in, always content to stop at the door, but he never did anything less. Even now, when he would leave for his own room at the House miles away, he was offering to take you down the hall. It was too much. You’d become too much. 

“That’s okay,” you breathed out, finally turning your head to look at him. Your faces were only inches apart, and you had to catch your breath at the closeness. “I’ll find my way.” 

Something unusual flashed across his expression, quickly righted with a soft smile. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

“It’s just down the hall, Azriel. I doubt I’ll get lost.” 

He blinked, looking between your eyes before clearing his throat slightly and standing straight. You used the opportunity to push out from the table, trying to ignore his guiding hands. “Right, of course,” he nodded. He looked lost for a moment, standing before you. His wings twitched as you looked over his shoulder to the joining hall. “I’ll—goodnight, then. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Azriel.” 

~~

Distancing yourself from Azriel after your dinner revelation was not an easy task. You hadn’t realized how much you’d intertwined your life with his, and the realization was enough to make you cringe. He was a whole person with a life before you, and now you were reliant on him for so many things. 

So, you tried to make your own way. You stopped asking to stay at the House so you could walk wherever you needed. You asked passersby for directions instead of waiting for Azriel to tell you where shops and restaurants were located. You even tried making friends, talking more with the patrons of the clinic to… be more independent—separate, even, from Azriel and your newly grown family. 

You figured he would appreciate the effort. He was probably so tired of guiding you everywhere, of keeping polite smiles on his face as you droned on about your new life and let him fly you around Velaris. And he probably loved that he finally got his overcoat back. He had let you borrow it several weeks ago, placing the Illyrian-forged threads over your shoulders when you asked him to go flying in the middle of the night. 

He had told you how much it meant to him that night as he buttoned it up to your neck. His mother had hand-woven it when he came of age, he had told you, and he had saved it ever since. You might not have understood why a coat was of so much importance, but you understood that you were hogging it. That he had let you borrow it on a cold night, and then you had practically commandeered his prize possession. He always insisted you wear it when he would fly you around, but he was just being polite. 

The thought grated on you. 

“What?” Azriel asked, mouth slightly agape as you gently placed the coat in his stiff hands. 

“I—Thank you for letting me borrow it for so long. I should have returned it ages ago. I was being greedy with it,” you tried to joke, pressing it further into his grasp. 

Azriel remained frozen. His eyes flicked down to the material now in his hands and then back up to you. “I don’t—I don’t think I understand. You don’t like it?” 

A flash of confusion struck you, but maybe he assumed you weren’t going to give it back? “What? No, Azriel, it’s a wonderful coat. Honestly, the softest, warmest thing I’ve ever put on. I just… I know it’s important to you. I’ll wear my own when I need you to take me somewhere. Although I think I’ve been doing well getting around by myself. I’ve been trying to learn Velaris’ layout, and I think I almost got it.” 

Azriel finally moved, curling the coat closer to his chest. He wet his lips before shooting his gaze down to your hands. Finding some semblance of an answer there, he nodded once, mostly to himself. “I’ve noticed that. Have you enjoyed exploring the city?” 

No. You enjoyed exploring it with him. “Yes, very much. The people of Velaris are very helpful with directions.” 

Azriel hummed, rubbing his fingers along the sleeve of the coat. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’ll look forward to you enjoying flying again, though.” 

“Yes, well, I never stopped enjoying that. I’ll try to space it out more, though—maybe get Cassian or Rhys to lug me around every once in a while.” 

“Why?” 

An unmistakable inflection of hurt trailed in his tone. Wonderful, now you were offending him. “Oh! Well, just to take some of that off of you. I know you’re very busy, and I’ve needed a lot of help for a long while.” 

“Take…what off of me?” he asked, words slow and lingering. 

“Um, the responsibility? Again, I know how busy you are. And I know it’s taken me a while to adjust, but I think I've got it now. At least, I’ve got it more than I used to,” you tried joking again, a dry laugh rocking you back on your heels. 

“Responsibility,” Azriel repeated.

“Right,” you affirmed. “Now you can spend more time on other things.” 

“Such as?” 

You clicked your tongue, glancing up at the ceiling as if there were answers there. “I don’t know. What did you do before I was around?” 

Azriel’s brows came together. He shook his head slightly as if you were partially insane. “I don’t think… I didn’t think you wanted to talk about that yet.” 

Maybe you were partially insane. You thought you were having one conversation, but it seemed Azriel was having another. What did that mean? Maybe his life was far easier before you started forcing him into tasks and stealing his clothes? And you weren’t ready just yet to hear that? He really thought you were unstable then. 

You laughed, despite that thought, brushing a hand through the air casually. “Come on, Az. You obviously had a life before me. Multiple lives, if we go on human terms. I’m sure you had several hobbies that didn’t include taking me places.” 

And now he looked uncomfortable. Azriel folded his coat onto his arm, and his mouth twisted before he let out a sigh. “There were pleasure houses, obviously. A few relationships, although they do not seem important in the slightest now.” 

You choked on air, clearing your throat as Azriel itched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling himself. Nothing was up there, but both of you were sure looking. “Oh,” you squeaked out. 

“The relationships are in the distant past. The—well, the casual things are more recent, though nothing after I met you, obviously.” 

Your mind was doing flips, bashing jarringly against your skull as Azriel looked at you with an almost concerned discomfort. When you said hobbies, you thought he would share that he used to train more or had a secret joy for puzzles. You had not expected a brief overview of his sexual partners, but Azriel looked about ready to give you a list if you asked. To dive deeper into the topic you were about to melt into a puddle over. 

This was what you were really holding him back from, then. 

He wanted to go to pleasure houses, but you were taking up all of that time. 

When you remained silent, Azriel shifted his weight between his feet. “I know things were different for you. You were human. I’ve learned of the demands and expectations of human women, so that’s why we’ve been going slo—” 

Your ears were ringing as he spoke. You clutched your hands together and interrupted him. “Right, yes, different for humans. And not alive as long, obviously. Less time for hobbies.” 

“I don’t mind. I don’t care about that,” he offered slowly. You weren’t even sure what he was talking about. Another beat of silence, and then, in the most usure voice you had heard from him, Azriel asked, “Is that okay?” 

Was it okay for him to go back to pleasure houses? To seek out intimacy? Who were you to decide that for him? “Of course,” you blinked, raising a hand to your forehead. “I’m—I’m going to go rest, I think. Long day.” 

“Alright,” Azriel simply replied, left standing in the hall. 

~~

You missed him, which was terribly awful in the worst ways. 

Not only had he made it abundantly clear that he was setting his sights on other women, but he was being extra nice now, probably fearing for the worst now that you were aware he was going to be spending his newfound time… doing other things.

He asked you to accompany him to dinner every night this week. You turned him down each time, but he still asked, a casual hope ringing in his words. He arrived at the Riverhouse every morning, ready to walk you to the clinic even though you assured him you were okay to go alone. He didn’t bring his coat back, but he grabbed your own from the closet by the door and had it open for you on each of those mornings. 

And his wings were doing strange things. When you would come to the door, he would spread them just a few inches wider, seeking your eyes as they roved over the exposed veins. He opened them behind you as you walked, almost ushering you closer to him on the streets of Velaris. They seemed to ruffle when he sat beside you at dinner, in the sitting room, when he caught you reading and joined you on the couch. It was almost imperceptible, but the sound was becoming soothing, and that was dangerous. 

You were reading too much into things, acting crazy again, and so, you distanced yourself more when you started to notice the patterns. And then you missed him because of it. 

He noticed. You were sure he noticed. You could only turn him down so many times before he began to question the change. 

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked after two weeks of your eyes flitting away from him. 

“What? Of course not.” 

“You’re avoiding me.” 

“I’m not.” 

Azriel took you by surprise then, kneeling by the chair you were nestled into. “You are. Tell me what I did.” 

Such a picture of devotion made you squirm. You unraveled your legs from under you and sat eye-level with the Shadowsinger’s form. “Nothing, Az. Remember, I told you I was trying to be more self-sufficient. Give you more time back.”

“Is this because of our conversation a few weeks ago? Because I only told you because it’s important to understand my history as my—” 

You quickly shook your head, not wanting another recount of his love life. Not when you weren’t part of it. “Nothing like that, I swear.” 

Cassian chose that moment to enter the small library, a decision that was both your downfall and eventual salvation, as time would reveal. 

“Whoa. Hey,” Cassian cautioned, eyeing a kneeling Azriel. “Something going on?” 

“Nothing,” you quipped, feeling Azriel’s eyes still glued to your face as it heated and turned to Cassian. “What are you doing here? Feyre said you were at the camps until next week.” 

“Yeah, well, got sick of the camps,” he replied, brow raised when Azriel reluctantly rose from the ground and stiffly turned. 

“Glad you’re back then.” 

“Thanks for the warm welcome, sweetheart.” Cassian kicked back into a far chair, the air still heavy. “Anyone have plans tonight? I feel like going out.” 

Azriel cleared his throat, fingers flexing with shadows that twined between them. “I believe Mor is going to Rita’s. But I have… business tonight.” 

“Business, huh?” Cassian smirked, flicking his gaze over to you in a quick motion. 

“Cassian,” Azriel warned, but it was too late. Something ugly and hot gripped your throat, making it impossible to swallow.

This was it. This was what you wanted. He was finally free from you, and his words tonight were only a semblance of guilt for leaving you when you asked him to. But it wasn’t fair to hold him in your grasp when he didn’t want to be there. When you were a duty to him. 

He needed to know that it was okay to move on from the responsibility of you, so you steeled yourself and swallowed down the searing pain in your chest that felt like it was yanking at you when you were resolute in your next words. 

 “Sorry, Cass, I’m not free either. I’m going on a date.”

Read part two here!

[rawme-price]

Inspired by [this] post by @bluecarolina

Ghost is hardly a jealous man, he doesn't really care about things enough to be jealous.

Well, except for you.

You, and the bloke who's practically been attached at your arm for the past two weeks. You two talk like old friends, like you've known eachother for years. Ghost knows from eavesdropping that "me and him were always close, you know? Kind of impossible not to miss eachother after I had to move."

The thought of it makes ghost seethe. It's a startling feeling considering he's never felt so territorial over someone before. All ghost wants is a moment alone with you, just to talk, and everywhere he turns your boyfriend is there.

Well. He assumes boyfriend, with the lack of a ring. But it's impossible to know when ghost avoids him and by proxy you. The worst part? Ghost didn't realize he liked you until that dickhead came around.

"Oh, ghost! I've been meaning to catch you!" You smile when ghost finally breaks during lunch, boyfriend sat across from you at the table.

You gesture to him, missing the way ghosts hand pulls his balaclava just above his nose, "this is my—"

Ghost kisses you, both hands holding yout jae steady.

The whole mess hall goes dead silent, not that he'd care. He leans in further, having to bow down at the awkward position, licking into your mouth with a wet tongue. You can't help but melt into it a bit, ignoring the gasp from next to you.

When you finally pull away, ghost is blushing beneath the mask, your own face heated.

"This," you say, all smug and pleased as you point to the man ghost has genuinely considered killing, "...is my brother. He's visiting for the month.

....oh.

....ghost grabs your arm and drags you away. He can deal with an angry brother later, right now he's aching to kiss you more and he knows you are too.

[141bean]

roomie!simon x f!reader

you cut the carrot for tonight’s dinner mindlessly. your eyes anywhere but the cutting board. simon‘s on the couch, sipping on a beer, watching some tv channel he‘s not really interested in.

his eyes flicker to your absent form, the knife now only a few inches away from your fingers as you‘re cutting.

"y/n."

"hm?"

"yer off today."

"oh, i‘m just… tired."

he knew you were avoiding actually speaking up about what was really going on in your brain.

he mutes the tv, sets his beer down onto the coffee table and walks towards you. the big but somewhat gentle hands of his take the knife out of your hand and continue chopping for you.

"now tell meh. what‘s goin‘ on in tha‘ brain of yers?"

"nothing big… it‘s just… a little pathetic. don‘t wanna really talk about it."

"i don‘t judge, sugar."

after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, you speak up.

"it‘s just… my friends were all planning to go out with all of their respective boyfriends, and i‘m just… i dunno, i just shut down… it‘s not like i wouldn‘t wanna come, but… i‘m just a third wheel everywhere."

by the time you finished your sentence you haven‘t even noticed he finishes chopping and now stands next to you.

"it just makes one wonder if they‘re not good enough, you know… i mean, i can‘t be that ugly, right? or am i? i mean… ugh… like… why has no guy ever looked at me in that way? am i too fat, am i too-"

"y/n. look at me for a sec."

obviously, you follow a deep voice‘s order.

"you‘re… the most… the… most beautiful girl i ever got the privilege to live with. and if other guys don‘t see what you… like… have, then that‘s on them, no? so… um… if… eh… if you want me to i can… come along?"

"you‘d… come along? with me?"

"yeah, why not?"

"but you‘re not my-"

"not yet."

he slowly moves in, giving you time to pull away, but you give the nonverbal answer he‘s been hoping for. as your lips meet, he thinks of the first time you met. nobody had responded to his "searching for a roomie" notice. well, nobody except you. you were so different to him and yet so similar. from the first second after you‘d signed the contract until now, he‘d always had a feeling there was more.

maybe there were signs.

like him suddenly telling you the rent halved for some reason he allegedly didn‘t understand either - in reality, it stayed the same.

or like everyone saying that the owners that lived there before simon always complained about the shower’s temperature being uncontrollable, it happened to you one time, but after you told simon and he just seemed to shrug it off, it never happened again.

or like when the noisy downstairs neighbors who kept you from sleeping one night because they were blasting hardstyle on hellish volunes suddenly quieted down after you groaned once in your room and made a voice memo to a friend, but you never texted simon. the downstairs neighbors only listened to muskc with headphones on after that.

but as realisation came to you that all of that was his doing, you realized he‘d done it all for you, all to keep you with him, all to keep you in his flat.

and he‘s succeeded.

—————

a/n: sorry for the long inactivity 😭 i‘m somewhat back now (and thx for the attention all of my posts are getting 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻)

[nagumolvr]

HOTEL STRANGER

one night stand!jason todd x fem!reader

waking up next to a stranger in your hotel room after a turn of events caused by a few drinks at the hotel’s bar.

# drabble .ᐟ⸝⸝ one night stand!jason todd ⸝⸝ hook-up ⸝⸝ morning after ⸝⸝ suggestive ⸝⸝ sfw ⸝⸝

sunlight seeped through the hotel room curtains. you shifted beneath them and immediately winced—every muscle protested, with a deep ache spreading between your thighs and radiating through your hips. holy shit. your head pounded faintly from last night's minibar drinks, but the real proof was right beside you.

the man lay on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm casually draped over the edge of the mattress. his dark hair was a total mess, sticking up in wild directions with that one white streak catching the light. the sheets had slipped low, barely covering the curve of his hips, leaving the broad expanse of his back exposed. god, he was built like a tank—wide shoulders tapering into a powerful, scarred v-shape, with old wounds and fresh marks telling of fights and stories you didn’t know. muscles even at rest. you couldn’t stop staring.

what the hell did i do? vacation fling with a total stranger. the smooth talk at the minibar—him nursing a whiskey, you on your second cocktail—had somehow turned into heated banter, lingering contact, and then… this. you remembered the way he’d smiled, the low rumble of his voice when he leaned in close: “you sure you can handle a guy like me, sweetheart?” you’d laughed and pulled him toward the elevator.

now, in the sober light of morning, reality hit. and it hit hard. though, he was gorgeous, intense, and clearly dangerous in ways you weren’t careful of last night. you didn’t even know his last name.

you tried to slip out of bed quietly, but the mattress dipped and he stirred. his green eyes cracked open, hazy at first, then sharpening with that street-honed alertness. he didn’t bolt or look panicked—just rolled his head on the pillow to look at you properly with a lazy, crooked smirk tugging at his lips. his voice was rough with sleep, but never missed the sarcasm. “mornin’, gorgeous. you gonna stare at my back all day or come back here and tell me your name again? pretty sure i earned forgetting it after last night.”

heat rushed to your face. you clutched the sheets higher, suddenly hyper-aware of your own nudity. “it’s… still [name] and yeah, i remember your name, jason.”

he chuckled as he pushed up on his elbows and turned over to lie on his back. the movement made the sheets slide even lower in the process, giving you a glimpse of more of that sculpted back and the dimples at the base of his spine. scars crisscrossed his skin—knife wounds, burns, bullet grazes. this guy had seen some shit. he didn’t seem bothered by you noticing. “good. means i didn’t completely blow your mind. though from the way you’re moving… sore?” his tone was teasing, but there was a softer thing underneath—concern? satisfaction? both?

you nodded, biting your lip. “yeah. we… went a few rounds.”

jason sat up fully then, the sheet pooling at his waist, and ran a hand through his messy hair. he looked rumpled and stupidly, unfairly hot. “didn’t hear any complaints. you were enthusiastic. kept calling me ‘big guy’ and some other things i’m not repeating unless you ask nicely.” he winked, but his eyes scanned you carefully, like he was checking for any regrets on your end. “look, i’m not the ‘flowers and breakfast’ type, but i’m not an asshole who ghosts either. you good?”

you hesitated, pulling your knees up. part of you wanted to bolt—this was reckless. stupid. hooking up with a stranger built like a whole army. but another part, the one still buzzing from the memory of his hands and mouth and the way he’d taken control so easily and… so sexy, wanted to stay. “i’m… processing. didn’t exactly plan on waking up next to a guy who looks like he could bench-press a car.”

he snorted, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. his fingers lingered before he pulled them back with a sigh, stretching his arms out—muscles rippling underneath skin. “flattery’ll get you everywhere. i’m on a break from… work. needed to get out of gotham for a bit. didn’t expect company like you.” his smirk faded into something a touch more genuine. “if you want me out, say the word. no hard feelings and shit. but if you’re up for round… whatever we’re on, and some coffee after, i’m game.”

you met his eyes, heart racing faster than usual. risky, yes. but the way he looked at you made you want to lean in so badly.

“coffee first,” you said. “then we’ll… see about those other rounds.”

jason’s grin returned, full of promise and sexual innuendo. “smart choice. i like a woman who knows what she wants.” he leaned in, voice dropping to that gravelly and unbelievably hot murmur that was the reason this all started all last night. “and i’m very good at giving it.”

© nagumolvr , you do not have permission to translate, copy, repost, or feed my work to ai.

[medusas-daughter]

Of course they don’t like Milly Alcock’s Supergirl. She’s a grown ass woman with zero love interests who spends the movie saving her dog, casually dismantling a sex trafficking ring while she’s at it, and preaching the importance of being good, not nice or smiley or cheerful but good. I for one adored the movie and I really hope I’ll get to see more of Alcock’s Supergirl she’s now my favorite iteration of her and I love her so dearly.

[tropicflamingo]

I was pretty sick last week and STILL getting over all the congestion but it got me thinking about....

Awkward!Ghost who comes back from a long deployment looking forward to being a hermit with you at home. Only to walk in and find you sniffling and sneezing on the couch, tissues scattered with your favorite cuddle blanket pressed over your nose to help you breathe.

Awkward!Ghost who just stands there looking down at you as you smile at him, "It's just a little cold, I think this is the worst of it, don't worry Simon." It was not the worst of it. For two more days you ran a low grade fever and your sinuses decided to torture you with excessive mucus and as a bonus - clogged ears giving you bouts of vertigo.

Awkward!Ghost who never considered himself the caretaker type and genuinely doesn't know what to do. So he'll just follow as you shuffle from bed to the bathroom, or to the kitchen to make a warm tea to drink. He'll watch as you collapse on the couch clutching a box of tissues and your blanket. When you fall asleep he'll keep watching you, making sure your chest keeps with the steady rise and fall of breathing.

Awkward!Ghost who carries you to bed because he can't sleep well without your body present. So when you wake up confused in the dim light, he shifts to let you know. "Simon I don't want you getting sick too!" You plead all hoarse and stuffy nose. It makes his lips tick up in a small grin, "Don' worry bout me lovie. 'Mnot goin' anywhere soon."

Awkward!Ghost who is gone when you wake from a dead sleep finally feeling like a human again. As you emerge from the shower he's standing there with a paper bag of sandwiches from your favorite deli. No fanfare, no 'feeling better?', just his giant frame blocking the door, eyes scanning you over.

Awkward!Ghost who might not be a caretaker or great nurse, but he's a steady presence, always watching and observing. A sentinel standing nearby, protecting what he loves most.

[moonlightdollx]

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ!ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ɴꜱꜰᴡ

𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖿 141 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆

𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝗇

𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗇?

𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝖽𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley is a simple, plain man. Meaning he hates spending money on himself unless it's absolutely necessary, this man has thousands in the bank because he just doesn't spend it.

That's why Simon loves high maintenance women, specifically you. He loves that you get your hair done every month, loves that you get your nails done, eyelashes, facials, pedicures. God he absolutely loves providing for his woman.

The only problem is that you're not used to spending other people's money. You work, and you work hard for your money.

"Bye Si. I'll see you later," you shouted as you put your shoes on, just about to head out the door.

"Where you going love?"

That made you stop and slowly turn to face Simon. "I've got my nail appointment today." You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. You had wrote it on the calendar.

"Hm and who's paying?"

"Um... Me?"

"Guess again," Simon was already in front of you, placing his bank card between your cleavage.

"Simon."

"Don't 'Simon' me," he mumbled as he kissed your forehead. "You know the rules. You look pretty and I pay for it." And you couldn't argue because Simon smacked your arse before pushing you out the door and locking it.

Oh, and don't bother trying to pay. Simon already took your credit card.

[purrtoru]

you could never get tired of admiring your husband heian era!sukuna ♡

most people couldn’t look at him for long.

the moment they caught sight of him, their eyes dart away. some out of fear, or some out of disgust. they believe a creature like him isn’t meant to be looked at.

you think they are all blind.

the evening is quiet, lantern light casting a warm glow across the room. it has become part of your nightly routine before bed, these quiet moments spent with your husband after the day has settled.

sukuna sits against the bed frame, one pair of arms folded while the other rests loosely across his lap.

his crimson eyes follow you as you crawl toward him. you sit down beside him and gently take one of his hands, then another.

his brows rise as he looks at you expectantly.

you compare them, turning them over in your palms. thick fingers, calloused skin, veins running beneath flesh capable of tearing apart crowds.

yet you trace them carefully, as if they are something precious.

“four arms..“ you murmur.

“you say that as if you’ve only just noticed,” he says, clicking his tongue after.

you move closer, inspecting the markings that wind around his skin. your fingertips follow the dark lines traveling over his wrist and shoulders.

“they’re beautiful.”

he looks at you, and you swear there’s a faint blush adoring his cheeks, even though he’s heard you say so many times before.

beautiful? no one has ever used that word for him before you.

you continue before he can respond.

your hand slides to his chest, tracing the markings there as well, and you can feel his gaze burning into you.

then your attention lowers— to the second mouth resting on his stomach. the feature that causes most people to recoil.

you start to lean forward, but sukuna’s eyes narrow. “what are you doing?”

“hm?”

his stomach mouth opens slightly, revealing sharp teeth, just to close again.

you examine it with genuine curiosity— it is quite the most strange part of him, and therefore something you want to understand even more.

without hesitation, you press a small kiss on top of it.

“…why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after coming back up.

for perhaps the first time in centuries, the king of curses looks genuinely caught off guard.

“what was that for?”

you tilt your head, and one of your hands come up to trace his lower lip.

“i do kiss these as well, no?”

a low, strange sound escapes him, a little similar to a low laugh.

you shift your attention upward again, this time toward the smaller eyes beneath his main pair.

you‘ve always found them quite interesting.

carefully, you brush your thumb beneath one. “so you can see from them as well?”

“obviously.”

you continue to examine him shamelessly.

the shape of his face, then the markings crossing his cheeks. the extra eyes.. the sharp angles of his features.

every detail. every part others fear— you love looking at them, love memorizing them.

when you finally look up, sukuna is already looking at you, a little amusement written over his expression.

“what’s so amusing?” you ask.

two of his hands rise, and two large palms settle against your cheeks. the contrast between his size and yours is almost comical.

“just why are you so different?” his thumb brushes across your cheek.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, then you lean forward and kiss one of the markings on his face.

“wouldn’t be here if i was like everyone else, hm?” you reason.

[templeofsoot]

simon is a horrible partner to sleep with in this weather. he wears only his briefs and gets clammy five minutes after falling asleep. you have to scoop to the very side of the bed because he's just too big and likes to dig his shoulder into the split between the mattresses (he's too cheap to buy a matrimonial) and you can feel the heat billowing off him even when inches apart.

he's always warm, maladapted to the mugginess, and you're not that different.

you touch each other less and less, nerves overstimulated by the temperature. he keeps muscling his way into the shower because its the only place you'll let him fuck you.

you wake up in the middle of the night with sweat in the divot of your spine and stare up at the ceiling in irritation. he doesn't care because he keeps sleeping.

rationally, it's not exactly his fault. he's just made of fat and brawn which heat up quick, and you like it in the winter, that the little space of the bed forces you two to squeeze together. its nice and you miss it.

your body is still somewhat asleep and not opposed to the idea of some touching.

you decide to test out that instinct by sliding a leg over his pale thigh, shuffling closer over the humid sheets. the regret is immediate, starting your retreat the moment your ankle itches with the warmth of his skin.

simon tries to fish for you with his eyes closed, and you swat his hand away before it can make contact. "no," you bleat, already back to irritated.

he grunts his disappointment while digging his face into the pillow. you can't stand the bed anymore.

its around three and you paddle down the hallway into the kitchen. the portable AC hooked into the glass door tempts you with the beeping of its spy light, but your feet drag past it — all the windows are open, wishing to catch some stray night breeze, and it'd be a bore to shut them close.

you think about pulling a knife from the drawer and hacking at yourself from the nape down. you want your skin off. instead, you open the fridge door for some water.

the cold air is so inviting that you forget about it and stand still in front of the appliance. it brushes against your exposed midriff and under the fine fuzz on your thighs. somewhere in the back of your skull your brain protests something about electricity bills and food preservation, but you really don't want to move.

"oi." simon pads behind you, and you realise you've been standing in place longer than planned. "yer lettin' the cold out."

"go back to bed."

"s'you can hog the fridge? move over."

you feel him on your spine and keep your elbow from wanting to knock him in the jaw. "go away."

he burrs that rumble that stands in for a chuckle and puts an arm over the top of the freezer, bumping his bicep into your crown. his belly is sticky when it slots into your back, perspiration blooming there immediately, so you slouch further towards the fridge.

"fuck off. this is my space."

"th'is my space," he singsongs, and he tugs the hem of your shorts over your ass, not even bothering with the front until the cheeks are out. he knows you don't wear anything under because his thumb pads at your labia to nudge it apart.

something makes you wince, his touch or the cold air or the heat. your body prims in interest, legs widening when he rubs the tent of his crotch up and down between your cleft.

"s'too hot," you try, but his shoulders are already pressing you down into more of a bend and sliding the fabric away from your pussy until it bunches at the top of your knees. he sticks his tacky fingers over your tacky clit and gives you a couple of good rubs.

"no, its not."

he decides for both of you. you feel light-headed and don't say otherwise.

he gives up too soon the effort of coaxing you away from sleepiness in favour of spitting into his palm and smearing the thick glob over your slit, wedging between your bodies. you want to scold him because saliva is terrible for your pH and he lets you open your mouth before he pushes two fingers inside, three knuckles in until you yelp.

when he fucks you, you have to press your cheek against the freezer door to not fall forward. it's too lazy to be any true shade of good, too pleasant to be any way of bad. he pins you there with his mouth on the bone and coos that your cunt's like a bloody fever, that you're such a wet girl, it's embarrassing. you're both aware most of the moisture between you is sweat.

simon bends his neck to lap at it on the start of your spine and you shiver when he tugs down your top so he can circle a nipple until it hardens in the cold air. you think that if it weren't for the fridge you'd pass out.

his thrusts are pushes, pressing against the fullness of your ass, made less to savour the back-and-forth and more because he likes how you pulse around his cock when they force you on your tiptoes.

he doesn't pace himself, and when you feel him throb, you almost stomp over his bare foot. "make me cum," you remind him, agitated, "simon, don't you dare- ah!"

you feel him grin with all his teeth, but he strums his fingers against your clit nonetheless. "shut up," he sighs, almost annoyed, nose fitted on your occipital. his hips smack against the back of yours when the motion of his pads has you tightening. "alrigh'. yeah, you cum too... tha's it..."

his spent slides down your legs into the gusset of your shorts, and you knock your knees together to keep it off the parquet.

"darlin'," he sniffs, like it's your fault, "look at you. yer all sweaty."

you hate him a little when he hounds you into the shower. you hate him a little less with cold water washing over you.

this time in bed, you're both naked, cool enough that you risk plastering under the wing of his lateral muscles. it still takes him only five minutes to get clammy, holding you prisoner under his arm.

[llliissyyy]

You Wake up to the sound of the door rattling. The training of the boys immediatly Kicks in.

You open your bedside drawer getting the Small gun they made you get lisensed for. You disengage the safety on the weapon and get out of bed.

The rustling stopped but now you hear havy feet drag over the floor downstairs.

Slowly you open the bedroomdoor, you see the lights downstairs. Deep voices reach your ears and you stop in your tracks. Your sleep mind doesnt recolect the voices which makes you inch closer to the stairs.

a man with a weird looking hairstyle walks up the stairs.

Before you think you shoot a warning shot into the wall next to the Mans head.

a short silence follows the shot before the man starts screaming.

"Bonnie it´s just me." soap Holds up his hands in surrender and your Brain finally understands that the only thing that happend was that your boys came back home.

The gun sinks back down and you look at soap who´s wearing his big smile.

"You´re.... You´re home." you nearly throw yourself at the golden Retriever man.

Soap catches you in a hug, picks you up and goes back down the stairs to the others.

"We trained our lassie good. And we might have to fix our wall." Soap laughs when he hands you off to gaz.

[roughlydustychronicle]

You felt him before you heard him. The mattress dipped down low, hesitant.

Simon.

He had come home mere minutes ago from deployment, and still smelled like gun powder. Much to your chagrin, you couldn’t deny the fact that you very much loved your husband’s scent.

His gloved hand floats above your head for a moment before removing the gloves entirely. Only then did you feel his warm hand caress your cheek. “Such a pretty bird, hm?” He murmurs to himself, letting his finger brush away hair strands from your face.

He stays there for a minute, watching your closed eyes flutter every now and then, before changing clothes. Changing into something safe.

When your eyes opened, the sun was peaking through the blinds. All you could feel was warmth from the body next to you, warmth you haven’t felt in weeks. You roll over, as much as you could in his tight grasp, and met his eyes.

“You’re back,” You said groggily, burrowing your face against the crook of his neck. “I thought you were supposed to come home next week. When’d you get in?”

“Few hours ago, love,” He pressed a kiss against the side of your head. “Price let me off easy.” Another kiss. And another. God, you missed it when he was this clingy.

“Good. I would’ve had a word with him if he didn’t.” You mumbled threateningly. Of course, he knew you had meant it. You took his job very seriously.

He made a small acknowledging sound in return. “Sure you would’ve, lovie,” His hand trailed up and down your spine in useless patterns. “Would’ve expected nothing less from my Sleeping Beauty.”

—————————————————————————

Ermmmm 100 followers? Thank you guys?? Holy cow 🥺🫶

[readwritealldayallnight]

To say that you’re surprised to find out the first time you travel together, that Simon supposedly has a fear of flying you never knew of, would be an understatement

It’s just a quick flight out of London, less than an hour in the air to go spend the long weekend together somewhere different for a change

And yet your mountain of a man hasn’t said a peep since the moment you took your seats, eyes staring straight ahead with his hands gripping the armrests for dear life

You’re just a tad bit bewildered on how a lieutenant in the SAS has been harbouring an aversion to flying without you ever hearing of it

Unbeknownst to you, Simon hasn’t got a single problem with flying, he’s just pissed as all hell that you put your own bag in the overhead storage instead of letting him do it when he offered

[kurokothisskurokothatt]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Single mom!reader (pt.2!!)

Summary: Simon saw the tiktoks of guys lifting up the stomachs of their pregnant wives to remove the weight for them (This is set before the OG post, this is when reader is pregnant with her baby girl) Although Simon isnt your husband, he still wanted to try

a/n: hehehe per request from @thyrisblog here is more of Single mom! reader😘

(not proof read)

After a brutal day of training, the boys were relaxing in the common rooms in the barracks. Due to you just entering your 3rd trimester, you haven't been doing the same work outs as the boys. But even when you still workout at a slower pace, it still hurts with all the extra weight from carrying your baby. The boys have helped you so much when it came to your pregnancy.

You’re currently standing in the kitchen making pasta, when Simon walks in.

“Hey Si.” you say, as you stir the pasta.

“Hey mamas” he murmurs.

“Whats up? Want some pasta?” you turn to look at him.

“No, I’m okay. I wanna try something though.” He reply’s as he steps behind you.

“Okay, what is—“ your cut off as Simon’s hands snake around your waist and slide under your plump stomach, before be gently lifts.

You moan softly, “Simon…”

“Feel Good? Saw a video, and wanted to try it.” He whispers softly.

You lean back against his chest. He lightly kissed your neck. All your tension slowly melts, as you close your eyes.

“You enjoyin’ yourself?” He chuckles.

“Mhm…” you hum, “Thank you, Si”

“Anytime, mamas”

a/n: Lowkey im just gonna make this a series, because as i was writing this i got a rush of ideas. I hope you enjoyed this, i’ll see you all next week💕

[llliissyyy]

Simon walks into your shared appartment seeing you sitting on the ground crying.

You´re sitting on the ground in front of the TV which is currently playing some Shelter videos of dogs getting adopted.

You don´t even notice your boyfriend standing in the doorway to the living room.

At first Simon wanted to kill someone for making you cry but now he is trying not to laugh at how adorable his sweet sensitive girlfriend is.

It takes you another five minutes to realise that Simon is back home from work.

"Si-" your voice breaks "Look how happy" more tears are running down your face.

Simon gets to you in three long strides, picks you up and hugs you.

"Si-"

"I know they are so cute", he Runs his crooked nose over yours and you try to breath.

Your crying intensivise tenfold and you bury your face in his shoulder.

He runs his hand down your back to calm you down a little while he walks over to the couch to sit down.

now your placed on Simons lap, his hands slowly move to your face to make you Look at him.

"What happend that you´re watching adoption videos?" he rubs his thumbs over your wet cheeks.

"A customer said i was stupid for forgetting the extra Ketchup packet he wanted." Simon is happy right now that he didnt take off his mask so you don`t see how his face turns mad.

"Baby, do you remember how he looked like?" his voice is wrapped in danger but he tries to keep calm so you wont freekout.

"no, si dont" you shake your head because you know what your military man would do to that idiot of a man that made you sad.

"No one gets to make you sad and get away with it.", he takes off his mask to give you a kiss on the nose.

"Si, please" a sigh leaves his lips but he takes your request serious so he nods.

"Okay, do you want Diner?" he changes the subject and you shake your head no.

He still makes you something to eat and you eat it, while that Happens he shoots a text to Price explaining what happend and that he needs an adress to some man.