#I'm stung that b is cutting ties | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mirror-is-distured · 11 months

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Hear me out, Rain tied up on the groun in the common area or ghoul den, being forced by Swiss to ask everyone for permission to cum, and he's desperate, practically having to beg for yeses.

*mcdonalds intercom noises* would you also like some praise kink to go along with that?

@riverghoulsworld @deadthings-pdf @terzosboyfriend

[Group bonding time]

Polyghouls yay, nsfw under the cut

"Please sir please can i cum.." rain whimpered out, breathless and desperate. Swiss had been teasing him for an hour now and all he would do was beg. "I dont know why you're asking me darling, im not in charge" swiss growled "if you want to cum you have to ask them." Swiss grabbed rain face and lifted it up to see the other ghouls. They all looked down on him, squirming against the thick ropes tied around his soft body.

"Well go on then, beg." Swiss' voice stung in rains ears, less of a suggestion and more of a command.

"Fuck... please can i cum i-i need it please.." rain cried out, digging his knees into the hard floor and looling at the ghouls above him with tear filled eyes. Swiss still hadent stopped jerking him off, letting his fist fall over rain in long, slow, strokes.

"Hmm, i dont know~ i think he looks pretty like this" Cumulus cooed, her eyes wandering down to rains dick, "he wants it so bad~"

"Its pathetic really, i mean look at him. Hes like a dumb puppy" Dew said, not paying any attention to rain as he pleaded.

"fuck i-i cant d-do it.. just l-let me cum please you have to-" rains begging was cut off by a loud sob when swiss tightened his grip around him. "Why dont you ask nicely pretty boy, we wouldn't want our guests to think you are rude now, would we?"

"N-no sir.." rain mumbled, tears splashing down onto his thighs as his head dropped.

"Thats better, now be a good toy and ask nicely." Swiss growled, picking up the pace again. "Please... please ive b-been so g-good please let me cum please" rain whimpered softly, in any other situation he would have hated himself for being this pathetic, but he was so close couldnt even think.

"What was the doll? I dont think we heard you. " aether said, grabbing rains hair and forcing his head up.

"Please... please can i-i cum.." rain cried, tears and sweat rolled down his face, his cock was dripping precum down onto the floor underneath him.

"I think hes earned it, look at him, he cant even think. Such a pretty little slut for us." Cirrus said, crouching down to cup rains cheek. "Do you think you deserve to cum?"

Rain nodded frantically, eyes wide and breath shakey. Swiss only moved his hand faster, dragging his rough hand along the sensitive underside of rains dick.

The other ghouls murmured in agreement, watching every twitch or rains body under the ropes. "Well you heard them, you can cum" swiss whispered into rains ear, dragging his fist faster and faster over him.

Rains breath hitched and he let out a loud moan. His orgasam hit him like a bus, ripping through every fiber in his body. His muscles went taught and his thighs shook as spurts of hot cum leaked from him. Swiss still kept going, only slowing his hand when rain started sobbing from overstimulation. Rain slumped back against swiss's chest, panting and shaking.

"Oh, that's such a good boy... fuck you did so good baby" swiss mumbled, placing kisses down rains cheeks and his neck. The ghouls all piled up around them, cuddling against each other and whispering praises to rain.

_________________________________________a/n so sorry if this is bad it's really rushed lol and I'm on my phone :p

#ghost band #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #i love this man #ghost memes #papa copia #shitghosting #papa emeritus #papa iv #ghost #im hiding away #dying #polyamarous #polyghouls #rain writes shit sometimes

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mccdreamys-writes · 16 days

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smiles for miles – 6. ain't like home

burn the bridges in our town till the point where we drown, as it all comes down. - Dotan, Home

S E P T E M B E R 1 7 T H 2 0 1 1

Coming back to Kansas City stirred up a storm of feelings inside me, pulling memories from the depths where they'd been hiding for so long. Walking down those streets again, it felt like a tug-of-war between wanting to be here and wishing I were anywhere else.

It had been ages since I'd been in this city, and part of me questioned if I even wanted to be back. But duty called, reminding me why I'd returned—Maile needed me, and that was reason enough.

"Alex."

The sound of my name, spoken with such gravity, cut through the air, snapping me back to reality. I turned to see my brother coming towards me, a reminder of the family ties that bind us, whether we liked it or not.

Inhaling deeply to steady my nerves, I acknowledged him with a nod, my greeting carrying a mix of composure and underlying tension. "Scott," I said, my tone carefully neutral, though hints of apprehension lingered beneath the surface.

Despite the warmth of the sun casting its golden glow over the city streets, an intangible chill seemed to permeate the air, casting a shadow over our interaction.

His question hung between us, weighted with skepticism and perhaps a touch of judgment. "What brings you back here?" he queried, his voice betraying a hint of doubt.

Meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve, I made my intentions clear. "I'm here for Maile," I asserted firmly, my words leaving no room for misinterpretation.

An incredulous scoff escaped him, accompanied by a dismissive roll of his eyes. "You're kidding, right?" he retorted, frustration lacing his voice. "I thought you were done with all of that, you finally moved on."

Though his words stung, I refused to let them shake my determination. "Maile's gone missing, Scott," I explained, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in my tone. "I couldn't just ignore that."

His uncertainty was clear, etched in the lines of his face and the cautious tone in his voice. "I thought you and her weren't on speaking terms," he remarked, his curiosity evident.

I met his gaze squarely, my determination unwavering despite the skepticism in his eyes. "There's more to it than that," I replied, my voice steady.

His skepticism persisted as he leaned forward, pressing for more information. "How can you be so sure she's missing?" he probed further.

In response, I reached across the table, laying out the collection of poems in front of him. His brow furrowed as he examined the pages, his skepticism growing. "What's the deal with these?" he questioned, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Poems," I stated plainly, my voice calm but resolute. Despite his doubts, I knew these verses held the key to understanding Maile's disappearance, and I was determined to make him understand their significance. "She wrote them."

He delicately lifted the first poem from the table, his fingers moving with a mix of caution and curiosity, as though each line held a hidden message waiting to be deciphered. With furrowed brows, he scanned the verses, his gaze lingering on certain words, perhaps searching for clues that eluded even the most discerning eye.

After a moment, he set the first poem down and reached for the second, his demeanor shifting to one of deeper concentration. His eyes darted across the page, absorbing each word with intent scrutiny, as if trying to unravel the secrets woven within the lines. Finally, with a thoughtful exhale, he placed the second poem beside the first, his expression a blend of contemplation and skepticism.

Turning his attention back to me, he voiced his doubts, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "What makes you so certain she wrote these?" he questioned, his skepticism challenging the notion that these poems were Maile's handiwork.

I felt a pang of frustration at my inability to provide concrete evidence, my conviction resting solely on intuition and the haunting familiarity of Maile's writing style. How could I convey the depth of my certainty when I lacked tangible proof?

Sensing my inner turmoil, Hotch interjected with a calm authority, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Let me point something out," he began, his tone measured yet authoritative. "In the first poem, the word 'Smiles' is capitalized and circled in what we believe to be her blood. And as you might know, your sister used to call her-"

My brother's expression softened slightly as Hotch's words sank in, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. "Smiles," he echoed, the word carrying a weight of memories and shared experiences. Yet, despite this moment of recognition, skepticism still lingered as he voiced his doubts. "You know, Alex, this is a stretch to say the least. We need more than just circumstantial evidence to make such claims."

With determination in my voice, I faced him squarely, my patience wearing thin like an old rug. "You don't need to help us, Scott," I shot back, frustration seeping into my tone. "We've been given a place on your turf. If you want to join our investigation, feel free to do so. If you don't, stay the hell out of my way."

Turning sharply on my heel, I exited the room, leaving behind a lingering cloud of tension thicker than molasses. Despite my departure, the echo of conversation between my brother and my team members still reached my ears.

Morgan's words hung in the air like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. "This means a great deal to her," his voice carried, tinged with concern. "You might want to take it seriously."

But my brother's response sliced through the atmosphere like a sharp knife, his tone rigid and unwavering. "I can't," he snapped back tersely. "I can't take anything seriously that has to do with that Crane girl. Alex's always been crazy about that girl, something I never understood. That girl is insane, and makes Alex look like a pedophile. I... Alex can't think straight when it comes to that girl."

As his words sank into my thoughts, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbled up within me. How could he casually dismiss the seriousness of our situation, shrugging off the urgency of our investigation like it was nothing? But it was clear that changing his mind wouldn't be easy.

"Is it really that hard to ease her mind?" Hotch's question hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a palpable tension over the room as everyone waited for my brother's response. When he stayed quiet, Hotch pushed forward, his voice steady but firm.

"If you don't trust Blake," Hotch started, his words deliberate, "that's okay. But then help us by proving that Maile Crane has nothing to do with this. We need to know everything about her. And everything about her connection with your sister."

As I observed him from behind the partially open blinds of the office, I could sense the weight of his frustration in the way his hands grasped at his hair. His voice, tinged with a mix of nostalgia and unease, filled the room as he began to recount memories from our past.

"We used to live right across from the Crane family," he started, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "There was Everett Crane, Josephine, and Maile. They were always a bit peculiar." His words hung in the air, carrying a mix of uncertainty and intrigue.

"He was a friendly guy, everyone in the neighborhood loved him," he continued, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. "Josephine kept to herself mostly, didn't socialize much. Alex, though, she really took a shine to her. I think Alex was probably the only person Josephine ever really talked to around here."

Listening to his memories, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences with our former neighbors. Josephine held a special place in my heart; she was like a second mother to me. Despite the description, I remembered her as gentle and nurturing, always there with a kind word or a story to share. She had taught me how to read, passing on a gift that I later shared with her daughter, Maile.

As he delved further into his memories, each word seemed to stir up a whirlwind of emotions inside me. His voice, lacking any emotion, cut through the air, yet his words sparked a fiery anger within me.

"I guess I never really got to know her," he continued, his tone distant. "But she... she was always just wandering around, observing everything. And whenever someone tried to talk to her, she'd bolt and run away." His words painted a picture of Maile, but it clashed with the lively, spirited girl I remembered.

"Nobody really got close to her, except for Alex," he added. At the mention of my name, a flood of memories rushed back—times spent with Maile, secrets shared under the moonlight.

"My sister was crazy about that girl, more than she was about her own family," he admitted, bitterness dripping from his words. "She'd make decisions, big ones, based on what would be good for Maile." His revelation filled the room, highlighting the sacrifices made for love.

"People in the neighborhood thought she was obsessed with that girl. They wondered if she'd had a 'thing' for Maile," he continued, his tone heavy with resentment. "They started to keep a distance. It really put a strain on our family." The weight of his confession lingered, casting a shadow over our past.

Leaving the building, weighed down by my brother's revelations, I sought refuge in the calmness of the precinct's benches outside. The breeze offered a soothing touch against my skin, a brief respite from the storm raging within.

Soon, my team joined me, their presence a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. Morgan's question broke the silence, delving straight to the heart of the matter.

"Did Maile always have to watch out for people?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, memories of the Crane household flooding back vividly. "Yeah, he beat that into her. Same with Josephine," I confessed, the gravity of my words hanging in the air. "They lived in constant fear of everyone."

Anxiety gripped me tightly as I spoke, a sense of urgency pushing my words forward. "I want to make something clear. I wasn't in love with Maile. I loved- still love her, but I promise..."

Hotch's hand gently rested on my shoulder, offering a momentary sense of reassurance. His eyes conveyed understanding as he spoke softly. "We know, Blake," he reassured me, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of my turmoil. "But we also recognize that circumstances change."

I turned to him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. "What do you mean?" I inquired, my voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

His expression softened, a mixture of sympathy and resolve evident in his gaze. "What I mean is, Maile holds a special place in your heart," he explained gently but firmly. "No matter how much time passes or how hard you try to deny it, she's deeply ingrained in your soul. The way you talk about her, the way you care for her—you have given her your heart and you're not gonna get it back. Blake. And that's something you can't change. She is the love of your life."

His words struck a chord deep inside me, reminding me of something I had tried to ignore. Thinking back on my life, I couldn't deny the strong feelings I always had for Maile. No matter what, she was the most important person to me.

I tried to find happiness with other people, getting into relationships and even getting married. But nothing compared to what I felt for Maile. Even when she wasn't around, I couldn't forget about her. She was always on my mind, guiding me like a bright light in the dark.

In my life story, Maile was like the string that held everything together. Even though I tried to move on, she was always there, shaping my decisions and influencing my path.

With a heavy heart, I accepted the undeniable truth: Maile was more than just a friend; she was the love of my life, the one who held the key to my heart, even when she was absent from it.

"So where are we going next?" Morgan asked.

Raising my gaze to meet Morgan's inquisitive eyes, I felt a surge of determination coursing through me, mingling with the memories that flooded my mind. "We're going to 'the house across the street'."

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spartanguard · 5 years

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Happy Valentine's Day, love!! Hope I'm not too late to request some - ⚡️ - person a and b get into a fight before valentine’s, and both spend the entire day trying to make up with each other. (obv I'm walking into slight angst territory here but I trust you!)

Well, this took me all day. But here it is! It’s not TOO angsty ;)

⚡️ - person a and b get into a fight before valentine’s, and both spend the entire day trying to make up with each other.

canon insert | rated T | 2.2k | valentine’s day prompts

Emma had been looking forward to Valentine’s Day, which was still something she was getting used to, but in the good way. She’d never take for granted the fact that she had someone to celebrate it with forever—someone who was particularly prone to grand romantic gestures, even if she’d told him she didn’t need or want anything over the top.

(She was kind of hoping they’d have another little someone to share the day with, since Henry had left a few months ago and the house was feeling much too empty, but...no luck there yet.)

But her anticipation was replaced with apprehension when she came downstairs that morning, festively dressed in her red leather jacket, only to find Killian sneaking in the back door, head down.

“Hey, what were you doing out there?”

“Um, taking out the trash,” he lied, avoiding her gaze as he moved toward the coffee pot.

“You wanna try that again?”

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

Her mind flashed back to the time he was keeping the shears of fate in the shed out back, and then the situation with the dreamcatcher. They’d moved past both of those, and she trusted him, but something just felt...off. It wasn’t like him to keep anything from her anymore.

“What if I want to worry about it?” she countered, stepping toward him as he poked at buttons on the machine without getting anywhere.

“Is a man not allowed to keep anything hidden around here?” he threw back, just a hint of anger in his voice. “I promise you, Emma—it’s nothing.” I’ll…” he trailed off, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Why are you being so evasive?” Tired of him toying with the coffee pot, she reached over and turned it on.

He tossed his head back, exasperated, and sighed. “I’m not; you’re the one seeing danger where there is none.”

“Well it’s nice that you’re able to not constantly be on guard. Sorry I can’t just shut it off like you can.” Not waiting for his reaction, she stormed off.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Apparently, someone has to keep an eye on this town. I’m headed to work; I’ll see you later.”

She kind of didn’t care if the door slammed behind her. What the hell was he doing?

Killian gave a long, low exhale after the door crashed shut. It wasn’t the first meaningless, random spat they’d had lately; they were both anxious for their family to grow, and perhaps subconsciously, their lack of success in that area was getting to both of them.

He hadn’t meant to be short with her, but all he was doing was trying to keep her away from one of the Valentine’s surprises he’d prepared; surely, that wasn’t worth jumping down his throat?

But they both had a long history of betrayal, even between each other, even if they’d progressed far beyond that point. He couldn’t completely fault her suspicion. Still—it stung.

The coffee pot beeped as the brew finished, with one final gurgle that echoed in the silence of the room. Reluctantly, he pulled a mug from a cabinet and poured himself a cup, but then he realized: Emma didn’t have any yet. Or, judging from the untouched box of Pop Tarts on the counter, anything to eat.

She may have said she was going to work, but he knew she wouldn’t get that far without sustenance, so there was only one place she could be headed.

He dug his phone from his rear pocket, pulled up the number, and dialed.

Emma’s anger had cooled a bit on the walk to Granny’s—probably in proportion to her growing hunger and need for caffeine. She really hadn’t meant to go off on him like that; it was probably nothing. Maybe she was just more stressed than she thought? Or maybe just hangry.

The smell of coffee and maple syrup hit Emma as soon as she opened the door to the diner and her mouth was watering.

Emma had barely sat down at the counter when Granny was in front of her, setting down a plate in front of her. “One order of pancakes, with bacon on the side, for Mrs. Swan-Jones,” she announced. “And the coffee is almost done.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied, slightly stunned. “Am I just that predictable now?”

“Eh,” Granny shrugged. “I had warning you were on the way.”

Emma slumped over her breakfast a bit. “He called?”

“Yep. You two fight or something?”

“Yeah, something,” Emma sighed as she cut into the stack of pancakes. “It’s dumb.”

“So I take it he’s not going to be joining you?”

“No, probably not,” she answered. Granny slid over a mug of fresh coffee; Emma took a long gulp, even with it still being hot. “But...can you help me doing something for him?”

“Of course, darlin’.”

After a brief stop at the station, managing to slip in and out before Emma got in, Killian made his way to the docks. The weather was going to be dry enough to get some work done on the ship this week, and with today being unseasonably warm, he decided this would be the perfect time to start. He just needed to double-check some measurements before he bought new sailcloth and rope for rigging first.

That, and working with his hands would give him some more time to calm down from their tiff—or distract himself from his shame at losing his temper.

He wandered up to the quarterdeck when he got to the ship and was about to re-inspect the section where the ropes were getting worn, but before he could get there, a bundle sitting on the helm caught his attention.

Tied up with bright red ribbon was a hefty length of rope and what looked to be the exact cut of cloth he needed. A tag was hanging from the knot of the ribbon; it looked a bit watery, as if it had been laying outside overnight and was mottled by the morning dew. But in unmistakeable handwriting, it said “You put the wind in my sails. Happy Valentine’s!

He reached into his jacket pocket; sure enough, the notes he’d made with rough measurements listed was gone—but this looked like more than enough for what he needed. Perhaps he needed some lessons from Emma on being sneaky—though he certainly had a few surprises up his sleeve for later.

For now, he had to get to work, if only so he could get to those faster.

Emma couldn’t say she was looking forward to a day of working on her own, but Valentine’s was usually quiet enough that they’d decided to just have one person in today, and she knew how much Killian wanted to make those repairs on his ship. She just really hoped those notes of his were right; she’d erred on the side of caution and bought more when she hit the supply shop yesterday.

Hopefully, he was enjoying himself there; she probably would be bored out of her mind in the empty station, but she couldn’t begrudge him the nice day to be by the sea, especially if they needed a bit of time apart, as they apparently did.

She unlocked the front door and shuffled in like always, flipping on the light to the bullpen and then her office once she slipped inside.

The light overhead shined down like a spotlight onto her desk—or, rather, what was on it: a huge, gorgeous bouquet of roses in a stunning glass vase. Her jaw dropped.

Almost cautiously, she stepped toward them—this was still Storybrooke, after all. She plucked the card that was tucked into the center of the arrangement and was immediately awash in the light, powdery fragrance they gave off—there had to be close to three dozen stems there.

The card bore her name on the front in Killian’s flourishing handwriting. On the other side, he’d written “I gave you one of these on our first date; I’ve done a poor job of keeping up the tradition. Hopefully this covers it and then some. All my love, Killian.”

How had she found such a perfect romantic sap? She stuck her whole face in the flowers then, almost getting high on the scent. She caught a tiny whiff of something slightly musty, too, but familiar.

It smelled like the storage shed. Shit. She’d practically attacked him for trying to hide what he’d clearly intended to be a surprise. God, she was an asshole. She had to make this up to him. She had a few things planned...but what else could she do?

A few hours later, Killian was halfway up the rigging, setting up new lines, when a voice called out.

“Ahoy! Permission to board?”

He nearly jumped at the sound, which would have resulted in a rather unpleasant fall were his reflexes not still trained to grab the nearest piece of rope at the slightest jolt. But it was just Granny.

“Of course, milady,” he shouted back, then carefully made his way back to semi-solid ground. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“To your wife,” she replied, holding out a take-out bag. He could smell the onion rings from here. “She figured you’d be working too hard to remember lunch and wanted to make sure you ate.”

He took the bag from her; scrawled in Emma’s hand, on the top of the bag, was “Sorry :( I love you!”

“You kids alright?” Granny asked, concern evident in her voice. “I don’t like being the go-between.”

“We’ll be just fine, I think,” he said softly as he opened the bag, the familiar shape of a burger wrapped in foil inside. “As much as we appreciate your services, I don’t think they’ll be required much longer.”

“I hope so. If you two can’t make it, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

He had to admit, that kind of sentiment was a bit draining—that everyone only saw them through the lens of “True Love,” and not as a real relationship. But he daren’t admit that to Granny. Instead, he smirked and tossed back, “Why, Madame Lucas—aren’t the lovers lining up at your threshold?”

“Ha. Very funny. Eat up, and don’t break your neck. I’ve got a lunch rush to get back to.” She turned to head away, but he caught the pink blush rising on her cheeks.

Oh, his darling wife; however was he going to make up for the muck he’d made this morning?

As it turned out, they both seemed determined to apologize through various gestures throughout the day, both preplanned and spur of the moment.

At the same time he was discovering a fifth of his favorite rum in the ship’s galley—to go with his burger, of course—Emma found the recently replenished stash of her favorite hazelnut coffee (the good stuff) in the coffee cabinet at the station.

On his way home from the ship, he arranged to have a hot chocolate and bearclaw delivered to her from her favorite cafe in town (don’t tell Granny); upon arrival at the house, a delivery boy from the ice cream shop was dropping off a pint of his favorite flavor, rum raisin.

And then, around dinner time, Killian walked up to the house armed with their favorite dishes from the local Chinese restaurant—just as Emma was pulling up in the bug, laden with their favorite pizzas.

“Hi,” they both said, somewhat awkwardly, staring at the carry-out in the other’s hands. Then they looked up at each other and giggled.

“Shall we?” Killian said, nodding at the door.

“Let’s.”

Seamlessly moving around each other—like always—they set up the food on the kitchen counter, Emma got out the dishes, and Killian uncorked the wine they’d been saving for tonight.

He’d just opened the bottle, and she had just set the plates down, when they turned to face each other and blurted out simultaneously, “I’m sorry.”

“No, love, you have nothing—”

“Oh, don’t even; I’m the one who—”

“Emma—”

“Killian—”

They took in a breath at the same moment, then instinctively moved together, wrapping the other one up in a bruising hug.

“I’m sorry I got needlessly suspicious and defensive,” Emma said, voice muffled a bit by the way her face was pressed against Killian’s chest.

“And I’m sorry that I was cagey and snapped at you; it’s inexcusable.”

“I’d have done the same.”

“That’s why we’re true love, aye?”

“Something like that.” Emma lifted her head just enough to find his lips with hers, and press any other apologies into that. “I love you.”

“I love you, too—immeasurably.”

“Show-off.”

He kissed her again, then laid out a decision. “So, we have two options here: dive into this frankly ridiculous amount of food, or take this,” he explained, grabbing her rear end through her jeans, “to a more comfortable locale. Which would you prefer?”

The decision was easy for Emma. “The food will reheat.” And without any further prompting, jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist and reaffix her lips to his.

They continued to make up several more times that night, in various positions, all across their bed.

(And, the following year, they did indeed have someone else to celebrate with—baby Hope.)

#cs ff #cs valentine's day #valentine's day #my ff #effulgentcolors

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