#especially when it just sort of is because hes in wrong place

[jayktoralldaylong]

I wouldn’t say I’m more eloquent or smarter but I’ve been having brain rot about this idiot for three days and I have to talk about him!

Kizaru is truly a pathetic wet mop of a character, and I believe that all of Oda’s characters re intentional to reflect a certain part of the world. ESPECIALLY the officers in the Marines.

We’ve got Garp who’s always talking big about changing the system from the inside but he has been inside that system for nearly 50 years and has changed absolutely NOTHING. 💀 A symbol for the good that allows evil thrive by just doing nothing.

There’s Akainu who doggedly believes that he’s doing the right thing. But in his attempt to burn down evil and narrow it to simple shades of black and white, he is also destroying all the good things of the world and therefore achieving zero success when it comes to ‘Making the world a better and safer place.’

Aokiji/Kuzan is a war criminal. He has done terrible things in the name of the government and justice, but he represents the population that is strong enough to grow the balls needed to walk away. He is staring all of those atrocities in the face, he is accepting them and whatever consequences come from them. Not only has he swallowed the hard pill that he is wrong, he is swallowing the even harder pill of figuring out what he wants to do about it, even after already dedicating so much of his life to the wrong doctrine.

Now Kizaru (I fear this will be long). Kizaru is at the Kuzan stage. He is at the stage where he realizes that everything around him is wrong or bad and so much of their justice is a lie. And although he knows this, he does not accept this.

To put it in simple words, he is running away. 💀

He is not Akainu who doesn’t even realize that his ‘justice’ is just blind dictatorship. Kizaru is fully aware of the people they are hurting, and he’s not cold about it either. Hurting people hurts him too. Yet he will still hurt them. Why? Because he has spent give or take thirty years hurting people.

And to make the choice to turn around, to turn away from that beautiful painted fake lie of justice, and to face the ugly bitter misery that is your legacy…. Ooooh it is tough.

Agh, my thoughts are spinning in circles. I don’t know if I can say it right.

See, he knows the predictable very straightforward path of a Marine which is kill, kill, kill, fight, fight, fight until karma finally catches up with him. He gets paid a decent salary, he has a scheduled time of work and expectations, he has a team that will sort of back him up no matter what (because the Marines is a cult that suffers together). As chaotic as it is to be a Marine, it is an easy and very predictable lifestyle (or at least it used to be).

So knowing all this, when he looks ahead and sees a path where he does not obey the rules of this easy life, it opens to a rainbow of….darkness. 💀 (which is interesting for a man of light). He has obeyed the rules his entire life, because the rules are predictable. Because he has them so memorized that he knows the exact punishment for each time he steps out of line. It is comfortable, it is complacency, it is knowing a system is corrupt and believing there is nothing you can do about it.

Because he KNOWS, the second he steps out of line, the second he disobeys, with his power level, he becomes public enemy number one. 😅😂 And this sense of self preservation is selfish but selfishness is not his inherent trait. His outlook on life seems to be

“I know the rules and I’m following them. If everyone else conveniently did that as well, then I would not need to hurt anyone.”

That’s the first thing he says to Sentomaru. He says they should not have been studying the void, because now they’ve become criminals, and he cannot overlook criminals. It is a clockwork of years spent in a corrupt system and the comfort of the predictability of that system.

Kizaru is the system of people in power that push the narrative that they are powerless. His category is almost as bad as Garp. Garp is worse because he’s not changing shit, he’s actively recruiting, and he’s got family constantly affected by the Marines. I genuinely do not know what Garp is still the Marines. 💀 He should just leave!

That aside. Kizaru seems to have…nothing else going for him. And he’s just used his hands to destroy the only other thing that he could fall back to.

The path of reconstructing learnt bigoted views is not easy. It’s even harder treading that path alone, or as a criminal who will end up right where he started (fighting the friends that he made in the Marines). And Kizaru never fights to kill anyone. All of his interactions with the other characters, he only fights to kill when he is ordered to. But he’ll have to fight to kill as a pirate cause his former friends would definitely be fighting to kill.

The open seas is a place with no support. And there is no possible way that Kizaru will leave the Marines without a bounty on his head. 😂😭 I’m surprised they haven’t drawn one up for Kuzan yet with the way the World Government is.

(All I do on this app is yap)

So yes, he did kill Vegapunk because it was easy, because he’s always chosen the easy thing to do that will cause him the least amount of stress.

But here is the kicker.

This time, it wasn’t easy. This time, even after completing the job, he is still stressed. And now he’s going to live with that stress and that memory and that knowledge for the rest of his life. Some say this might finally be the straw to break the camel’s back and ooooh lord I hope so. I hope this decision haunts him worse than Ohara haunted Kuzan. I hope he can’t close or open his eyes without thinking of Vegapunk, because finally, for the first time in his entire life (because most of his friends are in the Marines or work for the Marines), finally Kizaru has become a victim of the system that he has so doggedly served. And it is eating him alive.

Kizaru is a very fascinating character and I love seeing this example of this type of person.

In the beginning of this arc, he also admitted that he's just a tool of the government and the celestial dragons. It's like, he's fully aware of what he is to the government and to people. He's fully aware of all the atrocities they commit and he commits in their name. He's fully aware that most of what they, and he, do and stand for is wrong and awful. He just doesn't care. Or at least just doesn't care enough to do anything or even think for himself. He's lazy. (Yeah that's the whole thing with his character). Dangerously lazy. It seems like he does have feelings on what the government does, like he doesn't like/want it, he cares about these people who he considers friends, he's sad to see them get hurt. But he chooses to be "a cog in the machine" and never stand up for anyone or fight back.

He's knowledgeable of all the horrible shit the government does, doesn't even like it himself, but does nothing. Actually he does worse than nothing, he does whatever they want him to without complaint, and because it's easier I guess? Easier than fighting back? Easier to just do what you're told than fight for people's lives.

[merrybloomwrites]

When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 11)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: The post concert incident leads to a situation you never saw coming.

Word Count: 2.1K

CW/tags: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, omega drop

Previous chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

AN: Thought of another twist and couldn’t resist adding it. Sorry 🙃

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Two hours.

That’s how long you remain in the drop. Two long hours, during which you’re unaware of what’s happening around you.

After placing you carefully in Zayn’s arms, Louis distances himself, leaving the back room and heading to the small kitchenette in the front of the bus so that his current emotions won’t negatively affect you. He trusts Harry and Zayn to remain calm and take care of you. Niall stays with you as well.

It’s Liam who follows the alpha, wondering what’s wrong, unaware of what happened.

“Lou,” the beta says cautiously. “What’s going on?”

“There was an alpha,” Louis growls. “Cornered her. Made advances. I could feel her fear. And he just- He wouldn’t let her go.”

“But you got there in time?”

“Yes.”

“And then she dropped?”

“No.”

“Louis-”

“The fans. The people who say they love us. They were out there shouting horrible comments at her. Calling her all sorts of horrible things. I don’t understand how they could be so cruel. It was all just too much. Y/N dropped right before we got on the bus. I stayed calm but I am enraged. I want to go back out there and rip that alphas throat out. And. Well obviously I don’t want to hurt the fans. But it would feel nice to yell at them. Tell them how hurtful they were being.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, processing the situation while Louis continues to pace and wear out his angry energy. Finally, the alpha flops onto a chair, letting out a loud sigh.

“I want to keep her safe,” he says softy.

“You did. You did everything you could. Got her away from the alpha. Got her back to the bus. There’s not much any of us can do about unruly fans. Think we figured that out a while ago,” Liam says.

“I know. I got used to whatever they threw at us. But I hate it being directed at her. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s being called names because of us. It’s not right.”

Slowly, carefully, Liam kneels on the ground next to Louis. The older man places a hand on the other's neck, a position that brings them both comfort. For the alpha, it’s a safe way to express dominance, allowing Louis to gain a sense of control. The beta finds it comforting, his alpha accepting and caring for him.

They stay that way until Niall walks in and says, “Lou, the others are asking for you.”

“Y/N’s up?” Louis asks, his voice hopeful.

“Sorry, no. Not yet. Zayn and Harry want to talk to you,” Niall answers.

With a nod and one final squeeze to the beta, Louis gets up. Niall stops him as he passes, pulling him in for a quick reassuring kiss. It soothes the alpha enough that he’s calm when he gets back to you.

Harry has you in his lap now, and Zayn is rubbing his wrist against yours, using the glands there to help douse you in his scent.

The two men look up as Louis enters, and he asks, “How is she?”

“Calm,” Harry answers. “She was a little restless at first but she’s better now. I think she’s past the fear and into the resting and refreshing stage of the drop.”

“Good. That’s good. Niall said that you wanted to talk to me?”

“We’re worried,” Zayn states. “This isn’t good for her health. Mental or physical.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?” Harry asks.

“That I don’t know,” Louis replies. “Let’s just finish the last couple of shows. Maybe during the break she can see a doctor, talk to a therapist, figure out if there’s anything that can help her handle this type of career.”

“You think going to a doctor is going to help stop alphas being creeps and fans being rude?” Zayn asks, a touch of accusation in his voice.

“No of course not! We can’t control the actions of other people, but we can increase security to keep her safe.”

They sit in silence and Louis quietly adds. “We’ll figure this out. It might take some work, but, we’ll just, we’ll figure it out.”

He wishes he could explain it better, but honestly he’s exhausted. It’s the middle of the night, he’s stressed and tired, the bus is moving in a rocking motion that makes him just want to lay down and sleep. But he can’t. Not until you come up and he’s sure you’re okay.

A few minutes later you breathe a deep sigh, so different from the even breaths of the last two hours that they all turn to watch you. Slowly you begin to shift until finally your eyes open.

“Hey there,” Zayn says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Early morning, nearly 2,” Harry replies.

“Great. I’m going to sleep,” you state.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Louis says. “Should we all lay down here?”

“No, I’m going to my bunk,” you reply, confusing the others. They honestly can’t remember the last time you slept in your bunk, always back here with at least one other pack member. But they don’t stop you, letting you stand, reaching out just in case you’re a little unsteady. You ignore the arms outstretched towards you and head to the bathroom before crawling into your bunk.

You don’t sleep, instead laying there and listening to the others all make their way to their own bunks. Your mind is busy, swirling with thoughts of what happened earlier and the conversation you had overheard as you came up from your drop.

What had happened after the concert was bad enough. But the alphas thinking you need medical attention? Therapy?

So they do think you’re weak. That something is wrong with you. And they’re probably right. You love performing, but you have to admit, there are other ways to live. Ones that won’t leave you drained, constantly running on empty. Maybe it’s time for a career change.

You’re sure the boys would support you; they care about you and your health. It might take some extra planning, but it could probably work.

With a potential solution in mind you feel better. There are only a few days left of the tour. You can make it through that and then figure things out from there.

You eventually fall asleep thinking that everything will be okay.

You’re less sure of that when you wake up to an email telling you that you’ll be meeting with Simon Cowell. Face to face, one on one. It’ll be the first time you’re meeting him like this since your first day on the job months ago. This time you truly have no idea what to expect.

When the boys ask where you are going you reply, “To a meeting.” And when they ask for details you just say, “Not sure. Probably a performance review or discussion of my contract since the tour is ending.”

You leave the bus and enter the car that’s waiting for you. Thankfully Paul is driving you, so you have a friendly face. It’s a short drive and soon you arrive at an office building. Following the instructions you’ve been given, you make your way inside and upstairs.

It’s weird sitting across a desk from Simon again. The energy is not good, and your anxiety starts to rise.

“I’m going to say something that I don’t often say,” he begins. You don’t answer, instead watching him expectantly.

“I made a mistake. I thought bringing you in would be a help to the boys. But unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be happening.”

Now you’re confused.

“But it has been good for them. They’ve learned how to care for an omega, care about me. They’ve really opened up and I’ve seen them grow.”

“And that’s all well and good. But unfortunately, adding you to the band, and to the pack, will be a detriment to their careers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ratings are suffering. People are leaving the fandom. With you there, they no longer get to imagine it will be them that’s chosen to be the final piece of One Direction. The boys are no longer desirable. You are hurting their career. Everything they’ve worked towards.”

It knocks the air out of you. Because it makes sense. The fans were angry last night. They hate you. Having you there is dragging the boys down.

And who are you to wreck the empire they’ve spent years creating? How selfish would you be if you let your feelings destroy all the time and energy they’ve put into this band?

“You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” you reply in a quiet voice.

“So you understand why I'm not offering you a new contract after this one ends on Friday?”

“Yes.”

“And why it would be in everyone’s best interest if you broke off your relationship?”

Finding it hard now to breathe, you just nod yes to show you understand.

“I know this will be difficult, but it’s the right choice. Here is your new flight information. You’ll be traveling back to New Jersey on Saturday morning. Your belongings will be shipped to you. Do you need us to arrange a car home from the airport?”

“No. I’ll call someone.”

“Excellent. Contact Ryan if you have any questions about the logistics.”

You nod once again.

“Y/N, it has been a pleasure working with you. Truly, you are a very talented drummer. If you ever need a reference for a new job please reach out and we will happily recommend you.”

“Thank you,” you hear yourself say.

In a daze you make your way back to the car.

“Is there any way I can stop at a cafe or something? I could use a little time before going back to the bus,” you ask Paul.

“Of course. There’s one a couple blocks away,” he says and begins driving. Once there he comes in with you, but gives you space, just remaining nearby to keep an eye on you.

On auto pilot, you order a coffee and find a seat in a back corner, needing some time alone to think through everything. One thing is for sure. You will do anything to protect the boys. You want them to be happy and successful. As painful as it will be, you know that leaving is the best choice.

But you can’t do a goodbye. Maybe that’s selfish, but you know they’ll fight you on this decision. That they’ll beg you to stay. And that will just hurt you more.

You pull out the notebook and pen you always keep in your bag and begin to write. A letter may never truly capture everything you want to say to them, but this is the best you can think to do. When you finish writing you somehow feel better, and also one hundred times worse. Reality sinks in. You’re leaving. In just a few days, you’ll separate from them for good.

But you still have a few days. And no one is stopping you from enjoying them, soaking in the last bit of time you have. So you put a smile on your face and head over to Paul, asking him to take you back to the bus.

Of course, the next few days fly by. The concerts are amazing, and you mourn the fact that you won’t be performing again. At least, not for a while. You have no idea when you’ll get to be back on stage, if ever. And that’s just another reason why this whole situation sucks.

There’s a party after the final show, and you lower your inhibitions, dancing the night away with the boys. Back at the hotel you all pile in bed, exchanging heated kisses. If things were different, this would be the night you’d go all the way with them.

But you can’t do that. Not to them, since you’d feel like you were using them. And not to yourself. You can’t open yourself up, experience what it’d be like to truly connect with them, only to leave them the next day. Better not to know what you’re missing out on.

You barely sleep, not wanting to miss a moment of the little time you have left. You sneak items from each of them into your bag, knowing you’ll want their scents around for at least a little while to ease the pain.

All too soon, the sun starts to rise and it’s time for you to leave. Carefully, so gently as to not wake anyone, you lean and press a kiss to each of them. Before you can even comprehend what this means, you quickly grab your bags and force yourself out of the room, leaving behind the people you love, and the future you thought you had.

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AN: Honestly, who wrote this angst, because I didn’t even know I could write angst but this just flowed out in about 2 hours total

taglist: @luxiorchive

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of Paul Hackett from the film After Hours. The piece is landscape, but the bold dark blue background has a lot of empty space, with Paul confined to the right side. The piece is drawn upwards of his shoulders. He has a exhausted and apathetic expression on his face, with his head tilted to one side slightly. His skin is coloured with exaggerated tones, with dark purple shadows circling his eyes. He is covered in a white plaster dust, which congregates on his disheveled hair and suit jacket. Behind him, there's an askew streetlight, which has a glaring red light at the top. It is the brightest part of the piece, and is drawn with spikes of red protruding from the lighter light yellow in the middle. To the left of this, there's the phrase "stop him!", written out like it is on his wanted poster. The lineart is a very dark navy colour, although it veers redder on Paul. It has stark shadows but also sections of softer, more textured shading.]

Inktober - Day 8 (Hike)

Film - After Hours (Martin Scorsese, 1985)

[thistle-wrote]

Husbands

cw: established poly relationship, anal, vaginal sex. Authors note: for the first time in my life, I get to give one of those ridiculous notes to preface my fic. as I was writing this my house was swarmed with BEES so I'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. John Price X Simon Ghost Riley X Reader.

“John?” John glanced over at you, his focus mostly on the newspaper in his hand.

“Yes, princess?” 

“Love, why is Simon in the guest bed?” You question him, you weren’t upset by any means, truth be told you love it when Simon comes over, even more when he stays for a while it’s just when John crawled into your bed last night he hadn’t mentioned Simon was with him.

“Probably because he’s tired.” John said not looking up from the paper, it was the kind of plain, dry statement you usually got from your otherwise adoring husband. You met his gaze with a rather unamused expression, a silent demand for an actual answer.

“Needed some love from baby girl, that's all, we had a rough go round this time.” He states, leaning back farther into his recliner. You watch him as he gives a slight wince at the pain in his side. You hate that. John was clearly feeling as though that statement was enough of an explanation, and for the most part, it was.

You understood little of your husband’s job beyond the simple and watered down explanations he gives when he comes back from missions, still, you understood enough to know they needed extra love and care for a while afterwards, Simon is no different except for the fact he’s easier to deal with.

You make your way down the hallway, feeling the soft new carpet that you begged John for beneath your feet, muffling your steps. You open the door to the guest bedroom to find Simon sprawled out on the small bed.

“Si?”  You cautiously speak, you know for a fact he is not sleeping, the man rarely sleeps as is but definitely not in a bed two sizes too small and especially not after going through God knows what.

“Honey.” You probe again, walking now fully into the room and sitting down on the white crinkly duvet next to where he’s lying. His eyes are open but still, you get no response, you look him over noticing the new cut on his cheek, the facial hair he hasn’t bothered to shave yet, the bags under his eyes, the way his blonde hair sticks up in every direction from tossing and turning all night.

You never have loved the way he looks after a mission, always worse off than John, you know that John just hides it better but you worry for them both.

“Gotta tell me what you need, baby boy.” You mutter trying not to let the worry in your face show while brushing your fingers along the curve of his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that he will no doubt shave within a few days. He looks up at you, for a brief moment you can see the relaxed expression, like for a second he forgot about everything, everything but you. 

“I’m hungry.” A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean down to place a soft kiss to his chapped lips.

“I’ll make you something.” 

As you cook you think of Simon, of John, you think of how lucky you are to not only have an amazing husband but to have the man in your guest bedroom. John doesn’t say it enough and Simon won’t ever admit it but the three of you have found a rhythm, this is Simon’s home as much as it was yours and John’s. It’s better when he’s home.

“Cookin’?” John asks after a few minutes, walking halfway into the kitchen and leaning onto the door frame.

“Yes.” You respond softly looking up with a smile, where John and Simon differ is mostly in the way that they treat you, neither one bad or wrong but different. John saw you, his little wife, as some sort of angel; he’s told you as much. He never asks or demands anything of you. You don’t work; you only cook or clean out of your own volition. To him, you’re more of a precious artifact that can’t be tampered with.

Simon is different, he’s a little more closed off, so you need a more aggressive approach, he’s learned over the years that your demands for him to tell exactly what he wants will be met with not hostility, but a soft hand and a loving voice, doing for him exactly what he needs. You’re sure that John wanted breakfast just as much as Simon did, but John would never ask for it.

As you cook, John remains in the kitchen, not speaking, but there’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, it’s comfortable, loving, and warm despite John’s current condition he wants to be in your presence.

After a long stretch of comfortable silence, you speak again. “Simon looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.” You mutter. You know that despite him not always behaving like he does, John cares as much for Simon as you do. Simon and John have a relationship that is difficult to explain, not only in how John allows him into both your home and marital bed. But also, how John relies on Simon to take care of you when he can’t, to meet you at the petrol station to fill your tank when he’s closer, to call and check on you when his phone dies. John expects Simon to have the same kind of care for you as he does.

“He hasn’t.” John’s simple statement makes you stand on edge a little, you love Simon, John knows that. You know when they are gone doing things that they won’t explain to you, Simon has John to look out for him, but they are men. A pat on the back from John does not have the same effect that a tender embrace or a home cooked meal does.

Once the simple meal of toast, eggs, and sausage was cooked, you made John a plate, sitting in front of him with a small clink of ceramic against the granite island. He smiled, a wordless “thank you.“ as you made Simon a plate carrying it with you to the guest bedroom.

You didn’t bother with a knock when you entered the bedroom. You set the plate on the nightstand, then sat in the same spot you had previously.

“Sit up, love.” It’s a demand, a loving demand, but a demand, nonetheless. He does as requested.  You never wish for Simon to be wearing a shirt, but at this moment, seeing the bruise along his torso and the bandage on his arm, makes you almost wish he were wearing one. Your incessant need to mother your men at war with your desire to focus only on what you could control; you could control breakfast.

“Here.” You hum, placing the plate on his lap. His tired eyes find yours. As Simon eats, you don’t move, you just chatter, talking to him, as though he were responding you watch his silent nods as he shovels food into his mouth as if he would never get to eat again.  As Simon finished his plate you began to pick it up, taking it to clean when you felt a big rough hand wrap around your wrist.

“Don’t go.” His deep voice echoed through the room, not loud, or demanding but a clear plea. You nodded, understanding what he needed in that moment was not breakfast in bed or space but rather just your presence. 

You move over the bed, making a mental note to buy him a bigger bed for the guest bedroom since he’s the only one who stays in it. You cautiously curl up into his side, pushing your legs beneath the covers to intertwine them with his own. Simon wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply.

It was a satisfied sigh. You let the large man manhandle you, allowing him to pull you where he sees fit with your head now resting against the inside of his shoulder and your fingers grazing along his tummy. He speaks finally for the first time without you prompting him to do so. “Missed you.” It’s quiet like a confession he doesn’t feel he’s allowed to make.

“I missed you too, baby.”  You don’t hold the same reservation about voicing your adoration for the man curled up next to you. A soft kiss grazed your lips as he pulled you further into his chest.

“Love you.” he murmured against your lips, your want to say it back was stopped by his mouth, continuing to move against yours, holding your arm, as if he feared you trying to pull away. Things with Simon have always been silent, actions rather than words. While he is silent, you are fully aware he is asking for something in the way his hands wandered from your arm to the small of your back, to your ass. 

A desperation to be close, close where your bodies can meld together. When his lips moved from yours to your neck you let out an involuntary little whine. His soft, loving kisses, turned into something more, an outlet.

“Si.” You whine out. He, despite being tired and drained from the past month, let out a laugh and an almost condescending chuckle, sure the sweet boy had been waiting for soft kisses and breakfast in bed, getting to cuddle with the captain’s missus but he was hungry and not for food.

You let out a little gasp when his hand slipped down the front of your leggings. “Si.” You repeated it again this time, breathless, longing.  He let out a groan when his fingers swept between your folds.

“There’s my girl.”  He said, his fingers gliding along your slick sex. You had no words left, no protests either. Already the world around you grew hazy, and before you knew what happened, your T-shirt and leggings were in a heap on the floor.

Simon took his time watching, touching, kissing. He drew orgasm after orgasm from your body with just the deep plunge of his fingers.

“Well, that’s a pretty sight.”  A deep voice hummed from the doorway. Normally, you would acknowledge the presence of your husband but the way your lover was working his fingers into you could make even the smartest of women feel dumb.

Simon didn’t respond, just glanced over through his dilated pupils, merely continuing as John crossed the bedroom sitting down on the duvet.  For a moment you thought he would just watch His lieutenant pull sweat noises from your lips, but you believed you may have seen God when his thumb made contact with your clit.

“Give us another, pretty girl.”  You weren’t sure in that moment exactly who the words came from; you were unable to respond. All you knew was that the words were being spoken to you. 

And you did, not that you could help it. It was almost instantaneous, the way your body tensed before releasing. You drenched Simon’s torso, you didn’t even realize what you’d done at first, you squirt so rarely.  Once their hands came to a halt, you blinked you opened your eyes. Embarrassment worked its way onto your already pink cheeks.

“I’m s…” Your apologies were instantly cut off. “Shut up.” The words weren’t mean despite the quickness and aggression in them. It wasn’t mean, it was desperate. Shirts were ripped off, pants unzipped. While you lay there heaving and trying to come down from your high.

There was zero protest from you when you were lifted from your spot on the bed. You were pulled to lay on top of Simon‘s chest. Even in your limp and already fucked out state, you had half of mind to protest simply because of his bruise. The words died in your throat though, as your husband knelt in front of you.

“Be good okay, Pretty?” John said, positioning your legs, pushing your knees against your shoulders as Simon held the underneath of your thighs. You nodded, both men seemingly took that as their go ahead.

Simon pushed himself into you, a sensation you had gotten used to throughout the years. He was big, but he likes your ass, so it’s not an abnormal feeling either. You whine and wiggle a little at first, but as he settles, your body got used to the stretch, as you tipped your head back John too, began nudging your wet hole with the reddened, hard tip of his cock.

John, however, did not give you the same consideration as Simon, there was no time to get used to the stretch. He plunged himself to the hilt, touching your cervix. In an instant it was as if everyone let out a sigh of relief, like this, despite the responsibilities and lives of every person, was exactly where they were all meant to be.

Both of your men began moving, each at their own pace. Each grunting and groaning. You don’t believe in heaven, it has always seemed an abstract concept. But this? This has to be it.

As they both rutted into you, you whined. “Don’t start crying on me now, princess.” John’s deep voice commanded. You obey as best you can. Simon squeezes on your thigh as he continues his relentless pace. The huffing and gripping onto his arms is all you can do to keep from screaming in pleasure.

They each continue with rapidly increasing speeds, speaking filthy things to you as they near their individual climaxes. “Milkin’ me fokin’ dry.”  The first words from Simon’s mouth in a while, an indication of just how close he was. 

John was not far off, his breathing was rapid, his grip on your knees nearing on painful. His strokes got harder, rougher. Then all at once you could feel him snap, you could feel the warmth of him spilling into you. His pace slowed as he rode out his orgasm.

Simon did not stop. Soon his pace too slowed as he filled you up with him. 

You all lay there for a moment, no one speaking. Just breathing in the comfortable, love filled space. You always know exactly what to do to give them the little TLC they need.

CoD Masterlist

[skyahri]

How They'd Do You |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Madara Uchiha, and Naruto Uzumaki.

Summary: How they are in bed.

Warnings: NSFW. Mentions of sex and foreplay. Breeding kink, breast and nipple play, head, etc.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

Sasuke isn't one to give up control very easily, especially when he's in any sort of vulnerable state.

More often than not, he's on top of you, forcing your legs against your chest and not holding anything back as he thrusts into you.

On the rare occasion he allows you to top, he's still 100% in control. He always ends up taking over towards the end when he can't take it anymore. His release is close, and something in his brain is begging him to rail you.

He wouldn't be into actual choking in fear he'd lose control of his strength, but he's not afraid to use your neck as a handle of sorts to keep your body from moving too much.

Hes the embodiment of a breeding kink.

He's close to his end. He places his hand on your stomach and forces his seed in you.

If he's still got stamina, he's pushing you onto your hands and knees for round two, ass high up in the air.

"Not a single drop spills. Got it?"

Emergency contraceptive is your best friend, but let's be real. It fails sooner rather than later based on the sheer amount you rely on it.

Kakashi Hatake

Foreplay king. He loves head, both giving and receiving, sometimes even at the same time. Nipple play, fingering, whatever it is you're needing, he's providing.

Passionate.

When he does share his mind, it's never a light matter, and sex is no different.

Kissing, hand holding, praising - it's all a very important part of the act for him. He's pouring his heart and soul into you every time you're together.

But don't get it wrong, he's still a man. Those sweet nothings and soft whispers about how much he loves you quickly turn into dirty talk.

"You're such a good girl."

"You look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

"You're mine, you know that?"

He definitely sticks his fingers in your mouth.

After a certain point, he let's his dick do the thinking for him. You don't mind one bit.

He's all about aftercare. Rags or showers or just physical contact, whatever you want, he's got it. He knows he's not always the best at taking care of you, but this is one instance where he's confident about what he's doing.

Shikamaru Nara

My man is lazy and that doesn't change, even in the bedroom.

He usually doesn't go down on you but enjoys when you sit on his face. He'll wrap his arms around to grip your thighs. He's never one to turn down head but doesn't really make foreplay a priority.

Some might call him a pillow princess at first glance, but it's deeper than that. He has the control, he just let's you do the work most of the time.

You may be on top, but his strong grip and guiding fingers tell you exactly what to do.

Sometimes, he doesn't care for the pleasantries that come with dragging it out. He'll nestle between your legs and let his head dip down to your neck.

Lazy thrusts, but that's fine. Deeper is always better than faster.

He doesn't really do dirty talk, but he's definitely not silent. He's vocal, always groaning, maybe he'll tell you that he loves you if he's feeling a certain way.

Madara Uchiha

Most of the time, he's hate fucking you.

There's no time for foreplay when he's immediately slamming you against the wall when he gets home.

Despite all the anger radiating off of him as he mercilessly thrusts into you, he's calling you the sweetest nicknames he can think of. Love or Darling or something of the sort.

He always finishes inside. You're not sure if he's just too busy letting his frustration out to think, or if he's actively trying to get you pregnant.

It's both... sort of. For him, anger is just passion and fuel. It has nothing to do with his actions. He's pumping you full of his cum because he likes to claim you. He wants you to bare his children. He wants people to know you're his.

Aftercare isn't as straightforward for him. He's not offering to clean you up, but he tries to find ways to subtly apologize for turning you into a toy.

Naruto Uzumaki

Naruto runs on pure instinct in every aspect of his life.

He's doing what feels right in the moment and confirming it with you if it's something he's unsure about. (Consent is key).

He's a people pleaser. He's always making sure he takes care of you before he even thinks about himself. Eating you out, fingering, breast play, whatever you want.

He's sloppy. It's just something that always emerges with him. He's placing wet kisses on your neck, his hand placement can sometimes be a bit awkward, but it all adds to the experience.

His head gets so foggy with love and lust that he honestly can't think straight. The way his body takes control and he ravages you in an almost primal way, it's to die for.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tell me again that you hate me

a/n: i kinda just poured all of the filth ever into this one fic... you're welcome.

summary: “you know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

warnings: bully!stepbro!rafe cameron x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, enemies to lovers, rafe is in college while reader is still in high school (everyone is over 18), blackmail, alcohol consumption, allusion to drug use, drunk driving, hidden cameras, panty stealing, references to somno, possessiveness, kissing, loss of virginity, size kink, belly bulge, pain kink, dirty talk, impact play, oral, pussyjob, just the tip, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, no aftercare and not really any foreplay, public sex, rafe is mean and pervy and dark but it's all fun because it's just a silly fantasy

word count: 5153

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Your life had turned into a living nightmare.

You thought that when your high school bully graduated, you’d finally get rid of him. But little did you know what the future held in store, just who your own mother would decide to marry and what particular family you’d be forced to fuse with. 

Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. Sure, when you’d first met him, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, but that was until he noticed you and truly showed you the notorious bully that he was. And now that he, the very person who had turned your teenage years into literal hell, had become your stepbrother, you couldn’t wait to get out of there, move halfway across the globe just to never see his face again. 

It also didn’t help matters that you got situated in the room right next to his, even had to share a Jack and Jill bathroom with him. 

Now what you didn’t know was how Rafe’s feelings truly were towards you. How he only started bullying you because you made him feel some type of way that no other chick did, but you came from the wrong side of the island, so getting those feelings out in the form of cruelty only seemed natural to a guy such as him. You had no idea that it was actually you whom he thought about every time he jerked off on the other side of that incredibly thin wall you shared, or even that his wicked fascination with you only seemed to grow now that you were a part of the family. 

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[stevebabey]

pre-steddie (its rly scratching the itch atm), steve harrington being a sad drunk :(, angst with a happy ending, 1.4k

If you asked him how it transpired, Eddie couldn’t tell you — but somehow, there’s a drunk Steve Harrington on the Munson’s couch.

Physically, he’d hazard a guess Steve walked all the way from whatever party he’d been at. Which is a concern in itself—either Steve wandered through the woods or he wandered quite some way, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

The why of why Steve’s here—why he chose to sought out Eddie in particular—is another mystery altogether.

If Eddie had to guess, he’d say somewhere between the commonality of crashing at each other’s place to keep the nightmares at bay and a night of drinking is how Steve ended up here.

It’s nearing midnight the clock tells him, blinking red from the microwave. Steve’s holding a glass of water that he’s sipped from only once.

And he’s sad.

Considering it, Eddie hadn’t thought Steve would be a sad drunk. Especially if you consider the sheer amount of parties he threw as a teenager.

It just doesn’t quite fit into his ever changing picture of Steve Harrington. Like a puzzle piece the wrong shape that doesn’t fit with the rest. Happy drunk? Horny drunk? Those made better sense than this.

But then again, Eddie stopped trying to make sense of Steve a couple months after the Vecna-episode of their lives.

(It’s sort of something he really likes about Steve, that he can’t ever really pin him down — that he’s always surprising Eddie.)

Either way, the fact remains that Steve is drunk and Steve is sad.

Eddie just doesn’t know about what.

“C’mon,” Eddie nudges the glass in Steve’s hand gently, the second time tonight. “Gotta drink up, Stevie, lest you risk the wrath of tomorrow’s hangover.”

Steve’s slumped sideways on the couch, not too drunk to be out of it, but evidently rather physically beat. He’s leaning his head up against the ratty leather of the couch, his eyes closed.

Eddie sits opposite him, enough distance to keep it friendly, but close enough to catch the glass if Steve suddenly decides he doesn’t feel like holding it anymore.

He wants to sit closer, wants to maybe even hold Steve’s hand. Cup his face and murmur sweet nothings until sad drunk Steve is replaced by someone happier.

Eddie swallows the desire down, away.

By all accounts, there’s nothing Steve’s said or done to give away his sadness. Eddie only knows he’s sad from that slight downturn of his mouth — the slight jut of his lip. The world’s most adorable pout if it wasn’t being caused for bad reasons, Eddie thinks.

He knows what it looks like because it’s what Steve looks like when he wakes from a nightmare. When he’s properly distressed, thrust to the verge of tears. Eddie knows the sight well. (And Steve knows his.)

On the couch beside him, Steve makes a little noise in response to the nudge. His eyes crease open.

He looks tired. It’s not the exhaustion that comes with terror, with having sleep chased from you, but… bone-deep tiredness.

Eddie’s lip part, unsure if it’s to urge Steve to drink some water again or just to ask what’s wrong when—

“No one wants it.” Steve says, in the smallest voice. It’s barely a whisper.

Eddie’s brows draw together. The sadness in Steve’s words travel out, pushing an ache into his chest.

“Wants what?”

Steve is silent. He’s not looking at Eddie — he wasn’t before, but now his gaze is downcast, studying the glass in his hands. His finger traces the rim.

“Wants what, Steve?” Eddie tries again.

This time, Steve sighs and it looks like it takes the wind out of him completely. “My…”

There’s a crack in his voice. Steve clears his throat and closes his eyes again, this time scrunched up as if he’s resisting the emotion that tries to take over.

“My stupid love. Keep… keep tryna give it, but no one wants to take it.” He inhales jaggedly, turning an inch and pressing further into the couch, like he’s hiding. His voice is muffled and wrecked. “No one wants it.”

Something splinters in Eddie’s chest, slivers of agony burying beneath his skin. He’s speechless.

How can Steve think that? How can he believe that?

“I do,” Eddie says, before realising what’s he’s saying.

Steve stiffens on the couch, tentatively digging his face out from hiding. His downturned eyes still have that warbling sadness and Eddie just needs to make it better — even if it means throwing his pathetic crush under the bus.

“Eddie-” Steve says, wary and tired all at once, as if he’s saying don’t do this, don’t lie to me.

“I do. It sounds lovely,” Eddie insists, completely truthful. “If you want someone to give it to, I’ll take it. I want it.”

Steve eyes him. Some of that melancholy in him has turned to apprehension. He sniffles a bit and sighs again.

“Not- not like that.” Steve murmurs, eyes falling back to the glass in his hands. He speaks with a lilt of embarrassment, as though he thinks it’s shameful to care this much. “Not as a friend, Eddie.”

A stone grows in Eddie’s throat. It’ll hurt like hell to swallow it, to speak, but Steve has always been worth it.

“I know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t quite keep all his nerves out of the words and they jam up in his mouth for a moment. “Not like that, Steve.”

He desperately wants to grab his own hair, to fiddle with it, release some tension, but he also doesn’t want to break the quiet softness between them.

The fridge hums in the silence. The clock on the microwave blinks back midnight.

Wishing hour? Maybe in some myths and stories. Eddie clings it anyway.

Steve’s hazel eyes are a little wider now. A little more awake. He’s picked his head up, no longer leaning against the couch cushions.

“You…”

Freak. Fag. Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies every awful way this could roll, entirely too late. He tenses up, shoulders curling in, a minuscule motion.

But Steve doesn’t look disgusted, he looks a little in disbelief.

“You… want it?” He asks, that same quiet whisper.

And that does a number of Eddie’s heart—the enormity of Steve’s disbelief that someone would want his love, that the rest of it—the semantics, the fact that boys can’t kiss boys—doesn’t even matter to him.

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. He nods jerkily, the nerves still there, even with Steve’s easy acceptance. “I do. I’d love to have it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s laid his head back down, his hair scrunched up against the leather, but his eyes are still on Eddie. Not scrutinising, just studying. There’s still that hazy look to them, no doubt the alcohol still in his veins.

“I never… didn’t think…” He’s murmuring more to himself. From the concentration of his gaze, he’s thinking hard. He sniffles again, nose twitching and then frowns, eyes cast to the side, before,

“Okay,” Steve says finally, voice quiet. “If you… if you mean it.”

Then he unfurls his hand, the one that had been tracing the glass, and puts it forward. Between them on the couch.

Eddie eyes it, stomach swooping, pulse thudding, and then does what he does best; throws caution to the wind. Steve might hate him tomorrow but tonight, Eddie won’t hide.

Their fingers slot together easily, two perfect puzzle pieces.

Eddie wonders if him in Steve’s life, him like this with Steve, is one of those things that would work—would make sense. If he wants to make sense with Steve or instead be another surprising thing about him.

(That Steve Harrington might like boys. Might like Eddie.)

Steve is gazing at their joined hands. For the first time since he got to Eddie’s trailer, his lips turn upward, a very small yet happy smile. He gives a very light squeeze with his hand, the lack of strength evidence of his sleepiness. Eddie squeezes back nonetheless.

Then Steve’s eyes are closed and in a few deep breathes, he’s out like a light.

It’s a careful process to extract the glass of water from Steve’s clenched hand, but Eddie manages it. It sits on the edge of the coffee table and when Steve wakes up, mouth dry and in need of water, it will be there.

And so will Eddie.

The burning possibilities of what happens come tomorrow—when Steve’s sober and actually thinking straight (ha)—filter through Eddie’s mind, but he can’t find it in himself.

There’s no regret of he’s done. What he’s said, what’s been revealed.

It’s tomorrow’s problem (or tomorrow’s fantasy come true…?), but til then, Eddie burrows into the couch and readies for a sore neck tomorrow morning.

He should really get up and turn the lamp off, Eddie thinks to himself. Then Steve snuffles in his sleep, uses their intertwined fingers to bring him closer, and he forgets all about it.

[mercurial-chuckles]

On the qui vive

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader WC: ~1k Warnings: Fluff | Established relationship | Absolutely-in-love Bucky | Protective Bucky | Bucky painting your toenails | Bucky taking care of some business (mob elements) | Bucky being hot and incorrigible | Allusions to spicy times | Some language | Very much unbeta'd | Let me know if I missed anything! A/N: Sorry, I haven't been on much here. Found a thought in my drafts and put together something haphazardly for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 02 Prompt: "Did I give you permission?" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Damn it!

You scrambled around the hotel suite.

You were supposed to be on time. You always told yourself you'd have everything sorted and ease into important days with a calm, relaxed start. But nope. That version of you clearly didn't exist. A miserable case of chaos was what you were.

Gawd!

Bucky was to be blamed anyway. He'd flown in late last night, and he didn't let you out of the bed ever since he stepped foot into the hotel room. And he thwarted every attempt of you sneaking out of the bed this morning, dragging you right back into his arms. You couldn't believe sometimes that he could be so insatiable despite being married for more than a decade now.

Your husband was a ridiculously sinful man, indeed! Not that you usually complained about your husband's incorrigible loving ways. But today was an important day, and you should be there on time.

You had a luncheon with the whole team today before your book launch tomorrow, and Jeremy would absolutely have your head if you were late to your own event. You'd already been two minutes late to the dinner meeting last night. To be fair, that wasn't really your fault either. You got held up by a couple of women who somehow recognized you. You hadn't expected anyone to know you, especially not in Venice, so far from home. It was endearing. You'd been so flustered when they asked for your autograph that you walked into the meeting grinning like an idiot, only to get an earful from Jeremy for being late.

Yesterday was a simple team dinner, but today was important, and you couldn't be late by a second.

You heard the loud yawn, followed by a grunt.

Fucking Finally!

"Bucky, hurry up, will ya?" you called out to him.

"I'm almost ready, pretty girl," came his gravelly rasp.

You'd both gotten maybe a couple of hours of sleep between stuff. You turned just in time to see him walking out of the bedroom, phone against his ear, as he said, "Good," before placing the phone down on the kitchen counter.

He wandered over, buttoning up his white shirt at such a seductively slow pace, you grunted annoyedly at him for various reasons.

Jesus Christ! He looked divine.

You sat cross-legged on the ottoman, rushing to paint your toenails because, of course, you didn't get to do them earlier. No thanks to your husband. You figured you could get it done while Bucky got dressed lazily, leisurely.

Whatever was up with him today.

He strolled over, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth that you cut hurriedly for you both a few minutes earlier.

And then he met your eyes.

Shit.

The second he looked at you, you knew. Bucky knew. You didn't know who snitched, but after nearly fifteen years with Bucky Barnes, you shouldn't be so surprised. Your husband always knew when someone so much as breathed your way wrong.

You'd actually been relieved he wasn't at the dinner last night. Because if he had been, things would've gone very differently. Henry, your executive publisher, had cornered you. He was drunk and touchy, and you managed to wiggle out of the situation without making a scene. Mostly because you didn't want to see bloodshed. But the second it happened, you knew it would've been a disaster if Bucky had seen it. So yeah, you were glad he'd been delayed. Even if part of you wished he'd been there to stop it from happening at all.

He sank onto the couch in front of you, dragging your foot into his lap.

You tried to wiggle away, but his grip tightened around your calf.

"Stay still," he warned in a dangerously low voice. Nevertheless, you squirmed.

"We don't have much time," you argued, worry gnawing at you.

"Don't worry, pretty girl. I got you," he said calmly, and he took the little bottle of nail polish from your hand.

"You'll ruin your trousers," you muttered.

"Gotta be still then, Sweetheart," He hummed softly, too jaunty, for your liking. Bucky painted the first toe carefully. It was utterly unbelievable how quickly he unraveled you.

You watched him, waiting for him to ask you, but he didn't, making you groan internally. And the longer he kept painting, the more nervous you got.

"Should I just tell you?" you mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky didn't look up. "Tell me what, beautiful?"

"You know what."

"Do I?" He raised his eyes, and that dark gleam in them made your stomach twist. It was dangerous, that look, especially for your poor heart, always ready to topple you more and more into him.

Your phone rang. Jeremy. You answered quickly.

"Hey! Promise I won't be late. Ten minutes tops…" Jeremy, however, cut you off your babbling, "You didn't hear?" he said urgently.

"Hear what?" you asked confused.

"Henry. He was in some kind of accident this morning. It's serious. We gotta cancel the lunch."

You froze. "Is he…?"

"No idea. It's all over the place. Ronald called and said something about him losing an arm. It's bizarre. I put him in a cab last night, and he was fine." Jeremy sighed before he continued, "I don't know what happened, but I'll update you when I can. The launch is still on for tomorrow though. I'll send over the new schedule soon."

You set your phone aside, mind still trying to process. You went to pull your foot back, but Bucky didn't let go.

"Did I give you permission to move, Mrs. Barnes? You'll mess up all my hard work." he chuckled, casually blowing on your toes.

"Bucky," you hissed, "What the hell did you do?"

He took his time. Capped the polish. Set it down. Then lifted your leg over his shoulder and tugged you onto the couch beneath him.

"Bucky."

He kissed the curve of your neck, then licked a slow path to your ear. You let out a lewd moan, an entirely inappropriate reaction to the feeling of dread settling in your tummy. Bucky pressed himself against you, one hand cupped your face and the other wandered toward your chest, palming your tits.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping him to find your losing sanity, "What. Did. You. Do?"

He finally met your gaze.

"He shouldn't have touched you, doll," he said softly, his breath warm against your lips, his stubble brushing against your skin, and dousing you in his sweet, sinful smell.

"Be grateful he's still breathing."

"Bucky…" His name caught in your gasping breath, and he smiled at you reverently, and gawd, you knew you had to put some sense into your man, but fuck, did you love him so goddamn much.

Well?

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

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[erwinsvow]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. 

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night. 

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him. 

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day. 

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along. 

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something. 

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself. 

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run. 

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note. 

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago. 

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle. 

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-” 

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?” 

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.” 

“so did you.” 

-

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent. 

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?” 

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice. 

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?” 

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it. 

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?” 

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.” 

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him. 

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory. 

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time. 

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on. 

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day. 

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen. 

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do. 

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.” 

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him. 

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain. 

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now. 

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.” 

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you. 

“i’ll talk to the family.” 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you. 

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing. 

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug. 

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together. 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him. 

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person. 

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him. 

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months. 

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.” 

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..” 

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?” 

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.” 

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange. 

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter. 

“cups?” 

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — free use partner (nsfw)

❥・tags: nsfw, jason todd blurb, established relationship, jason todd is lwk a loser, gn!reader, no use of y/n, no dialogue, implied dialogue, cnc, free use, thigh fucking

❥・word count: 415

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd is many things. If he is one thing, it's never satisfied. Filled with rage, filled with frustration, pent up with feelings good and bad.

Patrols are tiring, boring, annoying. Surveying Gotham nightly is exhausting—worse when it's a slow crime night. Sure, when there's action, he gets a kick out of it now and then. Until it's over. He's tired, sweaty, and spent.

That's when he comes home to see your sleeping form all warm and bundled up in the sheets.

He likes you—loves you, so much—especially one time when you woke up and he was halfway through beating himself off after patrol.

He didn't completely understand the concept of free use—all he heard was he could fuck you wherever, whenever. He took that and ran.

Sort of.

He hadn't fucked you when you were asleep. He doesn't think he'd like it. Not when you're fully unconscious.

But tonight? He'll gladly press your legs together and fuck your thighs.

He's rough with his pants, large fingers fumbling with the belt buckle, shoving them down as he kneels on the bed.

He's hesitant to pull the covers off, but he does. He keeps them on your arms, make sure you're not cold.

He pushes your shirt up—just to expose a bit of your stomach—and presses a soft trail of kisses on it.

Slowly, he strokes himself, breathing gruffly as he watches you sleep.

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. But Jason loved it.

He lifts your legs, placing both on his shoulder as he presses his tip against the back of your thigh.

He hisses when his sensitive tip brushes your skin, making sure you're still asleep.

Jason slowly, so very slowly, pushes his cock between your thighs. He blinks, before pulling out and rubbing lotion on your thighs before resuming—he'd rather you not wake up to chafed thighs because your boyfriend was pent up from crime fighting.

Despite your sleeping, he still whispers soft praises when he thrusts, just as he does when you're having sex. Because conscious or not, he needs you to know how good you're being for him.

His hips slap against your thighs when his speed quickens and his breathing becomes ragged.

His cum sticks to your stomach and thighs because somehow he was halfway through pulling out when he finished. He cleans up his mess, peppering soft kisses all over you before pulling the blanket back onto you.

Jason Todd is insatiable.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: jason being hesitant w a free use partner has been knawing on my brain for weeks ...

❥・masterlist

[sunderwight]

PIDW but it's a game.

You play as Luo Binghe, the lowliest disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect's Qing Jing Peak. The first part of the game proceeds more or less like a semi-normal fantasy dating sim -- Luo Binghe is bullied and downtrodden, but can seek help and opportunities to build relationships with various female characters, like Ning Yingying and Liu Mingyan. The game's interface implies a truly staggering number of potential romance candidates to unlock, however, so it makes sense that the first part in your disciple years doesn't get you very far in any of the routes.

But then for the second part, things start to shift. You get an option that seems to amount to asking whether you want to make things better for Luo Binghe or not. When you click the obvious choice, that you do, your previously cold and ruthless shizun seems to go through an inexplicable change of heart. You get a weird kind of fanservice-y scene featuring him during the Skinner Demon Mission. Then he features extremely heavily in the Demon Invasion Mission, only to turn up as your companion in the Dream Demon Mission.

After that, it seems like you've gotten onto his route, somehow? Why does the scummy male teacher even have a route in a game like this, though? You try to check for player guides but you can't seem to find any. You try reloading older saves and making other selections, but no matter what you choose, you end up finishing the Dream Demon Mission by moving into Shen Qingqiu's house, and the routes for Liu Mingyan and Ning Yingying and the briefly-encountered Sha Hualing are all greyed out.

But maybe that just means they're inaccessible for advancement for now, or something. And a lot of games have plot points that are on rails, and you can see where Luo Binghe actually getting a place to live would be one of those things. The format of the game changes as well, going from a relatively loose sequence of scenes and interactions to a daily management style, where you have tasks to complete (make shizun breakfast, go to morning lessons, cultivate, do chores, etc) and only a set number of hours in which to complete them. You have affection points, but any time you try to spend them on anyone other than Shen Qingqiu you get an error message. There are dialogue options for flirting with other characters, but they're always greyed out and impossible to select.

Still, you can unlock scenes. A lot of them are just long slow shots of Shen Qingqiu doing things, like reading, or lecturing, or eating. You get missions, and sometimes you meet female characters who seem to unlock new possible romance paths, even though they're still constantly greyed out. Maybe this part of the game's just especially on rails? Waiting for the actual harem-building segment? You kind of like a lot of aspects of it anyway, though. Luo Binghe is an especially compelling character, not at all like the usual sort of non-entity placeholder main guys in games like this. He definitely has personality.

But then you get to the third part. The Abyss. Shen Qingqiu pushes Luo Binghe in, and suddenly you're wondering if you've somehow reached a bad end. You were saving up some of those affection points for later, maybe you should have spent them all on him? Was there something you did wrong to make this happen? You're not even sure why he's thrown poor Binghe away, he was cold and cryptic about it, and now you're wondering if all the time you spent distracted by other things was time you should have spent farming a better relationship with him. You can't help but wonder where you went astray, because Luo Binghe will not stop wondering about it, and wondering about it in ways that make you feel oddly like he is accusing you, the player, of making the wrong choices... but in a way that could still plausibly be aimed at himself, as a character. You feel bad. You kind of want to restart, but you also can't bring yourself to abandon Luo Binghe. You have to see this through, to help him make it to the other side.

Regardless, the Endless Abyss seems like it must be an inevitable plot development. A lot of the game shifts to account for it. There's even an option to essentially select this "thought" from Luo Binghe's internal diatribe, that this is inevitable, and it seems to turn off the litany of recriminations for a while, although sometimes it also results in Luo Binghe... glaring at the screen?

At you?

Anyway the daily management system goes out of the window, and instead there's an energy bar now. Encounters with monsters or the occasional demon woman will lower the energy bar, how much depends on what you choose and how the encounters proceed. Sometimes there are romantic/sexy responses for interacting with the demon women you meet, and they aren't greyed out, but if you try and select them the cursor will jump to another option. You think there might be something wrong with your mouse? Sometimes you get Luo Binghe glaring at the screen scenes afterwards. When Binghe's energy bar hits zero, you're offered two choices -- "sleep" or "think of shizun". Sometimes even if you pick "sleep" the cursor will still jump to "think of shizun", and you'll be treated to another one of those slow lingering scenes of Shen Qingqiu. Except they are becoming increasingly strange, obviously warped by the exhaustion and trauma of the situation, so that aspects are eerie or even disturbing. For example, sometimes Shen Qingqiu seems to be missing limbs, or eyes. Sometimes there's blood on his hands. Sometimes the food he's eating is rotted, or the bamboo house background looks like the Qing Jing Peak wood shed. That kind of thing. You don't mind the idea of harm coming to the man. He deserves it, really, for pushing Luo Binghe into the Abyss. But the few times you try and select options along those lines, the UI glitches again.

Also the "think of shizun" option only restores a quarter of the energy bar, whereas resting restores all of it. But if you try to go for too long without doing it, it will lock you into choosing it successively for a long time.

In addition to the energy bar, there's a calendar. It's not all that sophisticated or even consistent, and it's clearly meant to reflect the fact that Luo Binghe has troubles accurately judging the passage of time in the Abyss. However, the longer you spend in the Abyss, the more violent and unhinged things start to become, and the more the UI starts glitching to reveal disturbing messages, and the more often Luo Binghe "glaring" scenes happen. So you decide to do your best to get Binghe out of here as quickly as possible. This part of the game must be broken, but hopefully if you can make to the next segment, it will work properly again.

Eventually you get to the Xin Mo Mission, which is the last part of the Abyss section, and Luo Binghe escapes.

But the weirdness continues. Worsens, even. You still get missions to like, take over the demon realms and infiltrate Huan Hua Palace, all cool stuff, and you still meet girls who seem to unlock possibly romance paths. But most of the time everything is greyed out. There will be 5 dialogue options but maybe only 1 or 2 of them will be selectable. Parts of the menu are inaccessible. You don't have an energy bar anymore, you have a Xin Mo corruption bar, and it just keeps steadily rising. Sometimes you're presented the option of propositioning a character to "mitigate corruption", but if you try and click it the game glitches or the cursor freaks out and it fails. Sometimes the game crashes outright, and when you reload your last save, it starts with Luo Binghe glaring at you through the screen. You still get the "rest" and "think of shizun" options at times, but neither one helps the corruption bar.

Then. Jinlan City. You reunite with Shen Qingqiu. There seem to be a lot of options for acting vengefully towards him, but they're all greyed out, except for a few which let you chase him down or manhandle him a bit. The whole segment is frustrating, full of weird fanservice-y moments but also mired in how little Shen Qingqiu will say, how often he insists on evading or running away, and how Luo Binghe doesn't seem to have the right prompts to actually get him to explain himself. At times it seems like the "think of shizun" mechanic is bleeding over into the real interactions with the character, so that you can't tell what's really going on vs what are the manifestation of Luo Binghe's trauma or even hallucinations. The Xin Mo bar has maxed out. You have to catch Shen Qinqiu. Catch Shen Qingqiu. Catch Shen Qingqiu--

Then suddenly the bar is at 0, and you're watching Shen Qingqiu's lifeless body fall towards the ground, his energy expended in the effort to push back the corruption. Like, all of his energy.

You catch Shen Qingqiu. Or at least, you stop his corpse from hitting the dirt.

Now the game art is crisp and clean again. All the weird UI artifacts and blocked-off menus are either gone altogether or else working properly. The sound, which had been very gradually deteriorating with low-pitched ringing and muffled portions, is normal. You can hear characters gasping and distantly shouting, and birds chirping somewhere, the ragged cadence of Luo Binghe's breaths, while the camera focuses on Shen Qingqiu's body.

Huh, you think. That's a sort of dramatic resolution to that plot arc, and it raised more questions about Shen Qingqiu than it answered, really. But at least it's over with now? Does this mean Luo Binghe can finally start to recover, or advance other plots?

Then everything blacks out. You get booted to the main menu, or something that looks like it, except the only option you can select now is the New Game+ one.

When you click it, it seems like you've started the whole game over again. Except that there is a Xin Mo corruption bar, greyed out, already waiting for in a corner of the screen. And instead of starting out with a view of Qing Jing Peak, you start out with the young Luo Binghe looking directly towards you. Like he's staring through the screen. It's the basic starting point character, except he already has his demon mark on his forehead, and his expression is way more cold and calculating than anything the junior protagonist would have worn.

"Don't get in my way," he warns.

Then the game proceeds like a visual novel with extremely limited choices. The old selections and the menu for various romance routes don't even appear, the menus have all changed again, this time oriented entirely around hiding Luo Binghe's demonic cultivation (while building it) and managing daily choices and Shen Qingqiu's relationship status. A romance game with only one romance route, and it's the treacherous crusty old teacher? Wtf? But otherwise it seems almost normal, except for the special faint-lettered red options that sometimes appear in weird places on the screen, suggesting things like preventing the Skinner demon from catching you unawares, or saving Shen Qingqiu from Without a Cure poisoning, or keeping out of the Endless Abyss.

Those options seem like they should create different outcomes, and you click them whenever they show up, but they consistently fail. As if there's some other force in the game pushing things back onto the rails no matter what you do...

Anyway, eventually you get through the main plot again, and Shen Qingqiu dies once more. This time the game keeps going from that point, however, with quests to try and find ways to resurrect him. You're starting to wonder why you're still playing -- after all, you signed up for a harem game, not this tragic gay love story? You're not even gay! It's just that Luo Binghe is such a compelling character. You decide it's time to take a break, though, so you get up, do some stretches, go to the bathroom, etc.

It feels like someone's watching you.

You've definitely been playing that game for too long. Sometimes you think you catch sight of Luo Binghe's face out of the corner of your eye, in the bathroom mirror or on the black surface of your phone's screen, just before you turn it on. But when you look twice or turn your phone off again, nothing's there. You call your little sister, to apologize for dropping off the face of the earth for a bit, and you joke about getting too invested in this weird game that might be broken? She hasn't heard of it, but she sounds a little worried as she suggests maybe coming over and taking you out to lunch, or something.

You decline -- she's got a lot on her plate, and she mentioned already having plans earlier -- but then you promise to get some fresh air anyway. But when you go to head out, somehow you find yourself turning away at the last minute. You try again, and yet it's like you just keep getting distracted before you can open the door. After a few tries you give up, swallowing down your growing unease. You take off your shoes and coat. When it comes to it, you really do want to find out what happens to Luo Binghe next.

The game is running.

You don't remember turning it back on...?

The screen is focused on the familiar image of Shen Qingqiu's preserved corpse. You can see Luo Binghe's hand in the frame as well, transferring qi in yet another familiar sequence, the one that seems to run at the end of every in-game day. There's some text.

Is it you? the red letters ask, scrawling and flickering, as if someone is attempting to write directly onto the screen. Are you the one behind all this? Thwarting me at every turn?

Yes/No options appear in the game's usual font and position. You try to click "no", even though you're unsure and feel like you must have missed a scene somehow. But the interface warps and when you hit "no" it changes to Stay Silent.

I can't figure out. Are you here to help me, or get in my way?

Help/Harm. You click "help" but again it changes to "stay silent" afterwards.

What do you want from me?

This time there's no option to select at first. Then, as if being shoved onto the screen by some alternative function, a text box opens up. Like the kind that some games have for implementing cheats or selecting character names. This particular game has never shown such a function before, Luo Binghe's name was locked in and you don't even know if it has cheats. The cursor blinks, and somehow it feels as if you have only one chance, and if you don't take it now, it will be gone forever.

You type in "help" and barely manage to hit enter before the interface blinks out. No list of prompts or possible options appear.

Shizun? the red text scrawls, shakily.

Then the whole game crashes.

You wait, but it doesn't start up again. You try to run it again, but you can't find it on your system, somehow. Really weird. Even if it had crashed, it shouldn't have gotten deleted? But you still can't find it. You start to feel genuinely alarmed. Not only can you not find the game on your system, but when you try and search for it absolutely nothing comes up. You try and go to the online shop page for it, but you can't remember where you actually got it from in the first place, now that you're thinking about it.

What bullshit is this?

What, was the game actually some kind of virus? It couldn't have been. Also who would make a virus like that? You get up and pace, trying to make sense of it.

It's gotta be some kind of mistake. Maybe you've just missed too much sleep, you're not thinking right. You'll take a break and when you come back you'll realize that you were just looking in all the wrong places, somehow.

You head over to the fridge to grab something to eat.

You can't remember the last time you went shopping, but the food in there is probably still fine. Right?

[aetherraeys]

all the way

(visual learner pt1, pt2 )

poly!marauders x afab!reader ⊹ 10.9k

cw ⟢ smut, mdni +18, swearing, inexperienced!reader, lots of praise, teasing, oral (f&m rec) piv, insecurity about inexperience, shy!reader, fingering, lots of pet names

summary: you cant seem escape the pestering burn in the back of your mind that's itching for something, for more, to experience it all; or the isecurities that come along with it.

a/n: this took me too long to start bcs ive been dealing with migraines but its here at last!! a bit vulgar oh WELL not proofread x

A little discovery goes a long way.

Or at least you thought it would, since you essentially broke the seal between you and your very adoring boyfriends, there as been a lot of exporation, learning—mastering even. But it seems you’ve hit an unexpected blockade.

One that fixing seemed to be more complex than you’d imagined.

Now, there was nothing wrong by any means. According to Remus, you were becoming rather skillful with your lips, in a way that would make Sirius proud. And you were most definetely gaining insight into things; likes, dislikes, habits—kinks.

All sorts of interesting things; like how, out of all of them, James is particulary handsy, as if he cannot physically get enough of you—like he’s making up for lost time. Drinking in any and all skin on skin, somehow always touching you in one way or another.

Frequently stirring awake to feel his arm wrapped around your middle, lips pressing gentle kisses to your jaw, his voice hoarse and whispered when you crack open your eye with a small hum.

“g’morning,”

The sun had barely taken it’s place in the sky, and your early bird boyfriend has picked you as his victim today, though, you can hardly be angry when he’s so warm against you, smiling into your skin as he kisses his way up to your lips. Fingertips grasping at the flesh of your waist as he pulls you closer—using his free hand to brush the straggling hair out of your face as he pulls away.

Admiring your semi-awake face, pout slowing becoming more evident on your lips when you catch sight of the clock—head falling into his chest with a quiet grumble.

He can’t help but huff a chuckle as his hand trails down your spine, slipping under the fabric of Sirius’ shirt, lips once again finding the curve of your jaw. “m’sorry, pretty. I know it’s early,”

James really is devious, because he knows exactly how to pacify you—and it doesn’t take much, a few peppered kisses and some sweet words and he found that you’d become adorably agreeable. He’d been awake for a while, fighting—persuading himself that he shouldn’t be so selfish and should let you sleep, but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were cuddled against him so sweetly.

You didn’t have much fight in you either, still sleepy as you melted into his touch, and after a few more kisses—suddenly being awake didn’t seem so bad. Mewls muffled by James’ lips when his hands slides down your back to the curve of your thigh, hitching your leg to rest on his hip.

The light rustle of fabric drew you away from each other, panting with flushed lips as James peeked over your shoulder—making sure you hadn’t disturbed Sirius and Remus. Tangled together in an unclear mass of sleeping limbs under the sheets.

When his gaze flickered back to you, he wasted no time reconnecting your lips, kissing you deeper—tongue swiping against the seam of your lips, swallowing each small noise. You really were trying to be quiet, mindful of your sleeping partners just an arms length away—but it was getting harder and harder to keep your focus on stay quiet. Especially when James’ hand was trailing under the waistband of your shorts and his honeyed tone filled your ears.

“just wanted a bit of you before i left, love,”

His lips against your skin becoming more insistent, smirking into it at the sound of your shuddering breath. Pulling away to get a glimpse of your expression—teeth pressed into your bottom, failing to dull your escaping whine, brows pinching further with each sink of his fingers into you core.

Curling and curving into your walls and it had you squirming into his hold.

A sharp gasp leaving your lips when James nipped at the thin skin below your ear, freezing for a moment at the small sound of shuffling sheets behind you. But to your misfortune, James just continues to push into you at a faster pace—murmuring against you just before his lips capture yours, “Shhhh, stay quiet f’me pretty girl,”

Squeezing your eyes shut as you clenched around his digits—your hands gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, bucking into his palm as your high washed over you. And James just hummed lowly into the kiss, muttering as he trailed his lips down your neck, “fuck, so perfect—thank you,”

You were still shuddering as he slipped his hands out of your shorts, chest rising in uneven patterns as James brought his slick coated fingers to his lips, a smirk twitching at the corners. His other hand was running up and down you spine while your breath leveled.

But before you could fully recalibrate your brain, he was pressing a firm kiss to your lips and whispering about something about being back later. Quietly slipping out of the sheets, and padding towards the bathroom, before your protests had the opportunity to leave your tongue.

He was gone.

And even if your tried, you couldn’t to miss the clear tent of his boxers.

Another wave of sleep tempted you, you couldn’t help but wonder—a small creeping thought making its way to the forefront of your mind. Subdueing all faint hints of potential slumber with its invasive nature.

Again was all you could think.

It was becoming an increasing common occurance. They always indulged, took care of—doted on you. Not that you were complaining.

But before you could even think about approaching the subject of you returning anything, they were gone.

Granted, it was all uncharted grounds, but it was starting to feel like you were the only one paying attention to the elephant in the room. There was a seperation, almost like it was you and them.

And you hear them sometimes in the house, James and Sirius showering together—their moans and mewls ringing above the sound of cascading water and bouncing off the porcelain walls. You’ve seen it even, stumbling across a door left ajar and seeing Sirius on his knees infront of Remus—hand tangled into his locks, small gasps filling the room.

There was a balance, a give and take—and with you?

Well, it felt like you were just taking.

And though you were well aware of the fact that you didn’t know how to give, it was really starting to gnaw at you—because you wanted to try, wanted more—wanted to make them feel good.

But there was no real right way to go about the subject, at least not one that didn’t make you wish the earth would split open and swallow you whole.

Even as you sat at the dining table, forking at the lunch James had so kindly prepared for you all. You couldn’t focus, mind spiralling out of control, each thought more ridiculous and less plausible than the last.

‘You don’t even know what to do—you wouldn’t be able to make them feel good.’

Suddenly it was much harder to swallow the bit of toast you’d been chewing for far too long—forcing it down as a small frown crept its way onto your lips. Letting your fork rest on the edge of your plate, nails subconsciously starting to pick a the skin around your nails.

Brows furrowing just slightly as you pennied the irrational thoughts that whirled every corner of your mind—internally conflicted. Because you knew they loved you, no matter what, outside of everything else—there was no doubt in your mind.

And you were enough, you knew your worth didn’t depend on your ability to please.

So why did it suddenly feel like the be all and end all of everything?

Plagueing every thought, making you read into every interaction, every passing touch that was meant to be comforting—now had you second guessing everything.

Gods, it was making you feel so pathetic.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t heard Sirius calling you, even after the third time—still staring at your plate absentmindedly. And when his hand made contact with yours, you all but jumped out of your skin, feeling all the eyes in the room on you.

“Woah—you alright, love?”

Sirius’ voice was light, laced with that same teasing lilt—lips curled at the corners in mild amusement, thumb tracing small circles into your skin. You let out small sigh through your nose as you pushed everything you were thinking about into the back of your mind—forcing your lips to match the curve of Sirius’ as you spoke.

“Oh—sorry, yeah. Just a bit tired,”

You also failed to notice James behind you and closing in—pressing a firm peck to the mark he’d left earlier that morning. Walking over to the sink with a stack of plates in his hand as he cooed playfully, “Sorry about that, love.”

Sirius was watching you more intently that you’d realised—if your barely touched plate wasn’t an indication of anything, then the tight lipped smile you gave him in combination with your previous statement did nothing to convince him.

He let his eyes flicker over to Remus, who was also looking at you, brows arched in curiosity at James’ words—waiting for you to expand. Parted your lips as you took in air to fuel your words, before stuttering out the start of several words—feeling heat rise under your cheeks when your lips eventually clamped shut.

James snicker when he turned around, leaning against the sink as he dried his hands—the smirk on his face becoming more smug by the second as your gaze darted around the room. He was so casual, so candid with his words and you had no idea what to do with it.

“Showed our girl a little love before I went on my run, that’s all,”

The tips of your ears were burning under the pressure of his gaze, and as he stalked over—leaning to take your plate of cold food away, his hand soothing over the curve of your neck. You all but frozen, spine tensing up, goosebumps spreading over the surface of your skin from the heat of his palms, feeling very much like a deer caught in headlights.

Remus didn’t say much, just hummed lowly with a nod far too knowing for your liking and all you wanted to do was shrink away from the attention.

Slipping your hand out from under Sirius’ as you reach for your glass of water, James had already made this way around, perching himself recklessly on the kitchen counter as he continued to speak with Remus.

Sirius on the other hand, was still watching you from the corner of his eyes—as you tried to sneak away after washing your glass—he waited a few moments before trailing after you.

Leaning against the door frame of the living room—watching as you sat in your corner seat of the sofa—a book open and forgotten on your lap, staring out the window. He waited a few more long moments before settling into the seat beside you, arm instinctively slinging around your shoulder.

When you turned to him, he had an expectant look on his face—as if he was waiting for you to say something, waiting for you to spill your guts to him, and it made your pulse pick up slightly. Praying to the Gods that he wouldn’t pry, just let you get over whatever was swarming your mind, taking your attention.

“I can see the cogs turning, sweetheart. Wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

Obviously, Sirius saw right through you, and it probably didn’t help that you were doing such a bad job at hiding the small turmoil that was building in you. Accidently confirming his suspicious when you tensed under his touch, body still as stiff as a board next to him.

You just hummed, tearing your gaze away from his and back down to you book—fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “Hmm? Nothing’s on my mind, Siri. Just tire—”

“Tired?”

Sirius cut you off, finishing your poor excuse for you, watching as your lips pursed together for a second—fighting the urge to knaw into the flesh. He was still watching you so intently, eyes boring into your profile, feeling the way your shoulder sunk slightly before you looked him again.

Taking a second to let your eyes scan over his face, you knew he didn’t believe you. But there really was no way you were going to let this extend any further than yourself, instead you just doubled down, leaning into his chest, forcing your body to relax—willing away the tension as your closed your eyes, murmuring again that you were just tired.

His hand soothed over the the skin of your arm, Sirius knew better than to force it out of you—he was by no means going to let it go, but he’d give you at least a day or two to prove to him that it really was just lack of sleep.

You failed.

It has been three days since Sirius first noticed you being ‘tired’. Truthfully, he didn’t know what else to call it—he’d also noticed how in those three days, you’d withdrawn a bit. Coming to bed the latest, sleeping turned away and slipping out at random times in the night—and you hadn’t so much as given any of them a peck since that first morning.

Whatever it was, he’d had enough ****of it stealing you away.

Sirius was no where near as tentative as Remus, and suprisingly more vigilant than James—but the pair hadn’t made any move to pry. And well, Sirius just wasn’t patient enough.

You were sitting in the living room alone—James and Remus lounging in the bedroom. This time, you were actually reading, comfortable in the silence that surrounded you, barely sparing Sirius a glance as he plopped onto the sofa beside you—unnecessarily close, practically on your lap.

Your tone was deceivingly light when you spoke, “What’s up, Siri?”

He shifted to angle his body closer to you, plucking the book from you lap and placing it face down on the arm of the sofa, raising a brow skeptically and letting his gaze linger on your face.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

It was only a fraction of a second, but Sirius saw the way your face dropped at his questioning before you sighed, bitelessly rolling your eyes, automatically spouting out that you’re fine. That wasn’t enough though. And he wasn’t going to let it go.

Practically staring into your soul as he frowned at you, voice just as soft as his touch over your arm. And as he spoke he saw it again, the faltering in your expression, a small crack as you averted your gaze.

"You're doin’ that thing again," he murmured.

Blinking at him, a little too slow, head tilted just enough to feign curiosity. "What thing?"

He sighed, a sound that came more from his chest than his throat, all weight and low thunder. “The thing where you pretend you’re here with us but your head’s off somewhere chewing itself up.”

There was no response, not right away. A small silence filing the room, you weren’t sure if you had the words—or worse, you were afraid you did, and they’d make everything real if you said them aloud.

Sirius shifted closer, until his thigh was flush against yours and the scent of leather and warm oak and his specific brand of recklessness filled your senses. Still, you said nothing. Quietly loud and sharp and unnatural, like the absence of static in a too-quiet room. It made his chest ache.

“Alright,” he said, voice low, brushing his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head just slightly toward him. “Time to talk, sweetheart.”

You froze—for barely a fraction of a second. But somehow just long enough for him to catch it. Then, you forced a breath through your nose, lashes lowering as if the floor might offer escape.

“Sirius, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffed a dry, humorless laugh, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

Watching you for a long moment in silence, as you unravel in micro-expressions, cataloguing each one like clues to a puzzle he’d already decided he was going to solve. The kind of silence that felt heavier than normal. Expectant. And you felt it—crawling over your skin, settling in your stomach. Like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

When you still didn’t say anything, he leaned in closer, voice softer now. “You think we haven’t noticed? The late nights, the cold shoulders, the way you can’t even look at us for more than five seconds?”

You shifted, discomfort flickering in your eyes — and still, you said nothing. He waited anyway.

“You know,” he started slowly, stretching out along the couch, his head tipping back lazily against the cushion, “you’re really shit at pretending.”

Your eyes didn’t leave your lap as you spoke, “I’m not pretending anything.”

That made you finally glance at him, startled and caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone, the softness beneath the teasing. Sirius’ brow arched slightly as you opened your mouth—and then closed it again.

He waited.

You looked away.

“I just…I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.”

You let out a quiet snort, despite yourself.

He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You’ve been pulling away.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have.” There was no accusation in his tone, just quiet certainty. “We notice, you know. Me. James. Remus.” Tilting his head to eye you sideways, “You flinched when I brushed your hand this morning. Jumped when James kissed your shoulder. I’ve seen ghosts more relaxed than you’ve been lately.”

Sirius shifted beside you, a little closer, but still careful. Just enough to make his presence known.

Shame pinched in the pits of your stomach as you swallowed. “It feels like I’m the only one who’s… not giving. Like I’m just taking and taking and I want to—I want to give, to make you feel good too. But I don't even know how. And I don't want to make it awkward, or ruin anything, or mess up what we already have—"

“Stop,” he cut in gently, not unkindly. “You haven’t ruined anything. There’s nothing to ruin. You know that, right?”

You bit your lip, hard. “It feels like there is. Like I’m…I don’t know. Like I’m some kind of charity case you’re all doting on because I’m clueless and eager and always ready to melt for you. And I know it’s stupid—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted, voice firm. “Don’t do that.”

Sirius blinked, eyebrows drawing together. “Is that seriously what you think?”

You didn’t trust your voice to answer, throat too tight—just shrugging dismissively.

There was a pause, before his hand reached for yours, warm and comforting as his fingers laced through yours.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he said, voice lower now. Earnest—real. “We love taking care of you. Love watching you unravel. Love the way you trust us, how open you are—how you light up when you feel good.”

He tipped his head to meet your gaze. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want you. All of you. Your pleasure, yeah, but your desire, too. The messy, fumbling, sweet little things you want to try, even if you don’t get them right the first time.”

Heat crept its sway from your collar upwards, settling beneath your ears, but that familiar, magneticness that spilled from him held your gaze—and suddenly it feel like you were trying hard not to lean into him.

“And you don’t need to know what you’re doing,” he added, thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles, “that’s the fun part. Discovering it together. Letting us teach you. Letting us feel and learn you, when you’re the one touching, or tasting, or wanting.”

It had your pulse stuttering beneath your chest, heat spreading from your ears to skin of your cheeks.

“You want to try?” Sirius asked, quieter now. A murmur between just the two of you. “You wanna learn how to make us fall apart the way you do?”

All at once the air in the room felt a bit thinner, even as you nodded, slowly as first—than firmer, more eager.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Because we want that, too.”

You exhaled shakily, something intoxicating about his words, his tone, how his breath fanned over you and the way the proximity felt much less than before—as a sense of relief, warmth and a strange little bubble of excitement rose beneath your skin.

It’s so subtle, so smooth, that at first you barely register the shift—just the warmth of his body folding closer, the brush of his knee against yours, the scent of something familiar and faintly woodsy curling around your senses like smoke.

Then his lips are at your ear, breath curling soft and hot against your skin as he murmurs, “Could show you right now, if you want.”

Every muscle locks up, spine straight, breath caught halfway to your lungs—freezing. His voice is honeyed, velvet and enticing, every word dipped in a promise that hums through you like static. Lips ghosting over your jaw, a breath away from touching. Almost. Not quite.

You only nod.

It’s barely a motion—more instinct than thought—but he pulls back slowly, and there’s a look on his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His smirk is small, private but the glint in his eyes makes your stomach tighten and twist in anticipation.

“Wait here, lovely,” he says, voice low and threaded with something dark and pleased.

Then Sirius is standing—disappearing down the hallway, and slips into the bedroom.

There’s only the small sound of a whining hinge as the door creaked open. Muffled voices— hushed, indistinct murmurs. And it makes your hair stand on end. Something electric crackles at the base of your spine, and you fidget, fingers restless on your knees, heart beating too loud in the quiet that follows.

You barely have time to get your bearings before Sirius reappears.

He standing there for a moment, in the doorway, watching you. His gaze is heavy—dark and unwavering—and it pins you in place as surely as if he’d put hands on you, reaching out to you with a hand.

There a short beat before you take i, and he pulls you up, wordless, walking you backwards in slow, deliberate steps. His eyes never leave yours, and the air around you feels thicker and harder to move though when you arrive at the door. Because you can see them.

Remus and James.

They’re sitting on the bed—quiet, composed, eyes lifted to meet yours. There’s something unreadable in their expressions, something that flickers between curiosity and heat and something deeper.

James watches from the far side of the bed, one leg propped casually beneath him, elbow resting on his knee like he’s settling in for something he already knows is going to unfold slowly — deliberately. Gaze steady and flicking between you and Sirius with the faintest curl of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Observantly waiting—amused.

Remus shifts at the edge of the bed, legs parting slightly as he scoots forward, hands resting loose on his thighs.

His expression is softer, warmer. Familiar. When his eyes meet yours, he gives you a small, easy smile — like you’ve just walked into the common room instead of… this.

“Hey, dove,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

You’re standing just behind Sirius, slightly to the side, his shoulder brushing yours. The room feels heavier now — not suffocating, but thick with heat and expectation. Your pulse is a roar in your ears, a steady drumbeat that drowns everything out until Sirius tilts his head, leaning in again.

“I told you I’d show you,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Gonna show you on Remus.”

Air catches in your throat—a soft, unintentional squeak of surprise slipping out before you can stop it. Eyes darting between the two boys on the bed, wide and unsure, a question trembling on your lips you don’t quite know how to ask.

“I—” Your voice stutters, coming out too small. “You don’t have to—I mean, I don’t want to take you away from what you were doing—”

Sirius huffs a soft laugh, the sound rumbling low in his chest, smug and fond all at once. He glances at Remus, who quirks a brow but doesn’t correct him. “Trust me, love,” Sirius says, eyes glinting. “Moony’d much rather have us on our knees than finish that book.”

And with no ceremony at all, Sirius sinks to his knees in front of him.

Your breath stalls completely.

He looks up at you from the floor, dark hair tumbling into his face, his smirk lazy and wicked—patting the carpetted space beside him—not demanding, just expectant.

You’re frozen for a beat. Maybe two.

Then your knees give the smallest wobble as you follow. Sinking down beside him slowly, heart fluttering wildly, eyes flicking up toward Remus—who sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, tongue darting out to wet his lips. There’s a quietness to his gaze that had your heartbeat quickening in your ears.

You press into the soft carpet, the fibers unfamiliar beneath your skin, grounding you in the moment as everything else floats just out of reach. Sirius shifts slightly beside you, the heat of his body brushing against yours, subtle but deliberate — an anchor. His thigh nudges yours gently, the pressure reassuring, coaxing. Your breath is shallow, eyes flicking upward again.

Remus hasn’t looked away.

He’s still watching you with that quiet intensity, like he’s trying to memorize the exact shade of your hesitation. His mouth curves at the corners — not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. Just… soft. Expectant.

“Doing good, love,” Sirius murmurs next to you, voice low and velvet-smooth. You swear you feel the words ripple through your spine. He doesn't look at you — he says it like he’s talking to himself, but it still lands square in your chest.

You’re still aware of James on the bed, leaning his chin into his palm, his elbow propped up on his knee. Observing. Not intruding. Just…amused, dark-eyed and humming with quiet interest. He doesn’t speak, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on your mouth, then dips lower, that makes your breath stutter.

“Rem,” Sirius says, still kneeling. His voice is almost teasing. “Tell her what you want.”

Remus tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s assessing you—peeling back layers without ever touching you. “I want you to show her,” he says, voice calm, level. He leans back on his hands, spreading his knees just a little wider on the edge of the mattress. “Thought that was the plan.”

The air around you all but froze,not urgency, not yet. But anticipation. The kind that prickles down your arms and settles in your gut like a coil waiting to snap.

Sirius shifts forward on his knees until his thighs bracket one of Remus’ legs, his back a straight line of calm control. And then, suddenly, he turns his head—not enough to break the moment with Remus, but enough to glance at you. His eyes flick down, then up, deliberate.

“You watching?” he murmurs.

Slowly, you nod—words caught in your throat.

Sirius smiles again, all teeth this time, and turns back toward Remus, hands trailing up Remus’ thighs with confident familiarity. And still—your gaze is locked in place. The sounds, the movement, the steady rise and fall of breath. The way Remus' jaw tightens when Sirius’ fingers dig in a little.

“You’re shaking,” Remus says suddenly, and you snap your gaze up to meet his. “Nervous?”

Your lips part slightly—to say yes, maybe, or no—but you don’t get the chance. Sirius speaks for you. “She’s excited,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes your cheeks burn even hotter.

“Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Your mouth feels too dry to voice words, clearing your throat and humming quietly with a nod.

Sirius shifts again—not to do anything yet, not quite. Just closer, just a little deeper into the space between Remus’ thighs. And his hand finds yours without looking, fingers brushing against your knuckles. “Come closer,” he says, not to Remus—to you.

And so you do. Shuffling forward, inch by slow, painstaking inch, until you’re beside him, eyes wide and breath held.

Remus leans forward, just a little, and his hand reaches out—just barely skimming along the curve of your jaw. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice adopting a warmer cadance—you nod again.

And Sirius, still knelt beside you, presses his lips to your shoulder. A small kiss, silent comfort.

“Then watch closely, love,” he says, voice dark with purpose. “Because this is just the beginning.”

His presence beside you was magnetic—all controlled heat and focused intent—but what strikes you most is how steady he is—eveything silently screaming that he’s done this before. He’s led before. But right now, he’s doing it with you, and something about that felt almost sacred.

Remus leans back again, propping himself up with one hand now, the other resting loosely on his own thigh. His eyes are on you again. But this time, there’s no teasing. Just warmth. Just patience. A quiet welcome, like he’s holding a door open for you and waiting for you to cross the threshold in your own time.

“You don’t have to do anything yet,” he says gently, voice barely more than a breath. “Just stay. Just watch me.”

Too much to say and no air to say it with—you swallow thickly and straighten your back, mumbling a small okay. Sirius hums in approval, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and you feel it more than you hear it. His hand drifts up your back, fingers trailing lightly along your spine. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

He doesn’t rush—none of them do. That’s what makes it worse. Or better. Or unbearable.

Because it means every second stretches longer. Every glance, every brush of skin feels deliberate. Designed. Like they’re building something out of you—sculpting the moment with nothing but touch and breath and proximity.

Sirius finally leans up towards Remus, lips ghosting across his throat, his jaw, like a slow exhale of reverence. Remus lets his head tip back just a fraction—an invitation that Sirius gladly took, latching his lips to the skin with a hum.

And you’re still watching.

Still feeling everything—the drag of Remus’ breath when Sirius’ mouth reaches his collarbone, the subtle shift of Sirius’ hand as shifts on Remus’ thigh, curling and curving upwards, gripping at the flesh. But more than that…you feel them both waiting—for you.

Sirius turns to you again, hand drifting over to yours. He threads his fingers with yours this time, and something about that small act—so simple, yet so intimate—and it makes something tighten in your chest. Raising your joined hands slowly, deliberately, to Remus’ knee, pressing your palm against the warm line of his leg.

Your eyes dart up when you hear another hitching breath from above you, Remus’ adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, gaze locked on your hands—the heat spreading through the thin fabric that seperates you.

Sirius was bold—smirking at both yours and Remus’ reactions, sliding the hand that was pawing at Remus’ thigh and inching it up towards the hem of his shirt, baring the skin.

The pads of his fingers dimpled the flesh as he leaned closer—pressing his lips into the skin of his hips—earning him a low hum of approval from Remus. And you watched as he smirked against him. Following Sirius’ movements in a wave of confidence, you scooted closer—letting your hand trail up from his knee joining Sirius’ in the tugging of Remus’ shirt and you felt him shudder beneath your palm.

Resting your head slightly on his knee as your eyes followed Sirius, observing every move he made and the reactions they earned.

There was a clear tent in Remus’ trousers now, accompanied with a light flush on the tops of his cheekbones, and you couldn’t help but admire him—and as Sirius palmed at his bulge—forcing a groan from his throat. The object of your watchful gaze changed quickly.

Sirius’ fingers were hooked under the waist band of his trousers, waiting a moment—just letting his fingertips brush over the skin beneath it before he detatched his lips from Remus’ stomach.

Eyes dark and on you—watching as you stared at his palm that covered Remus’ middle.

He huffed a chuckled through his nose, licking his lips as he leaning in closer to you—breath fanning over the curve of your neck when he spoke, “Shall we get these off him, love?”

The sound of his voice tore your gaze away from his hand, taking your bottom lip into your mouth as you hummed back to him. And by the time his trousers pooled by his ankles, Sirius had a positively wolfish grin on his face—almost preening at your reaction.

Because not only did Remus hiss slightly at the feeling of the cold air, but your eyes visibly widened when his length slapped up towards his abdomen—pupils blowing right before Sirius’ eyes.

It’s not like you’d never felt Remus before, pressed against you, usually clad under clothing—but for some reason, you’d assumed it was smaller. Or maybe just not this big. Almost intimidatingly long and pretty—tip matching the blush of his cheeks.

Sirius only snickered lightly, leaning in—tongue already peaking out from his lips as he licked a strip from the bottom of his shaft, all the way up. And you watched as Remus’ hands twitched by his side, sucking in sharp breath as his brows pinched on his forehead. Your hands unconsiously gripped at the flesh of his thighs, eyeing Sirius’ movements with purpose.

When he pulled away, Remus’ length glistened just as much as Sirius’ lips—and you swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth with a thick gulp the moment Sirius’ voice met your ears, low and candied.

“Doesn’t Rem look pretty?”

His smirk was dangerous as you nodded, words sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, just for you to hear—”Why don’t you tell him yourself, love?”

Remus was looking down at you both with half-lidded eyes, chest rising at a slightly faster pace than normal, hyper aware of the way your hand was curled around his thigh—trying his hardest to stay composed.

If the way you looked up at him, bleary and innocent, wasn’t enough to make his composure crack—the soft and sweet tone of your voice as it reached his ears was going to send him over the edge.

“Think you look so pretty, Rem,”

A low groan filled the air and his length physically jumped in Sirius’ hold—you noticed it straight away, eyes widening at the sight—staring at his middle intently.

Sirius was enjoying this all far too much, barely containing his delight as he caught your gaze, whispering “watch,” under his breath before he leaned in—taking Remus’ tip in his mouth while his hand worked small fists around the base.

And Remus’ eyes immediately screwed shut, voice trembling as he hissed out, “Fuck, Sirius,” hands fisting the sheets beside him when Sirius hummed around his length, taking more into his mouth.

You leaning in closer, eyes focused on each small motion that he made, each bob of his head, each moan that sounded from Remus.

He pulled his lips off with a satisfying pop—grinning at the way Remus shuddered against him, hand still twisting and pumping steadily around him.

Sirius had already diverted his attention to you—lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, his words ringing in your ears over and over. “Do you wanna try, sweetheart? Make Rem feel good?”

Your eyes scanned his face when he pulled back, nodding before you would really compute what it meant—before Sirius was shifting to the side, making space for you between Remus’ legs.

And it had your breath catching in your throat—Remus cracked an eye open at the rustling beneath him and his lips parted when your hand wrapped around his base.

Eyes flicker between Sirius and your hand. And you could feel the heat radiating off his length—when you twisted your hand upwards experimentally, he throbbed in your hand undeniably, gasping slightly.

Sirius all but preened at the reaction, leaning in and whispering a set on instruction into your ear, hand sliding down the curve of your spine in silent encouragement—to which you nodded to. Shifting your gaze back to Remus.

His self-control was fraying by the second, trying to be as still as possible, but having you between his legs, looking up at him with blown wide eyes—his resolve felt weak, and heat pooled in the pits of his stomach—sending all blood south.

Your palm was still dragging up his length in slow, tentative pumps—taking your time and trying not to think about it too hard. Sirius had made it look so easy, already having Remus breathless before he’d even touched him.

He could feel heat of your breath fanning over his length as you neared, gaze flitting up and down as you spoke softly, just barely above a whisper—but Remus heard it, like it was only for him.

“Can I?”

Gods, you were going to be the death of him. Nodding eagerly, words rushed and pinched; “Fuck—yes, dove,”

Careful and hesitantly, you leaned forward—tounge peaking out as you pressed it flush against the tip—eliciting a sharp shuddering gasp from Remus. And he used every cell in his brain to keep his eyes open, desperately wanting to be catch the moment your pretty lips wrapped around him.

Remus mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! when you finally do, tounge swirling and just barely sucking at the tip—and he squirmed in his seat when your head dipped lower, taking more of him in.

He wouldn’t dare tear his eyes away from the sight.

And when you pulled off of him, breathless, lips glistening, small strings of spit still connecting you—a small whispered Merlin sounded from beside you before you spoke, “s’that okay, Rem?”

Remus’ lips were stil parted, drinking in air greedily to fuel is racing pulse, palms sweaty and fidgetting at his side was he gulped, words breathy on an exhale, “more than okay—so good,”

Even that small praise was dizzying, it had your shoulder relaxing as an almost relieved and pleased smile twitched the corners of your lips.

Suddenly driven by a small confidence boost, you took him into your mouth again—earning you another low groan, his voice cracking at the end. You let your other hand trail up his thigh, resting along the short happy trail by your head—lowering your head further than the last time—humming slightly at the weight of him pressing onto your tongue.

Remus’ hips jumped involuntarily as he let out a loud moan—it sent his tip straight into the back of your throat and you jolted back with a choked gasp. Throat burning slightly drinking in sharp inhales of breath, cheeks flushed, face painted with a shocked expression.

Profuse, breatheless apologies already filled the space between you, “m’so sorry dove—didn’t mean to do that,” Remus shifting his weight onto one hand as he ran the other through his hair—eyes swiming with more unspoken apologies.

You were still trying to catch you breath, swallow the burning sensation that accompanied each breath—visibly confused for a moment as you looked to Sirius.

He didn’t look nearly as concerned as Remus did, which was comforting—because you couldn’t figure out what went wrong.

One hand was rubbing small circles into the small of your back, and the other trailed up and down Remus’ thigh as he spoke, lips curving into a smirk at your expression.

“The vibrations, sweetheart.” He leaned in closer, pressing a small kiss to the thin skin beneath your ear as he continued, “Made Rem feel…so good when you hummed—that’s why he did that, love,”

His lips on your neck were rather distracting, taking a few moments to respond with nothing more than a small, “Oh.”

And Sirius’ lips just stretched into a grin as he muttered into your skin, “Wanna try again?” Sighing contently into him, you nodded—eyes falling dark and back onto Remus.

The whispered instructions Sirius gave you echoed in your mind, take your time—but now when you pressed your tongue flat against the vein on the underside of his length—you were having other ideas.

Watching closely, looking up at Remus when you closed your lips around him, taking him in deeper, inch by inch—spurred on by the strangled moans that built in his throat.

Pausing a few inches from the base before reeling back and repeating—squeezing your thighs together when SIrius’ praise, velvet and soft reached your ears.

“Fuck—thaat’s it, sweetheart.”

Sirius tucked a straggling hair behind your ears, humming in approval as you focused on the tip, hand still fisting the base—and Remus was shaking beneath, using all his brain power to not buck into your touches, groaning out, “Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good hngh-” as he fisted the sheets with white knuckles.

You had no intention of rushing, slowly bobbing up and down, relishing in the salacious moans that ripped through Remus’ throat and the way he twitched and throbbed on your tongue.

But it was like a little devil was whispering into your ear, polluting your thoughts—egging you on to take more.

Letting your hand slip to rest on his stomach—all you wanted to do was make him feel good—sucking in a deep breath through your nose before swallowing around the tip; eliciting a lewd gasping groan from Remus.

But you kept going, dipping your head further, forcing every muscle to relax—not stopping till your nose met the small brown hairs at this pelvis.

Eyes squeezing shut, whimpering at the burn and stretch.

Remus’ jaw slacked, and he lost it—hands reliquishing their grip on the sheets in favour for your hair, eyes rolling back in his head as he gasped out “Shit shit shit oh-dove,”

God, Remus already thinks he could pass out.

Even as you pulled back—lips wet and eyes glossy—lungs burning as you drank in shuddering gasps of air, Sirius’ voice falling deaf on your ears. You can’t find it in you to mind the mild discomfort, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you looked up at Remus.

He truly was a sight.

Chest heaving, hair mussed, flush spreading from the tips of his ears to the center of his cheeks, his hand carding through your hair as his panted. Sirius was by your side still, speaking lowly again, “you okay, love? d’you need a minute?” pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

You shook your head almost instantly, gaze still locked on Remus as you muttered, “Wanna keep going,” Already leaning forward and taking Remus back into your hands.

He’d barely had enough time to recover before you took him back into your mouth, instinctively collecting your hair in a loose handful to keep it out of your face as you sunk down again.

Sirius was light praises and the gutteral moans that left Remus sending heat curling directly to your core—each hushed candied whisper of; ‘gooood girl’ and ‘taking him so well’ dizzying you.

When you sunk to the base again, willing away the slight gag that built in your chest, Remus’ hips bucked up into your mouth, his grip on your hair tightening—but instead of pulling off completely, you kept his tip buried in your plush mouth—whimpers muffled and tears prickling at your waterline, while you tried to steady your breathing.

Remus’ body shook as he spouted out delirously “Fuck—shit, m’sorry, sweetheart. S’too ngh—fucking good.” words were slurred and rushed, drunk off the way you swallowed and hummed around him.

He cracked his eyes open, when your fingertips pressed into the flesh of his thighs, steadying yourself, and the sight of you almost had impossibly closer to the edge—coil in his stomach tightening when you looked up at him.

Tears clingling to your lashes, lips stretching lewdly around him with each bob and he could feel his sanity slipping away with each small whine that built in your throat.

Sirius leaned into you again, voice low and sultry in your ears, “Fuck, angel—he’s not gonna last long. d’you want him to cum?” you just leaned in closer—even as Remus gently tugged to pull you away. You didn’t let up, hallowing your cheeks with a muffled moan and he went rigid beneath your touch, spilling into your mouth in hot spurts.

Jaw slacking as his voice cracked—his high still washing over him, “fuckfuckfuck—mmfgh! dove, so good,” shuddering as you pulled off of him. Sirius immediately pressing small kisses to your skin, whispering hypnotically into your ear, “mmhm—swallow f’me, sweetheart,”

Your cheeks flushed further at his words, ignoring the way your lungs still burned for air as you swallowed—hearing Sirius hum in approve when your lips parted, sucking in deep breaths of air—leaning slightly into his hold.

Remus quickly leant down to you, trousers already resting low on his hips again. Tugging you out of Sirius’ hold and onto his lip, pressing his lips firmly onto yours, groaning at the contact.

Thighs splitting over his hips as he tugged you to straddle him fully, hands already smoothing up your sides, greedy in the way they gripped and slid and roamed like he couldn’t get enough, muttering against your lips, “throat alright, pet?” biting back the smirk that threatened to play on his lips.

His kiss was bruising—all tongue and teeth and breathy groans. You barely had time to catch your breath, nodding mindlessly, before you were chasing his mouth again, whimpering softly into the kiss as his hips shifted up, pressing flush to you with no shame, no hesitation.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as he licked into your mouth, pulling a gasp from your lips. Warm, solid beneath you, and the way he was touching you—like he was mapping every inch of skin he could reach—sent your head spinning.

Remus grunted softly, breaking the kiss only to press hot kisses down your jaw, your neck, and then he shifted—gripping your hips tightly and guiding you back until your spine hit the mattress. You stared up at him, pupils blown and chest heaving, dazed and flushed, legs parted beneath the weight of his gaze.

He didn’t move for a moment—just hovered over you, smirking down, letting his hands drag slowly down your ribs as your stomach fluttered beneath his palms. But your attention snagged when you noticed movement at the edge of your vision.

James.

He was sitting there at the edge of the bed, still and watching you with a heat in his eyes that made your skin prickle. His gaze didn’t waver, making your breath catch in your throat, back arching instinctively under Remus' hands.

Remus turned his head just slightly, catching James’ expression—and the smirk that curved his lips deepened. Dipping back down, mouth brushing yours with a teasing slowness before murmuring low against your lips, “Jamie has something to ask you, pet.”

Before you could even process the words, James was shifting forward, one knee sinking into the mattress as he leaned in close to your ear—his curls brushing your cheek, voice low and velvet-smooth as he said,

“Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

The world narrowed to the rasp of his voice, the heat of their bodies, and the deafening thrum of your heartbeat in your ears. Remus had already slipped away from you, and you hadn’t even had time to mourn the loss before James was pressed against you.

Lips easily finding the curve of your jaw, kissing and nipping a trail to your collarbone—palms of his hands hot against your skin. Wasting no time to bare the skin of your stomach, touch incessant and insatiable.

Even as you stuttered out, mind foggy and breathless, the end of your sentence loosing itself in the thickness of the air. “…You w-wanna…” hips twitching up into him as his lifted the hem of your top up and over your head.

Connecting your lips again deeper, hungrier, his molding into yours in perfect rhythm.

Pulling away for just to pepper marks down your neck, kisses wet and firm to your skin, punctuating his words, “Mmhm, wanna taste you…make you feel good,”

You couldn’t focus on his words even if you tried, each touch more dizzying than the last, heat curling unforgivingly in the pits of your stomach, gasping out his name when his hand slid between your thighs—cupping your core over your shorts.

Fingers tangled into the short tufts at the nape of his neck and he continued his assault on your skin, relishing in the small gasps your let out as he nibbled at a spot that he’d already marked. Grinning into your skin as you bucked helplessly into his palm, hips unconsciously search for friction.

Whining out, “J-jamie,” when he pressed his hand firmer against you—squirming beneath him, as he hummed lowly. Words making your ears burn tenfold, as he pressed his lips into the curved of your breast, already working his way down to your core, “want you to cum in my mouth, love,”

Legs were already slung over his shoulder before you could really compute his vulgar sentences, gasping when his hands carrassed and pawed at the flesh of your thighs, mind spinning, pulse thumping you didn’t notice Sirius planting himself beside you—

“Jamie’s really good with his mouth. Gna let him take care of you?”

You were already nodding mindlessly when James pressed a kiss over your clothed core, and your entire body shuddered. Hands taking purchase on the sheets beside you, gasping as heat spread invasively under the surface of your skin.

James’ fingers were hooked under the waist band of your bottoms, using his body to raise your hips and peel them off your in a clean, swift swipe—leaving you bare and breathless. Heat coiling in your stomach at the sight of him between your legs, indulging himself with each kiss he planted onto your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your dripping core.

Goosebumps raising over your thighs when the rough pads of his fingers dragged over the flesh, spreading your legs further apart. James’ lips split into a far too pleased smirk at the sight of your folds, glistening and slick, his breath fanning over you when he spoke,

“ooo, all wet from making Rem feel good, huh?”

All you could do was squirm under his hold, one leg still hooked over his shoulder—his other hand trailing up your slit, spreading you as he nibbled lightly at your inner thigh, words muffled by the thin flesh, “Sooo pretty, love,”

Choking out a gasp when he pressed a soft kiss to the swole bundle of nerves, thighs twitching by his head. He looked up at you, drinking in each small micro reaction with a smug smirk—watching as your eyes screwed shut when he laid his tongue flat against your core.

Fingers teasing along the edge of your folds, hooking his other hand around your thigh when you inched away from him. In a single fluid movement, he pushes passes the tight ring of muscles and into your core, humming against your clit when a loud whimper sounded above him.

It was all so intense so suddenly, warm between your legs and curving his digits roughly into your plush walls. Forcing out babbled cries from your lips, “Ngh—Jamie, oh god—James!” Hand resigning its hold on the sheets in exchange for a loose purchase on his hair.

Your head lolled back into the pillows, brows arched high on your forehead as your jaw slacked when he curled his fingers up up up, searching for the familiar spot that had you bucking into him.

White-hot jolts of pleasure running from the base of your spine where James was indulging himself. Moaning into your core as he shuffled forward, helplessly grinding against the sheets beneath him—burying his face further into you.

The coil in your stomach was threatening to snap under the pressure that James was steadily building. Bullying thrusts into you as he took your clit between his flushed lips—tears stinging in your eyes as you tried to buck away from the harsh sucking of his lips.

Crying out in a pitched hoarse voice, incoherent babbles littered with his name, releasing your grip on his curls to push him away before you accidentally pulled out hairs.

James cracked his eyes open, and caught your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you closer to him—locked in with no escape. His hips becoming more frantic in their ruts against the mattress, chasing his high as he pushes you closer to yours.

Muffled between the obscene laps of his lips at your core, words littered with groans that sent shivers down your spine, “mmm, cum f’me, love…wanna—feel,” filing your ears as your back formed an arch.

His hips were already stuttering when you gasped about a choked sob, squeezing his hand to ground yourself as your high washed over you in cruel unforgiving waves. Each stronger than the last as James continued to work you through it—walls clenching around his fingers as stars clouded your eyes.

Shaking and trembling against him, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only prayer you knew.

When he detached, lips flushed and glistening, pupils blown and a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. You’d just barely blinked back your vision, whimpering when he pulled his digits away—thighs trying to squeeze shut at the sensation.

You were still breathless, chest heaving and gaze unfocused when your head rolled—catching sight of Sirius. Name immediately slipping past your lips in a hushed whisper.

And he looked at you with such unfair warmth, cheeks just as flushed as yours—painfully hard and tenting in his bottoms. Automatically cooing out small praises as the aftershocks of your high subsided, but you still kept whispering his name—over and over until he inched closer.

Coaxed by your hand reaching out, all but clawing at his forearm. And when he was just close enough that you didn’t have to strain your hoarse voice, he heard it.

Low and breathy and sweet in his ears, “Want you.” And it had his breath catching in his throat, eyes travelling over your bare figure as you turned, leaning into him. Sirius just pressed a kiss to your forehead, almost brushing off your words as delirium.

But you almost whined when his hand stroked the stray hairs away from forehead, words soft and gentle. “rest, love.” And then Sirius heard it again, as firm as your voice could handle—looking at him through your lashes—flush in your cheeks just barely settling.

“Want more, Siri…want you,” sucking in a sharp inhale—finding air to support your voice, “Wanna go all the way.”

Staring at him with a glint in your eyes that made his head spin—his pulse suddenly much louder beneath his spin. “Y’know you don’t have to, love. There’s plenty of time later—“

Craning your neck up, your pressed a soft kiss to his lips, cutting him off. Before just as quickly as you came in, pulling away—words barely above a whisper. “You don’t want to?”

His stomach dropped, instantly shaking his head, “It’s not that. I want to—believe me, I do. Just don’t wanna pressure you, sweetheart,”

You were still staring up at him, giving him that look—that soft pleading look that said don’t make me say it again, heat curling beneath your cheeks as he leaned in.

His hands were on your waist as he kissed you—trying to take his time, be slow and gentle but you pushed back into him with a vigour that had his resolve fraying instantly.

The kiss deepened, and you felt Sirius melt into you—hands flexing against your waist as if grounding himself. His breath shuddered into your mouth as your hands roamed upward, threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him impossibly closer.

“Fuck—” he whispered against your lips, voice low, like a confession. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You only hummed in response, arching slightly beneath his weight, and Sirius groaned—deep and ragged—as your hips brushed his.

That sound went straight to your head—heat coiling in your stomach as you rolled your hips again, deliberately, and his lips parted against yours in a gasp before he dragged his mouth down—jaw, throat, collarbone—leaving a trail of reverent kisses that made your skin burn.

His voice rasped against the curve of your neck, “You’re sure, love?”

Fingers cupped his face, guiding him back up so you could look him in the eye. Your expression was soft but certain, gaze unwavering.

“I’m sure, Sirius.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, almost something sacred in the way his lips moved over yours. Like he was memorising the shape of your mouth—like he was thanking you with every breath—clothes peeling off in a flurry of movement. Then you felt his hand slide lower, gripping your thigh, guiding you to wrap around his waist as he shifted to settle between your legs—eyes never leaving yours.

“You tell me to stop,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, “and I stop. Understand?”

You nodded, a small sound escaping your throat—something between a yes and a please—and Sirius swore under his breath, kissing you again, deeper, like he couldn't help himself. Gripping onto his shoulders with a desperate hand, trying to pull him in closer, flush against you, as if to fall into him—become one.

It was only when you felt him, hot and firm against your folds that a small gasp slipped past your lips—his eyes were still on you, searching for any hesitation, signs of protest—but he couldn’t find any. Sirius was only met with your flushed cheeked and bleary expression, breathless and soft beneath him.

He found himself chasing your lips, muttering against them, “Gods, you’re so pretty,” As his length rested over and twitched against your core—he could hear the way your breath hitched with each slow and tentative rock he pushed against your folds. Tempting, teasing—and it forced whines and gasps from your lips at the friction.

One heated palm trailed down the side of your body, ghostly far too gentle touches—still swallowing each small mewl that built in your throat—before you felt his hand hitch up your thigh, leaning in closer—making room for himself. Your hands found purchase on the long curls that hung by base of his scalp—carding and tugging when you felt him press into you. Body stiffening as your brows pinched.

A sharp gasp of his name spilt from your lips at the stretch, and he froze—lips parted, eyes squeezed shut before he cracked them open, fingertips tracing nonsense patterns into the skin of your waist. Concern swimming behind his eyes when he spoke, “D’you wanna stop?”

Hips shifting unconsciously as you shook your head—and you both hissed at the friction, chests rising and falling in shaky uneven breaths as he slowly pushed further into you—walls clinging to him, plush and soaked—and it had both your heads spinning.

Thighs quivering beside his hips as your jaw slacked, “O-oh-” Moans and mewls tumbling out of your mouth before you even realised, the stretch had your spine arching as you all but drooled around his length. Sirius was still trying to be patient, placing small kisses along the curve of your neck, your jaw, the thin sensitive skin behind your ear—whispering lightly into your skin.

It was when you sucked him in deeper after the first thrust—hips bucking up in a filthy cadance that had your vision blurrying—that Sirius almost cracked. Hands flying to your hips to keep you still, to keep his sanity, groaning out as he reeled back slightly, “f-fuuck, sweetheart—haah, hold on,”

Squeezing his eyes shut, evoking the patience of a saint to keep each drag of his hips slow and steady—but slow wasn’t going to cut it. Not when the room was spinning, not when all you could think about was Sirius Sirius Sirius, every sense overwhelmed by him, not when you could feel each vein dragging sinfully against your walls.

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—pitched, shaky, airy—with each whimpering plea that spilled out, “Hnngh—please, Siri. Ah! s-s’good,” If the chanting of your hips up up up didn’t break him, the sweet ring of your voice in his ears surely did. His head fell into the dip of your neck, cursing under his breath, grip on your hips tightening as he dragged his hips back before pushing all the way in with one languid thrust.

Each nerve was set alight, spine arching into him with a deep curve as a lewd cry tore its way out of you. His eyes threatened to roll back in his head at the way your walls spasmed around him with each weight rut—but he’d forced them open, stuck on you—memorising the way you looked beneath him, overcome with pleasure.

Grasping and clawing at every part of him, and he was no better—pads of his fingers pressing bruisingly into your flesh, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. Nothing slow and tentative anymore, every shift, and moan, and thrust was feverish—chasing and pushing you further to the edge.

“f-fuck you feel so good—mmfph! taking it so well, love. so good f’me,”

And then, Sirius was angling his hips upwards—urgently, desperately—the hot coil in the pits of your stomach suddenly impossibly tighter as his tip barrelled into that spot, your vision darkened at the edges and tears sprung at the corners of your hazy eyes—thighs trembling from the striking jolts of pleasure that ran through you. Radiating from the base of your spine out.

You were all but melting into the sheets beneath you—staring up at Sirius with a bleary dazed expression, incoherent mewls mixing with his name like a mantra.

Walls clinging to him impossibly tighter with each ram—and he wasn’t going to last much longer, eyes squeezing shut as he nipped and kissed at the skin of your jaw.

Words muffled as he pressed his lips against yours. Hand resigning its bruising grip on your hips to slip between you, thumb rubbing small circles into the over sensitive bundle of nerves—mumbling into your skin when your jaw hung, “c’mon love, need you to let go—f-fuck, please,”

All the muscles in your body became taut, brows pinching impossibly higher on your forehead as your high crashed over you—trembling and shivering as he worked you through it, gasping out as your mind practically shattered.

Vision black, ears ringing before becoming completely boneless.

He was barely holding on when your clamped down onto him, forcing himself out of your core and spilling onto your stomach with an salacious moan, shuddering out breathy whispers of your name. Collapsing onto you lightly, brushing hairs out of your face—small delicate pecks pressing into your jaw.

One hand skimming over the side of your waist, soft and gentle whispers fading away—body resigning itself to sleep.

a/n:this is 7 words away from being 11k....insane

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bridehall-if]

--The hungry mouth of Bridehall Manor lets out its clarion call. You have been compelled to answer.

DEMO OUT NOW!

You play as the youngest child of the Simonson family, born out of infidelity-- a perfect Victorian scandal. Due to your unfortunate birth circumstances, your parents have decided to send you away to take up a position as household manager at the remote Bridehall Manor after the previous one's untimely (and altogether strange) passing. You expect your time in the mansion in the Catskills of New York to be uneventful and isolating.

You'd be wrong.

The longer you stay at Bridehall, the more secrets you find hidden behind its mahogany doors, beneath its ornate wallpaper, under its rich hardwood floors, and especially within the denizens of the house themselves.

Just be careful not to drown in the deep, deep black of its shadows.

+ Customize your MC-- what's their attitude towards society? How do they feel about working at Bridehall? What are their thoughts on the supernatural?

+ Also, choose your gender,* interests, personality, name, and more.

+ Discover more about the (troubling) history of Bridehall and the people that have lived in it.

+ Experience the world's most uncomfortable carriage ride.

+ Romance 1 of 5 ROs-- the matriarch, the minister-in-training, the runner-up, the major, or the phantom.

+ Befriend those who live there, or make enemies. Connection is a fragile thing, especially in a place like Bridehall.

+ Blood sacrifices! If you're into that sort of thing.

TW: Gore (not extremely descriptive), mentions of infidelity, violence, brief suggestive content, mentions of animal death, mentions of drug use. This IF is recommended for those 16+

================================================*Disclaimer: Because this IF is inspired by the 1880s, gender roles are still sort of a thing. There is an option to play as femme/masc non-binary, but based on your presentation, that affects how you are treated in society and some additional world aspects. However, there will not be any transphobia/intentional misgendering in this IF. It's just not something I want to write. I'm not non-binary myself, so I'm very open to suggestions on things to change relating to this topic.

================================================

🌑Harriet Margrave -- the matriarch -- (she/her) {FMCs only}

| Assured. Respectable. Intimidating. The wife of Amos Margrave, although she doesn't like it when people bring it up. She runs the house, some might say with an iron fist. She seems to have taken a dangerous liking to you.

| However, beneath her strong, cool exterior, she's not all that she seems-- you catch glimpses of something dark and curious lurking. It's up to you to decide whether it should never see the light of day or, perhaps, to be consumed entirely by it.

| Harriet is in her late 40s, with ash brown hair always kept in a neat, complex updo and deep blue eyes that shift with tones of green in different lights. She has a light but rosy complexion and stands at around 5'7. She tends to wear a lot of black, as if she's in perpetual mourning, although she doesn't mind an occasional blue accent.

"Low and deep Spake in mine ear her voice: "And didst thou dream, This could be buried? This could be sleep? And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem, Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!" Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss." -- snippet of Assurance (1887) by Emma Lazarus

================================================

🌒Ansel Margrave -- the minister-in-training -- (he/him)

| Flighty. Devout. Gentle. A hopeful future Methodist minister, he's recently been plagued by supernatural visions (or so he says,) and your arrival and the circumstances surrounding it do nothing to calm his worries. You may be able to reassure him otherwise.

| As you get to know him, he may reveal that he has far better reasons to be afraid than you might think. Will you walk with him through his troubles, or leave him to wander the solemn corridors of Bridehall on his own?

| Ansel is in his early 20s, and he looks much like his mother with his ashy brown hair and pale complexion, although due to its lack of rosiness it sometimes borders on ghostly. He'd like to dress more vibrantly but fears reprisal from his clerical peers, thus, he usually sticks to muted greens and browns. He stands at around 5'9, and wears spectacles.

"In solitude profound, As shadows fall, what memories, Thick as dew-drops on sun-risen meadows Troop around thee!" -- snippet of Night In Egypt (1880) by George Vaughan

================================================

🌓Cecil/ia Blumenthal -- the runner-up -- (gender selectable, he/him or she/her)

| Independent. Scrappy. Creative. C's been working at Bridehall for practically their whole life, climbing the ranks until they could finally reach the position of head butler/housekeeper they deserved-- until you came along. In their eyes, you have everything you want on a silver platter, and how much work have you done to get it? None. In short, they've got a real bone to pick with you. Will you play into the feud, or maybe try to change their feelings? Honestly, best of luck on that one.

| Because of how long they've been at Bridehall, C knows more about its history and secrets than they let on. Much, much more.

| C is in their mid-20's, with shiny brown curls that F!C keeps in an artfully rushed bun and M!C keeps just a bit too long. They have coffee-brown eyes and warm, tanned skin dotted with freckles. They stand at 5'6. They prefer to dress for convenience rather than style, but they always wear a tarnished silver brooch in the shape of a bird-- F!C pins it to her collar, while M!C pins it to his lapel.

"I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Til it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine." -- snippet of A Poison Tree (1794) by William Blake

================================================🌔 Marshall Ward -- the major -- (he/they)

| Outgoing. Empathetic. Perfectionist. A new arrival at Bridehall like you, he's an old family friend of the Margraves who plans to stay for the autumn. He's the perfect picture of polite society-- porcelain smiles and impeccable manners. Despite the divide between him as a guest and you as the help, he insists on making a connection with you. One that may be a bit too strong for his own good.

| Now, you don't know much about the military yourself, but it is a bit odd that a non-retired military officer was permitted leave for an entire season, and whenever you ask questions surrounding his arrival, you only get heavy silence in return. It's as if there's a tight wire of secrecy underlying his sunny veneer, and the more you press, the more it's likely to snap.

| Marshall is in his early 30s, with short, coily black hair and an impeccably combed mustache. They have light tan skin and have a small scar running across their cheek, and he stands at 6'2. He is very meticulous in the way he dresses and is particularly fond of red ties with embroidered patterns on them.

"Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. -- snippet of The Charge of the Light Brigade (1854) by Lord Alfred Tennyson ================================================

🌕Annabelle -- the phantom -- (she/her)

| Mysterious. Quiet. Ethereal. Every so often, out of the corner of your eye or the reflection in a mirror, you catch a glimpse of her. Is she even real, or is she simply a product of your own mind, spiraling ever deeper into instability? Whatever she is, you feel an indescribable, intangible pull to her that may become very hard to resist.

| Annabelle is inextricably linked to the house and its history. If you dig to learn more about her, you may unearth the very roots that Bridehall stands on. Roots that it would very much like to keep underground.

| Annabelle appears to be in her mid-20s, although the semi-translucent, filmy aspect to her makes it a bit hard to tell. She has very dark skin that glitters and shines under moonlight, and she seems to be perpetually wet, as if she had just been thrown in a pond. She wears a pale pink dress a decade or so out of date, and stands at about 5'3.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling-- my darling-- my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea-- In her tomb by the sounding sea. -- snippet of Annabel Lee (1849) by Edgar Allan Poe

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[lovetreats]

what's wrong with my boss!?

pro-hero!boss!bakugou x fem!assistant!reader

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. bnha m.list.

content .ᐟ think "what's wrong with secretary kim?" (sorta) but with this blond menace, ur his personal secretary, he's annoying, he's a yearner, you don't notice shit, kirishima knocks some sense into him, pretty fluffy, did i mention he's a yearner? you two argue, reader is 27 ? bakugou is 29 ? #idk oh also swearing, ur both awks but its part of the plan trust

word count .ᐟ 5.7k+

you’ve been working as bakugou’s personal assistant for as loooong as you could remember.

when you first applied, you were ecstatic! you managed to snag an extremely high paying job with little problems. it honestly felt like it was too good to be true.

… well, it sort of was.

you knew that bakugou was hard to deal with—it was always apparent in the few interviews he had with tv hosts, reporters, and especially with paparazzi. but you thought that it was probably because he disliked the fact that most of them always tried to get their hands on some information in his private life. he rarely attends events, and if he did, it was only an extremely short appearance—so naturally a lot of people, including you, thought that he was just an extremely reserved person.

and sure, he has a temper, and he is a reserved person, but he’s also just. quite hard to deal with. more than you thought he would be.

he wanted everything to be organized, he wanted you to be extremely organized. he expects you to know all the specifics of his work life: all of the events and interviews and meetings and photoshoots and whatnot. when and where, why do it in the first place, who will be in the same room as him, how long do you estimate it’ll take, take care of the ones that he deems “unnecessary”, etc.

at first you thought you were doing everything right, but apparently it wasn’t good enough in his eyes. he told you off for getting certain information wrong (it was right, it just wasn’t as detailed as he wanted), he told you off when he had to attend a “stupid, unnecessary event” (it was a pro-hero ball), and he told you off when you couldn’t catch up with the amount of emails and calls (it was literally your first week on the job).

still, you stayed and put up with it all.

at first, you talked back because of your pride. after those moments, you would always go home crying and scared, thinking that you might’ve lost your job for good this time. but he never fired you, even when you called him an “ungrateful asshole” one time.

bit by bit, you just got used to it. you start to smile, nod, and apologize when you did something he didn’t like. it surprised him at first, and sort of bugged him, but he never told you about it. bit by bit, day by day, you would perfect his wants and needs with work, leaving him with nothing to complain about.

“oi, did you cancel that stupid ph—“

“did it yesterday, sir.”

“… the pro-hero meeting tod—“

“8:30am, the meeting will be about catching a group of villains that have started to cause more and more damage everywhere they go. i’ve asked deku’s secretary, and they’ve told me that the villains had some sort of power-up that’s made them stronger and more dangerous.”

“..? who am i meeting wi—“

“pro-heroes deku, shouto, red riot, pinky, uravity, mirko, ingenium, best jeanist, lemillion, phantom thief, cellophane, and grand.”

he just stares at you after that. his eyes bore into you, but you paid him no mind. you continued fixing his schedule for the week and answering some emails. he blinks once, he blinks twice, and he blinks another couple of times before grumbling to himself.

“anything else, sir?” you ask without looking at him, busy with typing away on your laptop for the report he wanted done by 2:00pm. the only reply you got was him opening and closing the door.

and this was how your days would usually go. your short replies were either met with grunts or closed doors instead of the fighting the two of you were once used to.

but you started noticing something.

he’d make coffee for two instead of one, making sure that the other cup was just right, just to your liking. he would tell you to ‘take a damn break’ more often than not. he would walk you to your car and would watch you leave the parking area from the side before going in his own vehicle. he would ask for your advice on more things than before, and most of the time, it’s the one he’d always go with. when there’s events, he would always make sure you’re there as his plus one (and in these cases, he stays longer than he usually would).

but you never really put more thought in it. you just assumed he was more lax now because you knew how to do the job right in his standards, and this is him being grateful that he didn’t need to waste more time arguing with you and correcting your mistakes.

you never really thought about finding another job or even just taking a long vacation, until one of your friends mentioned how you rarely went out and would always be busy with work. well, they always do, it’s just this time it… made you think.

“c’mooooon! just this once! and you don’t even have work tomorroooow!” one of your friends cried as she shook your right arm. you sighed and tilted your head, thinking.

they were right. every day your only focus was to ensure that the work you did was to bakugou’s standards. every day you ensured to be the very best out of spite and for that sweet, sweet paycheck. but… you didn’t live. you didn’t party, didn’t go to clubs, and you barely go out for dinner with your friends.

“we should go out and meet some people! you’re 27, girl! we should be out and enjoying liiiife!”

you chuckle and playfully shove them away from your arm. “fine, fine. let’s go out tonight.”

you went on to buy a dress just for tonight, did your make-up and hair all pretty, and had a fucking blast with your friends at the club. you danced and danced and drank and drank, going back home when the sun was already up. sure, the morning after was unbearable and annoying, but you still had a ton of fun.

you wanted to live for fun rather than for work. you wanted to hang out more with your friends. hell, you wanted to travel the world! but you couldn’t do any of that if you were still going to be stuck as bakugou katsuki’s personal assistant. because every day, every waking moment, you would be focused solely on your work and nothing else, like a programmed machine that does not know anything but what was coded in it to do.

you didn’t want that anymore.

you have enough money, more than enough if we’re being real honest. if you want another job, you could probably go on and open a nice little book café. but working again was far from your concerns at the moment.

right now? it’s telling bakugou that you want to quit.

“what’s the event later tonight?” bakugou asks with crossed arms. he glances at you, quickly typing something on your laptop before pushing pushing your specs up on your nose.

“it’s a charity event, sir.”

“you’ll be with me f’ tonight,” bakugou states, like it’s a matter of fact.

you fidget with the buttons on the sleeve cuffs of your blazer, taking in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to break the news to bakugou.

“of course, sir. but tonight will be the last time i accompany you to such events.”

“huh? and why is that?” he asks with a raised brow.

here it goes. you stand up from your desk and walk over to him. you bow low and long, which made bakugou clench his hands into fists. he already had a feeling.

you stand up straight and look him dead in the eyes.

“i would like to quit as your personal assistant. i believe i’ve given more than enough of my time here. i will ensure that your next assistant will be able to manage everything according to your standards before i put in my notice.”

a moment of silence passed. you didn’t move or speak another word. another moment passed, and he still didn’t say anything. it was like time froze, and you started fidgeting with your fingers, feeling a drop of sweat drip from your forehead even in the cold room.

another stupid moment of silence passed and you felt antsy. he wasn’t saying anything, he wasn’t reacting. you didn’t know if he was mad or what, you couldn’t read him this time. he just stares at you blankly, not a single shift in his expression.

“… sir?”

“do you need a pay raise?”

now that just ticked you off.

“… no, sir, i don’t.” you say with a forced smile.

“ya know you can take a vacation, right?”

“yes, sir. but i’d like to try new things, too.”

“like?”

you try your hardest to maintain your professionalism, it honestly looked like you had that little angry emoticon on your forehead right now. you didn’t expect him to be so hardheaded about this, you assumed that he would shrug it off and tell you to ‘do whatever the fuck you want’. you didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn with this.

“i don’t understand why you need to know, sir.”

you swore you just saw his eye twitch.

“well, since yer still stayin’ to get another assistant—“

“a new assistant,” you interject.

he grumbles, his expression forming into a scowl. “—another assistant, why can’t you accompany me for future events?”

“that will be the new assistant’s role, sir.”

you could sense his growing frustration. it was obvious with his scowling expression, one of his legs jumping up and down over and over, and his arms crossed together tightly against his chest as he leaned back on his chair.

“i don’t want or need a new damn assistant!” he yells as he stands up and smacks his hands palms down on his wooden desk.

“well i! want! to live! my life!” you shout back, your tone was sharp, jabbing each word at him. you had one hand on your hip and the other on your chest, breaking away from the professionalism you tried to maintain so as to not turn this into a heated fight. well, too late! good god he was being more stubborn than usual and it felt irritating.

“i want to travel the world!—“

“take a damn vacation!”

“that’s not the point, oh my god!”

you pant slightly before covering your face behind your glasses with your hands. you took a moment to gather yourself, to bring back the ‘you’ that you worked so hard to create for this stupid job. you lost all of that in this moment, and it felt like the two of you reverted back to when it was all still new and fresh. the bickering and arguing and complaining—

“i want to live, sir. i want to enjoy life. i went out with my friends a couple days ago and it was fun—i hadn’t done that in years,” you chuckle dryly.

“in all these five years, i focused on my work; i focused on you.”

his eyes slightly widen, as if slowly realizing that you were right. you’ve always tended to everything that was related to him. he would sometimes notice that you would even sleep on your breaks. he didn’t bother with changing anything because you changed yourself for it, and because of that, you probably grew tired of it. tired of him.

you’ve spent five long years dedicated to him, and was too content with your presence to even realize that if you left, it would never be the same again. you knew everything about him, how he liked his coffee, how he liked to organize, how he liked to dress, how he liked to relax, his favorite food to calm him down, and even his favorite fucking shoe brand. but he barely knew anything about you. sure, he knew how to do your coffee, but that’s only because he watched you make it one time. you didn’t talk about your personal life, your feelings, when you were at work (it was work, after all).

but still, he felt like he took you for granted.

again, it was silent. neither of you broke it, your eyes were locked on each other as the both of you waited for the other to speak with bated breath. after a while, bakugou clicks his tongue and closes his eyes.

“do whatever the fuck ya want. ya don’t have to join me later tonight, go rest.”

you didn’t reply—not like he wanted to when he turned his attention back on the papers on his desk. you bowed your head before walking back to your own desk, already planning on putting up the role on a site to find good candidates to be bakugou’s assistant.

“what’s up with you, bro?” kirishima asks as he puts on arm around and on top of bakugou’s shoulder. the blond grumbles, his annoyance extremely apparent on his face, which made kirishima even more curious and concerned.

after yesterday, bakugou took a quick glance at his schedule and cancelled meetings for the day. he practically forced you to take the day off. he was due for patrol later tonight, so he, surprisingly, told kirishima to come over. he’s slowly regretting it.

“fuck off ‘f me,” he mutters with little venom in his tone, but still shrugging off the arm on his shoulder.

“is it your secretary?”

bakugou’s head whips around to face kirishima. he squints his eyes and, once again, scowls. kirishima sighs and pats his back. “c’mon, you can tell me.”

“… she wants t’ quit.”

kirishima accidentally pats his back a little too hard after hearing that. “OI!”

“sorry! sorry! i just—i didn’t expect that…,” kirishima says, smiling sheepishly and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“what did ya expect?” bakugou grumbles.

“y’know, you’re finally admitting to yourself that you like her.”

“what the fuck are ya talkin’ about!?” bakugou throws a cushion right to his face. kirishima lets out a slight yelp and pouts as he hugs the pillow

“bro, it’s obvious!”

“i don’t have any feelings for her, shitty hair,” he spat, glaring daggers at his red-haired best friend.

kirishima sighs deeply as he scratches the back of his head. “don’t you realize the only reason why she’s the only secretary you’ve had for so long is because she practically pushes through all of your bullshit? and because of that, you basically don’t have anything to complain about and have it as a reason to push her away.”

this is another one of those moments where kirishima would keep him grounded, where he’d talk some sense into him. for how proud bakugou can be, it blinds him too much sometimes and kirishima’s the only one who practically smacks him back into reality. kirishima knows that deep down, bakugou needs someone to ground him. he wasn’t as bad as he was when they were still students at UA, but he was still quite headstrong.

“you told me before again and again how personal assistants were too annoying to deal with because you already had your own way of handling things, but she was able to do it all and more.”

“the only reason i kept her around was because she knew how i worked. i don’t want to have to teach another new fuckin’ person my standards.”

“then tell her she should do it.”

“she already said she will.”

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “… then why are you so worked up over it?”

bakugou only grumbles, turning his head away from kirishima, as if feigning ignorance. kirishima had to hold back in a snort so as to not annoy the short-tempered man beside him.

“and you keep telling me you don’t like her, huh?”

bakugou doesn’t reply. kirishima sighs before standing up and walking over to the mini-fridge bakugou has in the living room. he grabs two beers and tosses the other one to bakugou. he catches it swiftly, opening it up with no hesitation. this practically proved to kirishima that he’s stressing out over losing you. he knows his friend more than enough to know that when he doesn’t complain of drinking ‘too early’, something is amiss.

“why don’t you go on and take her out to dinner?”

“are you fuckin’ insane—“

“just do it, man. go to a nice restaurant! you can do other stuff too, just tell her it’s your way of thanking her for those five years. you can’t exactly force her to stay, that’d be messed up. so just, y’know…,” kirshima shrugs. “show her how grateful you are.”

kirishima plops down beside bakugou and takes a big gulp of his beer. “no matter how much you wanna try to deny it, you like her. this is practically a wake up call for you to make a move on her before you lose her to someone else.”

“you fuckin’—“

“don’t try to deny it, man. i know that you know that i know you better than anyone else. it’s why you invited me over in the first place.”

bakugou doesn’t try to retort this time. he can’t, anyway, not when kirishima’s right.

“i’m—i’m sorry?”

“dinner. tonight.”

you blinked. you blinked again, and again. it’s been a few days after you announced that you’d be quitting. he was distant for a while too, so him telling you that he wanted to have dinner with you tonight obviously shocked you.

he just stares at you and waits. tick tock tick tock goes the clock. he clicks his tongue and turns his head away as he feels his embarrassment creeping up on him. “if you’re too busy or you just don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“no, it’s fine. i just, um, didn’t expect it from you… is it—is it work related?”

he fully turns away, making you look at his back. he was in full hero gear because he was going out for patrol for the afternoon. you quirk an eyebrow, confused enough with his sudden behavior, but your eyes widen when you realize his ears had a pinkish hue to them. ‘was he blushing?’ now this just made you even more confused.

“i wanted to thank ya for the five years… for puttin’ up with an asshole like me.”

the way he said it sounded different from how he usually is. it was like he was trying hard to find the right words with how he spoke slowly, deliberate. you’ve never heard, or even seen him, like this before. it was… endearing?

“ya don’t hafta find another assistant, i’d much rather work on this shit by myself.”

“i doubt you can. after all, you have been relying on me for the past five years.” it can be interpreted as you teasing him, but you also kinda did say it like it’s a fact. and, well, it is.

bakugou huffs, he was ready to retort, but stopped himself from doing so. he walked towards the door instead; he didn’t really want to ruin the mood today and for tonight, he’d rather just let you be.

“i’ll pick ya up at eight, go on ahead an’ clock out at two, there’s not much to do today anyway. that ‘nuff time for ya t’ get ready?”

you just hummed in response as you scroll through the list of candidates carefully. “it is.”

you were nervous. so nervous that you were ready two hours before the actual time of him picking you up. how could you not be nervous? he already told you that the dinner wasn’t work related. he wanted to thank you for your service, and yet it felt like something more was there. why else would he turn around as if he was embarrassed? as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings?

wait. his feelings? there shouldn’t be anything, right? it would be sudden anyway, you’re sure of it. that’s what you keep telling yourself as you scroll through your instagram account. one picture caught your attention: it was the one where he invited you to one of the events he attends for the first time. you smiled politely at the cameras with your hand on his bicep, it made you chuckle how awkward looking you looked back then. you didn’t think anything was odd when you first posted this, but when you inspected it once more… bakugou was looking at you.

your heart skipped a bea—

NO. no way. no fucking way. no shot.

you saw this picture before, but why did it feel different now?

you closed instagram and stood up from your couch, gently tossing your phone on it. you paced around the coffee table, arms crossed against your chest. you were probably just overthinking things, probably just overcomplicating shit for yourself. it didn’t mean anything, he probably just didn’t want to look at the cameras and they just got the perfect shot where he’s looking at you—

you grabbed your phone and plopped down on your couch with a heavy sigh. you opened instagram again, this time you were on his account. you scrolled through his pictures as you hug one of your cushions. this was insane. why were you scrolling through his instagram? it wasn’t like you were gonna find something else to feed your assumptions—

oh. one of his posts had a couple of pictures that were just you. you and no one else. all those pictures were of you laughing and smiling. this post was when there was a fun little event for agencies and their heroes and staff to have fun. the pictures weren’t all you, but there was enough that made your mind get all messed up with unrelenting thoughts.

but there was one post that nailed it in the coffin for you. it was one picture of the sunset, but on the bottom right of the photo, there was a silhouette of a woman. it was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious it was you, but you know it was.

the caption?

beautiful.

you closed out of the app.

why were you having assumptions anyway? it’s not like you like him in that way. you never really thought about it, too busy meeting with his demands. you never thought of him in any other way other than him being your boss, and why would you? he was a stubborn ass who always tried to find something to tell you off about. this shouldn’t change anything, it’s just dinner with him. it’s not like you haven’t eaten with him before. it’s just dinner.

nothing more, nothing less.

bakugou has never been this nervous his entire life. he didn’t know why he was nervous, it was just dinner with you. it’s not like this was any different from eating lunch with you at work. so why the hell did he feel so antsy? like he couldn’t shake this shit off of him.

(he knows why, but like you, he doesn’t want to admit it.)

he was parked right in front of your place. he taps on the steering wheel while he stares at your front door. he shakes his head after a few moments, grumbling incoherent words to himself. his mind suddenly goes back to all the things kirishima told him a few days ago, it was all repeating in his mind over and over again. he grits his teeth before clicking his tongue in annoyance, checking his wrist watch for the time.

7:58PM

he leans back on the headrest and closes his eyes as if to mentally prepare himself. what for? he doesn’t know (he’s scared he might look like a fool in front of you).

he gets out of his car and walks towards your front door, taking a moment before pushing the button on the intercom.

“who is it?”

“it’s me.”

not even a second later, you opened the door. and god you looked fucking gorgeous. you wore a pretty little black off-shoulder dress that went down below your knees, your hair was styled perfectly, and your make-up made you look like an angel. he liked how you still wore your glasses even when you dresses up all fancy and pretty.

“sir?”

he shakes his head slightly to snap back to reality. “bakugou. bakugou’s just fine. we aren’t at work anyway,” he states absentmindedly.

“you… you look nice. beautiful.” he murmurs before quickly turning away and walking towards his car. “c’mon.”

you follow him quietly, your fingers gently pushing up your glasses. the walk to his car felt way too long for some reason, long enough for you to shoot a glance at his ears, wanting to see if they changed to a certain hue. a corner of your lips quirked upwards when his ears were in fact, pink.

bakugou opens the passenger front car door for you, all the while avoiding eye contact. you thank him softly as you bend down to get in the car. you try to make yourself comfortable, fidgeting around the car seat as bakugou goes on to get in the driver’s seat.

“before we go on ahead, i wanted to… give you something…” this was the second time he talked slowly, hell you’d even say softly, to you. you were too busy staring at him that you didn’t notice him reaching out to open the glove compartment and taking out a dark red velvet box.

bakugou shows the box to you and opens it slowly. it was a bracelet—a ruby and diamond bracelet to be precise. it was intricately designed and it looked so delicate, so elegant. the rubies were cut like teardrops while the diamonds were cut rounder, six rubies circled around one diamond, forming a tiny flower. it repeats all around, and it danced around the warm light of the car, shimmering like the stars above. you couldn’t help but let out a gasp with one hand hovering over your mouth.

“sir—bakugou, you didn’t have to—“

“none of that shit.” he tutted as he gently grabs the bracelet out of the box. he motions for you to lift up your hand while he unclasps the bracelet. you can’t help but catch how bakugou katsuki looked small, which is probably an insane thing to say, but you couldn’t find any other word to describe how he looked right now.

he was waiting for you to lift up your hand, but his eyes still haven’t made contact with your own. you swear to yourself that he looked like he was pouting, in a sense. his shoulders slumped, his head slightly lowered, he looked as if he wanted to make himself look small. bakugou katsuki is a proud man who is sure of himself most of the time, so seeing him like this—so vulnerable and even shy, it was enough to surprise you.

you finally lift up your hand, palm facing upwards. he wordlessly snakes the bracelet around your wrist, fastening it with ease. he watches you admiring it; took note of your eyes getting bigger, even seemed like they were shining prettily.

after a moment, you finally looked at him, and thankfully this time, he doesn’t look away from you. he notices the shy smile forming on your face as you bow your head slightly. you opened your mouth and said:

“thank you…”

in the softest way imaginable.

he mumbles a ‘yer welcome’ as he turns the keys to his car, letting it start to life.

he drove for about thirty minutes, and the whole ride was slightly awkward, but bearable. bakugou put all his focus on the road, and you were just looking out without really thinking of a way to start a new conversation with him—not that he minded all that much. when you finally arrived, he told you to stay put when he saw you gathering yourself to get out the car. he quickly gets out and speed walked his way to your car door, stretching out a hand for you to take.

now you’re the one who keeps avoiding his eyes.

you take his hand and get out, clutching your purse tightly as a way to ground yourself to what’s happening. though you’re out of the car, he hasn’t let go of your hand, he actually holds it tighter as he led you to the restaurant.

it was so quiet between the two of you now. silence wasn’t all that uncommon, you would be too busy focusing on your work to talk to him, and he’d be busy with his own. when you managed to practically surprise him with how well you work as his personal assistant, everything was peaceful. the only time it went back to the way it was was when you told him of your plans of quitting.

but it was back to quiet after that. the one the two of you were more than familiar with. but this quiet? this silence? it’s different, it has tension.

bakugou talks with the host for the reservation he made for the both of you, your hand still in his grasp. after a few moments, the host tells the both of you to follow them so they can lead the way.

the host leads you to your table which was located pretty deep into the area. it was much more secluded, something bakugou would definitely pick out. the host tells you to take your seats while they go and get two menus for your table.

“where d’ya wanna sit?”

“anywhere’s fine,” you murmur, too busy with gawking at how your table looks so pretty and different from the others. the cloth had a different type of fabric that had all sorts of intricate patterns sewn on it. the table mats were rectangular in shape, with flowers sewn in on the corners. to the plates, the glasses, even the flowers that sat prettily on the center of the table seemed to you as if this was all meticulously planned.

or maybe you’re just thinking too much into it again—

“if you’re wonderin’ why our table is different… i made a request,” bakugou ushers you to walk towards the seat in front of you. he pulls the chair back, lifting it slightly so as to not make a sound, motioning for you to sit down with a tilt of his head. you walk in front of him, bending down as he pushes the chair gently towards you.

“looks like you put a lot of thought into it.” you watch him walk around the table to sit down in front of you.

“i did. wanted ya to like it,” he says as he sits down.

“so… do you?” he looks at you with eyes that tell you ‘i hope you do’. he looked like he was a little nervous to hear what you think. you smile and nod your head and watch him exhale, as if he’d forgotten how to properly breathe. how come he's become easier to read now?

“here are the menus,” the host pops up from behind you and hands the both of you menus. they guide you with the dishes within the menu and mention their specials to help you out with what you want to order. after a few more moments, they leave you in the hands of a server.

“order anythin’ ya like, alright?”

dinner was… surprisingly nice.

bakugou made it clear before, and way more clear now that this dinner wasn’t about him trying to get on your good side to get you to stay as his personal assistant. all of this was simply because he wanted to.

while eating, he asked you about your plans, and he listened carefully. you went on to tell him about the book café you’d been planning, but with no plans of rushing in to it. your first goal was to explore, live life to the max; travel to different countries and party to your heart’s content. he didn’t reply much, but he made sure that you knew he was listening with how he kept looking at you.

time passed by like it was nothing. the appetizer was good, the main meal was delicious, the desert made you feel like you were in heaven with how light it felt in your mouth. the two of you kept chatting on (mainly you) until you needed to leave.

there was one thing you noticed before leaving the restaurant.

when the two of you stood up from you chairs, bakugou walked around the table and right towards your side. he tried to subtly eye your hand, and you watched him as he stretched out his own before telling you to follow him out. you almost wished he took your hand in his.

now back in his car, he wasted no time in starting up the car and drove away from the restaurant. you closed your eyes and leaned your head against the headrest of your seat, trying to process everything that happened tonight. you couldn’t help but admit that you did enjoy it, every single thing. from the bracelet, to the arranged table, to the food, to how attentive he was to you…

“hey, you okay?”

his voice snaps you back to reality, making you immediately open your eyes. you turn to look at him and chuckle softly.

“i am, don’t worry.”

bakugou let out a long exhale, like he was relieved.

“did ya… enjoy it?”

you turned your head away to face the window, smiling to yourself as you watch buildings and city lights pass by.

“i did, a lot.”

the rest of the ride was silent, only broken through once bakugou suggested that you play some music. even with the melodies, the both of you were still quiet. but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, it was… nice. good.

arriving at your place, bakugou still didn’t miss the chance to go and open the car door for you. he walks you to your front door, hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. you glanced at him, and he looked as if he was deep in thought. his brows were slightly furrowed together, and his lips formed a small pout. how cute…

“bakugou?”

“yeah?”

he turns his head to look at you, there wasn’t anything special about it, he was only looking at you like how he was earlier, but—

you think it made your heart flutter.

“thank you, for tonight. i… i really appreciate it.”

he merely shrugs in response, but you can see how shy he is. the pink hue on the tips of his ears, his back was slightly slouched, and that pout still wasn’t wiped off of his face. he really was just wearing his heart out on his sleeve.

you walk towards him, inching closer bit by bit. your hands were behind your back, clutching your purse. you murmur for him to lean down slightly, and he does so with no hesitation. you whisper for him to take care, and before he knew it, you kissed his cheek and ran away, unlocking your door quickly and closing it with a SLAM!

what the fuck just happened?

all rights reserved © LOVETREATS. all fanfics belong to me. do not repost or claim my content as yours. do not recommend on any other platforms any of the works seen here.

[demonic0angel]

Danny travels to Gotham to check out the university and to visit Jazz, when Shades starts approaching him, begging him, to kill a clown called Joker. Ever since Danny took down a GIW satellite that put Amity into a media black out and blocked their calls to the Justice League, Danny's been able to more easily look up information outside of what goes on in Amity Park. The Shades can feel the power Danny tries to keep hidden and can sense he's a protective spirit. Danny learns from the Shades that Batman refuses to kill even though the Joker has hurt him and his family, including killing the second Robin. Danny is conflicted since he knows that sometimes protecting means killing and that killing is wrong. Danny also has clown trauma, so maybe dragging the Joker to court in the Ghost Zone for a proper trial would work, especially since Gotham's a corrupt city. The next time Joker shows his face in Gotham, Danny is still in town by coincidence, Phantom appears before Joker's latest attack starts piling a body count and freezes him before hauling him to the infinite realms for trial. The Bats are stunned

(May I introduce you to this post?)

Tim leaned in close to Dick. “Shouldn’t we do something to help?”

“We don’t know what’s happening right now. And besides, Jason is up there with the king. We have to be careful,” Dick said carefully.

The Ghost King sat on his throne at the judge’s place, where two other guards stood near him, one wearing flowery motifs and the other looking like the Egyptian god Anubis. All three of them looked solemnly at the Joker, who was grinning like a loon as he sat in the defendant’s seat.

The courtroom they were in was crowded and bubbling with noise. Ghosts and monsters sat in the stands and jury. Dick was pretty sure he could recognize one of Tim’s Young Justice friends sitting amongst the jury, but he wasn’t too sure.

Multiple hero teams had also found their way inside of the Ghost Realm in order to be here for the Joker’s trial. Bruce sat next to them, stone faced and clenching his fists. Dick glanced at him but wasn’t able to say anything as the King then stood up, silencing the room.

“You have a choice,” the Ghost King said, addressing the Joker. “For this trial, we’ve decided to do something different for only one time. In this trial, you, the defendant, are allowed to choose the attorney for the plaintiff’s side. The plaintiffs are also able to choose the attorney for you.”

Immediately, multiple people from the audience stood up in protest.

Dick cried, “That’s not fair!”

He was immediately silenced by the Ghost King’s glare as the Joker’s smile widened. Dick ground his teeth together, about to speak up again, when Tim pulled him down.

“Shush, I think there’s a plan,” Tim said and Dick reluctantly sat back down, grimacing. He glanced in Jason’s direction, where he sat stiffly in a sea of victims. There were so many of them that they looked like another part of the audience, all pale faced and bloody, many of them crawling back from the gaping maw of the Dead to see Joker’s demise.

And now it was going to be ruined with this new random rule.

Dick had thought the Ghost King was fair and just, but had he been wrong?

The plaintiffs were allowed to choose the Joker’s attorney first, and they chose Impulse, who had been horrified to be chosen before he seemed to receive some sort of signal from Tim, because he then looked determined and sat in Joker’s space, although very far away.

“The person defending the plaintiffs’ case is Impulse, who’s last name is Allen, once Kid Flash, a hero within the team Young Justice,” the Ghost King announced.

There were some claps. Dick watched the proceedings nervously, almost wanting to throw up.

It was soon the Joker’s turn.

He hummed and his beady eyes scanned the room. He was still grinning when he zeroed in on a woman in the back.

Her red hair covered her face as she bent over her computer, trying to look small as she typed away. She was clearly some sort of court reporter and was keeping to herself, tucked into a corner.

Dick’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach.

“I choose her,” the Joker crooned and the crowd went silent, staring in horror.

The Ghost King said, “Are you sure?”

The Joker nodded, smirking.

There was silence as the plaintiffs immediately seemed to give up, some even bursting into tears.

The Ghost King, however, threw his head back and laughed loudly. He laughed so loudly and so humorously that it was almost funny, if not even more baffling. Even when looking at Bruce, he had no idea what was going on either. The room began to buzz again with confusion.

Finally, the Ghost King reached beneath his mask to wipe away a tear and called to the red haired woman, “Jazz! You’re up!”

She looked up and smiled. When she straightened and stood up, the room fell silent as she rose to her full height, smoothing down her pencil skirt as she tucked away her computer and chirped cheerfully, “Reporting for duty, Your Majesty.”

There was no worry or anxiety on her face. Instead, there was excitement in her eyes and smile as she walked down from where she had been sitting behind the throne to stand near the plaintiffs.

They too, fell silent, staring at her tall frame in awe. Dick was pretty sure he could see Jason’s jaw drop.

Which, real.

But the real shock was the Ghost King’s next words.

The Ghost King smiled as he gestured to the woman standing near the plaintiffs side. “May I introduce you to the person defending the plaintiffs’ case. Introducing Jazz Nightingale, sister of the Ghost King, the Attorney General of the Ghost Zone, a recent graduate of Harvard University who graduated summa cum laude for both law and psychiatry, and former queen regent of the Infinite Realms.”

Jazz gave a wave and a small smile.

The Ghost King tipped his head at the Joker, whose smile fell off his face for the first time.

The volume inside of the room rose rapidly as everyone immediately burst into screams of either delight or shock. Dick wasn’t exempt from this either, gasping as his eyes widened. He stood up and planted his hands on the table in excitement, barely able to believe his eyes and ears. He was pretty sure Bruce and Tim were doing the same.

The Ghost King smirked as he gazed into the Joker’s terrified eyes.

“You’ve fucked up.”