#Wordless Teaching

[iyemarathichiyenagari1971]

गुरूचे मौन आणि कृपा यातूनच खरी अनुभूती

अर्जुना एऱ्हवीं तरी । इया अभिप्रायाचा जे गर्वु धरी ।ते पाहें पां वैखरी । दुरी ठेली ।। ३१२ ।। ज्ञानेश्वरी अध्याय सहावा ओवीचा अर्थ – अर्जुना, सहज विचार करून पाहिले तर हा अभिप्राय सांगण्याचा गर्व जी वैखरी धरते, ती वाचा या ब्रह्मस्थितीपासून फार दूर राहिली. अर्जुना, सामान्य विचार केला तर दिसून येईल की, ‘माझा अभिप्राय महत्वाचा आहे’, ‘माझं मत सांगणं आवश्यक आहे’ – हा जो गर्व आहे, तो फक्त ‘बोलणं’…

[grandpizzaponypie]

I love how community was always at the forefront of sinners

Smoke and that lil girl in the car, him trynna teach her in their small time together how to value your time and demand what you deserve

Even though Delta Slim and Sammie had that one lil spat in the beginning, Slim being so fierce in his protection of Sammie. Slim going out his way to teach Sammie the way, making sure he introduced himself. Setting him straight bout his music coming from somewhere good and not the devil like his father said. DYING for him

Bo always having the twins back and being reluctant to leave, the genuine glee he had at seeing Smoke. Grace thrown off by Stack not being with Smoke cause she knew em so well to know they should be together

Annie protecting not only Smoke but ALSO Stack when they weren’t together in her own ways.

Annie and Mary being Visible next to each other as much as possible. Mary literally screaming out in horror and snapping out of the hive mind at Annie’s death.

Stack being mad at Smoke bc it was supposed to be them against the world forever. Annie and Smoke, Mary and Stack, a family.

Annie saying “not you” when she realized it was Stack biting her because he ment so much to her, on the flip Stack spefically going after Annie so he could secure their immortal family.

That quite tense moment between Smoke and Mary after their lil argument bout Mary mother, the wordless conversation had as they both sat in silence.

The brothers putting their money where their mouth is and always giving the cash to patch up the ppl they fucked up.

“By us for us”

Cornbread face deeply sorry explaining why he couldn’t make it to Mary’s mother funeral cause he had to make quotas.

Everyone bucking up at the thought of Remmick taking Sammie, Smoke putting himself in front of everyone. And when he faltered at the sight of his literal other half in front of him turned, everyone being there to bring him back.

Even Remmick in his deeply twisted way just wanted back to his community, everyone else be damned (with him). His want to bring everyone together in his hell on earth. His yearning to find community in another person who was like him even if he no longer had those powers (I’m going off the bases that he was a his peoples version of a Griot, which I believe is a Fili)

[eraserbread]

it's just one of those things... your husband, nanami, likes you close.

but, your husband is actually a very sane individual and decides its best not to keep you leashed down. however, it didn't make it easier when you brought up the idea of visiting your family during the spring.

nanami loves your family, but he loves them in his way. he loves them from far, far away—perhaps not even a phone call away, just a yearly birthday card kind of closeness. It's not an energy he wishes to be around.

but, he wants whatever makes you happy, so he lets you go for a week.

a grueling, seven-day week. one filled with work, overtime, stress and anger, all to an empty house to crawl back to. it's okay -- its all he can tell himself as he tucks into bed lonely as hell.

he wills himself to sleep, begging his mind to leave you alone. let you have your space without his voice in your ear. he thinks you want this -- this... disgusting silence.

little did he know, you were five cities away waiting by the phone.

just waiting. hoping at least a good night text would fall your way. you know he's up thinking about you. he has to be.

so, when you get home a week later. you're pissed and touch starved and nanami starved. you had a mind to let him have it, to spew everything you've been pining over while he's been too busy to text or call.

it also doesn't help that you got home four hours before him, having time to cool down and shower off. a part of you wants to call him -- perhaps he's getting drinks or dinner with a friend, but if he didn't contact you for a week, you'd be sure not to contact him. its the only way you know how to teach him.

he arrives home when you're wrapped in your pajamas, glass of wine in your hand, and waiting for this exact moment.

"welcome home, my beautiful wife."

he begins, and it brings a small smile to your face. it's already seeming like he's redeeming himself. "you know I love you."

"really? i don't know... just thought i'd see it more when we're apart," you mumble, chewing on your lip over the rim of your glass. you can't see nanami's expression, but you can feel the quirk in his brow - the tightness in the corner of his lips.

"well, don't be vague. you're mad at me." he knows, yet he's still so calm. you refuse to glance back at him, even when he's taking off his shoes and pulling off his tie. it's something you'd usually help him with. this time, you help yourself to your wine.

"look, a week apart did us both a world of good, I promise you."

"yeah? would your hand agree with you, there?"

he laughs. "not everything's about sex, dear. I'm capable of holding out for a week." another wordless sip of your wine, and he's approaching you. "but, just because I can, doesn't mean I want to go into day eight without it."

it takes every fiber of your soul to say, "'m sorry, nanami. i'm just not in the mood tonight."

if you didn't know him so well, you wouldn't have caught the slight twitch in his brow at the news. however, he takes it well with a small smile on his face. "of course. i'll be in my office."

you sip your wine, cursing him internally for his politeness. he could have anything he wanted from you if he just said it. but, he never will. if its your will to go to bed without giving yourself to him, then so be it. he won't beg at your feet like a child.

but... what if you wanted him to?

you're not keeping track of time anymore, but you feel renewed with a headful of wine and time spent with nothing but thoughts of him. it's genuinely unnerving to you just how in love you are. nanami is so gentle, strong, beautiful and polite. it fucking makes your head spin.

then, you feel like a monster..

the feeling wills one foot in front of the other, all the way to his office door. it's not closed, just cracked. golden desk lamp lighting spills out into the hall in rectangular designs. you find yourself fixating on it in your drunkenness.

the door squeaks as you push it open, and you peek inside to see where he was amongst the organized chaos of books and work papers.

"ken?"

surprisingly, he's not staring right back at you. he's face down over his desk, resting so that you can't see his face—only the back of his head and all his disheveled blonde hair.

when you approach, he stays completely still. worry begins brewing in your chest.

"you know you can come to bed..." you whisper, leaning against the side of his desk. his pretty eyes flutter open at the softness of your voice and touch, quirking a smile.

"didn't think i could lay next to you and keep my hands to myself." he sits up into your hand, shivering as you massage over his scalp. he's like a little orange kitten, nudging your hand with sleepy eyes.

"don't you dare go ghost on me for a week ever again. do you know how obsessed I am with you?"

"i can guess." he chuckles softly, swallowing something down as he looks up at you. "I'm so sorry. just figured you would want your time to yourself."

"that doesn't mean you can't text me."

"then, i'm throwing my hands up and taking my wrongs." there he goes again, not even so much as debating his reasoning; he just wants you. if being the bad guy means he can lay down his gorgeous, tipsy wife, he'll be the worst person in the world.

there's newfound speed behind his actions as he spins his chair around, reaching out to grab you by the hips. it's so fluid and familiar, but it gets your pulse racing, the beat between your thighs mimicking the rhythm of his heart. he's so close to everything -- to you, to all of it.

he kisses your tummy where the hem of your shirt kisses the waistband of your shorts. he's breathing you in, memorizing the sound of you, it seems. your hands find the back of his neck, thumbing circles into the fuzz, there. it's a moment he'd never speak about again, but the ones you cherish the most. he just holds you. like, it's been over five minutes now...

"i'm sorry. i love you so much."

he nods into your stomach, kissing the ticklish sliver of bare skin there. you're dewy with the after-breath of him, but you love the warmth. you want him back when he pulls away.

"i love you." he nods, giving you those eyes when he looks up at you. your heart fucking pummels and rushes through your body, nearly bringing tears to your eyes -- he's so beautiful. "and I love this fabric on you."

"please. please take it off, kento. i love you so fucking... so fucking much." you're breathless already, and all he's done is kiss you. it's a little embarrassing, but neither of you care. tomorrow morning when he kisses you awake, you'll shrug off your demeanor on the alcohol but you weren't that drunk. you just missed him.

"take it off, please. take it off..."

"huh?"

"please, don't fucking tease me i'm so horny right now. nanami kento, i love you so much, please."

"wow, girl." he trails his lips to your waistband, taking it between his teeth shortly. "are you begging for it?"

"fuck my pride, i don't have it with you anymore." you gasp, tightening your fist in his hair to lead him just... down. of course, he's too fucking strong. he doesn't budge. "kentooo-"

he stares up with wide eyes for just a second longer before giving in. he mumbles, "all right, all right." just before yanking your shorts and taking you apart. he drives his chair forward as he slides open your cunt on two fingers, showing you his tongue and diving in. he's done this hundreds of times, but you'll never be used to the feeling.

he knows every inch of your body - how you vibrate when he flicks your clit that one way or dips his tongue the other. he has your orgasm down to a science, but he still takes his time massaging around your labia, kissing the crook between your thighs.

you were already so close, you cuss. "fuck - what ar- what are you doing?!"

"if you would just have some patience," he responds vaguely, holding your thigh and kissing across the inside. with rushing breaths, you try to calm down, swallowing as you watch him. "you were about to finish, I could tell."

"so, you stopped?"

"i know you've been drinking... so you won't last past this round." of course, only he would know that and actually apply logic to it. it hits you dumbfounded. "I'm selfish. just wanted you to cum when I'm inside a'you."

there's absolutely nothing you can say to translate your thoughts, all you can do is breathe out a shaky moan. you were so fucked off of his tongue, right now.

"desk? bedroom? hm?"

or

you want me to fuck you on my desk or in our bed?

bed sounds better, that way you can pass out immediately afterwards. your mind swims thinking about being back in his arms tonight.

it seems you said that out loud, because he gives you a small smile, then carries you all the way to your bedroom.

he fucks you slow and deep tonight, letting you rest on your back as he held your legs over his waist. you're mewling in reaction, biting down on the inside of your wrist to keep the embarrassment at bay. nanami's being so devious, fucking you like this. he knows it'd take you longer to cum, but he wants that.

he wanted to savor this. you. all of it. all he can do as he stares down at you is admire. he loves the way your breasts rise and fall with each shaky breath. he loves the way your neck dips every time he hits that spot or touches you there.

inside of your warmth is home for him. he just loves you so fucking much that you're the only thing on his mind when he cums alongside you.

he even thinks his left eye drops a tear when he collapses in bed with you. though, he'd never, ever admit it.

then, he kisses the top of your head as you drift away into spinning dreams and whispers:

"god, what did i ever do before you?"

[elevensiesexpert]

Aragorn instinctively guiding the hobbits through rough terrain, slowing his pace so they don’t struggle to keep up.

Aragorn quietly tending to the Fellowship’s wounds after battle, his hands steady and gentle despite the weight he carries.

Aragorn listening to Boromir speak of Gondor, letting him reminisce about home without judgment or rivalry.

Aragorn exchanging silent nods with Legolas and Gimli before battle, a wordless promise that they will fight—and survive—together.

Aragorn sitting with Frodo on sleepless nights, offering quiet reassurances without the need for grand speeches.

Aragorn teaching Merry and Pippin small survival tricks, amused but impressed when they take his lessons seriously.

Aragorn humming old songs from his childhood as they travel, his voice low and steady, bringing comfort to those who listen.

Aragorn taking moments to just be—to close his eyes and breathe in the scent of trees and earth, grounding himself in the present.

Aragorn proving, time and time again, that he is more than just a king—he is a protector, and a man who never stops caring.

[mellowswriting]

new perspective

pairing || Din Djarin x f!Reader

word count || 2.8k

summary || teaching the infamous Mandalorian to slow down and enjoy life isn't easy. it takes planning, patience - and silken sheets apparently.

content || SMUT, domesticity, simple pleasures, shower sex, sensual massages (i'm incorrigible), p in v sex, cowgirl position 🤠, slow sweet sex, post-orgasm planning for the future (this is din, after all)

a/n || i know, i know. i can hear it all now. "mel, where the fuck have you been???" celebrating my graduation and then immediately devolving into an existential crisis. but that's okay! not only have i figured out my direction in life, but i've returned with everyone's favorite topic: simping for Din Djarin.

Din Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library Blog

Din Djarin is not a man who knows how to take his time. He’s a workhorse, constantly on the go from one job to the next. He simply never learned the skill of savoring the little things in life. A good meal, a hot shower, a full night’s rest, leisure time. All of those things are simply a stranger to him. Any pleasure he takes, usually at his own hand, is perfunctory at best, a release of tension for its own sake.

Until you.

It starts simple - a set of silken sheets that you bring onto the Crest. Din returns to find you sprawled out on the small bed you share with a sleepy smile that makes his chest feel funny. Your fingers fan out against the soft material.

“Come feel.” You murmur. He doesn’t hesitate to tug off the thick leather gloves and brush the fabric with the back of his fingers. You watch as his shoulders soften, his head tilting as he takes in the foreign feeling. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He says contemplatively. “It’s soft.”

Your smile widens and you shift over, making room for your lover. “Join me?”

“In a bit,” Din promises. The chill of his beskar soaks into your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. His warm palm cups your cheek and he holds you there for a breath before pulling away. “I have some more work to do.”

It isn’t hard to convince him to strip down when he joins you later that night. He’s exhausted, body aching from a long day’s work. He lets you strip away his armor and flight suit until he’s left in his briefs. You’re used to him falling asleep the moment he collapses into bed - but tonight is different. His eyebrows raise in surprise when he relaxes back into the pillows, his fingers rubbing circles against new sheets. Din is a man of few words but it’s obvious how much he likes the new addition to the bedroom.

“Come here,” He whispers, beckoning you to join him. The tension melts from his body as you curl up against his side. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, a wordless offer of his thanks that you eagerly accept. Surrounded by the cool sheets and the woman he loves, he falls asleep within minutes. That morning, Din lingers in bed for those first drowsy moments after waking. He wakes you with a few gentle caresses of his hands over your shoulder and arm and a murmur of your name. He looks more rested than usual.

You make sure to buy matching pillowcases the next time you’re out.

With every passing day, Din learns how to slow down and savor the morning. It doesn’t take much to keep him in bed with you a little longer each morning - a few soft touches and sweet kisses, and Din sinks right back into your arms. He rubs his face into the crook of your neck and drifts in and out of sleep, practically purring with every brush of your fingers through his hair. His voice, so deep and rough first thing in the morning, rumbles low in his chest as he murmurs his love into your skin. It’s simple, this early morning peace the two of you share. So simple, but so important.

You slip into the shower with him one random evening. You can’t help it. He’s been gone for two days straight on a bounty hunt and you’ve missed him. His eyes light up with interest as they trail over your naked body, his hands finding your waist and tugging you against him. A shiver of desire arcs up your spine - but you didn’t come here to get fucked silly in the shower. Well, not yet at least. You loop your arms around his shoulders and press up on your toes to kiss him properly. Din groans against your lips, already moving to press you against the shower wall. A gentle tug on his hair is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask, looking up at him like the picture of innocence.

Din blinks at you, confused. “You want to… wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” You say softly.

There’s no need to over-explain. The two of you have mastered this silent communication over the months you have spent together. He searches your face for a moment before his expression softens, implicit permission given in the way his eyes shine for you. You gently lather shampoo into his thick curls and let your nails drag along his scalp in the way he loves. His eyelashes flutter under your touch but his eyes don’t close. He’s too intent on watching you. The grip he has on your hips tightens as you work, little groans falling from his lips at the simple pleasure of your hands on his body.

He lets you maneuver him and tilt his head back into the water without a hint of resistance. For a man so used to keeping everyone at arm's length, the trust he holds for you is plain as day. His cock twitches against your belly as your fingers meticulously work the suds from his hair. The barest hint of your skin against his is enough to get him riled up, but this…? The press of your slick, bare body pressed against his? His body language begs for more. He leans into the press of your fingers and cants his hips forward, slowly grinding against you with stuttered breaths.

The moment the water runs clear, Din lifts you by your thighs and presses you against the cold shower wall. You can’t help but admire the bulge of his biceps as he leverages you up and nudges your entrance with the head of his cock, searching your face for permission. The hungry kiss you drag him into is all the permission he needs. A new rush of adrenaline seizes his body as he sinks into you. He fucks you hard and fast, pace faltering at the pure heaven of your body. He wedges his hand between your bodies and rubs insistent circles against your clit. He just knows your body too well - within minutes, those frantic bursts of pleasure built into a powerful orgasm that leaves you trembling and weak in his arms.

Din buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside of you just seconds later. Every moan and panted breath echoes through the small shower. You shiver at the feeling of his lips pressed against your neck. He always knows just where to kiss and touch to leave you like putty in his hands. He goes willingly when you guide him in for a real kiss, lazy and slow as the water streams against you. Careful not to let you slip, he lowers you onto your feet and maneuvers you until the water pounds against your back.

You should have expected him to return the favor. Din doesn’t take no for an answer.

“It’s your turn.” He murmurs, too adamant and stubborn to be swayed. You’ve always loved that about him, even when it gives you grief.

You melt into his chest as he works product into your hair, his fingers massaging at your scalp in a way you didn’t even know you needed. Little sounds of satisfaction fall from your lips with every touch. Sometimes you forget just how big his hands are. He palms the back of your head and draws you close enough that your noses brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just watches you for a moment as he thoroughly washes your hair. He takes in the way you look up at him with an expression so full of love that he aches.

“I love you,” His voice is so low that it almost gets lost in the thrum of water, but you hear it. He can tell by the way your eyes light up, by the soft smile that curls your lips.

“I love you, too.” You whisper back. Din kisses you softly before tilting your head back and rinsing the suds from your hair.

Slowly but surely, you introduce Din to a life he never realized was possible. He learns how to revel in the attention and care you give him. He learns how to give it in return. His thoughts always return to you when he’s on a bounty, knowing he has to return to his little love waiting for him at his ship. Every now and then, he finds something to bring back to you - a little trinket, some sweets, a new book. You always look at him as if he’s placed the entire universe in the palm of your hands. Fuck, he would do it, too. Anything to see you so happy.

Din returns from a week-long bounty exhausted, sore, and with a little gift in hand. It’s just a new robe, something soft and airy for you to wear on those long nights in hyperspace. You gasp softly when he hands it to you, your fingers exploring the silky fabric as if it’s precious - and to you, it is. Not because it’s some rare or expensive treasure. Just because it comes from him.

Allowing you to remove his armor is as easy as breathing. He eagerly accepts every touch and kiss you give him, more than happy to let you do as you please. You set every piece of armor aside with care and neatly fold his flight suit. It doesn’t take any convincing to get him into the shower with you. The burning heat of the water soothes some of the aches that linger in his muscles. A dull throb still follows his every move but he powers through, not wanting to spoil such a pleasant evening with his lover.

He never really learned that he can’t hide anything from you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as he eases himself onto the edge of the bed.

“Just sore,” He concedes, slowly rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to ease the tension. Your eyebrows furrow as you look him over with a keen eye. All you wear is that scrutinizing expression and the pretty robe he got you, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Come on, let’s just get some sleep.”

“You can’t sleep if you’re this uncomfortable.” You squeeze his shoulder, frowning when you feel how tight his muscles are. “Let me help.”

Din meets your gaze, your eyes so earnest that he doesn’t even think to deny you. He lets you maneuver him as you please until he’s laid out on his belly with you straddling his hips. A low groan rumbles through his chest when your hands bear down on his shoulders. Every pass of your fingers brings a strange combination of pleasure and pain that leaves him melting into the bed.

Even after all these months, he just isn’t used to the feeling of your skin against his. A simple passing touch is enough to have him shivering, but this? It’s overwhelming, all-consuming in the best possible way. It doesn’t take long for that pain to melt away into pure pleasure. Breathless, needy sounds follow every pass of your fingers. He can't help but rock his hips, grinding his cock into the silken sheets.

By the time you've finished working your thumbs into his lower back, you've reduced the Mandalorian beneath you into a desperate, hungry mess. He goes without hesitation when you urge him onto his back. His hands immediately find your hips and he grinds up into the heat of your cunt. The only thing that stops him from flipping you over and fucking you into the sheets is the gentle hand you place on his chest.

“Let me.” You whisper. Your voice carries a soft thrum of need that leaves him aching. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers tighten at your hips at the mere brush of your fingers against his cock. That grip becomes bruising as you slowly sink onto him. Pleasure curls through his belly at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, so hot and slick and perfect - it would be so easy to lose his mind in the rapture of your body. It isn’t easy to keep his eyes open under the onslaught of pleasure, but it’s well worth it. He’s rewarded with the sight of your jaw falling slack and a shiver wracking your body. The stretch, the angle - it’s all new to you. You aren’t used to taking him this way. He isn’t used to letting you.

You sigh a breathy, pleased little sound that makes his heart skip a beat or two. Fuck, you might just be the death of him one of these days. It’s a demise he welcomes if it means meeting his end at your hands. That first roll of your hips has his head tipping back into the pile of fluffy pillows, yet another addition of comfort you’ve brought to this bed. You can’t take your eyes off him - the flex of his biceps, the clench of his jaw, the sheen of sweat that glistens on his tan skin. A delicious vision of the man you’ve come to love so dearly. You lean down and press a kiss to his chest, his collarbone, to that sweet spot where his pulse thrums in his neck.

Your fingers comb through his curls, bringing his pleasure-clouded gaze back to your own. His lips part as you set a slow, steady pace. Every rise and fall of your hips makes his eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t look away. He’s too entranced by this, by the pure newness of it all. Heat pulses and courses through your belly with every grind of your clit against him, grows stronger with every needy sound you pull from him. His chin tips up, an obvious plea, and you kiss him. Soft and slow, full of tongue and teeth.

Din doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything quite as overwhelming as this. He isn’t a stranger to the feeling of your body or the love you somehow hold for him, but this is all new. Every slow rock of your hips sends honeyed pleasure slinking down his spine. There’s no need to rush. He can take his time and truly feel you, revel in the plushness of your thighs and the wet heat of your cunt. For the first time, he lets himself explore your body unhurried. His hands drift up and palm your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipple with a gentle touch. Your head tips back as you hum a pleased little sound.

Din can’t help but press his hips up, rising every time yours fall. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t try to set a faster pace. He just moves with you as fluid as rushing water. His hands shift to cup your ass, his fingers digging in and spreading you out for him. Desire clouds your gaze as he grinds his hips at that perfect angle that makes you see stars. You’re so close - he can feel it in the telltale rhythmic pulse of your cunt, in the way your thighs tremble. Slick drips in little rivulets down his thighs.

“Perfect, so perfect,” He rambles between rushed breaths. “My sweet girl, all mine.”

“Yours,” You promise. “I’m yours.”

All it takes is one perfect rock of his hips to have you falling apart for him. That tension finally bursts through your belly, your cunt tightening around him with every aching wave of pleasure. You lose all sense, all ability to keep your pace, but Din is quick to take over. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you down, spilling himself as deep as your body can take him. You let yourself melt into his chest, a wave of pleasure shuddering through you with every twitch of his spent cock.

Din locks his arms around your back, all too content to keep your body against his. No complaint comes from you. You just tuck your face into his neck with a spent sigh. The two of you float together in that sweet, exhausted haze. He doesn’t know for how long, but he never wants it to end. He never wants any of this to end. He wants this forever, for every possible moment of his life to be soaked in this contentment. Surrounded by soft sheets and the smell of your perfume. Unhurried and easy, with you.

Months ago, such a realization would have thrown him into an existential crisis. But he didn’t have you all those months ago - this sweet, bright-eyed, spitfire of a woman currently taking a cat nap on his chest. He didn’t have the sweet scent of your shampoo infused in his sheets. He didn’t have your soft exhales ghosting along his throat. He just didn’t know that life could be like this. The moment you shift as if you’re making to get off of him, his arms tighten around you.

“Just a little longer,” He murmurs, his voice sleepy and pleasure drunk.

You're more than happy to indulge him.

[prettyboystories]

Megumi // Shaving

774 words Premise: You and Megumi are childhood best friends; you help him shave his face Warnings: Female Reader implied, boners mentioned

“What do you even shave for?” you asked curiously, side-eyeing Megumi as you spat your toothpaste out and watched your friend dab the shaving cream on. “You don’t grow any facial hair.”

Megumi’s hand stilled as his eyes met yours and he tilted his head.

“...my face is clean because I shave every day.”

You appraised him with a childishly horrified look. “No way. I touch your face plenty. There’s no stubble.”

The corner of Megumi’s lips quirked up. “Yeah, because I shave it every morning.”

You stared at his shaving cream covered face for a while before scrunching your nose in displeasure, either at the mental image of him with a beard or his potential for growing one.

“What are you thinking of?” Megumi asked you after a few moments of wordless staring.

“Monkeys,” you answered and he dead-panned, scoffing at your association, prompting you to give him an apologetic smile. “Can I try?”

“Shaving?”

“You,” you confirmed with a quick, eager nod.

“S-sure,” Megumi nodded instinctively. Maybe Nobara had a point when she called him a pushover in regards to you. “Just be gentle.”

You led him to the side of the bathtub, pushing him to sit as you stood between his legs and tilted his head up for yourself.

“I won’t let your pretty face come to harm in my hands.”

You took the razor from between his fingers and started ever so slowly and carefully bringing it across his face. Megumi watched your eyes focus on your task.

“You don’t actually have to be that careful,” he chuckled softly when you turned to clean the razor before turning back around to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you replied and changed nothing about your diligent movements. If his face hadn’t been spotless before, it definitely would be now.

“Would I be a bad person if I requested that you never grow a beard?” you mused, catching his gaze and giving him a fond smile.

“Oh please, we’re Japanese and I’m sixteen. I can’t actually grow a full beard even if I tried.”

“Good,” you assessed with a satisfied nod. “You’re too pretty to hide behind hair.”

Megumi let out a huff and turned away at your words to which you tutted and turned his head back so you could finish the last of your shaving.

“No compliments today?” you asked kindly though, ever careful with him.

“It’s just different when you’re so close, saying them quietly and… reverently.”

You just gave him a half amused smile before stroking the back of your pointer finger over Megumi’s now clean cheek and cupping said cheek as you brought your lips to his forehead because Megumi’s best friend was careful but cruel, too.

As you were about to step away, Megumi held on to two of your fingers and you looked back.

“Do you really find it gross? That I grow hair there?”

You hummed and tilted your head like the question required some amount of deep pondering.

“No,” you finally surmised. “As long as it’s shaven off at least, I just find it curious that you grow it. And it doesn’t gross me out like men’s armpit hair so I’m free to appreciate this boyish feature of yours.”

You underlined your assessment by smoothing your thumb over his clean chin once more before trailing it down his neck and over his Adam’s apple, pressing just softly enough that it was only mildly unpleasant. You’d finally learned to keep your touch gentle there.

He huffed your name regardless.

“Megu,” you replied with a smile. “Aren’t you happy I can appreciate these differences of yours now?”

He was. Of course he was. He was forever grateful that he and you were able to maintain their close bond despite all the effort the people around them, Japan and society at large had put into teaching boys like him that girls like you were embarrassing to play with, associate with or be alike in any way. As well as then warning girls that boys were just like that and fostering subtle resentment against them as pseudo-revenge for the resentment they faced first.

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘appreciate’,” he still countered. “You poke at my neck, scrunch your nose at my ‘monkey-hair’ and giggle at my boners.”

“They poke me when we cuddle. I’m allowed to giggle,” you stated. “Be grateful I find them cute.”

“Yeah, you are,” Megumi agreed with a sigh. The chuckling about his ‘horniness antenna’ was perfectly fine, much better than if he’d ever made you uncomfortable. “Think you’d want to ever do this again? You’re very diligent about it.”

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part two part two cw: dubcon/noncon, blood, mild injury, manhandling, forced orgasm, referenced animal death/butchering forthcoming cw: more dubcon, forced marriage, breeding kink, body horror a/n: vibes. part one | masterlist 🦢

The knife is small, but the task feels impossible. You are unaccustomed to such labor. Meals once came easily, just a bend of your neck to pull up pondweed and milfoil—tadpoles, the occasional fish.

Not this. Not the lump in your hand with its rough, textured skin. Pulling a blade across it, releasing that musty, earthy scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

Your fingers inevitably slip.

Pain flares, sharp and foreign. You flinch hard, watching in mute horror as the first bead of blood wells up, then another, crimson blooming across the underside of your finger. The sound escapes unbidden—jarring, ugly—growing louder as the sting takes hold.

Heavy footsteps thump against the earth outside, and the door flies open, rattling on its hinges. John steps inside, shoulders heaving, mitts already stained from the doe hanging outside.

The sight of him shrinks the scream in your throat to a wordless, panicked whine.

The smell of iron clings to him. Fur, fat, something that once had a heartbeat. His hands crease as they flex at his sides. 

His eyes flick to your trembling hand, then to the knife still clutched in the other. He wipes his palms on his trousers, messily and imperfectly scrubbing away the gore of your eventual supper. As if he needs clean hands to touch you.

(You doubt they ever were.)

He exhales hard through his nose. His words tinged with exasperation.

"Gave you one job…"

Then he's on you.

The change is swift, inborn. The pendulum of your emotions swings violently from panic to rage. Fear, the constant.

You hiss, teeth snapping as he crowds you against the table, your spine meeting his chest. A half-peeled potato rolls off the edge, thudding to the floor while blood drips from your finger, a bright spot on the wood.

You twist, raising the little knife in your good hand, but he is faster—a solid grip clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers betray you and the blade clatters. You squeal at the sharp twist of your arm, but his mouth is already at your ear, hot, shushing.

"Quit strugglin'," he says, pressing closer, draping his weight over your back. The wall of him, unrelenting. The force alone stills you, allowing him to bend and pin you over the table. Your cheek presses into it, a curl of potato skin sticking damp to your face.

You turn your head, teeth gritted, and glare, eyes full of fury you have no way to unleash.

"That's better," he lifts your hand, smearing blood. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

John takes his time assessing the small cut. Long enough that the anger inside you fizzles into an embarrassed frustration. You told him. You told him you did not know how to do this. Any of this. To which he'd calmly replied he'd teach you every little thing you needed to know.

But now, here you are, cringing as he inspects the wound, dripping onto him, and it's shameful. Tears well and threaten to fall, held at bay by sheer will. Then he shifts, and your concentration breaks.

You realize how treacherously high your plain dress bunches on your hips at this angle. And through the fabric, there's a warmth. A steady heat that passes from him into you, inescapable. It seeps through where his body pins yours, through the calloused hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Then, as if he's arrived at the same realization in that instant, John moves.

He grinds his pelvis into the small of your back. Subtly. Or as subtly as he cares to try. The length between his legs fattening.

"See now?" he murmurs, almost gentle. "Ain't so bad if you just hold still."

He releases your injured hand, planting his own on the table to steady himself. Then, apparently indulging an impulse, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, drawing closer, whiskers scraping your cheek. The bulk of him snug at your back. "It'll be alright. We have enough for dinner, anyway."

John cleans your cut with you seated unnecessarily on his thigh. Too close to the bulge you are intent on ignoring. You don't protest, the rage building inside too deep for words. Instead, you fix your gaze on the window, seething at the sun as it pours in.

When he finishes, he kisses your palm, thumb grazing over the fine, downy feathers on your wrist. You flinch at the contact, but he only lifts your hand higher, inhaling deeply, dragging his nose along the tiny feathers.

"Said I'd take care of you."

That night, John insists you share the bed. That there's no harm in it if he intends to make good on his promise and make you his missus.

He gives you no quarter, wrangling you to bed, ignoring your squawking. Against every bit of resistance in your body, your muscles betray you the moment you land. After weeks of sleeping curled on the floor out of your own volition, the bed is a reprieve. Even if it feels wrong.

You fold inward, facing the wall, determined to keep the distance.

In the dark, the room grows silent, save for the rhythm of his breathing. You keep your body tense, refusing to give in, but his warmth bridges the small gap between you and, with it, an insidious pull. 

Your stubbornness abates. Muscles loosening, mind drifting. Before you know it, it's dawn.

You wake, disoriented by slivers of sunlight, a hairy chest pressed to your back, a thick arm banded around your waist. Breath tickling your neck. A hand low on your belly.

The second you try to move, it glides south.

You gasp as it curls under the hem of your dress, slowly hoisting it up.

"John—" His name slips from your lips, strained, a barely audible squeak. 

It's the first time you've said it. The shift behind you is unmistakable—he likes it. His arm tightens around you, possessive, and your breath catches in spite of yourself. 

The length of him twitches against your backside.

"Hush, Shy, don't fight me today," he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. He kisses your nape, his lips sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me be nice to you."

His calloused fingers find the swath of feathers between your legs, and he hums. He ventures further, dragging over your seam, a sleepy chuckle rumbling from his chest and through your back at the sound you make. The finger strokes again, and your hips jerk.

"That feel good? So soft here."

John doesn't wait for a response to cup your sex and wedge a knee into the crux of your thighs.

He pries you open, petting at your clit, and prodding at your folds. The pads of his fingers burn hot, like coals, the cherries of his cigars. His touch sears your mind clean. Burns the frayed edges of your senses, fusing them like waxed thread. Everything slows, each sensation doubling in intensity.

With some persistence, he coaxes some bitterly forfeited arousal and teases a thick finger at your hole. You shudder, breath hiccuping, one hand digging into the muscle of his forearm, the other cramming into your mouth to stifle a whimper.

You gnaw at your bandaged finger, teeth worrying the cloth until it gives. The wound opens, blood welling up fresh and hot. Iron coats your tongue, rising through your nose as if a fire's been lit in your mouth.

It's no use after minutes of him toying with you, rubbing at your clit in small, gentle circles—you become silt. Soft and wet, warm and perfect for him to sink into.

He tucks two fingers into your sex and groans, loosing a string of curses that make your cheeks scorch. Borderline hellish when he grinds his palm against your clit, scattering stars across your vision just to yank them down when he leisurely pumps his fingers in once, twice. Deep as they'll go into your cunt—and keeps going.

You clench around him helplessly, hatefully. Plugged up tight and choking, muscles contracting without permission as he crushes your notions of keeping something, anything from him under the heel of his hand. Better than his boot, but you might've preferred it.

Your attention is torn between the blood you're sucking into your mouth and the mess gushing over his fingers, and hardly notice when he starts rutting against your bottom. It knocks a pitchy noise out of your throat, realizing how thin the flannel is between you and him. He must like it, because his mouth suctions to your neck and breaks a moan.

"C'mon, darling. Give it."

It feels as though you're a young cygnet again, caught in a summer storm and hurtled far and away from everything you know. 

The room thick and crackling with heat and electricity. John wrapped around you, his intent heavy and aching, pulsing short of where it wants to strike. Every nerve buzzes under his touch, alive and restless as if the very air he puffs over your shoulder pulls at your core and twists it. A force that batters and uproots, tearing at you with each crook of his fingers. Caught in the whirl of him. Wild, lost, and undone.

It hurts when you come, drawing up so tight and shattering into pieces.

It hurts more when John drags it out with his digits sunk to the hilt and thumb resting on your clit. 

When he pulls them out, his fingers glisten. He holds them in front of your face for you to see, his smile apparent when hums. Pleased.

You don't realize you're crying until he rolls you onto your back, his face a hazy blur.

John sighs, long and slow, like a man well-versed in this ritual. He shifts, pulling you close as if you aren't unraveling in his arms.

"You're wearin' yourself out," he whispers with tired amusement, smoothing up and down your back. "Ain't got enough in you to be cryin' this hard."

You hiccup against his chest, breath shuddering, hands mindlessly grabbing at his shoulder and bicep like you hate him, like you need him. Maybe both.

He sighs again, presses a kiss into your hairline, lingers there. "There, now. You're alright. Just tired, huh?" His voice softens. "You'll feel better after a nap."

He slips away as sleep pulls you back under, the bed creaking, door hinges groaning as he steps outside to himself in hand.

[67bottles-of-milk]

And they were roommates

You and Jason had a pretty good grocery agreement for your university dorm. 

~6k words

Part 2

—

Going to university with the explicit goal of teaching maths to high schoolers may not have been the brightest idea but you were going to see it through. Mostly out of spite. Your mother had told you the moment you told her of your career goals she didn’t think you could last even three months. So yeah, you were going to get your maths degree if it killed you. With the way the course was going so far, it very well could. If Gotham didn’t do that first.

At least you didn’t have to worry that much about affording food. See, you had managed to find the only other kid in your dorm building who wasn’t from the Bristol area of Gotham. As such, you had both worked out a pretty good deal where you’d pool money for groceries. It was cheaper than shopping separately and buying two of everything and end up having half of it go mouldy before even reaching the end. So you pooled money and bought the larger versions of things to last you both the week. It was convenient and really saved the two of you money.

In the beginning of the agreement, you had a shared grocery list in a google doc the two of you shared (they had a paper one but some other guy was putting stuff on there without even offering to pay you back for it with his allowance from his, frankly, fucking loaded parents. Stingy bastard). When you ran out of something or needed it, you’d add it to the list. Whoever went shopping next would then delete the list as items were bought. Cash was given in passing and responsibility alternated every other week as long as no one had any exams they were busy studying for or large projects that demanded large amounts of time and attention. 

But a few months in, something changed. There wasn’t a reason for it, it just seemed to happen naturally. You were cooking dinner, making just a simple pasta bake you could shove in the oven while you folded the washing that had been sitting on your bed for the past three days. Without even realising, you had pulled out two bowls and only when the serving spoon was hovering over the second bowl, already dumping pasta in, did you realise what you had done. Why two bowls? Was it homesickness? Did you subconsciously make a second bowl for your mum too? Glancing over your shoulder, Jason was sitting with his headphones in, cross legged on the sofa and typing away at his laptop. Might as well. 

Jason was startled slightly from the depths of his music by the hand placing a full bowl on the coffee table in front of him, a fork sticking out of the top of it. Was it that late already? Oh. It was 7.30pm. The last time he looked at the clock, it was only 3pm, was he really focused for that long? Well damn. 

You sank into the sofa next to him, focusing entirely on your meal. You barely heard the muttered “thanks” from the man next to you as you both sat quietly, listening to your dorm mates going about their evenings. Charlotte was late for work but couldn’t find her uniform, Keith had a paper due by midnight, Ollie was trying their damndest to make toast but still couldn’t figure out the toaster. 

“Wait guys, why isn’t it working?” Their distress was clear as the sound of the lever frantically being pushed down over and over scratched through the kitchen. A glance over the back of the sofa showed that it wasn’t even plugged into the wall. Rich kids. You and Jason shared exasperated looks across the sofa before resuming to mind your own business.

From then on, it was a sort of routine. Whenever one of you cooked dinner, if the other was in the vicinity, you would make an extra portion for each other. It was a wordless agreement with no clear reason for beginning. But it was comfortable.

But then it evolved even further. One day, Jason hadn’t come out of his room since he got back from his 9am lecture and it was now nearing 8 in the evening. Honestly, he had barely left his room outside of lectures for at least two weeks now. He definitely wasn’t eating much, you barely needed anything from the weekly grocery run. Not nearly as much as usual.

Since you had more than enough for two portions, you knocked on his door to see if he wanted any food. A non committal grunt was all you got from the other side so, taking that as an invitation, you pushed the door open to find him curled up facing the wall. And then you noticed things. 

The lights were off, the curtains pulled shut, clothes covering the floor, the desk a mess of pens and books, his laptop was sitting on his desk chair, a couple empty water bottles and wrappers were scattered across the floor. Jason didn’t seem that much better, the only visible part of him being his head, the rest of his body completely wrapped up in his heavy duvet. It was incredibly clear that Jason wasn’t doing well at the minute. Depression? Burnout? Whatever he was going through at the minute, you wanted to help.

“I was gonna cook but you wanna order take out instead? We could get a chinese?” you offered, leaning against the door. 

“Usual order.” It was mumbled, hard to hear. But you caught it and pulled your phone out with a nod. 

“Yeah, I got you. Wanna shower while we wait for it?” You didn’t know what he was going through but you knew for certain that when you feel bad? A shower. Fixes like 80% of your problems or at least pushes you in the right direction of feeling better. He grunted and rolled over onto his back, letting you see his face properly for the first time in ages. Definitely not sleeping properly. A heavy sigh (or was that a choked sob?) was released before he pushed up, moving slowly and pausing momentarily stopping to accommodate being upright for the first time in what was likely hours. “Oh, before I forget, I need to wash my work uniform but I don’t have enough for a full load, can I put some of yours in with it?” Your uniform was clean and ironed but Jason didn’t need to know that. 

“Uh. Yeah. Just.. everything on the floor I guess.” He made gestures behind him as he rummaged through his drawers for clean clothes. You nodded and moved back to your room to grab a basket to pick up the clothes with. 

As soon as the shower turned on, you were as quick as you could be to pick up the clothes, leaving them in the hall for a moment. Then it was the stray bits of rubbish, putting them in the bin before changing the bin liner and putting the full bag of rubbish in the hall next to the washing. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and take the bins out when you went to the bottom floor for the washing machine. You didn’t really want to move much around his desk in case that’s just what it normally looks like and how he likes it but you at least put his dead laptop on charge and made his bed. All in all, you had tidied his room in record speed. 

When you came back up to Jason’s room from downstairs, hot chinese food replacing the bin bag and washing basket, he was sitting back on his bed with his phone in his hand. His attention focused entirely on you when you walked in. A beat. 

“You cleaned my room.” His voice was neutral, not devoid of emotion. It carried a tinge of surprised gratitude, almost disbelieving if you read further into it. “You didn’t have to, I would’ve eventually.” 

“Nah, it wasn’t a big deal, I was going downstairs for the washing anyway, might as well take your rubbish out for you since, as you may not have realised, you are the one who’s paid for dinner tonight.” A cheeky grin spread on your face as you plonked on the end of his bed, spreading the containers out between the two of you and passing along the cheap plastic forks that came with the food. 

“Fair enough.” 

Jason supposes that was when he fell for the first time. I mean, he thought you were pretty, sure but his relationship with you was superficial and mutually beneficial. Your grocery arrangement saved him money in the long run and cooking for each other from time to time was just a way of acknowledging the ways you guys helped each other out. Camaraderie of sorts. But then you went out of your way, making it seem so effortless in the way you knew every little thing he needed without a single word from him. 

He knew your uniform was clean, he saw you ironing it after coming back from his lecture one afternoon. And yet you tried to make sure he wouldn’t feel bad about you essentially doing his washing for him, disguising it as something more convenient for you rather than an askless favour for him, all so he wouldn’t feel bad about it. He certainly hadn’t expected you to clean up the rest of his room either. And leaving his desk alone? The best part of it all, honestly. Walking out and seeing the floor clear, he was so worried his desk would be tidied away too, his papers and files all thrown out of and yet not a single pen had been so much as nudged. His laptop was even on charge, something he continuously forgot to do every time he tried to use it. You were a blessing in disguise, he swears. 

It started a small tradition of sorts. If one of you was struggling, the other would come and do small things to help like spell checking homework, cleaning bedrooms. folding clothes, the sort. 

But then started the casual closeness.

You two no longer kept to yourselves, there were invitations to the library together, going for coffee after classes, grocery shopping together rather than separate. It wasn't a sudden change, just like everything else, it was something sparked from a single event that came to be a regular part of your routine.

As you made your way from your classroom, you collided with a solid mass. Oh, it’s Jason! He seemed to be coming from his class just like you. By now, you had a vague idea of his schedule and could guess that he had nothing until his lecture in two hours’ time. 

“Hey, Jay,” that was something that came with the quiet comfort too, friendly nicknames, “I was on my way to get some coffee, did you want to join me?” He pondered the offer for a moment, nodding and pivoting to follow alongside you.

“Yeah, I could go for a drink. Might get something to eat too, did you have breakfast?” You shook your head, you had barely woken up on the third round of your alarm, there was definitely no time for anything more substantial than the cup of water sat on your bedside table from last night. “I get the food, you get the drinks?” 

“Not if you’re ordering that abominable custom order you got last time.”

“Fine, I’ll get drinks, you get the food? That seem more fair?” Much more fair, what Jason ordered barely passed as coffee after the extra milk, hazelnut syrup and caramel drizzle he got. Even if he always got at least two extra shots of espresso, the drink barely tasted like coffee. 

“Definitely. Whatcha want? Something light or actual lunch?” Another moment of thought. 

“My brother wants me to take him out when he finishes school today so I’ll just get something light. He’s definitely going to want to go out for food. He’s going through a growth spurt and, as such, seems to be ravenous these days.” That was also a new development since the event with his room a few weeks ago; he’s started opening up more about his personal life. 

“Oh, how old is he?” 

“Thirteen and an absolute menace because of it. Not only is he eating our father out of house and home, his attitude has gotten even worse which is saying something. He literally tried to stab his older brother as soon as he moved in with us.” The way he said it so flippantly 

made you do a double take. 

“Dude, no offense, what the actual fuck. I mean, yeah, I’ve kind of figured out your family is a bit odd but he tried to STAB someone? Insane.” Jason just shrugged and held the cafe door open for you. 

“Eh, family.” 

Following the increase in closeness, you eventually transitioned into hanging out in each other’s rooms regularly. Accompanying each new development in your friendship with Jason, you’ve come to learn major things about him. 

With the cooking, it was that he had awful eating habits and would often go half a day without eating anything and not even notice, other times, though, he’ll clear out half your guys’ cupboard space in just two hours. With the Room Event, it was that he often had bouts of depression that made it hard for him to do much more than drag himself to class and doom scroll on his phone when he was at the dorms. With the regular hangouts, you learned about his family and the complicated relationship he had with them. He was on rough terms with his dad, his older brother was too invasive and pushy for Jason’s tastes, he absolutely adored his grandfather. With his younger brother, he was neutral since he was abroad when he was adopted into the family. He was closest with his youngest brother, Damian, since Jason was abroad to help Damian’s mother to raise him.

So what did you learn by hanging out with him in his room? He was clingy. And a cuddler. 

Any chance he got, the second the door was closed and you guys were situated with a movie playing on his laptop, he had you tucked under his arm. You were reading a book or scrolling your phone? He’s laying across your thighs. He’s got homework to do? His legs are crossed over yours, a blanket thrown over you both so your feet don’t get cold. It soon became commonplace for you to come back from work to find him curled up in your bed, sleeping in it better than you ever did. Although, you’d be lying if you didn’t start doing the same damn thing after the first few times he did it. 

With the casual insertion of each other into your lives, the boundary between friendship and something more was being pushed further and further. Private affection became public affection. Interlocking arms in bed became interlocked fingers in hallways. Shortened names became terms of endearment. Kisses at the end of messages became kisses on the cheek. That was your favourite.

Ending every conversation with ‘xx’ was something you had done your entire life but with Jason, it felt like it carried more weight to it. When he kissed you on the cheek for the first time, he seemed to freeze immediately afterward, almost as though it was an reflex he hadn’t even realised he had. The same way as when you made that first meal for him. Something you both hadn’t even realised you were doing until it was done. Something that was so natural to the two of you, instinctual even. You didn’t acknowledge it past returning the favour with a kiss to his forehead, pushing back the white strands and standing on your toes to reach properly. Although he caught on and leant down enough for you to meet halfway. 

It was a wordless transition; you two began dating. Sure, you didn’t have a concrete date for it since it wasn’t something put into words but Jason saved the date of the first kisses shared in his phone, even if they weren’t what Dick would call ‘proper kisses’. Not that he was in much of a position to comment on other people’s relationships.

Coffee runs and lunch outings became dates rather than hangouts, you stopped turning over in bed when the other was changing, hands wandered beneath clothes when cuddling, and, arguably the best part was the kisses. 

By the gods was Jason a good kisser. He was sweet with it, always holding the back of your neck and/or waist, migrating from your lips to your cheeks, to your jaw, just absolutely peppering every part of your face with heart warming affection. He’d pout if you didn’t kiss him when greeting him, and would always insist on hugging you as tight as possible when one of you was leaving. Even with his sweetness, he was not above slapping your ass whenever you got up from bed. Fine by you since, at every opportunity, you were grabbing his pecs and biceps, giving them a good squeeze. 

To say Jason was in absolute bliss would be an understatement. He had literally the girl of his dreams. Not only was she drop dead gorgeous, kind beyond belief, she also let him exist without any worry. He never had to second guess his words, never worry about being too clingy, and he certainly never had to worry about being too broken since she held every piece of him with so much care in her hands. 

At the end of your year at university, you had to reevaluate your accommodation. You could either apply to stay another year or just look for an apartment close by. Staying in the dorms would be fine except, the university preferred first years so it was only a slim chance you’d even manage to get a room. Although you didn’t have to think over it for very long. 

“Hey, which one do you prefer? I like the kitchen for this one more but this one’s got a nicer bathroom and a balcony. I’ve been through pretty much every single other apartment building in the area and chose these two so now the final choice is yours.” Jason was an absolute angel at times. 

“Oh my god, I love you, have I told you that yet? I reckon the balcony one. The kitchen isn’t that different, the other one just has an island. However… balcony.” Your verbal thought process went entirely ignored by Jason who sat utterly shell shocked. 

“No,” He said, decisiveness embedded in his tone.

“No? Alright, I guess if you’re that set on the kitchen island.” You shrugged, missing the point of his word entirely.

“No, uh, I mean you haven’t, uh, you haven’t said that before.” Now he was feeling a bit awkward, leaning back on the bed. “I love you too, though. Just… so you know.” 

“Well that’s good. I love you more though,” you replied, giving him a cheeky grin. A pillow was swung at your face, knocking you back from the force. 

“Absolutely not, I definitely love you more.” 

“Alright, whatever you say, pretty boy. Not true but I’ll let it slide since I want the balcony.” If Jason’s face went bright pink at the nickname, that was between him and the wall. 

Moving in together and adjusting to your new schedules together felt as natural as breathing. It was like nothing changed except now, you always shared a bed and cooked meals for each other. Any issues revolving around chores and other small grievances you had for each other’s habits were rational and calm discussions. 

The most heated argument you had ever had was a complete turning point in your relationship. You had caught on to Jason sneaking out at night and disappearing for hours at a time. Whenever you asked about it, he would always refuse to tell you where he was going, insisting it wasn’t any of your business and you should just stay out of it.

“I swear to the gods, are you fucking cheating on me? Is that it? You’re sneaking around with some other girl, leaving me alone all night, just using me as a live-in maid?” You were in tears by this point, your cheeks soaked and hot with fury, hands trembling even as you swung them around while making wild hand gestures to emphasise to Jason just how furious and hurt you were with him.

“What?” Jason, up to that point, was getting just as agitated, trying to stay calm even as green creeped at the edge of his vision (that was something he never wanted to happen with you). He just wanted to keep you safe out of it, you, oh so sweet and gentle, had no business dealing with the rough harsh world he slipped into in the dark of late nights spent in alleys and on roofs. But what you were saying? It broke something in him. It was a slap to the face. His face went slack with hurt. Even with how heartbroken he looked at your accusation, your disposition never faltered. Frustration pooled in your eyes, settling between the tears clouding your vision. 

“Baby. No, never in a million years, you are my love, my life. I would never do that to you.” He held your face so sweet, the words he spoke settling into stone as nothing but the truth. You believed him but you were still so hurt. You crumbled into his arms and just let it all go. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you sweetheart.” 

Calming down from the rush of the argument, Jason sat with you and spilled everything. It was hard and even more emotional than the fight you just had but it was comforting now. You held each other and cried and shared pain that weighed unbearably heavy. By the morning, you were both exhausted from the talking and the emotion and the crying. Grateful it was the weekend, Jason took you to bed to lie in bed, curtains pulled to show the rain pittering against the glass, a comforting rumble of distant thunder lulling the two of you into a quiet comfort. You traced shapes on his arm as he did the same to your thigh. 

Things changed from there but only for the better. 

As it turned out, Jason’s family had no idea he was even attending university. The contact they had with him was always on his terms. If he wanted to see them, he went to them. They didn’t even know where he lived. And they wouldn’t until he told them. It wasn’t even like they could track him since only your name was on the lease. It was something he had asked of you, knowing that just because they hadn't found anything about his address yet, it didn’t mean they weren’t still looking. The only exceptions were Alfred and Damian. Alfred was told because Alfred gets told everything, he can keep a secret. Damian was told because Jason understood needing space from the Bat family sometimes and he wanted to provide Damian a safe place where he could go for that space. 

Damian and Jason were arguably the closest of the siblings. Jason had practically raised Damian afterall. Damian held a fondness for Jason because of this. He was a role model and someone he seeked the approval of in addition to his father and mother. More than that, however, Jason was someone he felt he could be the child he is around and not be judged for it. Afterall, he was in no place to judge when his favourite snack at 22 years old was animal crackers. At the end of the day, Damian had a key to Jason’s apartment and was allowed to swing by whenever he pleased. The only rules were to stay out of the bedroom and knock before entering the place. Damian was unsure why these rules were in place but he would respect them nonetheless. 

And that was how you met Damian for the first time. 

You were out of the lecture late, the lecturer running overtime a bit and your phone dying on the walk home. Unfortunate since you had barely managed to see that you had a text from Jay before the screen shut off. You brushed it off as him likely saying he would be home late. You’d find out when you got home anyway so it wasn’t a big deal. 

However, you were a bit shocked to come home to find a young teenager standing on a chair in your kitchen and raiding through your cupboards. 

“Uhm. Can I help you?” you asked, a bit skeptical. He was unlikely to be a threat to your safety, given the fuzzy socks and Jason’s stolen Wonder Woman hoodie. 

“I should be asking you that. What business do you have in this apartment? Are you a nosy neighbour? You should leave at once.” He was demanding and accusatory. 

“I will not, thank you very much. Not for as long as I’m paying rent since, y’know, this is my home.” You crossed your arms, taking an equally defiant stance. You weren’t sure if it was your tone or your words that surprised him more. 

“You live here? With Todd?” You nodded. 

“Uh, yeah, I have done for like what? Four months?”

“That is surprising. Todd has not mentioned a roommate. I was not even aware this was a two bedroom apartment.” 

“That’s probably because it’s not. We share a bed since, y’know, dating and all.” His eyebrows shot up as he stepped off the chair finally. 

“Todd has not mentioned a domestic partner. How long has this been a thing?” He was no longer accusatory and now genuinely curious. 

“You wanna sit with tea or something and hear the whole story?” you offered, gesturing towards the sofa in the living room. The teen responded with a solemn nod, unnecessarily serious for the conversation at hand. 

It wasn’t until after you finished recounting your entire relationship with Jason up to the present moment that you introduced yourselves. 

“Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.” He stuck his hand out, an offer you took gladly. 

“Oh! Jay’s talked about you a lot, this entire situation is making a lot more sense now. It’s good to finally meet you though. He mentioned like a week ago that you had some big test week? Is that over? How did it go?” The two of you spent the next two hours engaged in conversation, just overall getting to know each other, sharing stories of Jason and enjoying tea and snacks. You were enjoying your conversation so much you had completely neglected to charge your phone.

Jason wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he got home. Especially since you hadn’t responded to a single one of the fifty some texts he had left you from the time your lecture finished until ten minutes ago when he finished his own. You had never met Damian and Damian didn’t even know you existed, as far as he was aware so he could only hope that either you weren’t home and were out with friends or Damian had left before you arrived. Though he definitely didn’t anticipate finding the two of you so engrossed in conversation that neither of you acknowledged him past quick greetings. 

“Welcome home, Jaylove.” 

“Greetings Todd.” 

And then you were both straight back to looking at pictures of Titus on Damian’s phone. Sighing a breath of relief that his favourite people were getting along fine, he headed to the bedroom to change into pyjamas so he could crash on the sofa and sprawl over you. Within five minutes, he was lying, head on your thighs, face buried in your stomach, an arm tucked behind your back. 

“You were not exaggerating when you said that he was rather clingy in his physical affections with you.” Damian’s tone, despite the nature of the words being judgmental, was light and teasing. 

“Shut up, Brat, you are exactly the same. You get it from me.” Jason was entirely muffled by your stomach. 

“We are not even related by blood, how is it possibly a trait inherited from you.” He wasn’t even denying the allegations which sparked an idea in your mind. 

“I raised you for like five years, dipshit, you’re gonna pick up something from me and since all your killing intent comes straight from your mother, my gift unto thee is the craving for physical touch.” As the two bickered back and forth, you moved quick and calculating as you wrapped your arm around Damian’s shoulder, trapping him in a one sided hug that left him leaning against your side. Both you and Jason had expected him to pull away, hissing like a cat or something. Against both of your expectations, he curled into your side instantly, not even missing a beat. 

And thus, Damian was your second best cuddle buddy. Even when Jason wasn’t home and wouldn’t be for a few days, Damian would find time to stop by or even stay the night on weekends just to spend time and fulfill his need for physical affection that he seemed unable to get at the manor due to his ‘image that must be upheld as the blood son’. Sure, Dick would give hugs, but those weren’t cuddles and he was not about to have to swallow his pride to ask for them when he could simply come to you and get them without any need for more than a “hello” uttered. 

Both you and Jason were incredibly endeared to see Damian acting in such a way. Come your first year anniversary, Damian was just as enthusiastic as Jason, if not more, about having you in their lives. Although something he would not admit to a single living soul besides Titus, you had quickly become almost his favourite person, never quite able to top Jason simply because of how deep their bond ran. 

With the passing of the second year came Jason’s realisation he wanted you in his life for as long as you would have him. He wasn’t going to propose, not until the two of you had finished university at the end of next year, but he was sure he wanted to introduce you to more of his family. However, he wasn’t going to just tell them he had found who was quite possibly the love of his life, his soulmate. No, they would have to prove their titles as the world’s greatest detectives. As such, he had conspired with Damian and plotted for the two of them, in addition to Alfred, to make comments in the presence of Bruce, Dick, and Tim to how long it took them to figure out about you. 

“Todd, when can I come over next? I wish to see the beloved.” Okay a bit odd, Bruce thought, but perhaps Jason has taken in a stray that Damian is fond of?

“Master Jason, I have prepared another batch of the requested brownies. Please be sure to share.” Dick thought Jason lived alone, who would he share with? Unless he meant Damian whenever he visits. 

Tim didn’t get a comment, he was given ample chance to get a look at Jason’s phone lock screen, a photo of a woman’s hands making a finger heart. Separately, the comments weren’t enough to tip them off that there was someone in Jason’s life but when Damian got in trouble at school and Alfred couldn’t pick him up, they were expecting Jason to be the one to pick him up. Tim did not expect to look out his class window to see Damian walking side by side with some random woman he had never seen. The teen looked entirely at ease talking with her, indicating a familiarity that was stronger than whatever connection Damian had with the rest of his family. 

Then came the digging. Tim confronted Dick and Bruce in the cave one evening, asking if they’d heard or seen anything odd. 

“Am I really losing that much sleep or has Jason got a girlfriend?” It had been bugging him all day. “I think he does and Damian knows. I mean I hope so otherwise some random woman picked him up from school today.” Dick and Bruce looked over, surprised at the question with it written all over their faces. 

“I mean, Damian did say something weird at the table the other morning. He was asking Jason to see ‘the beloved’. I assumed it was an unnamed stray Jason was keeping an eye on for him. Though now that you say that, I suppose that could be the case.” Bruce was thoughtful with his answer.

“Alfred told him to share the brownies he made for him the other day so if he did have a girlfriend, I guess she lives with him? Or at least goes over to Jason’s often enough.” Slowly the three of them were connecting dots in behaviours and comments made by the other three members of the household. 

They were now left with two options; investigate and snoop around Jason’s life without him knowing, or confront him and ask him directly. Out of fear of pushing him further away, Dick was the one to take on for the team and was going to ask Jason directly. 

The opportunity to ask presented itself the next day when the two found themselves alone in the kitchen. Jason was leaning on the island, attention drawn to his phone. Dick had walked in, ready to just ask. 

“So…” He was trying to be casual. He was not casual. “Got any news you want to share with the family?” Jason looked at him with an eyebrow raised. 

“Wanna be more specific?” Dick deflated with a sigh, leaning fully on the opposite side of the island. 

“God why do I have to be the one to ask? I’m just gonna be blunt, do you have a girlfriend?” 

“Yeah. Two year anniversary was like a month and a half ago. Why?” Jason was calm. Dick was not. 

“WAIT WHAT!? You’re telling me you’ve had a girlfriend for two years and not told anyone at all? That’s cruel, man.” 

“Actually that’s a lie. I told Alfred like as soon as it happened and then Damian found out when he met her.” Jason shrugged, pocketing his phone and stretching. “Not my fault you guys literally never asked.” 

“Well how am I supposed to know to ask when you do literally nothing all day. How did you two even meet?” Dick was indignant now. Jason had literally never even hinted at being romantically involved with anyone nor had he ever shown an interest in relationships. 

“Not telling. I like my privacy, Dickie-bird, you get to know she exists. That’s it. Maybe I’ll think about letting you all meet her if you’re nice about it.” Jason then left Dick standing, utterly stunned. 

At least he had an answer for Tim and Bruce.

—

I haven't written anything to post since like 2021. This is also the first DC fic I've ever written and it was done in a six hour stint. Please be nice to me guys </3

[thediazes]

from the wings

for @nymika-arts <3

Buck tells Maddie that he isn’t in love with Eddie, and she—well, she tries to believe him.

She does. A valiant effort, truly. It’s just that Maddie learned how to read her little brother before he even learned to read the alphabet, and she can tell when he’s not being entirely truthful. To her, or to himself. Like when he was five years old and he’d run inside from the street, bike abandoned on the front lawn, with scraped knees and two holes in his brand new jeans to match, and insist that it wasn’t his fault. “I wasn’t going too fast, Maddie,” he’d say. “My– My bike went over a rock.” Tearful eyes pointed towards the floor. Hands always fidgeting.

Kind of like he’s doing now.

He’s fiddling with the paper napkin his cutlery came rolled in, making tiny rips around the edges. It’s become more and more frayed as their lunch date has progressed, and Buck’s gaze is glued to it as he talks.

“It’s not that I don’t like Ravi,” he says, frowning when he rips a bit too far. “I do. He’s great. I’m just…not used to having to explain what I’m about to do before I do it, y’know?”

Maddie hums. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“I know,” Buck sighs. “It’s just weird.”

“It’s natural to miss Eddie,” she says. Carefully. Neutrally. “You guys worked side-by-side for a long time.”

“I don’t–” His eyes flick up to meet hers for the first time in five minutes, narrowing—as if they’re playing some kind of game, and he’ll be damned if he’s about to play right into her hand (Maddie’s fairly sure all she did was make a simple comment). “I mean, of course I miss him. He’s my best friend. But it’s not like I’ve never worked with anyone else before.”

“Exactly. You and Ravi will find that wordless communication in no time.”

Eyes back to the napkin. “Right.” Rip. “Anyway, how are you? Still feeling…cooped-up?

Maddie sighs. “Yeah, but…not as bad. I’ve been going on walks. Plus, now that Jee’s home for the break, she’s keeping me busy.”

He grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

It’s then that his phone, face down on the table, chimes with a notification. When he picks it up, his smile grows impossibly wider, in an involuntary, reflexive sort of way that almost makes Maddie feel like an intruder for looking. “Who is it?” she prompts, and Buck quickly schools his face when he looks at her, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh– It’s Eddie.” He flips the phone around to show her, and on it is a picture of Christopher, in front of him a chess board with far fewer black pieces on it than white. “Chris is teaching him how to play, and he keeps losing. Badly.”

Maddie laughs. “Sounds like he needs a better teacher.”

“Eh, Eddie was pretty hopeless to begin with.”

He glances back down at his phone, eyes twinkling as he types out a response, and Maddie can’t help but think that her stubbornly resistant little brother is the hopeless one—navigating his new reality with his eyes closed; carrying a torch behind his back for a man who now lives eight hundred miles away.

She sighs.

Buck puts his phone down and changes the subject.

* * *

He picks up on the fifth ring, voice sounding tinny and a bit far away. “Hey, Mads, sorry—you’re on speakerphone. Need my hands free to chop veggies.” She hears the faint sound of a drawer opening and closing as he talks; the clattering of some utensil against the countertop.

“Ooh,” she says, “Whatcha making?”

“Soup,” Buck says brightly, “with chicken, peppers, zucchini—all kinds of stuff. Eddie sent me the recipe.”

Maddie smiles. Chim, sitting next to her, raises his eyebrows and smiles too. “Oh?” she prompts.

“Yeah–” His knife hits the cutting board, again, again, again. Chop-chop-chop. “–he found it in a drawer at his abuela’s house. One of her secret recipes, apparently. He thought I’d like to try it.”

“Her secret recipe,” Maddie repeats.

“Yep.”

“And he just…sent it to you?”

“Yeah?” And then, like he’s just realized what she’s getting at— “it’s not like she minds. She’s given me all kinds of recipes.”

“Right,” Maddie says. She glances to the side at Chimney, and her husband is just sitting there, grinning into his palm and shaking his head in a sort of resigned bewilderment. Tell me about it, his eyes say, as if this kind of familial domesticity has played out in front of him a million times over—because it honestly, probably, has. “I didn’t even know you liked soup,” she continues. Plenty of memories of her brother turning his nose up at it through the years.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying new things–” CHOP. “–in my brand new kitchen.”

Chimney snorts. “Right. Brand new,” he chimes in. “Having trouble finding anything?”

In the split second pause on the other end of the line, Maddie can tell Buck is rolling his eyes. “I’m glaring at you, Chim,” he says. “You can’t see me, but I’m glaring at you.”

Her husband just grins.

“Anyway, what’s up? Did you guys need something?”

“Yes, my wonderful brother-in-law who I have never made fun of, ever in my life—” Chim starts. Maddie’s sure Buck is rolling his eyes again. “Wanna spend tomorrow night with your adorable niece?”

Buck sighs, but he’s smiling. She can hear it. “You know I can never say no to that.”

“Great!” Maddie says. “I’ll drop her off at six. Let us know how that soup turns out.”

“I’ll send pictures. Eddie made me promise to take some so he could show his abuela.”

Chimney shakes his head, grinning. “Of course he did.”

“Goodbye.”

* * *

The firehouse is quiet when Maddie walks through the doors. She’d expected it to be a bit more hectic, really, given the time of morning, but things just seem settled. Comfortable. Yet to be disturbed by LA’s 8am traffic rush.

She hears the people she’s looking for before she sees them, their murmured chatter drifting down from the loft, and as she reaches the top of the stairs, she finds them gathered around the kitchen island, all clutching cups of coffee. She can’t help but smile at the tired, droopy expressions on each of their faces. Clearly the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet.

“Hi,” she calls out, stepping into the space, greeted by turning heads and a few bleary-eyed smiles in return. Her husband’s face brightens immediately—before he’s even noticed the big pink box in her hands. “Thought you guys might be in need of some fuel this morning.”

Chim rises from his seat for a quick kiss on the lips. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he says with a grin, taking the collection of pastries from her hands and setting it down on the counter.

“You’re too good to us, Maddie,” Hen says.

Bobby smiles. “Thank you so much, Maddie. You didn’t have to do this.”

She waves him off. “Believe me, I’m going stir-crazy in the house all on my own. This was just an excuse to get out and do something.”

They all chuckle, and Chimney raises the lid on the box for everyone to take their pick.

Well—almost everyone.

“Where’s Buck?”

Hen makes a noise in response. Swallows a mouthful of croissant, and answers, “Downstairs. Eddie called.”

And when she glances over the balcony towards the floor, she sees him—tucked against one of the trucks in the far corner with his phone in one hand, pressed to his ear, and gesturing wildly with the other, despite the fact that his recipient can’t see him.

What strikes her, though, is his smile. God, it’s blinding. Grinning from ear to ear like he’s won the damn lottery, just because he gets to hear his best friend’s voice on the other end of the line. Radiant, comfortable; so soft around the edges that Maddie worries some part of him will spill over onto the concrete floor—all from a conversation that, if she's overhearing it correctly, seems to be about Christopher’s room-cleaning habits. And when he laughs, it’s a sound so genuine that she gets the sudden urge to jump into her car, drive to El Paso, and bring the Diazes back to Los Angeles herself.

Maddie’s much more used to the restless, ever-anxious version of her little brother. She doesn’t often see him looking so comfortable in his own skin. She finds herself wishing there was something, anything she could do to keep him there.

Some part of that train of thought must show on her face, because when she glances back, Bobby catches her eye and smiles, softly. A little sadly. Like he wishes he had the power to do the same.

Maddie just shakes her head and grabs a croissant from the box. Tries not to notice how familiar Buck seems to be with the tendency his best friend’s son has to leave too many glasses of water on his bedside table.

* * *

Maddie lets herself into Buck’s house three weeks later and is met with an empty living room. It’s impeccably clean; carefully organized. Furniture she recognizes from his loft placed at perfectly opposing angles—a vase of fake flowers placed right in the centre of the coffee table. The late afternoon sun streams in through the front window, but it doesn’t seem to quite reach the edges of the room.

She toes off her shoes in the entryway and heads down the hall in search of her brother. Nowhere to be found in the kitchen (a noticeably bigger space without the table that once inhabited it), but instead, found leaning in the doorway of the empty second bedroom, as if he’d been standing there staring at it for god knows how long before she got here.

There’s nothing in the room. Nothing really to look at, other than the small window on the opposite wall with the curtains drawn.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with it?” she asks, now at his elbow, and he doesn’t startle. So he heard her come in after all.

“I dunno,” he says. “Might just leave it like this.”

“Empty?”

Buck shrugs, plastering on a smile. “Don’t know what else I’d do with it. It’s not like I need an office.” He huffs out a breath, like he can’t quite commit to a real laugh, and Maddie just looks at him—really looks, at the tightness in his shoulders; the way that smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and the bags that seem to live beneath them instead. For a split second, she wants to haul him out of here and back to her house where he can sleep until his world is right side up again.

Instead, she suggests, “You could make it into a guest bedroom.”

Buck wrinkles his nose. Takes a breath and cracks another smile, but his energy for excuses seems to run out before the words have even left his mouth, and he deflates. “I don’t think I want anyone else sleeping in here.”

It’s the first bit of true honesty that she’s gotten from him in weeks, but it doesn’t exactly make her feel better.

“I just…I didn’t think it would be this–” He chews the inside of his cheek, looking down at his hands, and Maddie expects him to say weird, but instead, he says, “hard. Living here. Without them.”

Maddie sighs, wrapping her arms around one of his. “I know. But you know, filling the space might make it feel a bit smaller.”

Buck nods, still staring at the lone window. “Yeah. But I— I think I’ll leave it like this. For now.”

And Maddie contemplates shaking some sense into him; going on a shopping spree at IKEA and forcing this place into something a little less haunting herself. But they’d still be standing here, in Eddie’s house, cooking dinner in Eddie’s kitchen, eating it in Eddie’s dining room. Buck will still go to sleep in Eddie’s bedroom tonight—and she decides that rebuilding his own life is something Buck will have to take on himself.

So she simply says, “Okay,” and lets Buck pull the bedroom door shut. Allows him to move into the living room, and change the subject to whether they should have chicken or pasta for dinner.

* * *

Maddie pulls into her own driveway three days later and finds her brother on the front stoop—shoulders hunched, eyes glued to his feet. She slams the car door shut and plants herself in front of him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers.

“You okay?” she asks, when they finally do.

He looks at her, face open and honest and pleading for answers—an expression she’s seen countless times, since before he knew how to tie his shoes—and says, “I think I’m an idiot.”

And Maddie knows, immediately, what he means, because she’s been watching him inch towards realization since he came to her the first time, mixed up and messy and appalled at the mere thought of the truth.

“Yeah, I think you have been, a little. But you know, it’s never too late to be honest.”

Buck laughs; dry, humourless. “He lives halfway across the country, Mads.”

“I don’t mean with him,” she stresses. “I mean with yourself.”

Buck swallows. “Right. I’m not sure that’ll make me feel any better.”

“Maybe not,” Maddie says, lowering herself down to sit next to him on the concrete stoop, “but it’s probably better than pretending it’s not there.”

He sighs, and she smiles, laying her head gently on his shoulder. He’s quiet, contemplative for a moment, before he settles on, “Probably.”

Maddie just takes his hand and squeezes.

* * *

Buck is wearing a sweater that Maddie has never seen before. Knitted, dark blue yarn, a little tight around the shoulders. It pulls up above his wrist when he moves his arm, reaching forward to gesture at Chimney across the dinner table in the midst of a heated debate that Maddie has purposefully not been paying much attention to.

“The second one was way better!” Buck is insisting, while Chim gapes at him, appalled.

“I’m sorry, you’re telling me Top Gun: Maverick is better than the original?”

“Yes! The stunts were so much cooler.”

“It was never about the stunts, Buck–”

Their attention is drawn from the (clearly earth-shattering) dilemma at hand when a pair of headlights sweeps over the dimly-lit room through the front windows—a car pulling into the driveway. Maddie frowns.

“Are you expecting someone else?” she asks, and Buck shakes his head, brows knitted.

“Uh– no. No, just you guys,” he says. He stands, then, moving away from the table—still littered with dishes from their dinner and dessert—and into the dark living room to get a look at their mystery guest. When he reaches the window, his whole body freezes, like some frigid ocean wave has just crashed over him, swallowing the room and its perfectly placed contents whole.

“Buck?” Maddie prompts, though she has a feeling, as she watches his wide eyes track whatever scene is unfolding on his driveway, that she knows exactly who it is. That someone has just come home.

In lieu of an answer, Buck rushes to the door, throwing it open, and behind it is—Christopher. A bit taller than when she last saw him; his hair a bit shorter, but still, unmistakably, Christopher Diaz. Even simply from how Buck’s face lights up in a way that Maddie hasn’t seen since he left.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, grinning. Then, a beat later, “Is that my Dad’s sweater?”

And Buck just laughs, smiling ear-to-ear, and lets out a breath that Maddie suspects he’s been holding in for months.

* * *

Three weeks later, the house is warm. Comfortable. The air smells like home-cooked food and the scent of whatever candle Buck had lit when the sun went down and the overhead lights felt too intrusive. Scattered all over the coffee table are plates holding the remnants of the cake that had, before it was sliced into, read: ‘Welcome back pardners, yeehaw!’, along with half-finished glasses of water and wine.

By far the most eye-catching thing in the room, though—at least to Maddie—is her brother. Radiantly happy, shining like a disco ball as he laughs at something Hen just said, leaning back in the chair that he’s tucked in close next to Eddie’s. He looks…settled, finally. Even as he keeps sneaking glances at his best friend like he can’t quite believe he’s actually here.

It’s a relief, to see him like this, Maddie can admit. To be reminded—after months of confusion, denial, indecision—that sometimes, her brother is simply content. Loved, and aware that he is loved. That his life isn’t simply a timeline of difficult moments with a few smiles thrown in in between.

She smiles. Tries to commit the image to memory.

At some point, after getting caught up in conversation with Athena about the latest novel she’s been reading (something about beach houses and family scandals), she looks back to find that people have scattered—her husband at the dining table, sneaking another slice of cake to their daughter; Christopher, Denny, and Mara huddled over a Nintendo Switch in the corner; Bobby and Hen laughing about something over by the window.

Buck, nowhere to be found.

She excuses herself, following to where she expects him to be—likely already trying to load dishes into the dishwasher despite the fact that the party is only half-over—but pauses in the doorway when she hears his voice already in conversation with someone else.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Eddie says, quietly. Fondly.

“All what?”

“This. The party, the cake. I was only gone for a couple of months, you know.”

“Well, I can’t take credit for the cake. That was all Hen,” Buck says. “But…we missed you.” Then, more earnestly, “I missed you.”

Eddie hums. Pauses, then says, “I missed you too.”

They fall quiet, and Maddie is about to step into the room to make herself known—the guilt of eavesdropping creeping in—but when she puts one foot forward, she catches a glimpse around the corner; the two of them wrapped up in each other, Eddie leaning in to press a kiss to Buck’s lips. Easily, like he’s done it before.

“I love you,” he says. Soft. Meant only for Buck.

Buck grins—that same blinding, lottery-winning smile Maddie caught him wearing weeks ago—and says, simply, “I love you too.”

And as Maddie backs out of the room, finding a seat at the dining table beside her husband and daughter, she can tell she’s grinning too. If only because of the way Chimney looks at her, eyebrows raised, and asks, “What? Something funny?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, “Just glad everyone is back where they belong.”

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI • Anthony Bridgerton x Reader • The Viscount’s visits to your bedroom have become regular, beautiful occurrences by now, but he still has much to teach you. Includes oral sex (f receiving) and talk of losing virginity.

PART ONE | PART TWO

By now, the visits Lord Bridgerton made to your room in the night were familiar…a beautiful ritual kept secret from everyone else in Mayfair. You waited by the window for his arrival, for his wordless entry into your bedchamber, an eager student anticipating her instructor’s next lesson.

And the viscount was indeed an excellent teacher. While his presence alone was more than enough to send your body into a spiral of desire, his mouth in particular had become the object of your deepest need. At first, his kisses remained as chaste as they could be under the circumstances, tracing your lips, cheeks and chin. But as your nights together progressed, Anthony’s kisses trailed lower, sucking and licking down your neck and along your shoulders.

By his own standards, Anthony was restraining himself tremendously. He wanted to bury his cock inside your sweet, ripe cunt, to know its curves and contours before any other man would. When he left you for home each night, Anthony’s dreams were filled with filling you, his bedclothes soiled every morning with sweat and cum from restless dreams of claiming your virgin cunt as his own. Each night he guided your hand and watched you come, he came with you, his body hovering over yours on the bed, his erection pressed against the mattress between your parted legs, grinding uselessly against it.

Anthony wasn’t sure how much longer his performance of control could last. Eventually, he would break, and when he did, Anthony feared more than anything the risk of hurting you, both physically and worst of all, your reputation, especially the standard you held yourself to. Perhaps he was pushing you further than he ought? Should a young woman of high standing such as yourself really be the object of a man like Anthony’s affection? He sometimes worried his handling of you was little better than the treatment he’d showed the many whores he’d had. And yet…you were different. You were, to be fair, the complete opposite of a whore. You were brand new, or at least your sexuality was. There were so many things you had yet to experience, and Anthony wanted to be the man that introduced you to all of them…

Tonight, his kisses are different. There’s an aggression in him you aren’t accustomed to seeing, or feeling. His teeth bare over your shoulder, lightly scratching your skin just enough to make you flinch. Anthony pulls back immediately, lifting his face to meet your eyes, a breathless apology whispered from his lips against yours. You cup your hand to his cheek, smiling sweetly back at him in the darkness. “I am well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Please…do not stop.”

He nuzzles his forehead against your shoulder, soothing the place his teeth grazed. A sheen of sweat transfers from his skin to yours; Anthony’s body is awash in heat, his heart thudding against your chest as he lays overtop you. Your hips shift beneath Anthony’s, his erection prodding your inner thigh. You wonder again, as you do every night, what it is that he’s hiding down there, the thing he won’t let you see? He tells you you’re not ready for that yet, that he still has more to teach you before that particular lesson might be given. Your curiosity gets the better of you tonight, leading your hand to wander beneath the covers, daring to slip between your bodies and blindly grope for the rigid part of Anthony he judges you unready for…

He whips his head up to face you, bringing his hand around your jaw in a firm, yet tender grasp. “No,” he whispers in a stern tone, softening his disapproval with “not yet, my sweet one. Patience…”

Anthony takes your wrist in his much-larger hand and guides it away from the place it searches. He’s admittedly surprised by your boldness in making such a move, and a lesser gentleman would have seized upon such innocent curiosity and exploited it. But Anthony is determined to be a patient tutor, to the best of his ability. The impossible balance of self control and indulgence he’s enduring is all for your benefit, he tells himself. To rush you into sex too quickly would be crass and ugly, not becoming of a young woman such as yourself. Anthony has come to admire you even more than he desires you. And he never plays too roughly with the things he cherishes...

“When, my lord?” you ask, your eyes wide and expecting. “When will you allow me all of you?”

Anthony resists the urge to curse, but fuck does he want to. It’s as if you’re doing your damndest to ruin him and his feeble hold on honor all at once, securing his end with nothing more than a sweet plea and an innocent gaze.

He tenses his jaw, breathing deeply. “A woman…such as yourself-.” Anthony pauses. “-Is worth waiting for…to be tenderly guided, not selfishly taken.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips; the rigid, hidden part of Anthony moves against your thigh. “Do you understand?”

You nod agreeably, softly replying “yes, my lord. I trust the you know what is best.”

Anthony’s lips turn up in a grin. “I do,” he affirms. “And whilst moving forward too quickly would be a mistake…” He shifts his body down the bed a bit, chin hovering above your stomach. “…I see no reason why tonight’s lesson should be merely one of repetition...”

Anthony takes your hips in his hands, clutching the soft skin in his calloused grip. You draw in a sharp breath, unaccustomed to being touched in such a way and by hands as rough as Lord Bridgerton’s. Anthony’s tongue glides warm and wet down the length of your torso, his lips pausing at the coarse tuft of hair framing your sex. He rests his nose against the curly bed, inhaling the scent of arousal that clings to your quivering thighs. Anthony kisses your clit with the slightest pressure; your hips buck abruptly in response. “My lord…” you squeak. “It…it hurts.” While it isn’t a question, Anthony knows you’re likely overwhelmed. You’ve never been stimulated sexually like this before, and it must be very confusing. “Do not fret, dear one,” Anthony murmurs softly, his warm breath dusting your pubic hair. “The pain will go away, as it always does. Only this time, allow me to relieve the aching for you…”

Anthony holds your eyes as he extends his tongue to tap your clit. Your hips shiver again, held down and spread open by his strong grasp. Anthony flattens his tongue against your clit, allowing you to adjust to the new intensity the gesture creates. His cock throbs against the mattress, precum leaking into the fabric of his trousers as his very first taste of your cunt sinks over his tastebuds. Your hands are on Anthony’s shoulders, gripping his shirt in your fists, your knees framing his body. Holding you down more firmly, Anthony lowers his head and begins to lick you in wide, slow strokes. He drags his tongue across your lips and up over your engorged clit, feeling it throb at his touch. You’ve released Anthony’s shirt, now clutching your pillow to your face to keep quiet the sounds you’re making.

He parts your labia gently and carefully with his tongue, spreading you tenderly like a delicacy to be savored, not a meal to be rushed. You taste like bourbon and rain, Anthony thinks, like the licorice candy he’s so fond of stealing from his younger siblings. Your slick is copious and warm, like the morning air in the first days of Summer, like the mellow dew beaded on the Wisteria growing outside the Bridgerton home. Anthony dips his tongue between your folds, savoring your sweet flavor. It’s a flavor unknown to all but him, as even you have never tasted the product of your own arousal. The beauty of this gift is not lost on Anthony; he cherishes each coat of your slick, syrupy essence as he laps between your lips in thick, languid strokes.

Your words are lost in a mix of grunts and moans uttered into your pillow, every thought in your head dissolved and melted into Anthony’s mouth. You’re not even a person at this point, only a need, a creature like any other animal chasing its own based, primal yearning. Your body writhes indulgently under Anthony’s hold, hips grinding against his face, smearing him in the juices flooding your cunt. White hot pleasure seizes you, blanching your vision as everything in the world ceases to exist beyond Anthony’s mouth. He feels the vibrations of your climax through his tongue, feels your soul shattering to a million pieces and forming back together again in his hands.

Silky, pearlescent liquid drips between Anthony’s lips as he licks you through your climax. It feels like your body’s on fire from the inside out, a beautiful tangle of pleasure and pain that nips at your groin and twists your insides into delicious knots. Anthony’s hands are everywhere, rubbing your clit and squeezing the plumpest parts of your ass and hips, groping you in a possessive haste as if he’ll never have the opportunity to touch you again. He watches your lips flutter and pulse, slick gushing from between them as a second orgasm is spurred by the first. He’s never seen a woman come so hard before, with such innocent and unabashed rapture. It stirs something primal and almost sadistic within Anthony, a sense of pride in pleasuring you eclipsed by dominance. Now that he’s seen you lose control completely, without the reservation and shyness you’ve previously displayed, he craves more. If this is how you respond to his mouth between your legs, how much more powerfully will your body respond when his cock is buried inside you, making you come till you’re begging him to stop? And will he be able to stop? Will his sense of honor fail completely in that moment, devolving Anthony into little more than a selfish, barbaric creature intent on pushing you beyond the point of ruin?

He looks up from between your legs, catching your eyes. Their lids are heavy, lashes wet with tears, eyes glassy with an expression that tells him your mind is as good as removed from this world. Anthony knows he could take you now, in the pliant, weakened state you’re in. And considering how deeply you want him to give you all of himself, Anthony knows he’d likely meet no objection from you. But when your head lands back on the pillow, your skin flush and wet with perspiration, he realizes that to take you any further would be too much. Too selfish, too cruel. Of course you want more of him. And of course Anthony wants to give it to you, but not like this. Not when you’ve just experienced orgasms so powerful, your body is depleted of all its strength. The gentleman in Anthony once again wins out, in spite of the tug in his groin, and in spite of his predilection to indulging his own selfish needs.

He lifts himself off the bed from between your legs, wiping his dripping chin on his sleeve. You lift your head from the pillow with considerable effort, wide eyes expectant, your arm extending for him. “You’re not leaving, my lord?”

It’s more of a demand than a question. But Anthony is in control here, he reminds himself. He closes a hand over his erection, rubbing away some of the tension through his trousers. “You must rest, (y/n),” he says, his voice thick, tongue heavy. “I will return.” Anthony crouches beside you on the bed, pulling his fingertip along your jawline, soothing away the tears growing cold on your cheek.

“Soon?” you ask. It sounds very much like you’re begging, but you couldn’t care less. You are begging, craving him. Craving more of Anthony’s mouth, his kisses, his tongue, and…the part of him he won’t yet share with you. The part he’s making you wait for, and in his wisdom, you know Anthony is honorable for making you wait. “Tomorrow night,” he assures you, a warm smile turning his wet lips upward. “Wait for me as usual, beside your window.” He exhales, the scent of your sex washing over the air between you. Anthony leans in and kisses you softly, a kiss you press into but he draws back, taking your hands in his and squeezing them gently. “Tomorrow,” Anthony reaffirms. He releases your hands and makes his way to the window, where you’ve seen him enter and depart several times over the past two weeks. “I think,” he adds, in a whisper. “That you did exceptionally well tonight, (y/n). You allowed yourself to surrender fully, completely to pleasure, without an ounce of hesitation or shame.” Your heart skips at Anthony’s praise, and the possibility it implies. He licks his lips, eyes fluttering closed…one final taste of you to last him till tomorrow. “With your explicit permission, (y/n),” Anthony says softly. “I would very much like to claim your purity tomorrow night…for my own.” You swallow, understanding Anthony’s meaning. He wants to give you all of him, and in doing so, take something very important from you: your virginity.

“You have my permission, my lord,” you reply, noting the way Anthony’s chest swells in a satisfied breath of finality, of agreement. Of accomplishment. Of claiming you. He nods a silent confirmation of understanding between you, and turns for the window to make his leave. You watch the curtains lolling inward on the breeze, inhaling the scent of hydrangeas drifting in…listening to Anthony’s footsteps fading as he departs, drifting gently into dreams… 🥀

PART FOUR

[bbyg4rl]

daddy gets what daddy wants

cw: JJ x reader, smut, rough sex, (semi) public, degradation, daddy kink.

summary: dom!jj teaches you a lesson on submission. MDNI

< rough sex, edging, orgasm denial, squirt, exhibitionism, mean!jj, dom!jj, daddy kink, subby!reader, spanking, slapping (happens once), multiple positions >

a/n: this is kiiiinda unedited, im ovulating lol

He's pounding into you mercilessly, his hands hold your hips up at an angle so his dick can hit your cervix at every thrust. Your eyes are closed, its too much for you to handle. All you can focus on is the cold feel of his rings digging into your waist and his sharp grunts above you.

"open your eyes" he commands from above you. When you dont register his words through the stimulation you're receiving, he stops. He stops all movement until your eyes shoot open in protest. You need him.

"eyes on me or im walking outta here princess"

Its a threat you know he'll make good on if you dont listen to him. He's a punisher, If you dont submit you'll get punished. Fuck, you can't have that you need his dick in you.

"...Sorry" you mutter under your breath.

SLAP.

He slaps you across your face. "Louder baby, I couldn't hear" He feigns faux sympathy, furrowing his brows as he uses two fingers to calm the red mark forming on your cheek.

"Sorry Daddy" You whimper, loudly.

"Good girl"

He's back to rutting into you. His hand now wrapped around your throat. He's cutting off your airflow. He's watching as your eyes roll back into your head. Choked sobs and moans escaping your open mouth, gasping for air.

His pelvis hits your clit deliciously at every thrust. The bundle of nerves threatening to push you off the edge at every touch. Your back arches and he knows you're close. He pulls out. Sadist.

"JJ- Please" A pathetic whine leaves your body, aching for the feel of his cock.

He doesn't say a word when he flips you over. His hand pushes your head into the pillows as he pushes into you slowly. His thrusts are slower now. Painfully slow.

You can't even protest with how you're being held down. All you can do is try to move back into him, trying to regain the friction he's deprived you of.

SMACK.

He gives a sharp smack to your ass. Leaning down over you so he's speaking to your ear now- "Don't act like a fucking slut"

SMACK.

"Or I'll fuck you like one"

Oh how you wish he did just that. You moan against the pillow, a wordless plea. He accepts.

His hands reclaim their place on your hips as he drills into you again. His balls slap against your clit with every grind. Hes slowly pushing you to your climax.

"You wanna cum mama?" He taunts. There's that cruel tone again. You can tell by his demeanor that you weren't allowed to cum. He wasn't going to let you.

In a desperate attempt, you shake your head- no. But he knows better. He feels how you're clenching around him. He seeing how your back arches. He knows you're close.

SMACK.

"Liar."

Fuck. He caught you. You're fucked now. He pulls out. This is your punishment. He puts on his boxers and walks out.

No, No, No. You're scrambling to follow him but your legs are wobbly. You call his name- no response. You follow him into the kitchen- sweaty and naked. You're mind is so hazy you don't even care if the rest of the pogues saw you walking naked around the chateau begging JJ to come back to bed.

Whiny 'Please' and 'I'm Sorry's leave your mouth in an attempt to sooth his anger. Finally, he stops in his tracks. The pogues are outside in the cat's ass. One look toward the door and they'd see you and JJ. Risky. Just how he liked it.

He motions you to stand in front of him. You're looking straight at the hot tub filled with people. He's behind you. "Warned ya' not to act like a slut"

SMACK.

You jump at the sudden contact. He's bent you over now. "Be loud. Let them hear." He says as he starts bullying himself into your little cunt. He's holding your hands behind your back, pulling you up so your tits are bouncing up and down at every thrust.

Your eyes threaten to close but you know better. You couldn't do anything JJ wouldn't be pleased with. So you keep your eyes open, You're looking straight at the group, Hoping none of them took back at the house. How would you explain this to them?

But, Maybe, Just maybe a little part of you wanted to get caught by the way your pussy clenched tighter around JJ.

"Knew you were just a little slut, mama." He seethes in your ear. His thrusts are harder now, It feels like he's splitting you in half. Little 'uh, uh, uh-'s leave your mouth at every rut of his hips into you. You bite your lip in hopes to keep quiet.

SMACK.

"I said 'let them hear' didnt i?"

Daddy gets what Daddy wants. You stop let go of your lips. Any worry leaving your body as you feel his ringed fingers swipe at your clit. Fuck. Let them hear. You're a moaning, whining, sobbing mess in his hands. If he wasn't holding you up, you'd be a puddle on the floor.

You were close. Every push of his dick against your cervix teeters you over the edge of ecstacy. As if an act of mercy, he kisses your temple.

"Cum for me baby"

That's all it takes for you to burst. A loud moan leaves your mouth, surely catching the group outside's attention as your orgasm bubbles in you. Your release paints a white ring around JJ's still moving dick. It's as if you've been fucked into another dimension the way your ears ring and you lose all sense of your surroundings.

He wasn't done with you yet. He holds your boneless body up as he carries you back into his room. He's laughing at your mindless state. Who knew he could be so mean? You couldn't lie and say it wasnt making you wetter.

As you lay on the bed, looking up at him, he's pushing in again. Chasing his own climax now. He's drilling into you faster and harder. He's assaulting your walls with no regard to how overstimulated you were getting. Afterall, Daddy gets what daddy wants.

His fingers find your clit again, "Cum with me princess"

You feel him getting closer with how his thrusts were losing their momentum. His fingers getting more erratic. He pinches your clit with his thumb and index finger. Your body jerks at the slight pain before pleasure washes over you as you squirt around him. Thats all the motivation JJ needs to bottom out in you, he presses against the bulge in your tummy as he shoots warm white ropes of his cum in your womb.

He collapses on top of you, exhausted. He gives your shoulder a few kisses as you both pass out, his dick softening, still inside you as your combined release drips out of your cunt, dirtying the sheets under you. That was a problem for when you woke up.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[pringle-slut]

brain and brawn yes but LISTEN george rexstrew's got a few stealth muscles and jayden is donna-noble-makes-fun-of-you type skinny, why oh why are there not more fics or hcs or whatever that revolve around this! charles realising that he's "the brawn" purely by choice (by edwin choosing not to be) because edwin is a lot physically stronger than he seems at first glance. maybe edwin had to do mandatory sports, or maybe horseback riding, maybe he's just like that naturally, whatever the reason is, edwin's got some muscle on charles. that fact will not leave charles' brain. not in a jealous way, like he wishes he had bigger muscles; not because it's a bad thing, because why would it be? it just sticks, and then maybe they're on a case and things are going crazy and edwin can't dodge or magic his way out of something so instead he just wallops whatever he's up against with the nearest blunt object he can find. charles manages to see it happen and it's a good thing he'd taken care of his portion of the chaos because he fucking drops his cricket bat. picks it up real fast, whacks the thing again for good measure before grabbing edwin's wrist and pulling him into a sprint, but he's moving entirely on autopilot. he'd just seen edwim pick up a five foot stainless steel bench like it was nothing. there's a voice in the back of his head, somewhere behind the cacophony of "edwin is strong like that?" and "he's stronger than i am" and wordless clouds of confusion, that wonders how easy it would be for edwin to pin him - in a fight, of course, in a sparring situation where charles is teaching him self defense, not... not anything else. not to the wall to kiss him til he's dizzy. not front to back against a window, murmuring in his ear. not to the couch, their couch, just to be close to him. not to a bed, certainly not to use charles for his own sake. because edwin would never. but now charles knows he could. and it's all he can think about

[vinyls-xreaders]

it’s supposed to be a nice little dinner.

you, johnny, and his parents- your in-laws- tucked into your cozy little dining room, sitting close together at a table with fresh flowers you’d picked from your garden as the centerpiece and eating food you’d worked all day to prepare.

the four of you are supposed to be having a nice time catching up, laughing and getting to know each other a bit better since you’d only ever seen them at the wedding. not before. not after.

and despite your effort, it isn’t a nice little dinner.

you very quickly realize the reason you haven’t seen much of johnny’s parents is because they don’t like you.

the moment johnny welcomes them in- without you there because you’re finishing up on the kitchen- his mom is already asking, “finally leave tha’ lassie a yers?”

johnny snipes, “my wife is in tha kitchen, ma.”

you can’t help but overhear; they aren’t exactly talking quietly. mactavishes, you’ve learned, are all prone to talking louder than they think they are.

and their footsteps are the same way.

you just manage to tug a strained smile onto your lips as johnny comes into the kitchen, dropping a hand around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple, wordlessly apologizing for what his mother has said even though he doesn’t know you’ve heard it.

so, yeah, you already know this dinner will be hell.

you lean into johnny and turn your head just far enough to press an answering kiss of forgiveness to his skin.

only to freeze when a voice grumbles, “ach, no’ a sight ah wanna see,” from just outside the kitchen. two pairs of footsteps follow the complaint into the room, faces painted with barely-hidden disdain.

it takes everything you have to hide the thread of shame stitching itself into your chest.

“hello,” you greet, voice smaller than you mean for it to be.

johnny picks up on it immediately. his hand twitches on your waist before pulling you closer. a frown tugs onto his lips for a moment, a too-brazen display of concern for you.

“what’d ye say?” johnny’s dad snaps.

your face burns hot as you repeat, “hello.”

“hello tae ye, too.”

you nod and squirm your way out of johnny’s arms to check on the dish that’s in the oven, studying it for longer than you need to. you can still feel their eyes on you, and your face heats up. to save yourself, you offer, “you can- you can go sit at the table if you’d like.”

“wha-“

johnny, unwilling to watch them embarrass you any further, argues, “ye heard her.”

he leads his parents out of the kitchen, grousing at them to back off of you, but their excuses float back towards you. “och, john, just tryna teach yer bird tae speak up. no one’ll ever listen tae her if she’s so quiet," and "why're ye tryna pick a fight wit' yer da, johnny-boy?"

you fumble around the kitchen aimlessly. anything you can think of to delay the inevitable of sitting down with them, you do.

you're about to start reorganizing your damn silverware drawer when johnny comes back in, the scowl on his face softening into a smile at the sight of you.

"ready?" he asks, and both of you know he isn't just talking about the food.

"just about." you take the dish out of the oven and set it on a potholder on the counter. "can you get the salad out of the fridge?"

when you bring the food out, you find his parents seem to be scrutinizing every inch of your dining room. they nitpick a detail silently, nudge the other into noticing it, too, and have a wordless conversation with their eyes about it.

and when you and johnny set the food down and settle into the seat across from them, they turn that same kind of focus onto you, too.

you can't help but feel scraped open, like all your deepest secrets have been put on display. like they might somehow know about the time you went out drinking with your friends with a fake ID or the fender bender you got into when you were first learning how to drive just from looking at you.

shifting in your seat, you clear your throat and present the dishes with an almost quavering voice like you're in a food competition, staring down sneering five-star chefs that know a thousand times more about cooking than you do.

you might as well be, with the way their lips curl and their noses scrunch in sync.

no words are exchanged as the food is dished up, nor does anyone say anything as the four of you wait for the food to cool. it isn't until you're bringing a forkful to your mouth that the tense silence is finally broken.

“when are ye leavin’ fer yer next deployment?” his mom asks, the first thing she’s said all night that hasn’t been a poorly-disguised jab at you.

“next week," johnny answers warily.

she squints and scrunches up her nose, an expression that's on her face more often than not, you've found. “thought ye just got back a month er so ago..?”

“yeah.”

her lips twitch into a frown, and her eyes glance towards you before they find john once more. “ah mean maybe if ye hadda sweeter bird keepin’ yer house- margarie's daughter is still single-"

the tears that burn your eyes shock everyone- including you.

it's one thing for them to treat every bit of you with disdain- but it's another thing entirely to openly suggest that he replaces you.

“ma! that’s enough outta ye!” johnny finally snaps, tugging your chair closer to him and looping an arm around your waist to pull you against his chest.

except, you squirm out of his touch.

your chair squeaks as you push it backwards and stand abruptly, taking your plate and escaping without another word.

as you leave, his parents' excuses haunt you: "shouldnae've picked such a sensitive bird."

you can hear johnny cussing his parents out- can hear their absolutely outraged screeching, can hear their stopping and the slamming of the front door- but it doesn't matter as you hurry away from them.

taking refuge in your office, you drop into your chair and curl in on yourself.

after a while, johnny finds you there, your plate of food untouched and your knees to your chin, arms wrapped around them. there are tears in your eyes as much as you wish there weren't; they don't deserve to be cried over because that's exactly what they want from you.

"hey, sweetheart," johnny greets softly, kneeling before the chair you're curled up in. he reaches out to take your hands and squeezes. "ahm so, so sorry about them, doll. they'll never treat you that way again. swear it."

you uncurl slowly, reaching out with shaking arms to cling to johnny. "thank you," you croak, burying your face into his neck.

"ye deserve the world, darling. just wish they could see that," he mumbles before holding you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "someday, maybe. fer now, ye worked really hard on this meal, so let's enjoy it, yeah?"

you nod, smiling softly. "i love you," you murmur.

"i love you, too."

hope this makes sense lol, I’m half asleep

hope you enjoyed, and as always, if there’s some trope or character you wanna see, hit up my asks :)

thanks so much for reading and for all your support 🫶 i appreciate all of you!

[prettyboystories-old]

Megumi // Shaving

774 words Premise: You and Megumi are childhood best friends; you help him shave his face Warnings: Female Reader implied, boners mentioned OLD POST (Switching blogs) Will be retired in a week. Go to this version to interact instead.

“What do you even shave for?” you asked curiously, side-eyeing Megumi as you spat your toothpaste out and watched your friend dab the shaving cream on. “You don’t grow any facial hair.”

Megumi’s hand stilled as his eyes met yours and he tilted his head.

“...my face is clean because I shave every day.”

You appraised him with a childishly horrified look. “No way. I touch your face plenty. There’s no stubble.”

The corner of Megumi’s lips quirked up. “Yeah, because I shave it every morning.”

You stared at his shaving cream covered face for a while before scrunching your nose in displeasure, either at the mental image of him with a beard or his potential for growing one.

“What are you thinking of?” Megumi asked you after a few moments of wordless staring.

“Monkeys,” you answered and he dead-panned, scoffing at your association, prompting you to give him an apologetic smile. “Can I try?”

“Shaving?”

“You,” you confirmed with a quick, eager nod.

“S-sure,” Megumi nodded instinctively. Maybe Nobara had a point when she called him a pushover in regards to you. “Just be gentle.”

You led him to the side of the bathtub, pushing him to sit as you stood between his legs and tilted his head up for yourself.

“I won’t let your pretty face come to harm in my hands.”

You took the razor from between his fingers and started ever so slowly and carefully bringing it across his face. Megumi watched your eyes focus on your task.

“You don’t actually have to be that careful,” he chuckled softly when you turned to clean the razor before turning back around to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you replied and changed nothing about your diligent movements. If his face hadn’t been spotless before, it definitely would be now.

“Would I be a bad person if I requested that you never grow a beard?” you mused, catching his gaze and giving him a fond smile.

“Oh please, we’re Japanese and I’m sixteen. I can’t actually grow a full beard even if I tried.”

“Good,” you assessed with a satisfied nod. “You’re too pretty to hide behind hair.”

Megumi let out a huff and turned away at your words to which you tutted and turned his head back so you could finish the last of your shaving.

“No compliments today?” you asked kindly though, ever careful with him.

“It’s just different when you’re so close, saying them quietly and… reverently.”

You just gave him a half amused smile before stroking the back of your pointer finger over Megumi’s now clean cheek and cupping said cheek as you brought your lips to his forehead because Megumi’s best friend was careful but cruel, too.

As you were about to step away, Megumi held on to two of your fingers and you looked back.

“Do you really find it gross? That I grow hair there?”

You hummed and tilted your head like the question required some amount of deep pondering.

“No,” you finally surmised. “As long as it’s shaven off at least, I just find it curious that you grow it. And it doesn’t gross me out like men’s armpit hair so I’m free to appreciate this boyish feature of yours.”

You underlined your assessment by smoothing your thumb over his clean chin once more before trailing it down his neck and over his Adam’s apple, pressing just softly enough that it was only mildly unpleasant. You’d finally learned to keep your touch gentle there.

He huffed your name regardless.

“Megu,” you replied with a smile. “Aren’t you happy I can appreciate these differences of yours now?”

He was. Of course he was. He was forever grateful that he and you were able to maintain their close bond despite all the effort the people around them, Japan and society at large had put into teaching boys like him that girls like you were embarrassing to play with, associate with or be alike in any way. As well as then warning girls that boys were just like that and fostering subtle resentment against them as pseudo-revenge for the resentment they faced first.

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘appreciate’,” he still countered. “You poke at my neck, scrunch your nose at my ‘monkey-hair’ and giggle at my boners.”

“They poke me when we cuddle. I’m allowed to giggle,” you stated. “Be grateful I find them cute.”

“Yeah, you are,” Megumi agreed with a sigh. The chuckling about his ‘horniness antenna’ was perfectly fine, much better than if he’d ever made you uncomfortable. “Think you’d want to ever do this again? You’re very diligent about it.”

[bleufu1]

HONEYSUCKLE’S

“You gon’ teach me sum’n?”

“imma teach ya’ more den’ that.”

mini taglist — @kxllanxtdoor @marley1773 @motheroffae @yourcoralansene @coldeforprez @twistedsistas-stuff @heyyimmisunderstood @spatterpus @bendoverboo18 @pinkpantheris @briana-mishell24

chapter review

SYNOPSIS: The Juke Joint. An’ tension is thick.

not wordless but not full dialogue | sexual tension | p in v | unprotected (stay wrapped kids!!) | mature jokes | sammie flirting | 18+ | smut | oral (f!reciving) | riding |

Everyones sweating. The joint was still hot. Musicians on the stage playin' they hearts away an' everybody still on the dance floor. Been goin on for a good couple hours now. Smiles on everybody's faces, like they been' waitin for the opportunity to wine down and just live.

The musics boomin. Ladies both married and single on the dance floor, whining an' grinding on the men in the room not even caring if they had someone to go home to. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. Nothin’ bad going on — less work for smoke.

Sammie was off at the bar, glass of whiskey in his cup. Annie stood with him, an’ watched as his eyes drifted from his cup an’ back to Sugar from time to time. Eyes lingering longer every time. Annie already knew what he was feeling. She had felt the same way bout’ smoke all those years ago. Back when he was winning her over with compliments an’ flowers.

Made her heart skip seeing him the same way.

Sammie watched her from a distance. Decided it’d be best to give her space an’ let her have fun for the night. Can’t be all up on her an’ she just got back — he had to give it time.

“You staring pretty hard there, Sammie.”

He came out his daze, looking back at Annie seeing the smile on her face. He could tell by the look she was giving him that she done seen him gawking. This ain’t the first time he’d been caught either. Not that long ago he’d been caught by Slim — earning a cackle to the face an’ a mini life lesson on how to get girls in one night.

Sammie damn sure wasn’t listening to his drunk ass.

He smiled back at Annie, eyes scouting out for nosey folk.

“Ain’t no harm in starin’ — i’m just admiring.”

“Admiration shouldn’t look that dark in someone’s eyes. Better stop foe’ your love turn to lust.”

Sammie laughed a bit at her words. Sure — Sammie noticed how her curves enhanced her every move. How her eyes made him crazy an’ how he so badly wanted to feel her. But he ain’t just need her, he wants her. Not just for body but for her. He loved that girl an’ wanted to show it to her, he just ain’t know how.

“Now Annie — ain’t no lusting over here, only love. Promise’ you that.”

Sammie meant what he said too. He loved that girl with everything he had. She was his reason for livin’ an’ why he even keeps pushin’ to begin with.

Annie seen the way he looked at her. She knows she talked bout’ it before but it’s just so surreal. Smoke use to do the same with her when they were younger. He’d always buy her flowers — treat her like a real lady an’ made sure she felt an’ seen the love.

She'd seen this kinda love before, an' it aint no mistake. Sammie loved sugar, member' him sayin' sum'n bout her being sweet as the Honeysuckles when they in full bloom. Said she bout as pretty as magnolia in may.

Sammie watched as Sugar swayed in a corner by herself. Watchin' her. Seen how she lured him in, an' she wasn't even doing anything. Just existing. He'd seen how much she's changed. From her facial features — to her hair. Her body, the way it curves differently now. How tight her dress hugged her waist, how tight it got round' her hips.

God save him.

Sammies mind wandered more. Deeper. Letting his eyes do all the talking for him. He eyed her down, like an animal — quietly and slick. Undressing her with his eyes, he wondered what she'd look like without all the layers in his way.

It's almost as if his body moved on its own. Sammie stood up and walked towards her. He ain't even know what he was gon' say, but he knew what he wanted. He'd been yearnin' for it since she came back. Ain't want her for her body. Not for the lust or the pleasure — partially. But mostly — for her. He wanted his Sugar back by any means necessary, an' he was gon' get er'.

Sammie slide past all the folk on the dance floor. Weaving through everybody crowding the corner. He walked up to Sugar with a smile on his face, sly grin he always wore when he was up to no good.

"What ya' want huh, Preacher?"

Sugar eyed him. She'd seen him basically beggin' from the other side of the joint — his eyes, the way they danced over her figure, how they slowly got darker with intention. Told her everything she needed to know. She knew he wanted her — but she wanted him to ask nicely, at least.

"Nothin' special, just wonderin' why ya' over here lookin' lost. You wanna go home or sum'n?"

"No — just can't find nothin' to do. Already said hi to everybody I know."

Sammie thought for a second.

Then it hit em'.

"Know how ta' dance?"

Sugar looked at Sammie. She eyed him for bit. Knowing him — at least what she knew bout' him — him askin' anything bout dancing was never a good thing tho agree to. She member' when they were younger, Sammie convinced her to dance in the rain.

They both ended up sick within' the next four hours.

"I do, a little — why ya' wanna know huh?"

"A Little? Nah, that ain't good enough — c'mon lemme teach ya somethin'."

Sugar looked him up an' down. Nudging him softly, soft smile came on her face.

"An' what you know bout' dancing?"

"Know enough ta' get you out this damn corner."

Sammie stepped up a little, backing Sugar into the corner a little more. They kept eye contact — neither one lookin' away. Sammies eyes spoke somethin' to Sugar. Heat rose between the two of em', could hear each others breathin' getting louder an' deeper. Sugar tilted her head at Sammie, giving him a smirk.

"You gon' teach me a lil sum'n?"

Sammie stepped up, put his hands on her waist.

Slid em' down to her hips.

Gave em' a squeeze.

"Imma teach ya' more den' that."

Sammie walked backwards, slowly leading Sugar to the floor. Turning round' Sammie stepped behind her. Hands still on her hips. Carefully, Sammie brought her closer to him, her back to his chest. His hand stayed on her — helping her with the steps a bit. They swayed a little before Sammie got bold.

"Don't be shy now, sway a lil' more — there ya' go."

Sammie gripped Sugars waist tighter. One of his hands moved to wrap round' her waist, hugging her tighter to him. His thumb caressing her side a bit.

The room felt hotter. For a while Sugars mind was dizzy. High off the attention. Sammie dipped his head into her neck, giving it small pecks here an' there. Just enough to get a rise outta' her.

Sugar got into it after while. She started rocking her hips to the beat instead — Sammie followed her movement.

His hands got more curious, he wanted to get more curious. But he kept his hands to himself. Kept them where he had em'. His touch got more grabby — more needy.

Both of em' swayed to the beat. Bodies rolling against one another. Sammies hand on her, her body on his. Enough touch to make both of em' forget the sense they were born with.

Lost in their own daze. Both in two different words. But both feelin' the same thing. Both feelin' the reaction.

For a second — it felt like they were alone.

Sammies pecks raised more an' more. Started soft turned harsh. Pecks turned into full kisses, to small sucks.

The hoot of someone else on the floor brought them back.

Just membered' they ain't the only ones here.

Sugar turned around to meet his gaze. His eyes were low — dark. She decided to play round' with his patience since, clearly — he had none left.

"Ain't know you could do allat' now Preacher boy."

She raised her arms to wrap round' his neck. His hands rested on her lower waist.

"Theres a lot you'n know I can do."

"Oh? An' what's that?"

Sugar batted her eye at him slowly. Her tongue poked at the side of her mouth, head tilted as she smiled a bit at him.

"Shit — you gon' get me in trouble girl."

"You started it."

Sammies grip tightened, he pulled her closer — noses almost touchin'.

"Yeah? An' imma finish it — you keep playin'."

Sugar laughed a little.

Right in his face.

"An' what you gon' do? — Shit."

Ok.

Sammie took her wrist, quickly dragged her to the back of the barn. Weaving between everybody, some folk called his name. He ignored em'. Other people the least of his concerns right now. Too busy.

Sammie tugged them to the room, closing an' locking the door behind him. He turned to face Sugar. Same fiend innocent face she wore outside, after all she told him — In that purposely low voice.

Sammies patience was clipped.

He paced towards her — fast. His lips was on hers before she could react. Sugar kissed back, equal amount of need behind their kisses. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

Sammie took her face into his hands. Kissing her harder. Like she was gon' disappear if he let go. The kiss got more heated the more they went on. All the pent up frustration put into one kiss.

Their breathing heaved, both out of breath but couldn't find the audacity to stop.

Eventually — Sammie separated from the kiss.

They took a second to collect themselves. Sammie looked her in the eyes.

Dead, in her eyes.

He walked her into one of the crates. Lifting her up onto the box, thumbs caressing her hips as he stands between her legs. Sammie takes her face into his hands again, making Sugar look at him.

"We don't gotta do nothin' more than kiss, anything you'n wanna do ya' don't have to."

Sugars heart melted. Her favorite man in the whole world, too sweet for his own good. Damn, she loved him.

"Sammie."

She grabbed him by his shirt. Bringing him closer.

"I want you."

Sammies pupils dilated for split second — Sugar almost missed it. He licked his bottom lip — inhaled sharply.

"Better tell me what ya' want. Closed mouths don't get fed baby."

Sammies hands grabbed anywhere they could. Sliding up and down, grabbing on the fat of her body.

"Don't care what ya' do — just make me feel good yeah?"

He ain't need ta' be told twice.

Sammie dropped to his knees, his hands went under her skirt. Pulling down her panties an' tossin' em to the side. He slid her skirt up a bit. Sammie bit his lip a little, sucked in a breath. Sammie looked up at Sugar as he kissed up her inner thigh, makin' sure to go slow on purpose. He wanted to get a taste bad — but he wanted to see her reactions, her responses.

He watched her twice at every kiss. How her brows furrowed whenever he stopped for too long. She looked so.

Sammie locked his lips onto her.

He licked an' sucked. Dragging his tongue in and out as he did so. He ate her like a starved man fresh outta' the cell. Like he aint seen his wife is years since it sentence. God it felt like it.

Sugar squirmed and whined. She lifted her hips a little an' rolled em', tryna' get more feelin'.

Sammie wrapped his arms round' her thighs an' pulled her back down. His grip tightening on her inner thigh, tellin' her ta' keep still. Be good. He lifted his head for a second, replacing his tongue with his fingers.

Sugar fell into nothin' but small gasps.

Sammie worked his fingers well. In an' out. Fast goin' in an' slow comin' out. He curled his fingers whenever he pulled them out.

Sugars legs shook, her legs try'n to close but Sammie kept them open.

"Aht Aht — Keep em' open for me."

Sugars legs shook under his arms. Chest heaving, breathing hard an' loud. She gripped onto a near shelf for support, some sort of anchor so she wouldn't pass out.

"God — Sammie.." "Oh— right there, please."

Beggin' an' Pleading.

Sammie looked up at Sugar, eyes full of love an' lust.

"I gotchu', r'lax for me."

Sammie kept his fingers goin', while he put his mouth back on her. He flicked his tongue up an' down slow while his fingers worked fast. The motion made Sugar shake hard.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her chest caved in deeper as she breathed. She put one hand on Sammies head, try'n ta' push him further. Her legs shook an' her hips lifted at the sensation.

Breathing got harsher.

Back arched higher.

Sugars legs caved in, round' Sammies head.

Sammie ain't stop though, he cleaned up the mess he made. Like a real man.

Sugar lifted herself up slowly, still catching her breath. Sammie came from under her skirt, his lips an' chin covered with her. Goofy smile on his face, like a kid who just got the big corner piece of cake.

"Smiling real hard ain't ya'." Sugar exhaled a laugh.

She stood up, holdin' onto Sammie for support. She looked at Sammie, eyes low. Her drive was still high, she wanted more.

Sammie wouldn't mind, now would he?

Sugar slowly walked Sammie to the wall, pushin' him to slide down. She followed suit, sitting on his lap. She grabbed his face an' kissed him hard. Sammie licked her bottom lip a little. He wrapped his arms round' her — pulling her in. Sugar pulled away.

"Wanna try sum'n, gon' let me?"

Sammie stared at her, lips swollen an' glossy. Face still a mess.

"Whatever ya' want Sugar, whatever make ya' pleased."

Sugar smirked, grinned ear to ear. She started undoing his belt enough to pull his pants down. She reached her hand into his boxers an' released him from his briefs. Sugar lifted herself off his lap a little an' aligned herself to him. Slowly — she sunk herself on him.

They both groaned at the feeling. Sammie felt how tight she was, thought he was gon' come undone on the spot. Sugar felt a small stretch, it hurt for a little bit till' the pain went away. Replaced by pleasure.

Sugar sank all the way down on him, bottomed out the second she got all the way down.

Sammie was panting already, an' she barely moved at all. He kept a firm grip on her hips, holding her down. He was scared he'd only last a couple minutes. He couldn't focus with her wrapped round' him like this.

Sugar started rockin'. Both immediately felt it rising. The more she moved, the faster she went. Sammie put his hands on her waist, movin' her more. Pushin' her harder on him.

His arms were on her again, pulling her on him. Sammie put her in a bear hug. One arm was propped up, keeping him up. The other was pullin' Sugar in.

Both of them rolled an' grinded against each other. Moans bounced off the walls. Sammie had his head tilted back, biting his lip try'n to contain his sounds. Sugar was all heavy breathing, hands on Sammies shirt, scrunched up from her grip.

Sammie sat up. Started kissin' up on her neck. Sucking an' biting at her shoulder. Sugar rolled faster.

Sammie was lost in the feeling. The feeling of the bliss. Feeling of the drive. The feeling of her.

"Shit — Sugar, almost there. C'mon, give it to me." "Let go mama."

Whined into is shoulder, Sugars legs shook.

Sammie let out a low groan. Hips snapped up into Sugar.

Once. Twice.

Both bottomed out an' outta breath.

Sugar pushed herself up. he hair was a mess. Tousled like she'd just fought a wild cat. Sammie thought she looked beautiful.

They both took their moment.

Looked at each other, an' laughed.

They sat there for a minute, and laughed with each other. Sugar rested her head on Sammies shoulder, while he kept his arm round' her waist. Thumb occasionally stroking her side.

The moment lasted — till' they heard someone call for Sammie.

Sammie sighed in annoyance. He ain't wanna get up. Not from this, he wanted to stay with her for as long as he could before Stack or Slim would drag him off for the rest of the night with their bullshit. His grip tightened round' her. Sugar let out a small giggle.

She took his face in her hands.

"I think we should get ta' lookin' presentable, yeah?"

Sammie set his head to hers, sighing hard.

"Mmm — Inna' minute Sugar. Wanna stay."

"Hm. Okay — only for a little', can't stay in here forever."

Sammie gave her a small peck on the lips.

"Who said?"

——————————————————————————

🫶 — Heyyyy, hope yall like ittttt 😼😼

[thatnightlamp]

LEMAN RUSS NSFW ALPHABET

Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @druidwolf21 , @imagineherbrightskies

A = Aftercare

At first, he’s terrible at it, growls, huffs, rolls over. But once you teach him, he’s shockingly doting. Wraps you up in thick furs, presses you to his chest, licks your neck lazily like he’s still claiming you, even after.

B = Body Part

Your neck. There’s something about the curve of your throat, how it arches when you moan, that drives him mad. He’ll mouth at it until your voice breaks.

C = Cum

Heavy, thick, and hot. When he finishes inside, you feel it, like a scalding brand of ownership. He loves watching it drip out, spreading your legs to see the mess he made.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s buried old furs and leathers that smell like you in his chambers. When you’re gone too long, he grinds his cock against them while biting down on a rag to muffle his snarls. If you found the stash, he’d go deadly silent, but wouldn’t stop you if you watched.

E = Experience

Plenty, mostly learned the hard way, through instinct and need. He doesn't know finesse at first, but he knows how to fuck. And he learns quickly what makes you writhe. Every growl, every grunt is a lesson retained.

F = Favorite Position

Any position where he’s behind you, on top of you. Bent over furs, pinned under his weight, taken from behind while he growls in your ear and pounds you into the bed. Bonus if your face is in his pelt and you’re gripping it for dear life.

G = Goofy

Yes. Surprisingly yes. He might snort if you make a joke, or nibble you in weird places just to hear you squeal. He’ll tease with that rough tongue of his, say “You’re a funny little thing, aren’t you?” then slam into you with a laugh.

H = Hair

Untamed and glorious. His body is coated in thick, coarse hair, especially his chest, arms, and thighs. His groin is sursprisingly tame, he trims and you swear he must have a comb for it. He smells like pine, blood, and snow-drenched fur. If you run your hands through his hair during sex, he’ll growl and rut deeper.

I = Intimacy

Rough and wordless, but deeply sincere. He doesn’t know how to say “I love you,” but you’ll feel it in the way he curls around you in bed, the way he touches your face with calloused fingers, and the way he chokes out your name as he finishes.

J = Jack Off

Rare. Russ is not patient. He’ll seek you out the moment his balls ache. But if he must, it’s fast, rough, and done with a growl of your name against his hand. He usually comes hard and then punches a wall from frustration.

K = Kink

Biting/Marking. Full wolf behavior—he bites you so everyone knows.

Breeding kink

Scent kink: He buries his nose in your hair, your thighs, your clothes. He can smell your arousal and will chase it like prey.

L = Location

Caves, snowbanks, hot springs, tents filled with furs. Anywhere wild and private. He loves fucking you under the stars, or deep in Fenrisian wilderness, where the only witnesses are beasts and snow.

M = Motivation

Your scent. The little noises you make. The way you look when you beg. If you ever crawl into his lap, teasing him, he’ll have you bent over a table within seconds.

N = No

Anything cold or sterile. Chains, restraints, drugs, or med-bay kink? Absolutely not. He mates by instinct, not by science. And he’ll snarl if anyone else touches you, even as a joke.

O = Oral

Receiving. He loves it. Growls, fists your hair, and thrusts gently against your tongue. May get too intense if you don’t hold him back. His cock is too big to take fully, but he loves watching you try.

P = Pace

Rough. Wild. Sometimes too fast. But he knows when to slow down, especially when you’re whining for it soft. His version of “gentle” is still enough to bruise.

Q = Quickie

Constant. He’ll bend you over a tree, pin you against a wall, drag you behind a tent. If he gets hard, and you’re alone, he’s going to take you. His favorite is pulling you onto his cock mid-hunt.

R = Risk

High. He’ll fuck you anywhere if he thinks no one’s watching. He has zero shame. He’ll try new things, especially if it makes you scream louder.

S = Stamina

Insane. You're not walking afterward. Can go five, six, even ten rounds if you taunt him. He doesn’t stop until you’re limp and leaking and broken in all the best ways.

T = Toys

None. His hands. His teeth. His cock. That’s it. If you ask for toys, he’ll try, but you’ll have to teach him. And he’ll grumble the whole time until he sees you moan, then he gets competitive.

U = Unfair

He’s not a traditional tease, but he loves watching you suffer on the edge. He’ll hold you down, lick between your legs without letting you cum, just so he can growl “Beg louder” in your ear.

V = Volume

Loud. Growls, snarls, panting, howling when he finishes. He doesn’t care who hears. You’ll know he’s close when the snarls soften into whimpers. He’s not ashamed of the sounds. They’re just as honest as his fists.

W = Wild Card

He tries to “court” you like an old Fenrisian legend. Leaves fresh kills outside your door. Crafts rough necklaces from bones. Challenges rivals by staring them down while touching your back. You don’t need to accept, but once you do, he will never leave your side again.

X = X-Ray

Enormous. Thick, hot, curved slightly upward. The base is almost too wide, more knot than cock. When he’s hard, the veins bulge like ridges, and precum drips freely from the slit. Your body has to adjust every time.

Y = Yearning

High. If you’re not in his bed, he misses you. He’ll rut into his palm thinking of your voice, your smell. When you’re gone too long, he gets moody, pacing like a caged wolf.

Z = Zzz

Falls asleep on top of you, his head on your chest or your back against his belly. He snores. Loudly. If you try to move, he growls and drags you closer. You don’t escape the den until morning.