#so ember had it the BEST

[itz-pandora]

sorry if someone has already asked this but is ember related to ash and smolder or are they separate from that family and part of another au?

LOL ITS OK I get how it's easy to get confused. I haven't actually drawn ember w anyone in her family, have I? Oh I don't think I have. Oops.

I haven't drawn her w her siblings because I've been focusing on Smolder and he has resentment towards a literal child 😔 (they have a big age gap)

[pizzazz-party]

I have been waiting months to post this.

A present commissioned by @kithnkin for her friend @magicalspacedragon!

The Helmsman AU.

[sinvulkt]

List of some of webtoon and manhwa recs.

First of all I should probably say that my favorite type of stories (so the type you might find in the list bellow) is ’tragedy comedy adventure’ without any romance, but possibly a lot of bromance | tension (ok some BL slipped by me into this list). And rather self destructive mc for the sake of their goal (often to the utter despair of the people who care about them xd). Bring forth conflicts and battles of will and rising against destiny !

@blackhazefanblog I did this for you! It took a while. Even if I think you’ll find the ones in [The Fantasy Kind] are the most likely to have similar vibes to black haze. : D

All summaries are from Baka-Updates or WebtoonLine. The links are either towards WebtoonLine, or towards the original official site (or official english translation if i found it).

The Fantasy Kind

Black Haze (Ongoing)

A long time ago, a portal to another world was opened, and those who acquired special abilities along with marks began to be called mages. After the incident known as "that day", the first-class mage from Ophion, known as "Blow", has become very famous. One day, he receives a very special mission: to protect the second son of the Artian family, who suffers from being called a "monster" at the magic school "Helios"! Thus, Blow enrolls in Helios under the name "Rood Krisch" to hide his true identity...

My all time favorite. I learned english thanks to it < 3. And it just group so many of my favorite tropes in one story ☆.☆

I’m not that kind of talent (Ongoing)

A talented individual who is respected by many and welcomed anywhere? Not at all! A bloodthirsty battle fanatic who knows no defeat? Couldn’t be further from the truth! In reality, Deon Hardt is a sickly human who coughs up blood from receiving the tiniest bit of stress and gets sunburns from standing in the sun for ten minutes. But due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, he becomes “Demon Arut,” the notorious 0th corps commander of the demon army and the demon king’s joker. Caught in a war between humans and demonkind, Deon must find a way to survive!

I discovered that one this year! I love comediy and tragedy mixed together, and that one fully achieved that, from making me laugh to absolutely destroying my heart seriously i am still hurting. Well this is a tragedy. Be warned. But a delicious one. (My heart TT.TT).

The Ember Knight (Ongoing)

When Nagyunn’s twin brother, Najin, is murdered before his very eyes, he vows to avenge his brother’s death by assuming Najin’s identity. But although the two may look alike, when it comes to fighting, Nagyunn lacks the talent and skill his brother possessed. In order to successfully execute his plot for revenge, Nagyunn resolves to train himself to become the prodigious knight-in-training his brother once was. Will Nagyunn be able to keep his identity a secret before others begin to catch on to his act?

Another one I discovered ’recently’ = last year. I absolutely adore the fact that the mc rely fully on wits and bluff. He will never get a cheat skill to get as strong as others- he just has to play his card rights (which happen to be a bunch of overprotective knights wishing he stopped going in front of the blade path). So he gotta bluff. A lot. Including playing betrayal at every corner, and i sure love betrayal :3. That and it’s a revenge story ~

TAL (Complete)

They walk like ordinary people, they talk like ordinary people but in fact there is nothing ordinary about them since they can materialize an image they have on their mind... They call themselves Chachaoong which also means Shaman and they do not know how or when they came to this world. It is now a time for their current king to choose the future one and so he did by choosing Yu Jin an ordinary human...? Many of the Chachaoong can not tolerate a human ruling them and now the poor Yu Jin not knowing what suddenly hit him, is trying to avoid the Chachaoongs who are trying to kill him!

This has been my second favorite after Black Haze for a long time, because I got a soft spot for escapists xd. All the more escapists with consequences catching them back faster than they can run until they’re cornered ☆.☆ Fight until the end against a fate you are doom to surrender to ~ I love it.

Catharsis (Complete)

Fear is a powerful emotion that can end up overtaking one's life. Leon thought he knew that. But when he's thrown into the demonic realm that Catharsis governs over, he'll learn that there is more to “true” fear than he could ever have imagined... But will he learn how to face it?

That one also stayed in my mind for a long time. The ending is more ’open’ than I would have wished, but well, there is no sequel yet so let’s call that an ending. Appart from that i loved the mc, and he has synesthesis which give really cool result in webtoon format (yay colors). In a world where nightmares take physical shape, the mc get attacked by nightmares and end up being recruited by the agency fighting nightmares bcs they feel smthg off about him.

Crepuscule (Complete)

Lark is different from the rest of the kids. He has red eyes, just like Vampires do, and he is bullied by the other kids for it. One day he meets Setz, a genuine Vampire of a Noble clan who is the only one that doesn't call him a monster or bully him. Eventually they become friends, but when Lark finds out he may have to return to the orphanage, Setz decides he does not want to lose his friend, so he invites him to his home... The world of the Vampires.

Another webtoon i grew up with as a teen. It isn’t my all time fav, but i still quite enjoyed it enough to reread it a few times. Must be the blond mc that reminded me of Rood xd. Or the fact that he is super weak in a world of monsters. Or the reason he has those red eyes. (Such delicious angst amidst the comedy). Are those just a trope I enjoy? XD

Godly Bells (Complete)

Divine Bells - they choose their own masters and they determine the status, prestige, and influence of the countries their masters rule. The presence or lack of these Bells also has great consequence in the lives of each country's royalty. In particular, the personal and political futures of King Hong-Ryeong seem doomed without a Bell, but at equally great peril if he obtains one. But are the Divine Bells simple magical charms, deities of great powers, or something else altogether? And when the owner of three of the eight existing Divine Bells dies, leaving them to choose new owners, where will the resulting turmoil lead?

Another blond mc i grew up with as a teen and reread a few time. And another ’king’ who is ’weak’. It’s in a fantasy world, where divine ’bells’ give each king (and thus each country) power. The mc country hasn’t been chosen by any bells for years, so quite look down upon. Until three bells at least or smthg choose the mc. And then they become people, with their own agenda. The mc didn’t want the attention but well can’t convince the bells to drop him xd. Which is why i loved this story. Once again, can’t escape fate even when you didn’t want it ~

Aegis Orta (Complete)

Val is an ordinary high school student who dedicates his life to God. His peaceful days however have to end when he learns about who he really is..

Very much in the same vibe of Godly Bells and Crepuscule, only I discovered it later and thus have less memories of it (bcs reread it less). It’s another blond character with red eyes that get ’fate’ thrown at its face ~ well. Demon powers. Same.

---

I’m not gonna put Mxtx’s works here (Heaven Official Blessing, Mo Dao Zu Shi, Scum Villain Self Saving System), but they’re great too. If you love comedy and tragedy and don’t mind BL too much. Go for it. I usually don’t enjoy romance that much but it didn’t bother me with those works, bcs it’s presented so naturally into the story rather than harassing us every second. Phantom Paradise is also a BL, although entirely different vibe. It’s what would happen with matriarchat instead of patriarchat but all the toxicity remain - only gender roles are reversed. As for why I enjoyed it so much... I guess I am still somewhat sensitive to fan service ? XD

I also feel like I should mention UnderPrin, even if it didn’t make it all the way to my favs, kind of similar vibe to Catharsis and Aegis Orta. I’ll also mention Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist which is a manga but another blond character in the same vibe of the earlier ones, who refuse his own power XD. And Pandora Hearts because its my favorite manga ever. I even prefer it to Black Haze (but I think someone who liked one would also like the other?).

[morelikesin]

Allegedly, through words not their own, the man in the picture was short a few tools in his toolbox; it didn't stop him and his lady from earning their places in a prestigious kitchen halfway across the world, it seemed.

-

I could not get them out of my head - so, here's my "bless his heart" Logan and @endy-dragon's Ember. Now that they're, and particularly he (is), out of my system, I can relax lmao. Surprise!

[beloveds-embrace]

(part two of here comes the sun: poly 141 x medic reader where you might as well be the sun to them)

Soap wasn’t subtle about it.

The moment he was cleared to leave the med tent, he started pushing. Hard, even if he knew there wouldn’t be much, actual opposition.

“Price,” he said, leaning against the captain’s desk like he wasn’t still healing. “John. We need her.”

Price didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “You need to sit down before you tear that wound open again.”

“I’m serious,” Soap insisted, gesturing wildly. “You saw her. She’s sharp, steady. Quick hands. Disnae panic under pressure. And-”

“And she’s not ours,” Price cut him off, finally looking up. “She’s stationed with another unit.”

“She could be ours,” Soap shot back, undeterred. “We need a medic. She’s the best one I’ve seen.”

Price gave him a long, measured look, and Soap could tell the captain was already considering it even before Soap burst into his office.

“She’s bright.” Price said after a beat, tone flat but amused, and sat back in his chair.

Soap grinned. “Aye. Easy ta spot.” What you, yourself, had said to him when he’d woken up in that tent. He kept going through that day again and again.

Price exhaled through his nose and reached for his phone, and Soap left feeling quite satisfied.

You arrived two weeks later.

The announcement was casual- just another personnel transfer- but the 141 treated it like the sun itself had walked into their orbit.

You stepped into the briefing room with the ease of someone who had faced fire and walked out the other side. Your bright gear stood out starkly against the muted greens and browns of the others, like a flare shot across a starless sky, and it reminded them so much of the day they had met you on that battlefield.

Gaz was the first to speak, offering a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair, offering you an easy smile. “Looks like it’s true. They really did send us the sun.”

You smiled at that, shoulders straight but relaxed, clearly used to the nickname by now. “I’ll try not to blind you, Sargeant.”

Soap’s eyes never left you. His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out- low and rough like an ember still burning.

“Doubtful.”

You blinked, turning to him, but he quickly looked away and scratched at the back of his neck like it hadn’t meant anything. It did, though, and he knew everyone in the room had caught it.

“Well,” Price finally said, breaking the moment. “Welcome to the task force, medic. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

You raised an eyebrow, that sharpness returning to your gaze as you stood a little straighter. “I don’t plan on letting you down, sir.”

Soap’s heart stumbled. That steady confidence- it was the same tone you’d used when you’d saved his life, the same fire he’d seen in your eyes as you’d pulled him back from the edge.

Here comes the sun, he thought again, and this time it didn’t feel like an omen.

It felt like a promise.

And now, you fit into the 141 like you’d always been there.

It didn’t happen all at once- trust like theirs was hard-earned, built in layers of sweat, blood, and battlefield grit. But it started quickly enough.

Price made it clear from day one. He didn’t just treat you as part of the team; he expected it. No fanfare, no hesitation. “You’re one of us now,” he said after your first successful op, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Gaz took to you next, easy and natural. He lingered near you during drills, cracking jokes and testing your reflexes like it was a game. “Just making sure the sun doesn’t burn out,” he’d tease with a grin. But the way he always had your back in the field- never too far, always watching- spoke louder than words.

Soap made it impossible to keep your guard up, of course. He pulled you into conversations before you even realized it, throwing compliments and nicknames around like confetti with an easy grin. “The sun’s shining bright today,” he’d say whenever you joined a room, all charm and laughter. It was easy to laugh with him, easier still to trust him when things got serious.

Ghost was different. Quiet. Watchful. You never caught him outright staring, but you felt his presence. He didn’t say much at first- just short nods and simple instructions during missions. But then there were the small things. The way he passed you ammo without being asked. The way he moved closer during tense moments, his silence as steadying as any words.

And when he finally spoke up, it was never casual. “Good work,” he told you after a long, brutal mission. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

You learned to move with them like clockwork. They learned to rely on you the same way. Missions came and went, and somewhere in between the chaos and quiet, you stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like home.

It wasn’t the colors of your gear that made you stand out anymore. It was the way you fit beside them- bright and steady, a fixed point in their orbit.

Soap caught himself watching you more often than he should’ve.

It wasn’t just the colors, though they still hit him first- those impossible reds and oranges that stood out like fire on a battlefield. They reminded him of sunrise after too many nights spent in the dark, of flames warding off the cold, and he didn’t think there’d come a day where the colors don’t surprise him. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way you moved.

Steady. Deliberate. Like hesitation wasn’t in your vocabulary. You worked with purpose, not a single wasted motion, and it drew his eye every damn time. You stood out in ways that had nothing to do with the bright gear- like light breaking through fog, cutting through smoke and haze to reveal solid ground.

And he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Price started calling you their beacon during briefings. At first, it had sounded like a joke, a casual nod to the nickname you’d earned, but it simply stuck.

“We follow the sun,” Price said once, tone half-serious, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “And if we lose track of her, we’re done for.”

Soap had laughed along with the others, but the words lingered.

Gaz, for his part, never made any effort to hide how much he liked having you around. He hovered close more often than not, easy-going and quick with compliments.

“It’s just the colors,” he’d insist whenever someone called him out for it. “You’re hard to miss.”

But Soap caught the way Gaz’s tone softened when he said it, like maybe it wasn’t just the colors after all.

Ghost… Ghost was different.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t tease- not like the others. But Soap had spent enough time with him to notice the shift. The slight tilt of his head whenever you spoke. The way his shoulders relaxed when you were in the room. The rare moments he let you touch him, patching up a wound or tightening a bandage, as if he trusted you without question.

Soap had nearly choked when he’d caught Ghost staring once, lingering too long while you tied off a suture on his arm. For all his jokes about Ghost being unflappable, even Soap couldn’t ignore the look he’d seen- the way Ghost had leaned just slightly into your touch, like he’d never wanted to leave it.

And Soap?

Soap was a mess.

Because no matter how much the others admired you- how much they trusted you, relied on you- he’d seen you first.

He’d been the one bleeding out in the dirt, thinking his time was up. He’d been the one who saw you cut through the smoke and fire like something out of a dream. And that fact burned in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

Sometimes, he thought about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. If you hadn’t run straight into hell to get to him. But those thoughts never lasted long- because all he had to do was look at you to remind himself that you had been there.

You’d saved him. And now, every time he saw you, with those bright colors and steady hands, it hit him all over again.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t want to look away.

It was late one evening when it happened again.

The mission had gone south- not as badly as last time, but bad enough. They’d made it out, but Gaz had taken a hit, and comms had failed halfway through.

By the time they stumbled back to the evac point, Soap was covered in dirt and sweat, exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs. But then-

You.

You came running, gear catching the fading light, colors flaring like fire in the dusk.

Soap’s breath hitched.

Here comes the sun.

He couldn’t stop thinking it. It looped through his head like a mantra as you fell to your knees beside Gaz, hands already moving, voice low and steady as you worked. The others lingered nearby, hovering but trying not to get in your way.

Soap stood frozen, watching.

Watching you save another life, same as you’d saved his.

It was Ghost who spoke first, breaking the silence. “Told you,” he murmured. “Sun’s hard to miss.”

Gaz let out a weak chuckle, though his voice was tight with pain. “Yeah… can’t look away, can you?”

Price didn’t say anything, but his expression was clear enough. Relief. Trust.

And Soap- Soap felt it more than ever.

The sun. Warmth in the cold. Fire in the dark.

He knew now, without a doubt, that they’d follow you anywhere.

(You’d never lead them wrong.)

[emacrow]

Tall Danny because we don't get enough of it.

Puberty hit him like a god Damn Steam roller because he was getting taller than everyone in Amity Park after summer break along with Clockwork lessons. Mom and Dad accepted that he was half ghost and now cooperated with the ghost on their theories that they had to redo with each answer to old questions fixed after the Ecto Act was Disband by The Justice league, mainly because Martian manhunter got caught one time by the GIW.

Frostbite did say that his space and protection core may have a play onto this since his living body was mimicking the growing with his ghostly form so it won't be harder to shift between the two.

That the height of his body was growing at a rate that was defying the law of gravity at 10'6 feet that he had to get his clothes and shoes customized by the Ghost Seamstress. His hair was longer than rapunzel in that movie, but he wasn't allowed to cut it since Ellen liked to burrow herself in it cause it felt like what cloud should be.

Mom and Jazz helped braid it into a lovely yet masculine style so it didn't get in the way of his ghostly spars with the rogues, even ember giving him tips on how to wash it. His nails had turned black and was strong enough to cut titanium like melted butter. His blue eyes had darkened and morph that Dad told him that he was seeing the big bang being born in his eyes.

Tucker jokingly said he could easily win the tallest guiness award. Sam called him a beanstalk, but considering that both of them were going through the same issue as him.

Sam was growing lavander in her hair and diving into researching plant life, even making a hybrid cannibalistic plant that eats pesty weeds and produces a much more vegan yet nutritious milk that was safe enough babies to drink that actually got an approval from thousands of mothers who couldn't pay for formula.

Tucker got into university for technology even though he is currently the mayor of Amity Park with an intense hobby of being an Egyptologist.

Wearing supposedly 'duplicated' Gold relics in his braided hair, taking forever in the bathroom to tune up his eyeliner makeup (it not makeup Danny!) , having clothes full of egyptian modern clothes and the obsessive mixing together technology and Egyptian coding into his latest Frankenstein cellphone creation.

Danny can ignore the gaping stares as he sits in the subway to Gotham University.

He knew he was tall. He already got into Gotham thanks to Lady Gotham dropping him off near a library where Ellen was chewing on a rainbow sour worm.

Ellen immediately dived into his hair like a train diver again after noticing him while complaining about how Lady Gotham won't let her leave the city at all cause she saw that Ellen was Danny's mirror core.

She did mention a burger place called bat burger that a rated 3rd place in the best burger, beside Nasty burger on top 1st and Lunch lady's speical Wednesday burger surprise 2nd, while a nice lady in a wheel chair in the library behind her gave her sour worms.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 || 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 ||

A/n: Feral Dante ( with a touch of him being a soft husband )

The twins were finally asleep.

The shop was quiet again — not from silence, but from peace. That rare, golden kind of calm that only came at 2 a.m. when baby bottles were rinsed, lullabies were hummed off-key, and Dante had checked the perimeter twice just to make sure nothing even thought about coming near his family.

You were curled up on the bed in the back, skin bare beneath the soft blanket, warm from the bath, belly soft and healed, hips fuller, body changed by motherhood and absolutely perfect to him.

Dante stood at the foot of the bed, watching you.

Not as a man.

As something deeper.

Something devil.

His form shimmered in the dark — red and black and power incarnate. Wings half-unfurled, eyes glowing low like embers, chest heaving with quiet restraint. His claws flexed at his sides, aching to touch. To take. To feel you again.

“You sure?” he asked, voice distorted — gravel-smooth and dark like velvet wrapped in fire. “I won’t be able to hold back. Not like this.”

You lifted your gaze to him, heart pounding, thighs already pressing together.

“I don’t want you to hold back.”

The second the words left your lips, he moved.

One blink — and he was on the bed, over you, heat rolling off him like a stormfront. His hands braced on either side of your head, claws sinking into the mattress, wings sheltering you in shadow. But when he leaned down — lips brushing your jaw — his touch was reverent.

“You’re still mine,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “Even after all this. Especially after this.”

You arched up, pressing your mouth to his, and he groaned — deep and animal — before kissing you with a hunger that bordered on worship. His fangs grazed your lips, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. He kissed down your throat, over your collarbone, down your belly — pausing there, his palm resting flat.

“This body gave me everything,” he whispered. “Let me give it back.”

Then he was between your legs — not gentle, but slow, tongue dragging up your folds like he was starving. The ridges of his demonic form only added to the sensation, rough and overwhelming. You cried out, hips bucking, thighs clamping around his head, but he just growled and pushed you open wider.

“Let me hear you,” he snarled. “I want every sound.”

By the time he slid into you, you were already wrecked — wet, open, throbbing for him. His cock was thick, barely human, stretching you wide as he eased in with an almost trembling control.

“Fuck,” he rasped, shuddering. “You’re still so tight…”

You could barely breathe. “Please, Dante—just—”

He snapped his hips forward and bottomed out, both of you gasping at the sudden fullness. His wings stretched above you, clawed hands gripping your thighs, and he set a rhythm — deep, slow, devastating.

Every thrust hit something sacred, like he was reaching into your soul. His chest pressed to yours, sweat slick between you, and when he kissed you again, it was soft.

“You gave me a family,” he whispered into your mouth. “Now let me remind you who you belong to.”

He sped up.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, of growls and whimpers, of whispered I love you’s tangled with snarled claims. He gripped your hips, lifting you, angling deeper, and you screamed when he hit that spot only he could ever reach.

His voice broke. “Gonna cum inside you. Fill you again. Not to breed this time — just to stay.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks from how full, how loved, how completely his you felt.

“Do it,” you begged. “Mark me. Claim me again.”

And he did.

With one final thrust, he roared into your neck, fangs sinking in, knot swelling just enough to keep him locked inside as he came — deep and endless, cock twitching as he poured everything he had into you.

You clung to him, shaking, breathless, ruined in the best way.

And as he held you there — still joined, still trembling — he whispered against your skin, softer than he ever had before:

“You’re not just the mother of my kids. You’re my home.”

The only sound was your breathing.Still shaky. Still shallow.

But slowing.

Your heart retuning to its normal rate as you held a blissful daze on your face.

Dante hadn’t moved — not more than he had to. His cock was still nestled deep inside you, softened now, but the warmth of his release still cradled inside your body, claimed. His wings curled protectively around the both of you, sheltering the room like a cathedral of shadows and breath.

You were laid out beneath him, bare and boneless, your fingers lightly trailing the thick ridges of his demon spine, tracing the softest touches down his back.

He was heavy on you. Not crushing. Not uncomfortable. Just present. Solid. Real.

And when he finally lifted his head, his eyes weren’t glowing anymore — not in the violent, deadly way.

They were glowing with something else.

Devotion.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gravel-deep and husky, just above a whisper.

You nodded, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “More than okay.”

He leaned down and kissed you again — slow and reverent, tasting you like you were something sacred. His fangs barely grazed your bottom lip this time, gentle now, no bite in them.

Just want.

Need.

Love.

You ran a hand through his silver-white hair, pushing damp strands back from his face. “You didn’t have to hold back that much.”

He let out a soft, huffed laugh, resting his forehead against yours.

“That was me holding back.”

You giggled sleepily and he smiled, eyes closing for a moment, as if savoring the weight of you beneath him, the feel of your skin against his, your heartbeat syncing with his. "Maybe next time you can really let go:" you teased.

A soft but playful growl escaped his lips as he gave your neck a small nip“I missed you,” he murmured after a pause. “Not just your body. You. Like this. Us.”

You pressed your hand to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath your palm. “I missed this too.”

He slowly pulled out of you with care, kissing the spot just below your ear when you gasped at the sensation. Then, without a word, he rolled onto his side and pulled you with him — your back against his chest, his arms circling your waist, hand resting instinctively over your lower belly again, like some part of him still couldn’t stop guarding you.

Even now.Even after everything.

You tangled your fingers with his. “Still protective?”

“Always,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s not about the babies. It’s about you. You’re everything.”

You felt his lips brush your temple, then your shoulder, then the spot he’d bitten earlier — now just a tender mark, fading.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you’re right to.”

You sighed, safe and full, wrapped in warmth and wings and the slow, steady heartbeat of the devil you’d made a home with.

And long after sleep began to pull at your limbs, you heard his voice again — low, ragged, honest.

“I’d give up"

[slutla]

ROLLED UP ‘N RUINED ! | MARK GRAYSON X FEM READER

warnings: 18+, nsfw, usage of weed, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), cunnilingus, unrealistic pussy eating, mark tries weed but it doesn’t affect him, mark is kinda subby, outgoing ‘n carefree reader, friends with benefits kinda. whimpering.

summary: you try to teach your friend how to smoke a blunt—instead, you learn something entirely different. wc: 3.1k

an: minors dni. i’ve only done weed once n i greened out horribly so this may not be the best description of a good high lmfao. also idc idc mark a d1 eater, literally nothing could convince me otherwise. not proofread excuse any mistakes.

“Does weed even do anything to Viltrumites?” You don’t look at him when you ask, your fingers working the paper, the grind of leaf and resin between your fingertips. A familiar ritual, slow and practiced. The room is thick with the scent of it, sweet and burnt, though the air between you is heavier with something else.

Mark shifts on the couch, the leather creaking beneath him. “Not sure,” he says, voice easy, weightless. He waits, sprawled like a cat in the sun, his hands loose at his sides. You stride over to him ignoring the mess on the table—scattered lighters, empty glasses, a book neither of you had finished—and hold the thing out to him. His fingers brush yours when he takes it.

“Well,” you murmur, striking the lighter, its flame leaping up, carving out the planes of his face in gold and shadow. “Let’s find out.”

The flame kisses the tip, a slow burn. He inhales—too fast, too much—and then it hits him all at once. A sharp cough tears out of his chest, then another, his whole body jerking forward like he’s been punched from the inside. You watch, amused, arms crossed as he fights against his own lungs.

A small laugh escapes you, light and sharp. “You’re not supposed to rush,” you chide, reaching for the blunt, plucking it from his fingers before he can protest. “Here, let me show you.” Smooth, practiced, you bring it to your lips, inhale slow, let the smoke curl inside you like a secret before exhaling in a soft, languid breath.

Mark glares, still half-choking, half-annoyed. “You could’ve started with that first,” he mutters, eyes red-rimmed, voice caught between confusion and irritation.

“’S not even my fault,” you scoff, sinking back into the couch. “Didn’t know you were gonna try ‘n inhale the thing like its air.”

Mark opens his mouth, then shuts it again, because—yeah. Fair point. He takes the blunt when you pass it back, more careful this time, dragging slow like he’s mimicking you. The smoke unfurls from his lips in thin ribbons, dissipating into the dim light of the room.

He exhales, waits a beat. “I don’t feel anything,” he says, flat, like he’s waiting for the universe to prove him wrong.

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts. He cannot be serious. “No shit,” you mutter. The fact that he doesn’t know how weed works is honestly embarrassing. You would’ve thought Amber—Who’s often at party scenes—might have taught him at some point, but apparently not.

“It’s not gonna work instantly,” you say, settling deeper into the couch. “Well—actually, I don’t even know if it’s gonna work at all, considering you’re basically, like, half alien.” Mark looks at you, head tilting just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Then that small, lopsided smirk appears. “You say it like it’s an insult.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch at the corner of your lips. “Maybe it is,” you tease, watching the ember glow between his fingers. “Maybe it’s not.”

He takes another drag, the ember burning low, and you shift closer without really thinking about it. Your bare knees brush against his, the fabric of his sweats soft against your skin. It’s a small touch, barely anything, but it feels like something.

Mark glances at you, eyes lidded, curious. You hold his gaze longer than you mean to. You’ve never really looked at him before—not like this. He’s handsome. Not in the obvious way, not in the way that makes people stop and stare, but in a way that sneaks up on you. The way his black hair falls over his forehead, just a couple strays stand out of place. The way the dim light catches the sharp lines of his face.

And he smells good. Even through the thick haze of weed, his scent lingers—earthy, fresh, something clean that sticks in your lungs longer than the smoke does.

“Stop hogging it,” you say, voice edged with faux annoyance. “Just ’cause I’m teaching you doesn’t mean you get to smoke the whole thing yourself.”

Mark chuckles, a low but sweet sound, it settles somewhere deep in your chest. Instead of handing it back, he lifts the blunt to your lips himself, holding it there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate—just for a second—before leaning in, letting your lips part as you take a slow drag. The heat of the smoke curls in your lungs, thick and heavy, but you’re barely paying attention to that. You’re too aware of the way his fingers hover near your mouth, the way his gaze lingers, watching.

Maybe it’s the weed settling into your bloodstream, slow and syrup-thick, or maybe it’s just plain curiosity—but the thought creeps in before you can stop it.

You know he’s not a virgin. That much is obvious. But has he ever eaten pussy? Like, really eaten it? The kind that isn’t just half-hearted, obligatory foreplay, but something done with intent? With enthusiasm? You’d take him for the type.

The idea lingers, unexpected and distracting. You steal a glance at him—his lips slightly parted, still damp from the last drag, his expression relaxed, almost careless.

“Mark, have you ever eaten pussy?”The words slip out before you even think to stop them.

Mark freezes, eyes wide like you just asked him to solve a math equation with a gun to his head. It’s almost comical—the way his entire body tenses, the way his brain visibly lags trying to process if he really just heard what he thinks he heard.

“What—?” His voice cracks, just a little. “Why—why would you even ask me that?”

You almost lose it right then and there, laughter bubbling up at the sheer horror on his face. Like the thought has never even occurred to him before. Like you’ve just introduced a concept so foreign, so absurd, that his brain is rejecting it outright.

You bite down on your laughter, pressing your lips together to keep it from slipping out. “We’ve been friends for a long time, I’m just curious,” you say, trying to sound casual, like this is a completely normal topic of conversation.

Mark blinks at you, still looking like he’s in the middle of a mental blue screen. He shifts slightly, running a hand through his hair, clearly debating whether he should actually answer or just pretend this never happened.

A few moments of silence pass, thick and heavy between you. Then Mark exhales, sinking back into the couch, his body relaxing again—except for the telltale flush creeping up his ears.

“No,” he admits, voice low, almost begrudging. “I haven’t.”

You hum, nodding like you already knew. Like it makes perfect sense. You pluck the blunt from his fingers, bringing it to your lips with an easy inhale. “See,” you murmur through the smoke, exhaling slowly. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Another beat of silence, the kind that feels like it’s waiting to be broken. And, maybe because you’re high, or maybe because you just can’t help yourself, you push further. “Why not?” You glance at him, head tilting slightly. “You’ve had, what, two girlfriends? And you never ate it?”

Mark groans, tilting his head back against the couch like he wants to sink into it and disappear. “Why are you so invested in this?” You smirk, tapping ash off the blunt. “I’m just saying, statistically, it doesn’t add up.”

“I mean,” he starts, still staring at the ceiling like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, “I just never really got the chance, I guess.” You blink at him. Never got the chance? How does someone not get the chance? It’s not like his exes would’ve stopped him—if anything, they probably wanted him to. And then you realize.

He’s a superhero. He barely had time to show up to his own girlfriend’s charity drive or whatever that was, let alone explore his sex life. Between saving the world and getting his ass kicked, there was probably never a moment where things could slow down enough for something like that.

You laugh. You don’t even know why you’re laughing, but it bubbles out of you anyway, light and uncontrollable. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the ridiculousness of the conversation, or maybe it’s just him.

And then—before your brain can catch up to your mouth—you say it.

“If you ever want to, you could always practice on me.”

The second the words leave your lips, your whole body seizes with horror. Your once relaxed position vanishes as you jolt upright, hands suddenly restless, fumbling over themselves like they can physically rewind time.

“I meant—like, I meant it—” you stammer, face burning, voice pitching slightly higher. “It was supposed to be comforting!”

Mark finally looks at you, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted like his brain just short-circuited. For a long, agonizing second, he doesn’t say anything. And that somehow makes it so much worse.

Your face is on fire. Actually burning. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, settling hot behind your ears. And then you make the mistake of looking at Mark—his face, usually so composed, is tinted pink, eyes slightly wide, lips parted like he’s still buffering.

Neither of you say anything.

The silence is unbearable. Suffocating. The kind that stretches so long it starts to feel like a tangible weight pressing down on you. You shift awkwardly, hands gripping your knees, mind running a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out how to backpedal—how to undo whatever the fuck this is.

Will you ever recover from this? Can you?

You consider just getting up and leaving. Walking out of the room, out of the apartment, out of the entire city if you have to. Maybe start a new life. Change your name. Forget this ever happened.

Mark’s head is spinning. Racing. In a thousand years, he’s never—never—thought about you like that.

Sure, you’re beautiful. That was always obvious. The kind of beauty that turns heads without you even trying. But he’s never let his mind go there before. Not with you.

You were carefree, nonchalant, always teasing but never crossing that line. Never someone he associated with anything lewd. But now? Now you’re sitting there, flustered and squirming all pretty, looking at him with wide, nervous eyes like you just realized what you said. Like you’re feeling the weight of it at the same time he is.

And fuck—now it’s in his head.

Mark jerks his head to the side, eyes locked on anything but you. The wall, the cluttered coffee table, the faint swirl of smoke in the air—anywhere that isn’t your face, because if he looks at you now, he knows something reckless is going to slip out.

Something he won’t be able to take back.

And then, because his brain is already working against him, because the weight of your words is pressing down on him harder than he can ignore, he hears himself say—“Is—Is that something you’d like?” The second it’s out, he wants to die.

Because now? Now the silence between you isn’t just awkward. It’s charged. Hanging heavy in the air, thick and hot, impossible to ignore. He can’t see your face, but he feels your reaction. The way your body shifts. The way your breath hitches, just slightly.

Your mind is a mess. A tangled knot of confusion, nerves, and something else—something warmer, heavier, something pooling low in your stomach.

And maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the fact that Mark looks too good right now, all flushed and fidgety, broad shoulders tense like he’s fighting a war inside his own head. Maybe it’s the tension, thick and humming between you, pressing into your skin like static electricity.

Either way, your body reacts before your brain can catch up—nipples tightening under your shirt, thighs pressing together, heat coiling deep in your core. And at this point? It’s probably too late to walk it back.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

The words slip out, smooth and easy, but your heart is pounding. Mark finally looks at you, eyes dark, searching. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you like he’s waiting for you to take it back. You don’t.

You take a deep breath, then exhale, slow and steady. And for some reason, it’s relieving. Like you just confessed something you didn’t even know you needed to get off your chest.

Your body loosens, the tension in your shoulders easing as you sink back into the couch—only now realizing you had been sitting upright, practically perched on the edge, like your body had been trying to flee before your mind even decided.

Mark moves toward you, his face still flushed, that pretty pink creeping down his neck. He hesitates for a second, shifting awkwardly, then clears his throat—but his voice cracks slightly when he speaks.

“Uh—I’m not sure how this works, so… can you guide me?” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment before glancing back at you. “Or, like, tell me if you don’t like it?”

There’s something endearing about it. The way he’s so earnest, so unsure despite everything else he’s capable of. Mark has fought villains, saved lives, survived things most people couldn’t even fathom, but this? This is what makes him nervous. You should be teasing him for it. You want to. But the way he’s looking at you, waiting, wanting to do this right—it makes your heart squeeze a little.

Honestly, you didn’t think he would do it. Despite your frantic panic, you thought after the initial shock that he’d laugh it off, make some awkward joke, maybe shake his head and change the subject. But here he is—kneeling between your legs, eyes flickering between your face and the space between you, his hands hesitating but steady on your thighs.

He drags your shorts off, discarding them aside like shed skin, and there’s your pretty, plush cunt laid bare before him. It’s not his first time glimpsing such a sight, but never this up close. His breath hitches, and he stares. You’re confused—does he not know what to do? Why is he just sitting there, staring? You’re on the verge of speaking when he edges nearer, parting your lips with a slow, deliberate nudge—strings of slick arousal gleaming between them.

You twitch as he eases in, his warm tongue sliding slow and deliberate between your folds, lapping at your pussy with a lazy, filthy drag, savoring every slick drop that clings to you. You’re sweet on his tongue—warm, slick. Maybe it’s too soon to admit, but he already knows he could get addicted to this. Just the taste of you’s got his dick throbbing and hard and his mind all hazy.

You tip your head back into the couch cushion, legs falling wider as he keeps licking at your sloppy pussy like some dog, all messy and eager. He glances up at you, and the sight alone makes him whimper against your slick, swollen pussy. Your head tilted back, lips parted, and glossy, soft little moans spilling from your throat—each one sinking into his skin, making his cock ache.

“You can use your fingers too… if you’d like,” you murmur, intending it as advice, but it comes out more like a command—breathless, needy. He obeys without hesitation, sliding two thick fingers inside you, eager to make you feel good. The way you squeeze around him, warm and wet, makes his breath hitch. He watches, mesmerized, as he pumps them in and out, each withdrawal leaving them glistening with your slick.

“Fuck, ‘s good, you’re doing so good,” you moan, voice breathy and sweet, and Mark swears he could cum in his pants just from that alone. The way you praise him, all soft and desperate, makes his cock throb, aching for relief. He zeroes in on your clit, licking over it before grazing it lightly with his teeth, earning a sharp gasp from you. His thick, calloused fingers follow, circling the sensitive bud with slow, deliberate motions. You’re soaked—coated in his spit, in your own slick—and the weed coursing through your system makes every touch feel twice as intense, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

It’s filthy—the way he’s practically making out with your pussy, sloppy and desperate, like he never wants you to leave his mouth. His tongue flicks and drags, lips sealing around your clit with wet, hungry sucks, and when your hips buck against him, grinding down for more, he just moans into you. His jaw and nose are drenched, slick dripping down his chin, but he doesn’t stop—if anything, he dives in deeper, like he wants to drown in you.

“Tastes so fuckin’ good,” he whines against you, voice muffled by the mess of your pussy. His fingers are still buried deep, pumping into you with a steady, obscene rhythm, while his other hand is stuffed between his legs, rubbing over the aching bulge in his pants. He’s desperate—humping into his own palm like he can’t help himself, like just eating you out is enough to get him off.

“Fuck—” His words are slurred, muffled by the slick between you. “Tastes like you were made for me.”

It’s messy, shameless—the way he devours you, like he never wants to come up for air. His jaw aches, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just pulls you closer, as if he could disappear into you completely. You grind against his face, chasing the sharp coil tightening low in your belly, and he only urges you on, gripping your thighs, moaning as he lets you use him.

Your moans spill into the thick air, breath hitching as your back arches. “‘M—‘m cummin’,” you mewl, voice high, trembling. The pleasure crashes over you in waves, thighs shaking around his head as you unravel, coating his tongue with your release.

Mark doesn’t stop—not yet. He groans against you, drinking in every last drop, licking and sucking like he’s starved, like he wants to commit your taste to memory. His breath is heavy, uneven, and when he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten with you.

His own hand moves frantically, pumping his cock through his pants, desperate, chasing the high that’s been building since he first had you on his tongue. The sounds of your pleasure—the broken whimpers, the way you shake, the way you’ve completely let go for him—send him over the edge. With a sharp, shuddering groan, his hips jerk, and he spills hot and thick into his pants, moaning through it, chest rising and falling in time with yours.

For a moment, the only sound between you is your ragged breaths, the faint hum of satisfaction settling between you both.

That night proved two things: first, that weed clearly has no effect on Viltrumites; and second, that Mark, without a doubt, eats pussy like a starved man.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Life in SkyHaven w/ Self-Aware!Caleb

Who would've thought your first three days in SkyHaven would be like this? Actually you never even thought being in SkyHaven was possible yet here you are. Self-aware!Caleb x Emotionally-torn!Player A/N: Well part 3 is here. I thought Sylus would be first buuuuut you know it is what it is.

↢ previous

Three days have passed since Caleb left you in this fully furnished prison. His place was comfortable, but the atmosphere was cold. You found yourself counting the minutes which only made time tick by slower. He didn’t tell you exactly when he would be back, but you could estimate.

Should only be a few more hours before you get to see that handsome face of his. Also only a few more hours before you shove your foot so far up his ass he’ll be tasting nail polish for the next three months. You’re passed angry with this man — absolutely livid! Not only does he kidnap you and drug you, but he has the audacity to leave for three fucking days right after?

I’ll kill him.

He thought he was slick by setting up his guest room to perfectly resemble yours back home. Even down to the exact same books you had on your shelves. It’s almost like he’d perfectly planned this so you would be grateful that he took the time to get everything that you liked so you wouldn’t be upset about being stuck here.

What do I mean ‘almost’ that’s definitely what he did.

After the first night of sleeping in that imposter room you were so happy to wake up and see ‘your room’ that you actually believed the entire debacle was just a dream. Your joy was fleeting when you turned and saw those damn floor to ceiling windows. You could practically feel your soul shatter at the realization. That’s when you decided to sleep in Calebs room.

You woke up this morning in his bed as expected and sat up turning to stare out the window taking in the vast city of SkyHaven. A small ember of hope gnawed at you, but it was quickly pushed down. “Prepare for the worst and you won’t be disappointed….” You sighed, falling back into the plush pillows of Calebs bed. “I should get up” You’d hate to admit it, but damn was his bed comfortable if your stomach wasn’t growling you’d probably spend another few hours rotting in bed.

You wrapped the plush blanket around yourself and detoured to sit by the window for a little while. You sighed as you watched the everyday civilians below go about their day unbeknownst to them they had a foreigner watching their every move; trapped just a few stories above them wishing she could walk around freely like they do. In just three days you noticed a few patterns among them.

The sophisticated dark haired man who stops in the corner bakery every morning and sits alone.

The two teens running to catch the bus. How are they always late?

The old man who pushes his wheelchair bound — you assume wife — slowly through the park as he makes her giggle.

You kissed your teeth and slammed your fist against the window willing it to break, but your efforts were in vain. You glance over your shoulder to examine the mess you've left in Calebs room. Clothes strewn about making the room look like a tornado came through here. You hate that you find comfort by sleeping in his bed and since you can’t take it out on him the next best option was his room. You've left your mark everywhere disturbing the inhuman cleanliness he had. Could that be because he’s usually barely here? Possibly, but you don’t care it gives you a sense of power ruining his personal space.

However, his scent clings to his pillows and sheets lulling you to sleep. It feels like you’re being held in a loving embrace as you drift off into a lonely slumber. “I hate him so much, but I can’t deny that I do have feelings for that man” You mumble to no one, but yourself because who else is there to talk to? You stand throwing the blanket on the floor and head out of the room. “Doesn’t negate the fact that he’s fucked up for leaving me here”

Although you've kept yourself entertained while being here you can’t help, but miss home. You miss your friends, you miss your bed and you miss your fucking kitchen where you knew where shit was. Calebs kitchen is like a spaceship — three days and you still struggle to find anything in this bitch.

You went about your day as usual.

Eat breakfast….

Shower…..

Watch TV….

Read a book…..

Stare out the window…..

You find yourself jumping at any noise that passes by the front door. ‘Is he back early?’ ‘Is that him?’ then the sound fades and you’re left alone once again.

You curl up into your usual spot on the couch and crack open a book. The sun is starting to set now and you can’t help, but wonder if you'll have to spend another day here in this foreign place alone. SkyHaven truly is a sight to behold — you probably would have loved to explore and see what this place has to offer, but now you just want to go home. You can feel tears stinging the back of your eyes as you watch the sun dip below the horizon. Is he punishing me because I was mean to him? Should I have been nicer? At least the sunset is pretty.

You let your tears flow freely down your face — crying silently.

You turned on the lamp by the couch and tried to immerse back into your book, but you were interrupted by the sound of the front door unlocking. You quickly wiped your tears and tried to stifle your sniffling.

“Are you cryin'?” You had little time to react before you were smothered by Caleb in a tight, but gentle hug. “What happened?” He pulled back — wiping a stray tear from your already soaked cheek. You’re sure you look a mess in your current state and yet here he is looking at you like you're the most precious thing to ever exist. You reached a hand up slowly dragging your fingertips across his face just to make sure he was real. “I told you I'd be back in three days” He smiled as he nuzzled into the palm of your hand — giving it a chaste kiss.

“Caleb….” You felt some sense of relief having him in front of you again after three days of forced solitude. You graciously raised your hand and swung with everything in you — connecting with his cheek so hard it made your hand sting. For a lack of better words — you slapped the shit out of him.

Caleb who was previously sitting next to you on the couch was now sprawled on the floor rubbing his face. You stood over him — anger practically burning you alive “Why am I crying!?” The gall. The audacity. “I was kidnapped, drugged and then left to rot here while you were off with the Farspace Fleet finger poppin' each others assholes!”

Caleb looked up at you before dropping his head and chuckling silently to himself. “What’s so funny about that?” You pushed him onto his back with your foot trying to get a good look at his face. “You’re just very cute when you’re angry pipsqueak” Cute? He finds this all cute right now? Unbelievable. You turned on your heels and stormed out of the living room. You could hear his footsteps rapidly following behind you. Out of habit you stormed into his room and tried to slam the door behind you, but failed when Caleb was already there to catch the door with his foot. “Okay okay I’m sorry I'll explain myself”

You plopped down on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other while gesturing for him to hurry up and start talking “It’s not like I can really go anywhere so go ahead” Caleb approached slowly — sinking to his knees and sitting back on his heels in front of you. Seeing him like this made your heart race and you did your best to remain composed. He stared up at you with those big amethyst eyes — they’re not helping your erratic heartbeat. “Did you trash my room because you’re mad at me?” His fingertips gently brushed your calf, giving you goosebumps, before settling on your knee. You swatted his hand away “Don’t touch me and stay focused”

Caleb chuckled as he ignored your demand and grabbed your foot proceeding to give you a foot massage. “For starters I didn’t drug you”

“Yes you di- ah!”

Caleb tickled your foot making your voice hitch “Your body didn’t respond well to the amount of g-force it took to get here which is why you slept for almost a full day when I got you here” A day? He uncrossed your leg so he could easily get to your other foot. “I imagine the shock you got from waking up here caused your adrenaline levels to spike and once you calmed down that adrenaline dump caused you to faint” The look in his eye seemed sincere, but you’d have to be naïve to believe him off rip. “I would never hurt you” He rested his chin on your thighs — those big amethyst eyes pleading with your angry ones. He actually looks like a puppy right now.

“You look like a kicked puppy” You deadpanned.

“You look gorgeous from this angle” He switched from a sad puppy to a lovesick puppy so fast it almost had your head spinning. “You’re always gorgeous though”

“You can’t sway me that easily Caleb” You shoved him by his forehead off your thigh and stood to your feet. “Even if you are telling the truth you still left me here for three days” You seethed “That’s fucked up and I didn’t appreciate it”

Caleb shifted so he was leaning with his back against the bed frame. “I had a routine patrol” His tone was even and relaxed like you were just supposed to be okay with that answer.

“So why not wait until after your patrol?” A familiar knot formed in your throat as you anger built up — no way you’re about to start crying right now. You swallowed hard and regained your composure. Caleb noticed the shaky breath you let out and it made something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. He slowly got to his feet moving towards you. You stepped back wanting trying to keep him at arms length. “You deliberately brought me here and then left like it was nothing”

“Once I figured out how to bring you here why would I wait?” Calebs words were cold, but his voice was soft and his touch was even softer as he gripped your waist willing you to come closer. “I’m real now so we can be together according to your rules” You fought against his hold and repeatedly punched him in the chest. “I hate you so fucking much you lizard built bitch if you ever have no haters then I'm fucking dead” Part of you is hoping these hits are caving his chest in and the other part just wants to fall into him, but you’re so torn and it’s his fault.

By the time you calm down you realize your face is pressed into his chest. His arms are wrapped tightly around you and a gentle hand rubs your back. You hate to admit it, but being in this moment is the most comfort you've had in days. Nothing could stop the way you’re melting in his arms — fuck. “You can punch me a few more times if it will make you feel better” You want to, you really want to, but damn does being in his arms feel like a safe haven.

How can someone so unnerving be so comforting at the same time?

You sniffled and purposely rubbed your nose onto his uniform. Your last little bit of revenge on him. “I’m done I tired myself out”

The two of you stood there in an oddly comfortable silence. Caleb only held you tighter when you tried to slip away. He was the first to break the silence “Are you hungry? I can cook you something special” without looking at him you quietly nodded your head. Having a meal specially prepared for you sounded nice and you figured it’s a good way to have an actual conversation. “Since you so graciously got snot all over my uniform i’m going to shower and then get started on your dinner”

He turned on his heels, but not before placing the softest kiss on your forehead. It took everything in you not to recoil or tense up — you want him to think you trust him completely if you plan on getting any actual information out of him.

“I hate that your cooking is so good” You didn’t anticipate the fact that you’d end up scarfing down his food like a heathen when you agreed to have dinner with him. You didn’t even get to ask any of your questions. You wiped your mouth with a napkin and dropped it onto the plate, signaling to Caleb that you were full.

“You hate it, but you cleaned the plate” He snickered as he grabbed your plate and replaced it with a slice of warm apple pie topped with ice cream. Your mouth practically watered when the intoxicating aroma hit your nose. “Still have room for dessert?” You looked at him for the first time since you two sat down for dinner and the sudden movement shocked Caleb. You keep falling into this never ending loop of falling under this alluring spell of his whenever he’s close. The way his eyes sparkle when your gaze meets his shouldn’t have your heart racing, but here you are.

Memories of the kiss you two shared three days ago replay in your head and you find yourself hoping he closes the distance. “Well?”

“What?” You blinked rapidly.

“Do you still have room for dessert?”

You looked back down at the dish in front of you; you could tell it was going to be immaculate. “Of course there’s always room for dessert” You slid the bowl closer as Caleb moved around the table taking his seat next to you again. “I do have questions Caleb and I'm still mad at you”

“Then let’s go over each grievance one at a time pipsqueak” He pinched your nose making you swat his hand away. “You’re so cute”

You start dramatically scooting your chair away which probably is not helping your case, but who cares. “You need to take me seriously” You stabbed your spoon into the pie making sure to get a good apples to crust to ice cream ratio when suddenly Caleb drags your chair back to him — even closer than before.

Caleb: I’m listenin' You: How did you make a carbon copy of my room? Caleb: I could see it durin' our video chats You: Ok creepy … Did you put something in those flowers? Caleb: No you had a panic attack You: Do my friends and family know where I am? Caleb: I pulled some string with them don't worry You: That was incredibly vague what about my job? Caleb: Your job thinks you're on vacation which by the way thanks for lettin' your vacation time stack up you have enough time to be here for a month You: Im not staying for a month and don’t I need clearance to be here? Caleb: Of course that’s why you’re my Adjutant

You drew back in shock, choking on your food in the process “I’m what!?”

“My adjutant” Caleb so graciously repeated as if you actually didn’t hear him the first time. “No one will even dare to think about questioning you” He beamed at you while he spoke “See? I took care of everything”

“What if I don’t want to do that? I can walk out that door right now!”

“And go where?” His beaming smile shrunk into a cocky smirk. “How exactly do you plan on getting home?” His words were said with a smile, but the look in his eyes was cold. His demeanor sent shivers down your spine causing you to instinctively lean away. He must’ve seen the fear in your eyes because his gaze melted and nothing, but yearning pooled in those captivating eyes of his. “Let me make up for those three days”

“Caleb let me go” You whispered.

He cupped your face and caressed your cheeks with his thumbs “I’ll do anything, but that”

↢ previous

[yourlocalcorviddad]

It was almost instant that Danny realised someone was there.

It helped it was someone clearly death touched, guaranteed to be a ghost when they passed. And since they'd used a key, clearly it was their place.

"I didn't think anyone cared..."

The noise of surprise and confusion was the only response he got.

Well, one he knew of. If there was a physical one he didn't see it, still to in awe of the small shrine set up for him.

"Or at least no one knew who could, if they still cared..."

In the Danny is Damian’s brother trope what if instead of Damian not telling the family about Danny wasn’t because of grief or shame or any of the more commonly used reasons for his silence. What if it was because he heard about how his father talked about Jason after his death, focusing and exaggerating the negative. That he was violent, angry, never listened to orders but in some iterations and popular fanon is that Jason was a cheerful and studious Robin.

What if while compiling info and researching the former robins during his tumultuous introduction he saw what kind of robin Jason was, good with kids and victims. Talking about his favorite books while on patrol and similar. Reminding Damian of his most Beloved brother.

Then he finds out about how Bruce talked about Jason after he died. Using him as an example as what not to do, erasing his good traits and just using him as a cautionary tale of what happens when you don’t follow orders. Just like what Ra’s said about Danny.

So he didn’t tell the family, not out of guilt or grief. But because his father stripped away Jason’s positive traits after death, the son he chose, adopted and loved. Who when he failed because he was a child led astray by his mother. What would he do to his brother, who loved the stars and excelled in stealth, who was quite in his kills but had no lust for killing.

Whether or not Bruce would do this to Danny’s memory doesn’t matter. B’s actions are gonna affect how Damian views his father even years after the initial actions. Because Damian will protect his brothers memory from being twisted even by their father.

[cherrixpie]

TO DIE IN YOUR ARMS TONIGHT

-> when his sister attends a slughorn party with a date, mattheo asks his best friend to watch over her at the party, oblivious to the fact that theo is exactly the type of guy he wants to protect her from.

-> brother's bsf!theodore nott x riddle!reader; eventual nsfw; minors dni; cw: attempted harassment, mentions of violence, self-doubt, smut; nsfw tags: oral fem receiving, soft dom!theo, dirty talk, lots of praise; sadly there was some error with the tags and I couldn't tag some people, but I still hope you all found your way here!

part two here

( masterlist )

The Astronomy Tower loomed high above the castle grounds, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. It reflected against the fragile stargazing instruments and illuminated hastily drawn star charts, carelessly left behind on desks. The parchment swayed gently in the light breeze. A chill clung to the stone, the wind whispering through the open archways, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the greenhouses below.

Occasional gusts of wind ruffled the edges of Theo’s robes as he leaned against the stone railing, lazily rolling a cigarette between his fingers. The flick of his lighter cast a brief, golden glow across his sharp features- dark brows drawn in quiet focus, the angle of his jaw, the faint shadow of his curls. The ember flared as he took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cold night air.

The hurried sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell, unmistakable, even if it hadn't been a nightly recurrence. Theo didn’t turn; he didn’t need to. He knew that stride, the way it carried that reckless edge of carelessness, like the world bent around its owner rather than the other way around. When Mattheo stepped into the moonlight, Theo paid him no mind.

As usual, he displayed quite a different way of carrying himself compared to Theo, as many fates the two boys might have shared. Mattheo’s dark curls were disheveled, his tie loosened to a proletarian extent and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, as if he hadn't bothered with them in the first place.

Upon spotting Theo’s dark figure against the railing, he strode towards him and leaned his forearms against the metal as well. “You’re early,” Mattheo muttered, his voice low and rough around the edges. Not that he had checked the clock, but their nightly habit of going for a smoke to the astronomy tower was so well established even the slightest changes stood out like a sore thumb.

Turning around to lean his back against the balustrade instead, Mattheo shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly until Theo glanced back at him. Not even Theodore Nott’s cold demeanor could deter Mattheo from flashing a grin and indicating the burning cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Got another?” He caught the pack of smokes when Theo threw it over with the aim of an experienced chaser, and shook out one to light it and take a long drag out of it. The smoke from his cigarette mingled with the cloud curling lazily from the other’s lips and disappeared into the night.

For a few minutes, there was a silence, though not uncomfortable. Rather established, like they had practiced it a million times before. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. Only, today, something was different. As Theo's observant eyes spared Mattheo's oddly tense figure another quick glance, they didn't miss the way he squeezed the smoke tightly in his hand and tapped his fingers against his thigh in an irregular, agitated rhythm. He wasn’t one to pry, a quality he knew Mattheo appreciated about his company, so he simply took another drag of his cigarette and waited for the other to reveal the source of his irritation.

As he’d thought, he didn’t have to wait long- Mattheo had a certain need for communication, at least with him. “Do you know that Campbell guy?” he asked gruffly, clear disdain laced into his tone. When Theo’s brows furrowed, Mattheo twisted his cigarette in impatience, causing embers to rain down upon the stone floor where they faded into darkness. Since Mattheo wasn’t bloody for once, Theo could only assume Campbell still had it coming for him. “Bloke from Gryffindor. Seventh year. Ring a bell?” he elaborated darkly and glared at one of the instruments.

It did. Terry Campbell, a Gryffindor with the head of a bowling ball and the intellect of a demented slug. No wonder he had felt no desire to remember him by name, Campbell was everything he despised cramped into a single person: a loud-mouthed, ignorant, vainglorious and utterly unintelligent Buffoon, lacking all forms of taste, too loud to listen and to dumb to learn. The sort of person that tended to irritate and bore him at the same time, the worst combination for Theo.

Blowing another stream of smoke into the frail moonlight, he let out a small scoff. “What about him?”

“Well,” Mattheo pressed through gritted teeth, in a particularly bitter tone. “He’s taking my sister to Slughorn’s party on Saturday.”

Fuck no.

Instead of smoke, Theo seemed to have swallowed a mouthful of ice as his insides twisted like a vice. A sick, burning coiled in his cut as he turned, abruptly, to Mattheo, full of disbelief. “What?” he asked sharply, all sophistication forgotten in the wake of this news. There was no way in hell you were going to Slughorn’s party with Terry Campbell, your brother had to be joking. Merlin, how he desperately wished he was.

Mattheo seemed to share the sentiment, judging by the looks of his bitter curl of lip and the way he flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding his boot down on it hard. “Yeah,” he muttered gloomily. “I can’t fucking believe it, I though she had some standards. I’m telling you, she’s just picked him to annoy me!”

But his raging fell on deaf ears as Theo turned away and stared down on the greenhouses, a sharp, ugly weight settling in his chest. No reaction too intense could betray the surge of hate that was welling up inside him, or your brother would know, would piece it together… Brutal, white-hot anger pulsed through him, but Theo kept his hands still and his features unmoved, safe for a subtle clench of his jaw. Theo had mastered the art of keeping his composure, but he was faced with a challenge now.

You. Going to one of Slughorn’s stupid parties with Terry Campbell of all people. He squeezed the smoke out between his fingers, the embers burning into his fingertips and the pain helped him to regain his self control.

Unlike him, you’d taken advantage of your invitation to go to Slughorn’s parties before, but you’d never had a date. If Theo was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone taking you out on a date, quite the opposite, but he couldn’t believe that someone like you would lower themselves onto Campbell’s level. He’s pretty popular, a small voice remarked, but he shut it up immediately- you were everything but shallow. Even insinuating it was ridiculous. But what on earth were you thinking?

Maybe Campbell was the only boy at school you wouldn’t feel sorry for when he inevitably landed in the hospital wing- as the few dates you’d ever had had done after Mattheo found out about them. ‘She’s not yours’ the voice in the back of his head reminded him, ‘you have no right to meddle in who she’s dating’. And it was true. Unlike your brother, Theo still had enough sense to remind himself that you could do what you wanted, could date who you wanted, could take anyone you wanted to Slughorn’s party. It was your decision, as much as he hated it, detested the very thought. He knew you, you had to have put some thought into your decision.

“Listen, mate,” Mattheo said, striking a new tone. He now seemed strangely business-like, leaning over on the railing and looking to meet Theo’s gaze. “‘M not part of Slughorn’s club. I know you hate his parties, but-”

Theo sensed where he was going with this and grabbed his pack of cigarettes back from Mattheo, taking one out before storing it deep in his coat pocket. Damn it, he’d promised you only to smoke one per smoking session. But these were quite challenging circumstances to keep up his promises. As he flicked the lighter and ignited the smoke dangling from his lips, Mattheo leaned in conspiratorially.

“Fucking hell, you know I wouldn’t be asking you this if I saw another way! Come on, you’re almost as bad as me when it comes to watching out for her. So when I’m not there? Go full big-brother mode.”

Theo’s lips curled sarcastically as he huffed out another cloud of smoke. Little did your brother know that his protectiveness over you didn’t stem from any platonic or even sibling-like urges. Little did Mattheo know that Theo was one of the boys he would love to approach with a club, one of the boys who enjoyed your company a little too much, whose eyes lingered on your lips when you laughed, who relished even your most fleeting touches and glances. Who pictured feeling your lips on his in moments of every-day boredom and trusted the night with his dark, guilty dreams of worshipping you like you deserved, fucking you stupid, having you writhe and moan in his sheets.

“I’m not saying you should start something,” Mattheo pressed on, oblivious to the raging self-loathing of his best mate. “Just… don’t let him get too comfortable.” His gaze darkened. “I just need someone there where I know that, if Campbell so much as lays a hand on her wrong, he’s leaving in worse shape than he arrived.” When he could draw out neither reaction nor response from Theo, he groaned in exasperation. “Merlin, Nott, you and I both know she’s too damn nice for this.”

The conflicting desires to keep an eye on Campbell around you on the one, and suppressing his possessiveness on the other hand were grappling with each other, as Theo stared down to the large black mass that was the dark forest. Adding to that that, he didn’t know how much his composure might waver when subjected to the sight of you laughing and dancing with another guy. And one so utterly undeserving of your attention and kindness, at that.

But Mattheo did have a point; though, as so often, he had a crude way of expressing it. You were too kind for your own good, too vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Yet, you were smart and good at seizing up situations, and if Campbell attempted to manipulate you - provided he even had one brain cell for something like subtlety - you’d see right through him.

“Come on, mate, she’s my little sister,” said Mattheo seriously and Theo turned to him with a raised brow.

“She’s two minutes older than you.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, seemingly unconcerned with such feeble matters as time or birth order. “Yeah,” he admitted begrudgingly, “But, like, mentally.” To emphasize his point, he tapped his index finger against his temple to indicate just where the true age lay.

But Theo’s unimpressed brow only rose higher as he scoffed. “Non fare il rompicazzo. She’s also way more mature than you,” he added, unwilling to get into whatever line of argumentations Mattheo had strung together to justify his feelings.

“Not with boys!” exclaimed Mattheo heatedly and pushed against the railing, making Theo shake his head in annoyance. These antics were absolutely childish, he’d trust your judgement over your brothers any day, irrespective of the fact that he was his closest friend.

“And how many boys did you sleep with?” he drawled, blowing out another gust if smoke that swirled and danced in the air above. For a split second, it balled up and formed a shape suspiciously resembling your face before Theo got his instinctive magic back under control.

Mattheo hadn’t looked up, too busy with snapping at him: “I am one! I know how they think!” His glare was now directed at Theo, who paid it no mind, rolling his words around in his head. Mattheo had a point. It wasn’t like he himself didn’t know how desirable you were, how seductive, by doing nothing more than existing, though he may have been prejudiced by his feelings for you.

But it wasn’t merely the way he knew he would look at you, at your smile that he didn’t deserve, Theo knew that there were certain boys at this school who wouldn’t mind having their way with you, just to brag to their friends about having had the Dark Lord’s daughter, the unapproachable, rigorously protected Slytherin princess as some had named you- much to your displeasure. Both Mattheo and him had retraced rumors of this talk where they could and made any boy who saw you as nothing more than a challenge, a piece of meat, regret his very existence. Theo didn’t know if Campbell was one of them, but he was definitely thick enough to qualify.

And what if he did force you to do something you didn’t want to? His jaw clenched impossibly tight, close to snapping as he banned the unwelcome images from his head and balled his fists around the smoke, making embers fly and get picked up by a sudden breeze. “Get out of my head, Riddle,” he threatened and felt the uncomfortable ick subside, but the very same determination shone in Mattheo’s eyes when he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Go to the damn party and keep an eye on her,” he countered. “Please.” The last word, he barely managed to grit out and Theo’s eyes snapped up at him in surprise. Never had he known his best mate to ask for something, Mattheo was one to take, take, take. But the desperation of his situation seemed to drive him to new extremes.

This fact, if nothing else, made him rethink his previous stance. You didn’t have to know, after all. And wasn’t it really also the fact that he had no ambitions to spend the evening watching you laugh and dance with another man, longing to be the one to hold your hand and make you smile, yearning to be the one you dressed up all pretty for?

“Alright,” he finally sighed and Mattheo, moods changing so quickly it would’ve given any other whiplash, hit the air with his fist and patted Theo’s shoulder roughly.

“Knew I could count on you.”

It wasn’t as if you lit up in his presence- no, that would be ridiculous. It was just that his mattress was much more comfortable than yours, his rome tidier despite the constant stacks of books, his presence a steady rock of the kind that made the world outside seem a little less violent.

Or maybe, if you were being honest with yourself, it was the way his breathing filled the quiet, unhurried and even, grounding you without even trying. The way he always stretched out opposite you on his four-poster, all long legs and quiet confidence, never filling the comfortable silence with pointless chatter. Or maybe it was simply the way he made you feel- something warm, something steady, yet fluttering curiously from time to time, like the wings on a butterfly. Something you didn’t dare think about too closely.

Theo leaned back against the headboard, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other as he absentmindedly tapped his quill against the open pages of his book. He wasn’t reading- not really. His eyes flicked over the words without taking them in, his focus instead drifting to the steady scratch of your quill beside him, the way you chewed on it in thought, completely absorbed in the history of magic essay you were writing.

The windows he’d enchanted for you when you’d mentioned how the lack of natural light in Slytherin house weighed on your state of mind sometimes allowed the rays of an afternoon sun to spill across the bed in hazy streaks, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow as he exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. It was comfortable, familiar- the two of you working in the quiet, legs brushing every now and then as books and parchment lay scattered around on the bed.

You finished your essay with a winning final sentence you knew Professor Binns would not be able to appreciate and looked up from the parchment for the first time in an hour, only to find Theo’s eyes flicking down to his page once more, like a kid caught ogling candy bars it wasn’t allowed to touch. His book lay open on his lap, but you could tell he wasn’t reading- his eyes skimmed the words too quickly, his fingers drummed too idly against the pages.

Rolling onto your backside, you let your legs dangle off the bed and enjoyed the relief of tension in your lower back. Your eyes rested upon him, as if daring him to steal another glance at you and betray himself and his faux reading. But he seemed to sense the silent challenge and didn’t look up from the pages once, though you thought you saw the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned a page.

“When are you going to stop pretending you are reading that?” you asked with an amused smile and his lips twitched. But his eyes didn’t leave the pages, still stubbornly pretending to take in the words.

You knew better, you knew his face, better than you knew most faces, because he’d let you look at it for minutes at a time without interruption. Let you map out every crease, every mark upon his skin, all the perfections and imperfections. You had learned his features and the slight changes in his expression better than you’d ever learned to master your own. It was kind of a must, if one wasn’t your brother and wished to interact on eye level with Theodore Nott.

“I am,” he said softly, running his fingers down the next page. For some reason, the sight had you suppress a light shudder, even though the room was quite warm. Warmer than most of the Slytherin dorms. You had wondered before if the enchanted sunlight could provide actual warmth, or if it was a delusion, a trick of mind.

“Alright,” you said, welcoming the challenge and shifting onto your side to prop your head up on your palm. “What’s it about?”

His eyes snapped up at you and sucked all the breath out of your lungs. The false sunlight fell upon his face and made his cerulean eyes shine with disarming intensity. Or maybe you had only imagined that, because he blinked and, though still stunning, his eyes melted into a soft caress down your face to your ink-splattered hands.

When you raised your brows at him, having never quite mastered the art of raising one brow, unlike him, he glanced back at the page for half a second. “Words. Sentences. A truly thrilling analysis of … something.”

You laughed and managed to elicit the smallest of smiles from him. A huge feat, as anyone who knew him would tell you. “You’re the worst study partner,” you said, an accusatory finger pointed at him.

Theo only raised his brow in return, giving you a look of superiority. “You say that, but you’re still here.” His gaze wandered over the open books you’d used for research. “You steal my books more than you read your own, dolcezza.”

“What can I say?” you sighed, feigning regret. “Your books are just better.”

Now, a smirk tugged at his lips as he stretched a little. “Or you just like an excuse to be in my bed.”

Laughing wholeheartedly, you grabbed the book you’d been using most adamantly by the spine and threw it at Theo, who caught it with unwavering certainty. As if he were seeing it for the first time, he turned it around in his hands, maybe trying to remember when he’d bought it.

If there was something he loved to spend money on, it was books. And he did have the means to, his family’s inestimable wealth at his expense whenever he stepped into a bookstore or got you ridiculously expensive christmas gifts to tease you for your indignation at the price. Which was probably why he left it on.

“Your taste in literature is excellent, carina. Your taste in men? Debatable.” If only he knew. An airy chuckle made its way past your lips as you looked down on your ink-covered hands. If there was any man you’d ever desired, it was him. Not just in the physical sense, but in the way his many hookups could not- like this, friendly, bantery, in the midst of heaps of books and parchment as the sun illuminated his beautiful features.

If your brother knew you were in a boy’s dorm, in a boy’s bed, even if it was his best mate, he’d lose his mind- even more so than he already had.

“So, Mattheo told you?” you asked in a falsely casual tone, but watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye. Your friendship with Theo had always been special. In your earlier years at this school, when Mattheo had been insanely clingy, he was the only other boy he allowed you to spend time with.

But Theo was no brother surrogate to you, as Mattheo assumed, wrongly. Though your feelings for him were intimate, they were far too less innocent to be considered fraternal. When Mattheo wasn’t around, in moments like these, you were quite flirtatious, just teetering the edge between friendship and something more. Only in the privacy of his dorm did Theo let nicknames besides topolina slip.

You’d always been more on a wavelength with Theo than with your brother, or any of your friends for that matter. He matched your wit and humor, shared many of your interests and was just as academically ambitious. Laying on his bed, exchanging playful banter and teasing nicknames, there always was a spark, paired with the silent understanding it could never be ignited.

Sometimes, you caught his eyes lingering on you. Even the touch of his hands was deliberate, as he seemed to take advantage of each innocent excuse to get his hands on you. Then, there was his intricate way of words, managing to make you blush and doubt your very existence at the same time. All in all, Theo was both your best friend and most forbidden desire- because he was your brother’s best friend as well. Your brother, who had been throwing a hissy-fit any time the topic of you dating came up.

But Theo didn’t answer, only turning a page in the book he wasn't reading. Not one twitch or movement could betray his agitation but the hard line of his jaw, clenched almost indiscernibly. His silence was a quiet accusation he didn't need to utter for it to linger in the air between you.

You didn't like it when something stood between you in these moments of his sole company, when Mattheo didn't have his hawk eyes on your every move. Moments you relished, and didn't want to be tainted by petty drama between you and your brother, who’d already ruined enough, especially when it was about something as irrelevant as your date for Slughorn's party. Or maybe it wasn't so irrelevant. Merlin, how you wished that it mattered to him.

“I can hear the gears turning in your head, Theo,” you said quietly when he even gave up pretending to be reading and instead stared gloomily at the pages as if they'd personally wronged him. You knew he didn't like many Gryffindors, something he had in common with Mattheo while you preferred not to take part in house rivalries. And Terry Campbell embodied all the worst traits of Gryffindor- no wonder he didn't like him.

“Care to share?” you asked and looked up at him from the sheets with the doe eyes that always worked on Mattheo.

Meeting your eyes, finally, Theo closed the book with a quiet thud and pierced you with his infamous stare- though it was not as sinister as usual. “I don’t have to say anything, you already know what I think,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning back against the headboard once more like he was done with the conversation. But his fingers kept tapping restlessly against the now closed book on his lap.

“You could at least pretend to approve,” you proposed, dragging yourself into a sitting position and propping your head up on your fist with folded legs.

Theo clicked his tongue impatiently and threw you another ill-tempered look. “I could also throw myself off the astronomy tower, but I don’t see the point in either.” There was a certain finality in his tone that you would have respected any day- any day but this one.

“I know you don’t like Terry,” you said, unwilling to give up in your attempts to establish proper eye contact. “Granted, he’s a little intellectually challenged.” At these words, his eyes snapped up at you and he raised a brow, a mixture of amusement and indignation at your rather courteous assessment. But you didn’t even let him speak, you knew his silvery sweet words would wrap themselves around you and render you inarticulate. So you continued quickly, in a quiet but firm voice. “This isn’t about who I want to go out with, it’s about proving I get to choose.”

His pensive eyes studied you as you awaited his reaction, fully aware that he must have concluded this already- or at least included it in his speculations. You were hoping he had, that he had not trusted you to fall for a douche like Terry Campbell. He tilted his head slightly, considering you, his prominent brows furrowed. “And if you’re choosing wrong?” he finally asked, holding your gaze with the certainty of a man who always had the last word.

But you held his gaze, drank in the thrill of losing yourself in his cerulean eyes, and shrugged. “Then at least it’s my mistake to make.”

Theo paused, then exhaled, shaking his head at you. When he tapped his fingers on the rim of his book, your eyes clung to them. A trap, and one you would step in gladly. His long fingers, the rough pads on his tips where he squished his cigarettes with his own hands, the prominent veins. Their movements were always so calculated, so elegant. Outside of Nott manor, he rarely played the piano, but when he did, it truly was a sight to behold. To see his spidery fingers run up and down the keys, eliciting such sweet serenades from the instruments you thought he’d have to have hexed it.

His voice pulled you out of your wandering thoughts as his mouth twitched with a sarcastic smile. “You sound like him, you know that?”

A light laugh stumbled from your lips as you pretended to look indignant- but, unlike him, you’d never been a good actor. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” But your laugh subsided quickly, the desire for him to understand, not only your motive but the importance of it, burning inside you. If someone had to understand, it was him. If you answered to anyone, it was him.

It was impossible to look at him. Not when he had leaned forward slightly at the sound of your little laugh, something shifting in his eyes, something unspoken and impossible to speak, something keeping you locked in place. So you averted your eyes, kept them firmly on the ground and pretended to be interested in a fly whirring in the false rays of sun. “But you understand, don’t you? It’s not about the date, or the party, or Terry. It’s about the fact that Mattheo never trusts me to handle myself. So I will have to prove him that I can be trusted with- with boys, and parties, and life.”

Though you did not look up at him, you could feel his gaze boring into your skull, studying your every expression. He had the natural talent of a careful observer, whereas you had had to learn it, given your circumstances. There was no point in concealing your frustration or disappointment in Mattheo, when Theo could decipher every twitch of your features, pry every drawn curtain apart, look into your very soul. And what would you be hiding something from him for, anyways? Except for your utter devotion to him, of course. Your most strongly concealed and obvious secret.

“Maybe he just doesn’t trust the world to hurt you,” his voice sounded, smooth and pensive, making it impossible not to agree with every word he said. And he was right, of course. But he wasn’t you. And he’d be a hypocrite if he agreed with you. His voice carried more than observation- self-revelation. It wasn’t just him who could decipher codes.

Drawing back the curtains yourself, you turned to him and opened yourself up to his endless, infallible analysis. “Then he should have more faith in me than fear of them.”

The words lingered as you considered each other, and his brow twitched lightly. Instinctively, you were certain you were thinking of exactly the same situation: two weeks ago, at breakfast, when a sixth year Slytherin you didn’t even know had made an unflattering comment about you, loud enough for people to hear but not loud enough that he thought he’d get in trouble for it. Well, the joke was on him, because Theo next to you had picked up on it and had tensed up so quickly you looked at him in alarm, trying to signal him that you didn't care about this kind of talk.

But of course, he knew you better than that, knew it bothered you, and when you’d seen the look in his eyes you had forever regretted crying in his arms about the unforgiving image people had of you, how you would never get rid of your father’s shadow looming over you, how no one would give you a chance. Mattheo and you both had your ways of dealing with your familiar associations. He drank, drugged and fucked himself into oblivion, you spent nights slaving away in the library until Theo dragged you to bed and allowed you to fall asleep with his warm hand on your back.

Before you could have even attempted to talk him out of it, Theo had stood up from the table and met the boy in a few strides. He hadn't even needed to pull out his wand, his voice low and dangerous as he had given the guy one chance to take it back. He had. Fast.

Your soft but slightly bitter laugh broke the silence. “You know what’s funny? If I actually needed him, if I actually needed someone to fight for me- he’d be the first one there. But when I don’t, when I just want to live my life- he’s still the first one there. Stopping me.” With a disheartened huff, you shifted on the bed, but didn’t avert your eyes. And neither did he.

Theo studied you for a long moment, during which nothing but the faintest echo of voices from the common room was to be heard. But silence had never been uncomfortable between you and Theo. Where Mattheo was a roaring whirlwind, Theo was the eye of the storm, the illusion of stillness, of being cut off from the rest of the world, uncaring whether it would be swept away in a single blow as long as you had him.

After observing you for a long moment, Theo nodded slightly. “I know. But…,” he leaned forward, his voice low but with a certain edge, the only indication of a growing intensity simmering behind his ever-calm composure. “Terry Campbell is such a dimwit he doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, principessa. You could have asked anyone. anyone. And you picked the first desperate idiot who came your way?”

The small laugh you let out was more comparable to a bitter scoff. “Would anyone else have said yes?”

It was rare to spot genuine confusion on Theo’s face, but now, his brows were furrowed in puzzlement. A little, self-depricating smile tugged at your lips; of course he wouldn’t understand. Or was it just pretense to make you feel better?

“Terry has ambitions of playing Quidditch for England one day and has been trying to get into Slughorn’s good graces for ages because he has contacts in the league.” You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I knew he’d say yes.”

He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, even for you. Or perhaps, you didn’t want to look too closely. Perhaps, you were afraid of what you might discover, simmering behind those watercolor eyes. “Sei seria? You think that’s the only reason he said yes?”

With a defeated little shrug, you attempted a weak smile and failed miserably, a sudden weight seemed to weigh the corners of your mouth down. Lifting them was like lifting a great weight. “What other reason would there be?”

Finally, the stony expression on his face dissolved into a deep frown, even darker than his usual, gloomy expression. With a humourless scoff, he shook his head. “Dio, you actually believe that.” It wasn’t a question but a realization, and you gave no answer or reaction.

You were tired of him pretending, or simply not understanding your predicament. Of course he wouldn’t; in spite of his parentage, he still had countless girls throwing themselves at him. But you were used to Theo understanding you fully and thoroughly, nodding in recognition when you told him about your struggles, your likes, your opinions, and giving him the same grace. Perhaps you were spoiled. Perhaps, it wasn’t as simple as you thought. Perhaps, it was just you.

“I knew he was the only one desperate enough to be my date,” you said in a tone you hoped would come off as matter-of-fact and indifferent. “Really, I should be grateful I found anyone.”

“Odio quando parli così,” muttered Theo under his breath and you tried to piece the sentence together with your less than stellar knowledge of the Italian language. But before you could fully grasp the meaning of the sentence, Theo’s sharp voice cut through the air, forcing your attention back on him and the bitter intensity brimming behind his frown. “So, this is your clever little plan to get Mattheo off your back?”

There was no longer the slightest hint of humour in his tone, he sounded almost angry, and you recoiled slightly. “It’s not perfect, I admit.”

“You don’t pick the first cretino who sees an angle and call it a choice,” Theo cut you off. You realized his accent was getting more noticeable as he spoke, and the English language failed to express the true weight of his feelings as he slipped in more Italian words or phrases. It was a clear indicator that cool and calculated Theodore Nott was growing more heated, and you found it undeniably and inappropriately attractive. But he still failed to see your perspective in this.

“What else would I have done?” you asked in return, voice growing a little sharper as well. “Waited for someone who wasn’t coming?”

It wasn’t meant to come off as an accusation, but nevertheless, Theo tore his eyes away and gritted his teeth, jaw tight and exhaling through his nose. “Stronzata,” he cursed and glared at the book in his lap, as if it were somehow responsible for this whole mess. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his inability to grasp a situation when he was usually the most observant person in the room.

Surprised, he looked at you and you shook your head, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “No boy at this school would come into one foot proximity to me.” You bit down on your lip and avoided his intense, angry eyes. “I like to tell myself it’s just because of my … familiar affiliations, but maybe that simplifies things too much. I mean, look at you. Look at Mattheo! Maybe I’m just not, well, desirable.” You were a little ashamed of the words, and even more appalled at the way your voice trembled slightly before you got it back under control.

But when you looked up once more, you realized the error you’d made, letting him hear your somewhat self-deprecating, but in your eyes plausible interpretation. Before he could talk, you interrupted him as he drew his breath, undoubtedly to tell you you were wrong- just what you wanted to hear, of course. “It’s not that deep, Theo,” you said calmingly, unwilling to make a whole thing out of it. This stupid date had already impacted your day enough. “He was available, and I-”

But Theo cut you off, voice low and rough and carrying an edge he didn’t usually direct towards you. “El basta. Enough. You’re actually pissing me off now.”

Despite yourself, you raised your brows in weak amusement. “You’re always pissed off.”

Eyes narrowed, he pointed at you with the unread book. “Not at you. Not like this.”

After his words, silence settled thick between you, exceptionally uncomfortable in comparison to your usual quiet harmony. Maybe because it felt heavy, charged, pressing itself into the space between you on the bed like an unwelcome visitor. It seemed to stretch unbearably long, pressing against your skin like a weight.

Theo sat still, but everything about him was taut- his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, one hand curled to a fist atop the duvet, the other grabbing the back of his book as if he meant to crush it into dust. His gaze flickered to you once, dark and unreadable, before snapping back down, as if looking at you only stoked the embers of whatever was burning behind his ribs. The air between you felt charged, humming with remnants of his anger, with the frustration he hadn't fully exhaled. His breath came slow and measured, as if he was forcing himself to stay composed.

You hated it. Theo was your best friend, maybe even the love of your life, and fighting with him was exhausting. With a sigh, you turned your whole body to him and gave him a hesitant, pleading look. “I don’t want to fight. Not when this is one of the few moments when my brother doesn’t interrupt our t- my study sessions.”

You cut yourself off, having no interest in loading the buzzing air with more tension. Tension that would be inevitable, if you were true about how important this was for you. How important he was to you. “Let’s not waste it, okay?” you asked, pleadingly, and thought you saw the cold diamond of his eyes soften a little. “I’ll stop mentioning it.”

For a few seconds, he observed you pensively, but you could see him melt behind his unmoved facade. His icy stare warmed slightly and the sharp turn around his mouth eased, jaw and fists unclenching. Something like regret flashed over his face, too fast to pin down. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he wordlessly patted the spot next to him and you fell silent. Following the silent order, you scurried over and he made room for you between him and the wall, propping up his pillow against the headboard for you to lean back comfortably.

You settled down next to him, in the little space there was. His legs were brushing yours, but he didn’t seem to mind, and you surely didn’t. Slowly, giving him the chance to move away or make some other dismissive gesture, you lowered your head and, when he didn’t move, rested it upon his shoulder. It fit into the curve of his body like a puzzle piece and you relished in the warmth, real warmth, body warmth, against your side.

When he raised a hand to card his fingers through your hair in a gesture of such tenderness you’d never seen him bless someone else with something even close to it, you breathed a sigh of relief and nestled deeper into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The rough pads of his fingers drew deliberate patterns on your scalp as he rested his chin on top of your head and his breathing finally calmed into a natural rising and falling of his chest. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter than before, measured but intense. “You don’t understand, do you? You could’ve had anyone.”

He spoke like he believed every word, sounded so convinced you almost believed him. Almost. Until the inevitable prying of reality nagged you again. “Then why didn’t I?”

Theo’s voice dropped even lower, rumbling in his chest and vibrating against the ear that rested against his body. “Maybe because no one is stupid enough to think they deserve you.” His voice still carried a certain edge, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you. More like the contrary. His hand wandered from your hair to your neck, rubbing slow circles on your tense muscles and eliciting a slight groan from you as you realized how tight they were clenched. Shaking his head, Theo seemed to be muttering to himself. “Che spreco.” (what a waste)

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you translated the short sentence in your head and were proud to reach a certain level of understanding. “What is?” you asked, hoping the question not only fitted your translation but also his actual statement. His fingers stilled against your neck, fingertips barely brushing against the skin so that you had to suppress a shudder. You, of course, couldn’t see the smug expression on his face as he noticed the way your skin broke out into goosebumps. The air was heavy with another form of tension now.

“That you think so little of yourself,” he explained, “That you let people like him think they're doing you a favor.” His voice was dripping with disdain and you interlocked your pinkie fingers, unwilling to fight him over the issue.

The silence that settled between you now was different- just as heavy, just as charged, but warmer, thicker, curling at the edges with something unspoken, but not uncomfortable. The tension no longer sat sharp between you, there was no room for it anyway. It lingered instead in the space where your bodies touched, in the light brush of your thigh against his, in the synchronising rise and fall of your chests. Theo had relaxed back against the headboard, but his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the collar of your shirt -something he'd never do in the presence of your brother.

Another thing reserved for these private moments was his touch. His pinkie squeezed yours before he removed his hand to place it on the back of your thigh, lifting it slightly to guide it to rest on top of his. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers brushed along the fabric of your thights and you hid your blush in the crook of his neck. If your brother saw you like this with any boy, he’d be flung into a fit of rage. But alas, he wasn't here, you reminded yourself, as you melted into his touch.

But it wasn't like he would be wrong to assume. The way Theo touched you, the tenderness of his caresses, was more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. But it had been that way for a while. And neither of you dared say something, enjoying the touch of a lover without the fear of retaliation. You could feel his gaze flicker to you, gauging your reaction, lingering just a second too long on your slightly flushed face before pulling away, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look.

The air in the room felt warmer, your skin prickling with awareness at every shift of movement, every slight brush of fabric against fabric. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick and taut, but neither of you dared to break it, as if speaking aloud would make something tip over the edge, something neither of you could take back.

Instead of speaking, his fingers released your neck and wandered to your chin, lifting it from his neck. He turned to you, and your heart began to race when you found your lips mere breaths away from his, his eyes glinting with an unknown intensity that had you wondering whether he might actually be willing… be ready to…

When the tension mounted and became unbearable, you jolted upright and averted your face to hide your blush. Your chest was so tight you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you only knew you had to get some space between you and him, so you scurried away, brushed down your skirt and stood up from the bed.

Only then did it occur to you to think of an excuse, and with shaky legs, you hurried over to his table where you had set your bag down, pulled out the earrings you planned to wear tonight. Opening his wardrobe, you looked at your reflection as you put them on, heart slowly slowing to an appropriate tempo.

But the angle was limited, so you only saw him when he entered the mirror’s frame, nearing a few steps behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. Raising an eyebrow, you managed to smile at him through the reflection. “What is it?” As if you hadn’t just almost thrown all caution to the wind, all your silent, combined efforts to preserve your friendship.

Theo tilted his head, his gaze flickering over your reflection. “Nothing,” he answered in a low voice, approaching slowly. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” you attempted to joke, fiddling clumsily with your earrings. Finally, he reached you and you flinched when you felt his hands, large and strong, on your waist. Only the thin material of your blouse separated them from your skin. Lowering his head, his lips hovered right next to your ear and you held your breath as he chuckled into your ear. “Just wondering if he’ll even know what to do with you.”

For a few seconds, you stood still. But then, you brushed his hands off and walked over to his desk to grab your back, oblivious to the way his eyes darkened when you escaped from his grasp. “I’ve got to go, get ready,” you explained as you hurried towards the door eager to escape the thick tension of the room. Playing with it had been fun, but this felt way too real.

Theo watched your fleeing figure. As the door slammed shut behind you, the silence that remained felt louder than anything you could have said. His jaw ticked, fingers flexing at his sides before curling into fists, the sharp edge of his nails pressing into his palms.

You were getting ready for someone else-someone who didn’t deserve your time, your effort, your attention-but still, you went. The thought burned, settling bitter on his tongue, and he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair as if that alone could shake off the feeling clawing at his ribs. The bed was still warm where you had been, the air still carried the faint trace of your perfume, and yet you were gone- off to smile for someone who would never look at you the way he did.

Theo wasn’t what some would call a “party person”. For the past months, he’d done his best to avoid Slughorn’s invitations. Though the silver-tongued heir of the prominent house of Nott had been taught to socialize properly and knew his way around people, the majority of them bored him to death, as did the inevitable smalltalk revealing their shallow nature.

The Slytherin house parties he could endure, because there was at least the added though fleeting thrill of a hookup- and also, he had to handle Mattheo at his worst, when he’d made his way through a few too many shots of firewhiskey and drugs. Additionally, the Slytherin house parties tended to grow wild and frenzied fairly quickly, allowing him to slip into a hazy sequence of blurred memories and forget about himself.

An event such as this, however, which some might assume more to his liking as it presented itself as far more civil, could not have thrilled him any less. People circling each other like vultures under the red lanterns, detecting with observant eyes who to suck up to and who to eliminate as competition, fighting for the attention of the well-connected at the top of the food chain, trying to climb a latter they weren’t even able to grab the rails of.

Slughorn was smiling brightly, boasting and prowling around, fully in his element as he weaved people like strings, enjoying himself in the role of benefactor, merciful king, god. Beneath him, the huddle of chosen ones, jabbing their elbows into each other in the hopes to be selected as the one to rise the ranks of privilege. Shrill, tense laughter rang through the air, the scenery painted in red hues from the lanterns, the eyes too attentive for a party like this. And in the midst of it all, you.

You, in your gorgeous green dress, being twirled around on the dance floor by Terry Campbell. Though that was quite the generous description, as you were doing most of the heavy lifting. As he had suspected, Theo thought to himself, Campbell couldn’t handle you, he could never meet your standards. His movements were clumsy and sluggish, he lacked manners and he didn’t hesitate to leave you alone or crowd you out when the opportunity to suck up to one of the more illustrious people presented itself.

He didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve looking at you all dressed and dolled up. The sight of it twisted something sharp and ugly inside him. That idiot had his hands on your waist, his fingers splayed too casually against the fabric, his grin too smug, too self-assured-like he had any right to you. Theo had to refrain himself from reaching for his wand as Campbell followed your lead (he was a miserable dancer) and stared down at your cleavage, not even attempting to conceal his blatant ogling. As if you were a fucking pezzo di carne.

Taking a long sip of the champagne in his hands, he felt it trickle cooly down his throat, but it could not cool his temper flaring up whenever Campbell’s eyes wandered just a little too far down. The only thing keeping him from marching over and wrenching you out of his grabby hands was your eyes, boring into his earlier that day when you’d complained about Mattheo’s overbearing relationship. He didn’t want you to feel caged in, as much as he wished to get you by the waist and out of this snakepit. Where people whispered behind your back and your face fell any time you saw a finger pointed at you.

You were too soft to be what you were, and he fucking adored it. But it also meant that he made a mental note of anyone who made the smile vanish from your face for later … consideration.

When your dimwit of a date spotted Sean Clarke, the president of the English Quidditch league, amidst a crowd of noisy witches, he tore himself away from you in an instant to push past dancing couples towards him, without a glance or word back to you. Just leaving you standing there on the dance floor, looking so utterly breathtaking in that frilly dress of yours.

Theo’s hands tightened around his glass of champagne as he glided through people to keep an eye on you as you approached the buffet. As you waited for a group of renowned daily prophet reporters to pass by, your eyes wandered over the crowd and found him, leaning against one of the stone walls. Even from a distance, he saw them widen in surprise- no wonder, since he usually was to be found anywhere but at a Slughorn party on designated evenings.

But soon after, a smile spread across your face. Not the false ones you gave Campbell to appease him and make him feel like a man. It was small, hesitant, honest and it was private. Even in his foul mood, Theo could do nothing but smile back and the corners of your mouth twitched as you turned towards the buffet, only to tighten when Campbell returned. Theo saw it with a certain level of satisfaction.

As Terry, visibly ill-tempered, pushed through the crowd towards you again, you had to suppress an exasperated sigh. He’d been nothing but a nuisance and a brat all night, and you would rather have him preoccupied with Sean Clarke than you. But alas, the latter seemed to have blown him off, judging by the bitter look on Campbell’s face.

Before you could ask if he wanted to get something to eat - you were starving - he grabbed you roughly by the arm, grunting something that sounded like “dancefloor” and dragged you back to the middle of the room. Instinctively, your gaze found Theo who was slowly pushing himself off the wall, eyes locked on Terry’s hand gripping your arm. But when you threw him a warning look, he halted his movement, only following you with vigilant eyes.

Terry placed his hand on your waist- if one was to call your hip your waist. As he took up his clumsy movements again, you attempted to ignore the way it moved uncomfortably far down. You had stoked his wandering hands up to a lack of experience in the beginning, but you were growing more uncomfortable by the second. Just to check, you threw another glance around you for Theo, and he returned it with a raised brow. Recognizing the silent question, you shook your head lightly.

Terry seemed to have realized your spirits weren’t in it anymore, or maybe he’d just spotted another Quidditch player, because he stopped dancing after just a short moment to pull you after him again. Without a word to you, he pushed a group of fifth years aside until you’d reached a secluded corner behind some slightly see-through red curtains, cutting you off from the rest of the party.

Initially, you had wanted to look for Theo again, just to check, but then, Campbell speaking a coherent sentence took you so off guard that you forgot anything else over it. “You know, I could have asked any girl here, but I picked you.”

Completely taken aback, both by his sudden ability to articulate himself through more than three word sentences and the contents of said sentence, you blinked up at him, momentarily rendered speechless. He looked down at you appraisingly and took a step towards you, which was quite the feat in this cramped spot. Instinctively, you inched back, but smiled nervously as you didn’t want to be rude- you just wanted to get out of here and hook him up with his beloved Sean Clarke so you didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

“Don’t be so uptight, Riddle,” he drawled, having picked up on your attempts to bring some space between you and him. A lazy, sickening grin pulled at his lips and a shiver ran down your spine when his eyes wandered from your face down your body. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I bet no one’s even looking.”

“Can we get back to dancing?” you tried, fingers nervously clasping around each other as you glanced up at him. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as you tried to suppress the panic that surged through you at the look in his eyes. “I don’t really feel like-”

His demeaning chuckle cut you off and to your horror, he grabbed the arm you had been reaching out to draw the curtains aside, as well as your waist. He pushed you against a small table, cornering you. You could smell the faint trace of alcohol on him, but he’d not had enough to be losing all sense. Which meant… You didn’t want it to be true, Merlin, you didn’t want Mattheo to be right. But it looked like you’d just walked into a trap, and it snapped shut when Terry leaned down and grinned unpleasantly. “Come on, don’t be like that, I’ve been nothing but nice to you all night.”

“Stop it,” you said in a low voice, doing your best to imitate Theo’s threatening tone that had any resistance crumble into a pathetic pile at his feet. But it didn’t work with Gryffindor’s six foot tall beater, of course.

Terry only laughed mockingly and his hands squeezed around your waist and arm. His eyes glinted as you attempted to free yourself. “Relax, it’s just a little fun- What, your brother gonna come drag you away?” He lowered his head and you tried pushing at his chest, but he didn’t move one bit and his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “You don’t have to play so hard to get, you know?” he drawled, “I already know you like the attention. Why else would you have worn a dress like tha-”

Somehow, suddenly, out of nowhere, the curtains were ripped apart and Theo was there before you, before you even had time to process it- before Campbell could push his luck any further. His hand shot out, fingers locking around the bastard’s wrist in a vice grip, yanking it away from your waist with enough force to make him stumble back a step. His breathing was slow, measured, but everything else about him was tightly wound, coiled with barely restrained fury- his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. His fingers flexed at his side like he was deciding whether to throw a punch or just break Campbell's wrist outright.

The usual composed calm in his expression was gone- his dark eyes burned with something lethal, something cold and merciless that had shivers run down your spine, even though it wasn’t directed at you but at Campbell, who recoiled visibly, wincing when Theo’s hand tightened around his wrist and cut off all blood flow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, quiet, but razor-edged with warning. “You really don’t want to do that.”

“H-hey man,” laughed Campbell, voice shaking slightly with fear, and it was music to your ears. To have him at someone’s mercy, in someone’s unrelenting grip. For a moment, you wished you had Theo’s authority, menacing aura and reputation. Until you got half your mind back and inched away from Campbell, who had let go of your arm in an instant.

“It was just a bit of fun,” Campbell attempted to laugh it off, but Theo didn’t move- didn’t blink, didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his fingers tightened around Campbell’s wrist, the tension in his arm rippling beneath his shirt. There was not the slightest trace of amusement on his stony face, no hint of his usual cool detachment- just a quiet, simmering rage, deadly in its restraint.

His head tilted slightly, voice dropping even lower, silk-smooth but edged with steel. “Didn’t seem like she was having fun to me.” His thumb pressed just slightly into the guy’s pulse point, a silent threat, a warning that needed no elaboration. The air around them felt sharp, electric, like the moment before a storm broke, and though Theo hadn’t thrown a single punch, it was clear he was seconds away from violence.

His gaze flickered over to you. But instead of softening, like it usually did, it only hardened as he snapped his eyes back at Campbell, who was unable to hide the panic etched into his expression. “Do yourself a favor,” Theo said darkly, threateningly, “Get lost. Now.” Still holding his wrist, he lowered his head and Campbell tried to avoid his piercing eyes. With eyes full of disgust and revulsion, Theo looked down on him. “I’ll find you tomorrow,” he growled with barely contained fury, released Campbell’s hand and tilted his head just the slightest bit.

In the split of a second, Campbell was gone, only the curtains still moving with the impact of his sudden departure. Theo turned to you, dread churning in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to go after Campbell and make him bleed, make him pay, for daring to lay his filthy hands on you, for daring to feast his greedy eyes on you and trying to hurt you. The only thing keeping him in place was, at the same time, the only thing more important than his wrath- you.

Your eyes were locked on the swaying curtain where Campbell had just left, your shoulders slumped and to his horror, he noticed you were shaking slightly. The sight of your trembling fingers didn't do anything to calm the inferno barely contained within him, and he was tempted to take you with him and have you watch him destroy Campbell, so you would see what a miserable sack of human garbage he was, how he was nothing, how he would cower at your feet, beg for your mercy, and he’d punish him for it.

“Carina?”

Theo’s voice sounded through to you, over the ringing in your ears. Blinking rapidly, you bit down on your traitorously wobbling lip and turned to him without raising your gaze from the ground. “Merlin,” you whispered and heard your voice quiver uncontrollably. “I was so stupid.” Your eyes burned, both with shock and humiliation, and before you could properly avert your face, a tear slipped past the fragile dam.

His warm hands on your bare arms, so much more gentle and careful than Terry’s, almost made you shudder as you fought the urge to sink into him and cry away your worries on his shoulder, in spite of time and place, in spite of your determination to keep some level of composure. Theo’s thumbs brushed gently over your skin, so utterly comforting that it only made you well up more. “You weren't,” he said in a firm but calm voice, the rumble of his baritone soothing the trembling of your heart against your ribcage, as if it wanted to escape the confines of your body that suddenly felt so sullied.

An ironic, teary laugh slipped past your lips. “Yes, I am. Here I was, wanting to show Mattheo I can handle myself and now I need saving from you-” Your voice broke off and you covered your mouth with one hands to muffle the little sob building up in your throat.

Wiping at your cheeks stubbornly, you avoided his gaze determinately and preferred to watch the ripple of his sophisticated shirt as he leaned towards you, the smell of smoke, mint and old books tearing down your walls of resistance. Another tear. “You must think I'm an idiot,” you whispered as even more tears ran down your cheeks and the hand over your mouth shook.

“No, I don't,” said Theo, ever more firmly, and all of the sudden, you could feel the rough pads of his fingers under your chin, lifting it. There was no resistance left in you, not when his voice drowned out the unpleasant memory of Campbell and the overwhelming thumping of the music. But the look in his eyes almost made you flinch back. They were made of ice, hard and cold and beautiful, brimming with fury. Still, his grip barely tightened. As always, Theo was in perfect control of his body, of his every movement. Sometimes, that frustrated you, but now, you felt content knowing every touch of his was deliberate and trustworthy.

“I don't think you’re an idiot,” he reiterated, lowering his head to be more on eye level with you. “I think you picked the wrong guy. È semplice. Simple as that.”

It was too much, his voice, his words, the way the Italian rolled so smoothly off his tongue. Sniffing, you hid your head in his chest and his arms wrapped themselves around you, one hand holding your neck, brushing his thumb over your jaw and shielding you against him.

“You could do so much better,” his voice rumbled against your ear as he caressed your face and more tears stained his white shirt. You felt him tense up somewhat, a certain hint of frustration in his voice, though not directed at you, but rather at himself. “You should do so much better.”

Another bitter little laugh left your lips, a pang of daring born out of your shock and fear. “Like you?” Since you still hid your head in his chest, you didn't see the way his jaw clenched at your words.

He could imagine it so well- a world in which you would have worn that dress for him, and only for him. In which he’d have waited for you by your dorm, would have led you through the halls to Slughorn’s party and fended all other people off to take you to dance. How you would have moved, and smiled, and laughed; laughed just for him. How you would have trusted him with yourself. He would have made sure you got to enjoy yourself, would have made the night unforgettable. Would have taken you back to your dorm and shown you just how much of a goddess you were- even without the dress on.

Already regretting your rash words, you pried yourself from his hug, too busy whipping the last remnants of tears from your cheeks to notice the way his eyes had darkened and fingers curled at his sides, as if burning to pull you back against him. “Can we get out of here?” you asked, looking up at him, and he nodded, tugging the curtains aside to lead you out of the secluded corner.

Theo’s hand rested on your lower back as if it belonged there, as he guided you through chattering and dancing bodies, clearing a path for you through the sea of laughter and music. The party’s noises and colors had long become overwhelming to you, so you let him guide you through the crowd and to the door leading out of the room. Taking a longer step, he opened it for you, lead you through and closed it behind you. As soon as the door fell shut with a resounding clang and the coolness and quiet of the nightly castle halls welcomed you, you could breathe steadily again.

Theo shook off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders like a proper gentleman, adjusting it to make sure it didn't slip. He was a bit old school, but you liked it. Luckily, the night hid the dust of pink on your cheeks as the warmth engulfed you like a hug and shielded you against the nightly cold. His hand still on your lower back, Theo guided you down the stairs and along the corridor, a comfortable silence settling between you. You had a feeling he was slowing his pace to match yours, as your legs were still a little shaky.

When you walked by the courtyard, you slowed your steps and looked up at him, noticing the way the pale moonlight only accentuated the sharp line of his jaw. “Can we sit outside for a moment?”

Theo did not at all like how flimsy and unprotected against the cold you were dressed, but he nodded. He couldn't let you go unprotected, after all. Right, he was just following your brother’s instructions. Just that. Once more, he adjusted his jacket before allowing you to pull him by the arm out into the courtyard, striding towards one of the benches. Before you could sit, he wiped away the leaves and twigs on your side and then sat down next to you, feeling himself grow calmer as he listened to your steady breathing and watched it come out in puffs from your lips. Your lips. You’d put lipgloss on, and his eyes clung to the way they looked so plump and soft, ready to be ravaged.

“Theo?”

“Mm?” he asked distractedly, still mesmerized by the way your lips looked, moved, parted, huffed out silvery breaths.

“Can you-,” you hesitated for a second and threw him a quick glance. “Can you not tell Mattheo about how horrible this went?” Theo looked down at you steadily, with a serious, unmoved expression on his face as he was waiting for you to continue.

With a defeated sigh, you propped up your head and your hands, elbows on your knees, and stared ahead. “You know how he’ll get if he finds out. He’ll go completely bonkers, and he’s so reckless, I wouldn’t be surprised if he risked more than detention.” Maybe even Azkaban. Because he had sworn to you earlier that evening that he would kill Campbell if he laid so much as a hand on you. But you had no interest in Campbell dying, you just never wanted to see his stupid face again.

Still, Theo remained quiet and you rocked your leg anxiously, your voice a breath against the nightly breeze. “And if he knows… if you tell him… he’ll be right.” Again, you felt the sharp prick of tears behind your eyes, but before they could flow, a warm hand came to rest against your waist and you gave into its urge by leaning against his shoulder. Resting your head on him, you couldn’t see his face properly, but his voice was louder and clearer than yours had been. Still, he seemed to have understood every word.

“He wouldn’t,” said Theo calmingly, rubbing circles on your dress and calming your breathing in return. “I know you can take care of yourself. Also.”

You were surprised by the somewhat humorous tone in his voice as he lightly nudged your head with his, making you raise your head from his shoulder and look up at him. Mere inches separated your noses as his darkend eyes reflected the starry sky above Hogwarts. There was a rare, jocular twinkle in them as his hand came up from your waist to cup your cheek. “You are his older sister after all.”

A dry chuckle left your lips, but your heart was lighter than before and you managed to crack a genuine smile. “You’re right,” you grinned weakly, not even thinking of bringing more distance between you and his magnetizing eyes. “I should rightfully rule over him.”

A gentle smirk tugged at his lips, and he didn’t make a move to separate from you either, his thumb running along your jaw. “With an iron fist, bella.”

But then, his gaze darkened again as his eyes lost all light. You could almost understand why people tended to flinch back from him in fear, though the threatening look in his eyes couldn’t make you frightened for yourself. Still, his thumb brushed gentle strokes up your jaw and his trusted scent clouded your senses. “I will hurt him for what he did to you,” muttered Theo, his voice so quiet you could only hear it because he practically breathed the words against your lips.

Maybe he had expected you to back away, look horrified, or tell him off for doing what Mattheo would have done. But you only nodded, like you had known it all along. “I know,” you echoed his thoughts, looking serious and tugging his jacket tighter around yourself, not breaking eye contact. “But I trust you to handle the situation better. You are … less clouded by emotions.”

The irony almost made him smile, how you thought he would be measured, would be reasonable, rational, when he had never felt more clouded by emotions as when you looked up at him now, your wide eyes still showing the last remnants of your tears. An iron grip was around his heart, refusing to loosen, so he forced himself to avert his eyes, so you wouldn’t see the hate brimming in them- not at you, of course, but at the world who kept cracking down on someone as good as you.

But he didn’t correct you, instead skimming his eyes over the lace of your dress, the way it swayed gently in the breeze. You had looked so pretty in it- still did. A shame, truly. Both you and this dress deserved better. When he adjusted the hem slightly, he caught goosebumps break out under his touch and hated himself for the light tinge of satisfaction it gave him.

“You look stunning in that dress,” he muttered lowly, looking back up at you. It seemed like your eyes hadn’t left him, even after he had averted his, and the way you leaned trustingly into his touch twisted his insides with conflicting emotion.

Your hand found his and squeezed, and now he himself had to suppress a shudder at your soft touch. It really shouldn’t be bothering him, shouldn’t be affecting him this much. He had touched you plenty of times before, as you had, too. Your touch was more familiar to him than that of his parents, or his friends. Your warmth a constant in the wild tides breaking all around him, disrupting the world he had meant to break into order for you.

“Thank you,” you said breathlessly, giving his hand a light squeeze. Returning it, he watched you, and you shifted under his gaze, feeling scrutinized.

“Mi dispiace (i’m sorry),” he said sincerely, finally holding your gaze again. “For your ruined night, carina. You deserve so much better.”

You shrugged, giving him a half-smile. “Well, you know what they say, play stupid games and win stupid prizes. And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. And,” your eyes fell to your interlocked hands, his long fingers engulfing yours like they never wanted to let you go again. “Thank you, Theo. For getting me out of there. Merlin knows what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

His jaw clenched visibly at the thought, and he attempted to concentrate on the feel of your soft skin against his to ground him, as images of what he would do to Campbell flashed in his mind. Your ironic chuckle pulled you out of his spiraling thoughts. “I couldn’t even push him off. The way you just looked at him and he ran off…,” you swallowed thickly. “I wish I wasn't this weak.”

“It’s not a weakness,” he disagreed and you opened your mouth to argue back, but the look in his eyes extinguished every and all protest on your tongue. “It’s not a weakness,” he repeated firmly, locking you in place with his cerulean eyes. His thumb ran over your knuckles, but neither of you dared look away from the other. “It’s a show of strength,” he said, his Italian accent a little more prominent than before. “The world didn’t manage to take away your kindness.”

He leaned in further when he saw the frown forming on your face. “You are stronger than me. And for all those who think otherwise,” his voice got more grave as he spoke, more intense, “who think they can use you or hurt you, you have me to deal with him.”

Frozen, unable to talk back and disagree with his rather flattering interpretation of yourself, you stared at him, his words replaying in your mind. You had him. Him. Not them. He wasn’t talking about himself and your brother, just about himself. He would deal with anyone who hurt you. A shiver ran through your body, but it wasn’t because of the dark promise he had extended towards you. Where it was received inside you, it curled up, warm, like a whispered secret. He would take care of you.

To your grief, that care seemed to be extendable to other areas as well, as Theo's attentive eyes caught the goosebumps on your arms and your light shivering. Loosening his hand from yours, he placed it again on the small of your back, frowning. “We have to get you inside, amore. You will catch death out here.” Begrudgingly, you agreed, partially because you couldn’t say no to those eyes.

With a gentle rub of his hand, he helped you stand and adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. Then, he led you inside again, where, though it wasn’t much warmer, the cold breeze subsided. But when he turned to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, you halted your steps, causing him to stop as well and raise his brow at you. You gave him a pleading look as you held on to his jacket for support. “He’ll be waiting. I don't want him to ask questions when I turn up so early.”

Theo sighed, running a hand through his dark curls, but he nodded and you gave him a grateful smile. “Come with me,” he said, gratuitously, as if you wouldn't have followed him anywhere without him having to ask. But you nodded and let him take you up a staircase into the Transfiguration corridor, where he opened the first door with a bit of wandless magic.

Any other night, you might have protested breaking into a classroom, but you made no sound of complaint as he opened the door for you and led you inside, closing it softly behind you so the noise would go undetected. A small click told you that he had locked it again, though Filch was rarely out and about on nights of Slughorn’s parties, as too many partygoers drove him mad.

As you sat down on one of the tables in the front row, hands tugged into the pockets of Theo's jacket, he opened one of the closets, seemingly looking for something. Seconds later, he reemerged, balancing a board of chess in one hand. Something like a satisfied smile tugged at his lips when your eyes lit up in an instant. He walked over, placing the board on the desk you sat on, before hoisting himself up to sit on the other end, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt to find a more relaxed position.

Your eyes clung to the exposed skin of his collar for just a moment, but a moment too long, as he quirked a teasing brow at you when you snapped your eyes back to his face. Feeling your face grow hot, you busied yourself with placing the chess figures on the board. White for you, black for him, as always. His eyes followed the movement of your hands on the board and you felt a certain nervosity coil in your stomach at the intensity with which he observed your hands.

Once the board was ready, you did the first move. His eyes snapped up at you shortly before he extended his veiny hand to move one of his central pawns. And so it continued. You both made your moves, sometimes fast and certain, other times slow and hesitant. His brows were drawn in concentration, and you attempted to focus on the game instead of the way his pensive expression made you want to lean over and kiss him.

Theo was a formidable chess player, and you weren’t so bad yourself. When you had both finished your school work, playing chess was a common pastime in his room, both of you sitting on his sheets and balancing the board between you. It wasn't so different now, only that you were starting to notice things in the pale moonlight you hadn’t before.

The deliberate movement of his hands, how his fingers sometimes stilled over the board as he glanced up at you, gauging your reaction to what he was about to do. The way he ran his hands through his hair after you’d made a good move, and the way his lips would quirk whenever he’d taken advantage of one of your weak positions. He was so utterly magnetizing you had to force your attention on the game, determined not to let him beat you too easily. Usually, it was Theo who won the match, but you tended to put up a good figh. It wasn’t easy to entertain him, but somehow, it was always him who asked for a match or had already got out the board when you arrived.

Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one somewhat distracted. Usually, it was enough for Theo to analyze your moves and strategies, never having had a problem with wavering concentration, unlike his best mate. Something was different tonight. Maybe it was the dress. Only now did he realize how low-cut it really was, made worse by the fact that you had to lean over the desk to move your chess men, giving him an enticing view of your cleavage- if he hadn’t physically restrained himself from looking by digging his nails into the palms of hands violently. Maybe it was his jacket on you. This clear sign of his claim on you.

Feeling dirty and horrible for these thoughts, he looked back down to the board he had been absentmindedly moving figures on and realized he hadn’t seized an important opportunity, but rather allowed you to break through his rangs so that now, you were in a position to take his queen. He cursed quietly under his breath and you gave him a sceptical and somewhat accusatory look.

“You’re letting me win.”

“I’m not,” he replied truthfully, but you didn’t believe him, and how was he supposed to explain to you that he had been so occupied with staring at you he had let his concentration slip to such a point? He himself was a little shocked, having believed his discipline to be stronger after years and years of rigorous training. But you were still you, amd if someone could distract him, it had to be you.

“Check,” you mumbled, and you both did a few more moves until you said “Checkmate” and took his king with your queen. But you remained in place, neither of you willing to let this moment pass without resolving the unspoken tension that had settled in the air between you as you played.

Without taking his eyes off yours, Theo flicked his wrist and made the board and pieces fly back into the cupboard, which sealed itself. Closing the now unoccupied distance between you, both of you shuffled closer on the desk, neither breaking eye contact. Suddenly, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye. It was his hand, moving slowly towards your face, hovering in the air for the split of a second before cupping your cheek and tilting your head lightly, reveling in the way you gave into his touch so willingly.

“I must confess something, carina,” his voice sounded into the silence and you frowned, your heart beating faster with anticipation. A light smile settled on his lips, uncharacteristically sheepish, as his thumb brushed over your lower lip, eyes locked on the way it gave in to the pressure of his thumb. “I might have been assigned to you tonight, to protect you.”

Ignoring the pang of disappointment in your chest, you scoffed without any malice behind it. But you refused to look away as his breath mingled with yours, the silence in the classroom seeming louder than before. The space between you had disappeared without either of you noticing, and his fingers were warm against your skin. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed, but he didn’t pull away. His gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, dark and unreadable, his breathing slow but unsteady. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the moment before lightning struck.

You should have moved. Said something. Diffused the situation before it crossed the point of no return. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. The warmth of him, the way his knee pressed against yours, the way his breath ghosted over your lips- it held you in place. His grip tightened just slightly, as if grounding himself, as if testing if you’d pull away. But you didn’t. The silence stretched, became unbearable, and your lips parted, his eyes clinging to them.

“Well, Theo. Are you going to protect me from yourself?”

It was the last straw. Suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft but firm, moving against yours and you gave into him in an instant, as if on instinct. Both his hands cupped your face now, tilting it slightly to give himself a better angle. His lips were so soft you wondered whether he’d put on lipbalm earlier, his touch so tender you couldn’t help but feel content, right here and there. You kissed him back, but he took the lead with unmistakable certainty, tugging lightly at your lower lip with his teeth and making your breath hitch before closing the distance once more.

But there was something missing. Theo was kissing and touching you as if you were made of glass and could shatter at the lightest touch. His kisses were loving, but careful, only gently tugging at the curtains you wished to rip open and let your senses be overflown with sunlight.

The moment he detected you struggling to catch your breath, he released your lips, looking down on your flushed face with a light smile. So damn satisfied, so superior. But you’d show him. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you leaned up at him but he evaded your lips, tutting softly at your endeavors and the frown scrunching your brows together.

Feeling quite frustrated and desperate to release the tension that had been brimming inside you all day, you scraped together your last bits of Italian you had picked up, poring over language books in the library. Your voice shook, uncertain, as you spoke, and the words came out slightly broken, almost inaudible. “Ti voglio… così … così tanto,” you said breathlessly, and in what had to be a heavy english accent. (I want you so much)

Theo let out a shaky exhale, and he corrected you without thinking, his voice so low it sounded more like a rumble. “Ti voglio così tanto.”

A beat. Silence. And then, finally, something inside him seemed to snap. The careful restraint in his grip vanished, replaced by something raw, something reckless. His fingers slid back into your hair, tightening just enough to tilt your face up to his as his lips crashed onto yours, all hesitation gone. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t measured. It was heated, desperate, like he had been holding himself back for too long and had finally lost the battle.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him as if he needed to feel you, to prove to himself that you were here, that this was real. A low sound rumbled in his throat as he deepened the kiss, as his fingers curled tighter against your waist, as he poured everything- every once of frustration, every unsaid thing, every moment spent pretending it wasn’t inevitable - into the way his lips moved against yours.

His hand on your waist slid down to your thigh, grabbing a handful and pulling you every more closer until you sat halfway in his lap. At his firm touch, your breath hitched in your throat and he responded with a low growl, hand slipping higher and higher until-

You pulled away, chest heaving and head spinning, unable to grasp a thought. But fear had surged through you, as the images of the boys you’d kissed before flashed in your mind, after Mattheo had been done with them. Panic and pleasure coiled into an almost painful knot in your throat and all you could think, as you tightened your hands in his shirt, was not him, not him, not him. You shouldn't be doing this. He was your brother’s best friend, he was off limits. He was freedom.

“Carina?” his voice broke through to the hazy mist clouding your mind and you looked up at him with wide eyes. The look on his face took you off guard, because you had never seen him look scared before. Maybe you had even thought impossible. But now, his voice shook slightly as he ran his thumb over your jaw and his other hand departed from your upper thigh. “I’m sorry, carina. Merda- fuck- I- I shouldn't have, Non stavo pensando-” (I wasn't thinking)

Theo seemed to take your lack of response as fright rather than what it was: perplexity. Because Theodore Nott hadn't had trouble with slipping in and out of English since first grade. But now, as his eyes frantically searched your face for a reaction, as apologies stumbled from his tongue, he almost seemed unable to control in what language they were in.

Theo was astonished how quickly emotion and desire had taken over his senses, his body, his sacred self-control. Only now did he realize how reckless he had been, kissing you like that after just saving you from a handsy stronzo. Where had his filter been when he’d kissed you like that, when his hand had slipped up your dress, when your little gasps had only spurred him on? But you didn't seem as fearful as him, only staring at him with wide eyes as if he’d just discovered a damn new species. Running a hand through his hair in desperation, he lowered his voice. “Parlami, per favore. Talk to me, carina.”

Snapping back to your senses, you shook your head at him rapidly. “It's not- I didn't mean-”. You felt your cheeks grow hot but you held your gaze steady and didn't loosen the grip you had on his shirt. “I liked it. It was great. I was just-” You took a few breaths through your mouth, considering the words, weighing them in your mind before allowing your tongue to form a sentence. As you pondered your words, he sat still as a block of ice, staring down at you with those mesmerizing blue eyes of his.

“I don't want Mattheo to hurt you!” you finally managed to say and his brow arched. Frustrated with your lack of an explanation, you looked around the room as if the perfect sentence to explain your desperate predicament would jump out of one of the cupboards. “I know what he did to the other boys,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm, “to the other boys I've kissed. I don't want him to hurt you. A- and,” you hated yourself for the way your voice broke off and you had to start the sentence over, “and I know you love him like a brother, and you are his best friend, and I don't want to ruin that.”

“Oh carina,” he sighed, rolling the r even more heavily than usual, and the small smile that tugged at his lips had the conflicting desires to hit him or kiss him battle inside of you. Theo visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders and the movements of his fingers settling into a calm rhythm once more. His relaxed stance didn't even make the slightest bit of sense to you as you frowned at him, voice laced with fear and worry.

“Mattheo will kill you.”

Theo’s heart seized as he looked into your worried, fearful eyes. Worried for him, your hand clutching his shirt like you never wanted to let him go. You didn't want to ruin his friendship with Mattheo. You were afraid he would hurt him. Dio, you were so fucking selfless, so sweet and caring. How could anyone see you as unapproachable or cold, or anything short of wonderful? But at the same time, the kiss-induced haze in his mind slowly started to clear up as he seemed to sober up, recognizing the sensibility of your words. Right. You were Mattheo's sister. You were off-limits.

It cost him every last ounce of self-control to pry your fingers away from his shirt gently, and a numb pain tugged at his heartstrings when they fell purposelessly into your lap. “Let's get you back to your dorm,” he mumbled, trying to be the voice of reason, not the greedy vulture raging inside his head that yearned to rip that pretty dress off of you and worship you like you deserved, to make you forget all about Campbell and his disgusting attempts. He longed to hear the sounds you would make when he touched you in all the right places, he wanted you to curl your fingers into his hair, he wanted to hear you moan his name, and his name only.

But alas, he stepped back from the table, banning the forbidden images from his head, and approached the door, desperately trying to clear his head. It was only when his hand hovered over the door handle that he realized you hadn't followed. Turning around, he saw you were still sitting where he had left you, on the desk, clutching his jacket around yourself, eyes fixed on him. The glint in them was dangerous, it tempted him more than anything, drew him in like a magnet. Shakily breathing out, he turned and faced the door, fingers closing around the handle. “Tell me to go.”

There was a pause, during which he could only hear your breathing, still labored as a result of the messy kiss. He could picture you so well. Clutching his jacket, your hair disheveled where his fingers had run through it and your eyes- dio, your eyes… When you spoke, your voice was quiet, but firm. As if you'd made up your mind about something. “You never listen to me anyway.”

That was all it took for his resolve to crumble. Mattheo and chivalry be damned as he turned on his heel and had reached you in a few strides, crashing his lips against yours. As his hands on your neck urged you ever more closer, you let out a surprised squeak, but the split of a second later, your eyes fluttered close and you kissed him back, losing yourself in the bliss.

Low phrases were muttered against your lips, but you barely registered them as you kissed him back just as feverishly as he did. Your shaky fingers ran over his chest, looking for any sort of halt, and he rumbled lowly into your mouth as his grip on you tightened and he opened your lips with his tongue. As his tongue slid into your mouth, it met little resistance. Instead, your fingers closed around his tie, unintentionally tugging him even closer to you and he cupped the back of your head, fingers carding into your hair. An embarrassing little mewl left your lips and the vehemence of the kiss made you lean back on the table, your back hovering inches above the surface. He followed, chasing your lips, closing in on you again and again and exploring the insides of your mouth with his tongue.

You had subconsciously been inching back on the desk and his hands departed from your neck to bury themselves in the flesh of your hip. With one fluid motion, he pulled you back over the smooth surface of the desk until your clothed core met his and you could feel his desire. Your skirt had ridden up to your upper thighs, but you made no attempts to fix it as you leaned into his touch, his kiss, his smell, his very being.

You could barely believe this was happening, the stuff of your forbidden little ovulation daydreams, and if his fingers hadn’t been kneading the flesh of your exposed thigh so maddeningly, you would have pinched yourself to make sure this was real. But it felt almost too real, too intense, too all-consuming, as his large palms ran over every inch of your body they could reach and he panted against your lips before clashing his onto yours again. Insatiable, ferocious, yearning for every part of you he could grasp.

If you had thought you were the only one desperate for the other, you had been so, so wrong. His frantic kisses and desperate touches were enough to convince you otherwise, his usual calm and coldness missing as you felt so fucking hot under his deft hands.

Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his crotch. His grip on your waist and hip tightened, fingers curling harshly into your flesh as he let out a shaky breath against your lips. But his voice was steady and firm as he warned you, “Careful with that, principessa.”

But you wanted to see him crumble, you wanted to see him lose control more than anything. So you leaned up at him, chased his lips and gave him your best doe eyes. His eyes gleaned dangerously in the relative darkness of the classroom as you tightened your grip on his shirt. “Theo…,” you asked in a pleading voice, trying to convey how damn needy he made you feel, how much his touch riled you up until all you could think was him, him , him, and the way he pressed against your pulsing core. “Per favore…”

Again, the Italian seemed to do the trick. Something in his gaze shifted as his eyes snapped down to your lips, and further down, over your heaving chest to your bare thighs, molding into the touch of his large hands. He was panting, fighting against the utter loss of control, but when you repeated the words in the most adorable English accent and rolled your hips against his once more, he couldn’t help himself any longer.

Theo’s head dipped down to your neck and you mewled when you felt his lips trail down your throat. His tongue licked a long stripe up the column of your throat, where your breath hitched and he chuckled darkly against your skin. Breathing in your perfume that always fucking lingered in the room when you were there, so near and out of reach, he connected his lips to your sensitive spot and felt a jolt of pleasure at your high-pitched gasp.

Suddenly, for the split of a second, your mind cleared up and you tugged his head away from your neck in a panic. You only got a low growl in response, along with a roll of his lips that made you mewl softly and slap a hand over your mouth at the embarrassing sound. “Th- theo," you managed to stutter out, the words falling clumsily from your kiss-bitten lips. You only got a throaty sound in return and your grip in his hair tightened. “Theo, h- he can’t see.”

That, if nothing else, made him halt his relentless ministrations of your neck and raise his head to look down on you. You looked so utterly irresistible in the dim moonlight shining through the windows. Your hair a mess, your lips plump and swollen, your eyes wide and fearful. Fearful for him. Merlin, he felt like he had the whole world at his fingertips. His intense gaze made you shudder as you leaned up again, a pleading look in your eyes and laced into the tone of your voice. “Theo-”

But before you could say more, he cupped your cheeks and kissed your temple, breathing in through his nose as if commanding oxygen back into his lungs. “I’ll just have to do it somewhere else then, won’t I?” he said under his breath, lips departing from yours kin so he could get another proper look at you and your flushed face. “Somehwere he can’t see.” His tone was so utterly seductive you could only nod, you knew your voice would break if you had tried to reply.

But he tutted softly, tilting his head and you recognized the teasing look in his eyes. His hand cupped your cheek and his thumb ran over your bottom lip, eyes following the way it gave into his touch. “You’ve got to use your words, principessa, tell me what to do.”

Frustrated with his teasing, you moved your hips against his until his hands gripped at your waist, keeping you in place. He raised his brow at you. “Not cheating, are we?” One of his hands ran over your thigh gently, making any and all protest die on your tongue. A sharp gasp left your lips when it surged forward and cupped your crotch. Biting down on your lip, you suppressed a moan as he engulfed your clothed core with his large hand and tilted his head at you, brow still raised. “Anyone ever touched you there, carina?” A mocking smile curled his lips. “Anyone but yourself, I mean.”

Panting pathetically, you shook your head and he cooed at you, gently rubbing his palm over your cunt in a way that had you squirm against his hold. “H- ha, no one,” you gasped, hiding your blushing face in his biceps as your fingers curled into his shoulders, keeping you steady. “No one’s touched me there but y- you, Theo.”

Though Theo might have seemed all calm and collected, his mind was spinning at your words. With the revelation that he’d be the first man to touch you, to claim you, to ruin you for any other pathetic guy that might attempt to take his place. Because you belonged to him. He had to suppress a groan at the thought, but commanded himself to discipline. This night was yours, he was yours, and he had to keep his mind focused on you, on your pleasure.

In one motion, he hiked up your skirt until it was bunched up around your midriff, giving him the perfect view of your white lace panties against the dark wood of the desk. Licking his lips, he met your wide-eyed gaze. “Lay down on the desk, principessa.” That was right. You would be his princess tonight.

With great satisfaction, he watched you follow his order immediately. Your back met the wood of the desk and you suirmed against his hold to get comfortable, staring up at the ceiling. Your heart beat against your ribs like crazy, the sound of it filling your ears. His face had disappeared from your sight. All you could feel now were his hands, one keeping your hips in place, the other running a slow pair of fingers up your clothed folds. Your breath hitched in your throat and you bit down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the embarrassing sounds building up in your throat.

His next command sounded, soft but firm. “Spread your legs.” You did, thighs trembling, and you propped yourself up on one elbow just in time to see his eyes widen at the sight of you. Registering even the smallest movement, his eyes snapped up at you and you immediately laid back down on the surface of the desk, making him smile softly.

Theo got to his knees, nudging your thighs further apart and reveled in the abashed sounds coming from you. His fingers halted their movements on your clothed cunt to hook themselves around the hem of your lace panties and tug. A small squeak left your mouth and he chuckled. “So responsive…” In one tug, he slid off your underwear and discarded it somewhere next to him.

Your cunt was just as cute as he had imagined, and glistening with slick in the pale moonlight. Bringing his fingers back down to your cunt, he collected some of the substance, making you jolt. “All that for me?” he asked, teasingly, catching your frantic nod out of the corner of his eye. Then, he dove down and his lips met your puffy folds.

Shocked by the sudden feelings of his mouth against your cunt, you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that had threatened to escape you. But it was hard to keep your mind on the possible risk of getting caught in this utterly humiliating position when his tongue licked a long stripe up your folds, before diving in as if you were his last meal on earth.

Feeling his nose against your folds, his lips closed around your clit and you stifled another moan. With a low rumbling sound, one of his hands left your thigh and out of the corner of your eye, you caught him flick his wand at the door, suddenly deafening the sounds of wind howling in the courtyard. Before you could fully realize that he had just cast a muffliato charm on the door, his hand shot up and closed around both of your wrists, yanking them down and pinning them down against your hips. This had the added effect of stopping them from bucking against his face as he took advantage of the new angle to delve into your pussy like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

When he sucked at your clit, you moaned loudly, unable to muffle the sounds with your pinned-down hands, and your cheeks heated with shame. But Theo only chuckled against your folds, feeling his cock harden painfully against the confines of his trousers. Your little moans and mewls were music to his ears, and he worked his tongue tirelessly against your clit, eager to elicit more from you.

Releasing your other thigh, the hand that wasn’t holding down your bucking hips and binding your wrists wandered up to your cunt and he slowly entered his index finger into your tight little hole. He chuckled into your glistening folds when your back arched off the desk. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was the cry of his name that left your throat.

He damn near jolted, feeling blood rush towards his cock and, as if on instinct, his finger curled up inside of you, eliciting a strangled moan from you. He delved back into your warmth, working on your pretty pink hole with his index finger and sucking and licking at your clit until you were writhing and squirming against the desk, hips bucking helplessly but being held down by his unrelenting grip. Again, you mewled his name and he groaned into your pussy, feeling his knees grow weak and his head grow foggy.

Dio, how he could have listened to you saying his name like this forever. How often had he pictured you, whining and moaning, his name rolling off your tongue so filthily? But none of his filthy dreams could have prepared him for the real thing. His hips bucked helplessly into mere air when you moaned his name again, high-pitched and desperate as you shook under his hold. You were heavenly.

Theo's ministrations on your poor cunt were relentless, systematic and meticulous as you felt your insides tighten with white hot pleasure. You were barely in control of your whole body anymore, it felt as if he was a puppeteer, tugging knowingly at your strings and making you jolt and squirm, making you dance for him on the hard surface of the desk. All you could feel was him, all of your senses overtaken with white-hot pleasure. Your ears were ringing, so that you could barely make out your own words, repetitions of his name stumbling from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned against you, his grip on you tightening as his finger pistoned in and out of you, steadily working to make you unravel completely. “Che bei suoni, carina,” he moaned against your folds, liking up a long stripe and making your breath hitch audibly. “Una ragazza così brava, cazzo, such a good girl.”

His words made you whine as a coil tightened in your lower abdomen. You could almost feel his grin against your clit as his tongue darted out to draw circles on it and nearly drive you mad with the electrifying sensation. “You like being called a good girl, don’t you, carina?”

You could only mewl helplessly in response and his finger met that spot in you with a harsh thrust that had you cry out his name in ecstasy. “I asked you a question,” he growled and you felt tears form in your eyes at the overwhelming mounting of pleasure. Another finger of his started to draw circles on your clit, meticulous and experienced, as his grim blue eyes entered your vision, alight with something dangerous.

Nodding helplessly, you tried to force your tongue to form words as he knowingly hit every spot inside you that had you fall aprt and trash against his hold. “I- fuck, yes!”

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he dipped his head back down, continuing his ministrations on your cunt. You attempted to roll your hips against his face, chasing the pleasure, but he tutted at you and pressed your hips down, making you sob in frustration. “Poor girl,” he chuckled against your hot wetness, “Can you take another finger, dolcezza?”

You nodded shakily, small whines of “yes, yes, yes,” filling the air. Your walls stretched deliciously around him when he added another finger. Throwing your head back with a moan, your thighs closed without your permission and finally, Theo released your wrists and hip to keep them parted, mumbling curses in Italian against your heat. His fingers curled up against the spot he now found with infuriating accuracy and instinctively, your hand shot up to your mouth to stifle the cry of pleasure threatening to burst past your lips.

But Theo seemed none too pleased with that, as his hand came down to deliver a not so gentle slap against your pussy. A cry of his name left your throat as your hips bucked with the delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

To stop yourself from covering your mouth again, you moved your trembling fingers down to his hair, where they gripped his curls in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Theo didn't seem to mind, his tongue working restlessly on your clit, and he barely grunted when you tugged at his curls, another flash of burning pleasure shooting through you, making your thighs tremble in his hold.

Lost in pleasure, you could barely control your babbling anymore as everything and anything crossing your mind made it past your lips without filter. “H-he’ll kill you,” you hiccuped weakly, tears running down your cheeks as you felt the pleasure mount inside you. “Mattheo, he’ll m-murder you for th-this, s-so ah!” You gasped when his fingers curled inside you again, working meticulously on bringing you to your high as your walls clenched in a vice-like grip around them.

“I-I hope you’ve made peace with your life,” you slurred with half a mind and his tongue only worked faster on your clit as he hummed in content. “Cazzo- then I’ll die, carina. Dio sa, this is fucking worth it.”

Ramming his fingers into your squelching cunt, he looked up at your writhing and moaning figure, feeling something swell, not only in his trousers but in his chest. He had you like this. You, the untouched, off-limits sister of his best friend, the temptation he could never give into, the prize he could never have- and now he had you. Right where he wanted you. Falling apart on his tongue and his fingers, moaning his name to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. And fuck him if he would earn Mattheo’s wrath, fuck him if he got into hell for sullying something so good, so pure, because it just felt so damn good.

You felt so damn good, he could feel himslef becoming light-headed, not even being inside you, alone from the image of you arching your back off the table, your pretty face flushed and scrunched up with pleasure. The image of his darkest dreams. He himself couldn’t even differentiate whether the praises and curses against your tongue were in English or his mother tongue as your high-pitched moans filled his ears.

His fingers hit the spot that had you tremble mindlessly again, and again, and again, until your walls clenched tightly around them and something between a sob and a moan broke out of your throat. “Th- theo, I’m cumming!”

As your high washed over you, you could do nothing but gasp and shake against him, as pleasure as you’d never once felt it crashed down on you and nearly made you see the pearly gates of heaven. A loud cry left your throat, and you didn’t even have half a mind to be thankful for the muffliato charm he had put on the door. All you could do was absolutely fucking fall apart on his fingers.

They worked you steadily through your high, his middle finger rubbing lazy circles on your clit as the world slowly took shape again around you and you felt his lips travel up the side of your jaw. “Such a good fucking girl, dolcezza, give me everything you've got.”

And give him everything you did, riding out your high against his fingers until you collapsed in his arms. He caught you before you could hit the table, fingers rubbing over your overstimulated cunt one last time before he dipped down to kiss you. You should have been embarrassed about tasting yourself on his tongue, but to your own surprise, a low moan left your lips. He swallowed it up eagerly, whispering praises between kisses. “Y’ did so well, my sweet fucking girl,” he mumbled, making you sigh into his next peck, “Did so damn good.”

As your breathing slowly calmed and no longer came out in ragged gasps, he helped you sit up and stood before you, before the desk, smiling down at you with one of those rare smiles of his. The lower half of his face was dripping with your release and your cheeks grew impossibly hot. “S- sorry,” you mumbled, raising a shaky hand to wipe some of it away, but he caught your hair mid motion and pressed a trail of kisses over your palm, down the skin of your upper arm.

When your arm fell slack against your side, he gave you a teasing grin and darted out his tongue to lick some of your juices from his lips. Chuckling at your wide eyes, he pressed his lips to your temple and ran a hand through your hair. “How’re you feeling, carina?”

“Uh-,” you muttered , voice raspy and shaky. “G- good. I think.” An abashed smile tugged at your lips and he returned it with his casual confidence, cupping your face to kiss you softly. His lips met yours in a tender caress and you leaned into him as if he were your lifeline.

Slowly, the realization of what you had just done dawned on you. And you noticed another thing: something firm and hard pressing against your thigh. With trembling fingers, you sneaked a hand between your bodies, hovering over the tent in his trousers for a moment of hesitation before palming it through the fabric. In an instant, his grip on your face tightened and he let out a low hiss. You only felt spurred on, but to your disappointment, his larger hand wrapped around your wrist and gently tugged it away from his clothed erection.

“Not that I would ever spurn your touch,” he mumbled sheepishly, visibly more light-hearted than before but with a certain strain in his voice that undoubtedly was the result of his unresolved business down there. “But not tonight.”

He smiled at the way your brows scrunched up in a frown, hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer. “But-”

He shut you up with another kiss that had you cave in immediately, rubbing slow circles on your exposed thigh. “Another night,” he whispered against your lips, “I’ll take care of this myself.” Your eyes fluttered shut with the way he kissed you so gently, yet unrelenting. The tone of his voice told you, unmistakably, that you had no chance convincing him to let you help him.

“But, don’t you want it?” you breathed against his lips, a certain anxiety curling in your stomach.

But he only chuckled, somewhat darkly, and continued to rub circles on your thigh. “Dio, of course I want it. Ah-” With a soft tut, he caught your wrist once more and guided it to his lips to press a soft kiss onto the back of your hand. “Let me worry about that.” There was no room for argument or protest, so you sighed and shrugged, making him smile again. You had rarely witnessed a smile of his last so long. Usually, it were quips of amusement, glimpses behind the stony facade, but he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.

“Another time,” you agreed, leaning up to welcome another peck of his lips. Retreating slowly, you opened your eyes at him and lost yourself in the cerulean pools, brimming with something much more affectionate than lust. And suddenly, it felt almost natural to say it. “Ti amo, Theo.”

Groaning, Theo had to seriously refrain himself from throwing all caution to the wind and fucking you stupid right then and there on the desk. But he needed your first time to be special, not in an abandoned old classroom. Ti amo, Theo. You loved him. Damn right, you did. His heart thrummed dangerously fast against his lips, almost as painful as the strain in his pants. Ignoring the ache in his cock, he pressed a long kiss onto your burning cheek. Merlin, you were just adorable. “Anch’io ti amo, carina,” he muttered and relished in the smile that lit up your face.

It took a lot of ciorridors until you managed to overcome the uncontrolled trembling in your legs, and even more until you were able to walk without clutching his arm for support. Still, Theo kept his arm around your waist as he led you down the stairs to the dungeons, never wanting to move it again. Your hand fisted his shirt against his back and from time to time, he leaned over to press a kiss onto your cheek, making you giggle. It echoed off the walls, but neither of you could have cared less. Theo felt like he would hex anyone who disturbed you two now into next week. But nobody did cross your path on the way down, all the partygoers seeming to have left for their dorms or homes already.

At the door to the boy’s toilets only a few corridors away from the common room entrance, Theo slowed his steps and you came to a halt before him. With great reluctance, he let go of your waist and got a hold of your hand to press another kiss onto it- like the chivalrous bastard he was. Your cheeks heated at the simple gesture and a silly smile made your eyes shine.

“Fix that hair and dress before you enter the common room,” he muttered softly into the silence, one hand on the door handle to the boy’s toilets, the ache in his pants reminding him of his unfinished business. “Or your brother might get to the Gryffindor bloke before I do.”

Nodding, you let go of his hand, but didn’t turn away. something unspoken, something unanswered still hovered between you, and you needed to dress it before you could enter the privacy of your dorm. “So…,” you said, hesitantly, “Are we, like…?” You left the question unanswered and he raised a brow, mocking you. Theo offered you no assistance as you stuttered yourself through the sentence. “Well, are you my boyfriend now?”

“Well, what did you think?”

Now it was your turn to raise your brows at him, though a smile still danced around your slightly swollen lips. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t the castle’s biggest manwhore, Theo.”

Feigning offence, he leaned against the wall and looked you up and down.”A manwhore? Amore, I just risked my life for you. That has to mean something.” Though his tone was mocking, his eyes held a disarming severity that you recognized with a small nod. His lips twitched. “You really think I’d let myself fall for you just to play around?” He lowered his head, tilting it slightly. “You want proof? Fine. Ask me if I’ve thought about anyone else tonight.”

“I believe you,” you laughed, averting your eyes and shaking your head at him, an affectionate warmth filling your chest. Feeling brave, you leaned up to press a longer peck to his cheek and winked at him as you lowered yourself from your tip-toes.

“Well, have fun,” you smiled, teasingly, before turning on your heel to leave for the common room, glee and excitement coiling in your stomach into such a tight knot you would have felt the desire to jump up and down- if only your legs hadn’t still felt so weak.

He watched you turn a corner before you disappeared, something dangerous and dark twisting behind his ribcage when he saw you wobble slightly on your feet. Whatever it cost him, he would tell Mattheo. Because there was no way in fucking hell there would be a single sould left in this castle in doubt about who you belonged to.

a/n: if you've actually come this far, you have my respect: you just made it through 20k words of this. and for that, you deserve a reward 🏅

part 2 here

taglist: @lady-peiskos @hazeldunst @juliet-017 @furioussharkcat @onlytenkos @jannie-belaerys @blueflowerpots @whosyourgnomie @revesephemeres @longpondlibrary @aespaslut @hopeless--romamtic @s00ty-feet @iamheretoread1234 @devilsadvcte @jolly4holly

[embers-burning-bright]

i am actually so sick of retail it isn't even funny

[moonlitstoriess]

Jealousy Wears Fur - Rhysand x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N's new kitten--gifted by Rhysand himself--quickly becomes the center of her world. Rhys tries to hide his growing jealousy but fails spectacularly. Cue soft chaos, playful banter, and a High Lord who just wants his mate's attention back.

Warnings: rhys being a jealous prick, fluff.

see masterlist

The townhouse was unusually quiet that morning, bathed in soft Velaris sunlight that streamed through the high windows and scattered gold across the rug. Rhysand stood in the sitting room, arms crossed as he stared at a simple cardboard box placed delicately on the low table in front of him. It didn't look like much--just a box with a few small holes poked through the sides--but inside, nestled in a blanket the color of moonlight, was something far more precious than the packaging suggested.

A gift.

Not one meant to impress or dazzle. No--this was something softer, gentler. Something that might make her smile the way she did when she thought no one was watching. Something she could hold on quiet nights when sleep eluded her, when he wasn't there. Something to comfort her, like she so often comforted everyone else.

Rhys's gaze softened as he imagined her reaction. His mate. His high lady.

So beautiful it ached sometimes. So strong it terrified him in the best way. She had been burning herself down to embers lately--working longer hours with the city healer's, meeting with Night Court officials in the evenings, barely sparing time for rest. Even when she did collapse into bed, it was always with one arm flung over her eyes, breath coming out in a sigh like she'd been holding it all day.

And he hated that he couldn't do more. That all his power, all his status meant nothing when it came to quiet exhaustion and unseen weight.

So, he had gone for something simple. Something living. A tiny black-and-white kitten with wide blue eyes and an ear that flopped slightly to one side. She was impossibly small and impossibly curious--much like her soon-to-be owner.

The kitten let out a soft mewl from inside the box.

Rhys smiled slightly and knelt beside it, brushing his fingers along the rim of the lid to reassure the little creature. "Not yet," he murmured. "She'll be here soon."

He had called for her moments ago--just vague enough to be believable. Something about an urgent matter at the townhouse. Not a lie, exactly. Just...a creative bending of the truth. Because it was important, at least to him. Important that she knows that she was seen. Cared for. Loved, in ways she didn't always realize.

Another soft sound came from the box, followed by a shuffle of tiny paws. Rhys chuckled under his breath.

And then-

"Rhys?"

He turned at the sound of her voice--melodic, warm, unmistakably hers. She stood at the doorway, brows drawn slightly together in concern.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, eyes scanning the room. "You said it was urgent?"

Rhys straightened, smoothing the faintest grin off his face before turning fully to her.

She stood just inside the threshold, framed by the doorway like some vision torn from the heavens. Windswept hair, flushed cheeks from the rooftops of Velaris, the faint gleam of a blade still strapped to her thigh.

Beautiful. Fierce. Utterly his.

He masked the sudden rush of affection with a slow blink and an expression of casual gravity.

"It is urgent," he said smoothly, stepping towards her. "Incredibly urgent, in fact. A delicate situation requiring your attention."

Her eyes narrowed, not buying it for a second. "You're smirking."

"I'm always smirking."

"Smirking more, then."

A tiny rustle behind him nearly gave the whole thing away--a soft scritch of claws against cardboard. He shifted slightly, angling his body between her and the box like a wing shielding a secret.

Y/N's eyes flickered over his shoulder, suspicion deepening. "What's that?"

"Classified."

"Rhysand."

"High Lady," he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Have a little faith."

Her brows rose.

He sighed, dramatic. "Alright, alright. But come sit first."

He gestured toward the couch, then strolled over to the box and crouched beside it once more, glancing up at her with an infuriatingly innocent expression. "Just be...gentle and quiet."

"Why does that sound like something Azriel would say before unleashing a death beast?"

He grinned. "Because this one is much cuter."

With a flick of his wrist, the lid of the box vanished into a soft puff of violet mist.

Inside, nestled in the folds of a silver-and-midnight blanket, the kitten blinked up at them with its blue eys. Her fur was black with a white spot in the middle of her chest, like ink spilled over parchment, and she let out a small, questioning mewl as the light hit her face.

Rhys didn't look at the kitten though, he looked at Y/N.

Her breath caught--just for a second. Then her entire expression softened like thawing ice, shoulders lowering, lips parting in the barest gasp.

"Oh," she whispered. "Rhys..."

He said nothing at first, only watched her. Watched her kneel slowly beside him, as if afraid the spell might break. Watched her reach her tentative fingers into the box, eyes wide with wonder.

"She's...for me?" she asked, voice barely above a breath.

Rhysand's voice was quiet, his reply wrapped in silk and shadow. "You've been giving so much of yourself to everyone else lately. I thought...maybe it was time someone gave a little softness back."

And in that moment--watching his mate cradle the kitten to her chest, cooing in a voice he had never even heard her use before--Rhysand realized that he had made the greatest mistake of his immortal life.

At first, it had been endearing.

Y/N carried the tiny creature everywhere. She named her Nyxie--"because it's cute and vaguely threatening," she'd explained with a smirk. Rhys had pretended not to preen at the name, pretending it wasn't the smallest consolation in what was quickly becoming a tragic turn of events.

Because Nyxie, that furry little menace, had done something Rhys hadn't expected.

She'd replaced him.

It began subtly. The kitten would curl into Y/N's lap during breakfast, and instead of her usual habit of pressing a kiss to Rhys's cheek or carding her fingers through his hair while they read reports, her hands were now entirely occupied with with scratching tiny black ears. Rhys tried to lean his head on her shoulder once, only to be met with a firm but gentle "Don't jostle her, Rhys. She just got comfortable."

He'd blinked. "I was here first."

Y/N hadn't even looked up. "She's sleeping. You'll survive."

He most certainly would not.

By day three, things had escalated.

The kitten now slept on his side of the bed.

Y/N would fall asleep with Nyxie curled on her chest and Rhys exiled to the outermost edge of the mattress like some scorned lover. Which, technically, he was.

He woke one morning with a paw on his face and a tuft of fur up his nose.

"Darling," he'd said carefully one night, voice low as Y/N got into bed, kitten in hand. "I love you"

"I love you too," she murmured, kissing his cheek.

"No, I mean- I love you. Not the feline tyrant who's currently trying to take my place."

She giggled and reached over to stroke his hair. "Jealous much, High Lord?"

He smiled.

On the outside.

Inside, his soul wept.

One evening, the Inner Circle had come for dinner, and Cassian--traitor that he was--had taken one look at Rhys sulking in the corner while Nyxie lounged across Y/N's lap like a queen on a throne and howled with laughter.

"Is that really why you called us?" Cass choked out, wiping tears from his face. "Because your mate dumped you for a kitten?"

"I did not call you here for this," Rhys said coldly.

"I've never seen him this defeated." Azriel muttered from the corner.

"I am not defeated," Rhys snapped.

Amren, sipping blood-red wine, raised a brow. "You're literally loosing a battle to something that weighs three pounds."

Y/N, oblivious or perhaps delighting in the chaos, simply buried her nose into the kitten's fur and murmured, "He's just being dramatic."

Rhys stared at her. The female he loved. The female he would burn kingdoms for. The female who was now kissing the cat goodnight before him.

Truly, he had never known such betrayal.

The days passed, and with each one, Rhysand's quiet jealousy evolved--like a sickness he couldn't get rid of. Not the good kind of jealousy, either. No, this was soul-wrenching, deeply pathetic kind. The kind that made him, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, question if he'd been replaced by a creature who couldn't even form thoughts.

The worst part? The kitten knew.

Nyxie would stare at him with those blue eyes, utterly unbothered, nestled in the crook of Y/N's neck like a smug little void demon. Once, she knocked Rhys's pen off his desk mid-report and then settled directly on the paperwork.

Y/N had laughed, scooping her up with a fond "She just wants a little attention, Rhys." and planting a kiss on her little head.

Rhys was certain that kitten had winked at him.

He tried to fight back, in small ways.

One night, he lit candles and filled the room with stars, a soft melody humming through the house. Y/N walked in, cradling Nyxie.

Romance was in the air.

And then-

"Oh no," she whispered, looking down at her arm. "She fell asleep again."

"Again?"

"Her little paw is twitching in her sleep, look how cute- "

"Darling, I can twitch too," he said flatly, gesturing at himself.

She didn't even hear him. She was too busy cooing over Nyxie.

He caught her mid-conversation with Elain one morning, whispering that Nyxie purred every time she said Rhys's name.

"That's a coincidence," he said from the doorway.

Y/N turned, blinking. "What is?"

"You said my name and she purred. You think that means she likes me?"

She smiled, glowing. "Of course she does."

Rhys blinked. The kitten hissed.

By the end of the week, the whispers had started. From himself.

You're her mate. Her husband. One day, the father of her child. You've fought in wars together. Surely you're not threatened by a kitten.

But then, he saw her cradling Nyxie like a babe, humming gently, eyes closed as she kissed the tiny head--and something inside Rhysand broke a little.

The turning point came the night he amde The Plan.

He sat in his study, hands steepled, Azriel across from him, blinking slowly like he regretted accepting the invitation.

"I just need her out of the house for an hour," Rhys murmured, eyes narrowing as he stared at the diagram he'd drawn of the townhouse. "Maybe Amren distracts her with something. Mor shows up with wine for Y/N to make her forget about it. Something."

Azriel stared. "You want me to help you...kidnap the cat?"

"It's not kidnapping, it's strategic relocation."

"To where?"

Rhys didn't answer right away.

Azriel said, "Y/N's going to kill you."

"I'll put her somewhere nice," he'd snapped. "Not far. Just...enough that Y/N remembers that she has a husband."

"She brought the kitten into the bath with her last night," Azriel deadpanned, "You think you can seperate them now?"

Rhysands silence was dark and long.

Azriel stood. "I'm not helping you."

"Coward."

"Dead man."

Later that night, Rhys stood at the doorway of their room, arms crossed, watching as Y/N read a book in bed--with the kitten curled on her stomach, purring like a tiny engine. Her fingers gently scratched under Nyxie's chin. She looked peaceful. Radiant.

Loved.

And it wasn't even him making her smile like that.

For a moment, the jealousy wasn't funny anymore. It was a slow, sinking ache. A guilt-twined sadness that maybe--just maybe--he'd given her something she needed more than him right now. That he hadn't even realised how much she'd been missing softness until she held it in her arms.

He sighed.

And went to sleep that night with his back to her, pretending not to notice when Nyxie flopped onto his pillow.

It happened on a rainy afternoon.

Velaris was veiled in soft gray mist, the sky low and humming with distant thunder. Y/N had tucked herself into the corner of the couch, legs curled beneath her, a mug of tea in one hand and Nyxie balancede contentedly in her other arm, swaddled in a blanket like she was made out of starlight.

Rhys watched from the opposite end of the room, a book open in his lap. He hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

The sound of purring filled the air between them like a barrier. Like static in his heart.

She was humming again. That same little tune she always used when she was holding the kitten. And Rhysand--High Lord of the Night Court, Son of the Hewn City, dark and mighty and terrifying--was loosing to a kitten with crooked ears and a smug expression.

Again.

He closed the book.

Y/N glanced up, smiling. "You okay?"

And something in him just...snapped.

"No," he said.

She blinked. "No?"

Rhys stood slowly, walked across the room, and then stopped in front of her like he didn't quite trust himself to sit. "I am not okay," he repeated. "In fact, I've been decidedly not okay for over a week."

Y/N straightened, eyes narrowing. "What happened?"

He gestured towards the blanket in her arms. "She happened."

There was a pause.

Then Y/N laughed.

Not just a giggle--a full, delighted, musical laugh that lit up the entire room. "Rhys, are you jealous of Nyxie?"

He crossed his arms. "Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not- oh, Mother above, I am- but only because of how ridiculous you're being."

"She's taken over everything!" he burst out, pacing now. "My side of the bed, my mate's attention, my pillow, Y/N. She used my head as a footstool last night and you let her."

"She was sleeping."

"I was sleeping too!" He stopped, turned, and looked at her. "I miss you."

Her laughter faded, expression softening. "Rhys..."

"I miss us. I miss the way you’d curl into me at night instead of curling around a fur-covered dictator. I miss your fingers in my hair. I miss being the one who got your sleepy kisses and your quiet laughs and your middle-of-the-night thoughts.” His voice cracked, just a little. “And I know it’s stupid, and I know I’m acting like a spoiled male, but I don’t want to share you with anyone--even if she’s small and purrs and has very soft paws.”

Y/N stared at him, lips parted in stunned silence.

Then, very slowly, she lifted Nyxie from her chest and set her gently on the armrest. The kitten blinked, offended but dignified, and promptly fell asleep.

And then Y/N reached for Rhys.

He stepped into her arms without hesitation, and the second she wrapped herself around him, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days.

"You idiot," she whispered, pressing a kiss beneath his jaw. "You didn't loose me. You could never loose me."

"You say that, but she has very sharp claws."

She smiled against his neck. "You have wings and shadows and a crown made of stars. You win."

"Barely."

Y/N laughed again, warm and soft this time. "You should've just told me. You didn't have to spiral into full-blown secret cat relocation plots."

Rhys stiffened. "Who told you about that?"

"Azriel," she said sweetly. "Immediately."

He groaned and buried his face in her neck. "He's a traitor."

"He's a saint."

"Should've used Cassian."

"Please never do that."

They stood like that for a long while--quiet, wrapped around each other as the rain fell softly outside.

Eventually, Nyxie rolled over and gave a tiny, indignant chirp.

Y/N smiled and looked up at him. "You know there is room for both of you, right?"

Rhys sighed. "Only if I get my pillow back."

"No promises."

A few nights later, Rhysand awoke to a strange sensation.

Warmth at his back. A soft, rhythmic vibration against his ribs. And—he dared not open his eyes yet--the distinct tickle of fur brushing his jaw.

He cracked one eye open.

There, nestled between him and Y/N, was Nyxie. Flat on her back. All four paws in the air. Snoring softly.

Rhys stared at her.

She snorted in her sleep.

Y/N shifted beside him, her hand curling instinctively around his waist, her head tucked into his chest. Still asleep, completely at peace. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to have both of them there--her mate and her menace.

Rhys sighed quietly. One arm settled around Y/N’s shoulders. The other…well.

Very, very carefully, he rested a hand over the kitten’s ridiculously tiny belly.

She let out a content little mrrrp, but didn’t move.

Rhysand--High Lord of the Night Court, wielder of night and starlight, feared across continents--whispered the quietest, most reluctant surrender of his life:

“…Fine.”

And somewhere in the depths of sleep, Y/N smiled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[redwing4life]

Home Cooked Meal

CHAPTER 4 | ASHES TO EMBERS

can be read as a stand alone :)

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbour!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut (finally) - dirty talk, pet names, oral f and m receiving, fingering, tit play, praise kink, hand kink?, ball play, hair pulling, unprotected PinV sex, aftercare, reader and bucky have dinner, swearing, fluff, let me know if i missed anything!

SUMMARY: You surprise Bucky with a home cooked meal after his shift, and it’s the best damn thing he’s had in years. The pasta was pretty good too.

WORD COUNT: 10550 (ngl i rechecked this three times cuz i didn’t think i wrote this much but turns out i did in fact write over 10k words im sorry lmao)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

Call me when you get home x

Your text still sits on Bucky’s lock screen, read but not opened, as he gets changed out of his work clothes.

It’s fair to say that the message intrigued him when he first read it half an hour ago, just before he left the firehouse. His legs sped up your building stairwell faster than normal, desperate to find out why you’re awaiting his call.

Knowing you would have said so if you were in immediate danger, Bucky sifts through the multitude of possibilities that await him on the other side of the ring tone; none of which ease the butterflies in his stomach.

He walks to his kitchen, phone in hand, to get a glass of orange juice. Pulling up your contact page, he presses ‘call’ and grabs the carton of juice from the fridge door.

You answer after just one ring, eager to hear his voice.

“Hey, Barnes!” God, Bucky loves your voice.

“Doll.” His voice is soft, tone rising at the end with curiosity. “You asked me to call, what’s up?”

The firefighter swoons at the adorable giggle you let out, the sound distant from the mic as though you’ve tried to hide it. “I was worried you didn’t see my text.” You admit.

Bucky pictures you biting your lip anxiously, an accurate prediction for your current state.

“What are you doing right now?”

Glancing down at the yet-to-be-filled glass in front of him, Bucky leans a hand against the kitchen island. “Just about to get a drink, what are-“

“Don’t!” You cut in. “Don’t get a drink, I need you to come over.”

“What, now? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, James. Just come knock, okay? I’ll see you in a minute!”

And with that, the call cuts off with a dull beep; Bucky brings the phone down from his ear and stares at it in confusion. You’re being weird, never having hung up on him like that before.

Alpine meows from above the fridge, drawing her owner’s attention away from the phone, only to tilt her head at him.

Even Alps is confused.

Deciding to just do what you told, Bucky slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans, returns the orange juice to the fridge and sets off for the front door. He finds himself checking over his appearance in the entry way mirror, eyes scanning over his outfit before he smooths out his hair.

Although he won’t admit it, Bucky’s spent a lot more time in front of that mirror lately; checking his collar isn’t twisted, his hair isn’t too messy and there’s nothing stuck in his teeth. The need to look good, to look good for you, hasn’t gone unnoticed by his colleagues.

He considers using the spare key you gave him and letting himself into your apartment but shakes the thought away.

She asked you to knock, Bucky. Not break in.

With one final nod in the mirror, Bucky leaves his apartment, stepping into the hallway he’s spent so many mornings and nights in with you.

Old jazz music greets his ears when he approaches your door, the soft melody sneaking through the cracks of the door frame. Bucky smiles to himself at the thought of you dancing in your kitchen, heart warming when he notices your humming.

Knocking thrice, the firefighter steps back and nervously stuffs his hands into his pockets. You always make him nervous, those darn butterflies stirring in his stomach whenever he’s about to see you. And when he does see you. Actually, they’re there even when he imagines seeing you.

He takes a breath when he hears you shuffling up to the door, but nothing could prepare him for the sight when it swings open.

Rusty red fabric flows from your neckline to the middle of your thighs, small flowers dotted over the slightly orange colour. Two thin straps perched on your shoulders leave plenty of skin on show as your usual sun-pendant necklace sits between the v-neck of your dress. Which, by the way, perfectly presents the soft swell of your breasts.

It takes everything Bucky has to not drool at his breathtaking neighbour, but it takes even more to not dive on you and finally taste those pink lips.

Your skin is ablaze beneath his eyes and you revel in his reaction, the exact response you wanted when you pulled on the dress two hours ago.

“We’re matching.” You grin, taking a moment to enjoy Bucky’s red henley.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” A chuckle escapes him, eyes trailing up from your thighs to meet yours.

“Speaking of plans,” You reach out to pull Bucky closer, tugging his forearms until he pulls his hands out of his pockets, “I have a surprise for you.”

Is it letting me look at you in that dress all evening? Your neighbour thinks - hopes - as you lead him into your apartment.

Closing the door behind him, you take his hand in yours once more to guide him to your little kitchen/diner area. If you weren’t looking ahead, you’d see Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink at your touch. Seeing your hand encompassed with his own will never fail to drive him crazy.

When he eventually looks up from your joined hands, he’s stunned to a halt. You turn back to him when you feel him plant his feet and your features twist into a nervous expression.

“I- Doll, what is all this?” The firefighters eyes are wide at your ‘surprise’.

Your small dining table is set up for two; cream place mats lay beneath charcoal gray pasta dishes with wine glasses sitting at their corners. There’s even a little vase with pink and yellow tulips in between the two spaces.

“Well, remember that time when you told me you haven’t had a proper home cooked meal in years?” You watch Bucky closely as you speak, waiting for some sign of approval.

“You mean this morning?” He turns to you in wonder, thinking back to your conversation as he gave you a lift to the cafe. “I don’t know what to say, doll.”

You roll back on your heels, hands scrunching your dress at your sides. “Is it okay? I know it’s a little cheesy and it’s last minute but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you after working all day. I mean, it’s not exactly at your home but it’s pretty cl-“

Bucky takes two long strides towards you and brings his hands to cup your cheeks; your words die on your tongue when he looks down at you with tender eyes.

“It’s perfect, Y/n.” He smiles, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone. “You could feed me Alpine’s food and i’d still bow at your feet, sweets.”

Now you’re the one blushing. You heart skips when Bucky’s eyes drop to your lips with hunger in his gaze.

“Always so good to me, aren’t ya?” His words tempt a whimper from deep within you, a submissive whine held back by the last of your restraint.

“Well-“

The oven beeps, its sharp tone darting between your bodies and making you step back from Bucky’s hold.

“Uhh” Your mind is all over the place as the firefighter watches you with amusement, “I- I should, I mean- the pasta must be-“

“Go, doll.” Bucky shakes his head laughing quietly.

Your dress sways as you spin away to the stove, stirring various pots and tidying up the counters. Your neighbour watches you in awe, unashamedly enjoying the view; you just look so goddamn sexy in that cute little dress while you cook for him. He wishes he could come home to this every night.

“You need a hand with anything, doll?” Bucky’s voice sounds from behind you.

“Actually, yeah!” You glance over your shoulder. “Come here.”

If you keep bossing him about, Bucky’s gonna struggle not to tear that sweet little sundress right off you.

Settling in at your side, Bucky cocks his head. “What d’ya need?”

You scoop some of the creamy tomato sauce onto a spoon and bring it to Bucky’s lips. “Try this for me.”

With bated breath, you watch his full lips wrap around the end of the spoon, his eyes bearing into yours as he drags the sauce into his mouth.

Bucky has no business looking as dirty as he does in this moment; you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows before his tongue juts out to catch a few missed drops. And just when you thought your panties would survive the sight, a moan ripples from his throat and you clench around nothing at the sound.

“Good?” You murmur, hoping he doesn’t notice when you cross your legs.

He notices.

“Delicious,” Bucky takes the spoon from your hand and stretches across you to place it back in the pan, his right hand brushing against the small of your back, “you did great, sweets.”

Fuck. Me.

You regather your composure and ask Bucky to get the wine from the fridge. He pours you both a glass, setting them back on the dining table gently before returning the bottle to its home.

“Hey, could you bring the bowls over, please?” You call over your shoulder.

You plate up the sauce coated pasta while Bucky places the dirty pans in the sink, both working around each other like a fine tuned machine.

Before you can do it yourself, Bucky is picking up the bowls and laying them on the place mats, winking at you as he does so. He pulls your chair out for you, nodding for you to join him.

“For you, Madame.” He jokes, allowing you to sit down while tucking you in.

You watch him round the table and take his own seat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Bucky grins at you. The orange glow of sunset shines through your windows, catching your features with grace. Your eyes shine beneath the light and Bucky can’t help but find you angelic.

“You’re beautiful, doll. I don’t know if I said that earlier but, god, you look stunning tonight.”

Dropping your head, you play with the hem of your dress shyly. Your hair falls into your face, forcing you to push it behind your ears, though Bucky wishes he was close enough to do it himself.

With rose tinted cheeks, you look up at Bucky through your lashes. “You say that to all your neighbours, Barnes?” You raise a brow with your teasing voice.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs heartily, a sound you’ve come to adore.

“Only the ones who cook for me.” He winks.

“Doesn’t Ms Scott bring you pies every couple weeks?”

“And I tell her she looks ravishing every time.”

You giggle and tell Bucky to dig in, though you could happily sit and talk all night. While you both stop every now and then for a forkful of food, conversation bounces between you as it always does.

Tonight isn’t much different to a typical evening with the firefighter next door; usually you share some snacks and beers, cozying up on the couch as you watch tv. It’s become ritual for you to send Bucky a video of you playing the piano each evening, his phone playing the video on loop as he sleeps. It’s strange, but the music creeps into his dreams and keeps them peaceful, keeps him away from that burning building.

It’s been a few weeks since the night he was sent home early. Both you and Bucky felt a shift that night; waking up in his arms left you craving more, though you’ve yet to tell him as much. You left him sleeping peacefully that morning when you left for work with only a couple hours of sleep under your belt.

Bucky hated waking up to find the other side of his bed empty, no longer feeling your heat. The note you left him eased the disappointment slightly, your neat handwriting promising to come back in your breaks. Neither of you have addressed how right it felt to sleep beside each other that night, despite spending all of your free time together with unspoken words hanging over you.

Instead, you dance around each other like two ghosts doomed to never touch. The bond between you is stronger than any you’ve ever had, the magnetic lure undeniable for you both.

Your glasses have been emptied and refilled twice now - dinner long since been finished - and you’re starting to feel the buzz; those butterflies in your stomach have turned into a swarm of confidence, your brain taking a backseat from its usual overthinking.

“You expect me to believe that you broke down the door before Sam could? The same guy who beat you at your physical a few weeks back?” You tease the brunette, a challenging brow raised at his rather unimpressed face.

“What are you trying to say there, doll?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches when you tilt your head slightly, eyes shining with amusement beneath the exposed hanging light bulbs.

“Nothing to worry your cute little head about.” You watch Bucky relax into his chair slightly as you reach for your glass with a smirk. “Just that I doubt Sam has any difficulty kicking a door down, not with the way he’s built.”

The scoff to end all scoffs ripples from your neighbours throat; his bright blue orbs glare into you and his features twist into a scowl. Oh if looks could kill…

Bucky’s tone is flat, “Didn’t know you were such an admirer of Wilson’s build, Y/n.”

The lack of a pet name sends your confidence wavering, but not enough to keep you from having a little fun.

“Well, you know,” You bring the glass to your lips, “he’s hardly difficult to miss.”

Watching the deep ruby liquid pass over your lips, Bucky fights to hide the fury that’s flooding his veins, forced to look away from your smug grin.

He knows, he knows, that you’re lying through your teeth, trying to get a rise out of his usually impenetrable facade, and yet he can’t help but feel jealous.

Bucky’s painfully aware that he has no right to feel so possessive, not when he lays no claim to you. But the twist of his stomach is proof that he doesn’t much care.

“Maybe I should just give you his number and you can cook him a meal next time.” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, that’s alright, I already have his number.”

You’ve never seen Bucky’s head snap up as quickly as it just did, his gaze pinning you to your spot.

“You what?”

Gently, you place your glass back on the table. “Yeah, Steve gave him my number last week so he could get in touch.”

The fire in those blue eyes burns brighter with each word, his body so still that his chest is barely moving when he breathes. In fact, you’re not even sure if he is breathing. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

“Is that right?” Bucky’s gruff voice is laced with possessiveness, the low tone travelling straight to your panties till you swear you feel yourself throb. You wonder briefly if you have a jealousy kink and the sweet arousal dripping from your cunt only confirms your suspicions.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, “In fact, i’m going out for coffee with him next week.”

“Huh.”

Bucky’s chair screeches against the hardwood floor as he pushes himself back. You follow his movements with amused eyes when he stands up and grabs your plates before storming to the kitchen. You twist in your chair, watching him place the dishes in the sink and flick on the tap.

“James, what are you doing?” You ask.

“What does it look like i’m doing?” Oh he’s grumpy, grumpy.

Bucky’s shoulders are tense beneath his tight henley, his sleeves now rolled up as he starts scrubbing at the plates. It’s quiet while he concentrates on his work, only accompanied by the music still flowing from your speaker.

From the corner of his eye, the firefighter sees you rise from your chair, ears honed in on the sound of your feet pattering towards him.

It’s now hard for Bucky to focus on anything but your breath on his neck, goosebumps littered across his skin like a rash. You stand right behind him, tracing your fingers up from the small of his back; Bucky’s muscles tense momentarily before melting at your touch, just like always.

“Ask me why i’m seeing Sam next week.” You order, hands still roaming the taut fabric on Bucky’s back. The command makes him pause and clench his eyes shut. Why are you making him talk about this when it’s tearing him apart?

The brunette turns in your hold but you don’t release him, instead settling your hands on his waist.

“Why are you seeing him, doll?” Bucky sounds despondent, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks down at you.

“He asked me to teach his nephews to play the piano, Buck. I’m meeting him and the boys on Wednesday, Sarah too.”

A shocked ‘What’ tumbles from his lips as the information sinks in, his frown slowly falling away as he processes your words.

“Yeah…” You grin, though it’s more like a smirk, content with yourself proving he was jealous.

In a desperate attempt to save his ego, Bucky rolls his eyes playfully. “I knew you weren’t really attracted to that dumbass.”

You scoff and pat his chest lightly. “Sure you did, Barnes. Now scoot, you wash ‘em, i’ll dry ‘em.”

With his hands on his hips, he stays still as you nudge your way to his side, stretching to the window sill where your dish towels lay. Bucky’s never been in this position before, it’s always him who’s teasing you; this is new territory for him and it irks him that you riled him up so easily.

Once he shakes his head clear, the firefighter returns to face the sink and starts washing the dishes again. You wait patiently while he works, humming along to whichever song is playing.

“You like the old stuff, huh doll?” Bucky grins warmly at the slight sway of your hips, your radiance beaming like a lantern.

You giggle sheepishly and bite your lip, unknowingly sending Bucky spiralling. “I thought it was fitting for tonight, really leaning into the whole ‘housewife’ role.”

He raises a brow, “Does that make me your doting husband then, sweets?”

Realising what you said, your cheeks heat up instantly and your eyes widen. You attempt to backtrack but your words stumble over one another as though you’re a little school girl.

Bucky, however, is basking in the familiarity of control; your rosy cheeks never fail to bring a smile to his face, and boy is he beaming right now.

“I meant- It’s- You know what I meant, James.” You shoot daggers at him, though the idea of being married to your neighbour sends your heart into overdrive.

That swoon-worthy laugh greets your ears with haste, Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his chest reverberates with its force. It’s impossible to bite back the grin that’s fighting its way onto your lips.

Small tendrils of chestnut hair tumble from behind his ears, begging to be pushed back, but the buzz from the wine has dulled and you can’t find the confidence to do it, no matter how much Bucky’s eyes are pleading you to.

“You know, it’s sweet of you to teach the boys how to play.” He looks at you in adoration, the image of you spending time with Sam’s nephews triggering a warmth to spread in his chest.

A breathy laugh escapes you as your gaze falls to the kitchen counter. You blush at the compliment and slowly start drying the dishes again.

“Do you spend much time with them?” You ask with a brief glance his way.

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, Sarah is always throwing barbecues for the squad. They’re good kids, and I bet they’ll love you!”

“Oh God, I hope so. I’ve never taught before and i’m scared they’ll hate me and i’ll destroy their dreams and-” You ramble away without noticing the frown tugging at your neighbours brows.

“Teach me.”

Huh?

“What?” You freeze.

“You said you’ve never taught before,” Bucky steps closer to you, his cologne swarming around you like a warm hug, “so practise on me. Teach me something.”

You almost laugh at his words, mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that he’s joking. But Bucky doesn’t move, his blue eyes study your own, body so still that you fail to conjure a laugh. He’s not joking.

Hesitation is written across your features, drawing a single shake of Bucky’s head. “Come on, sweets. Please? For me?” He pleads.

“Okay.”

It’s scary how quickly you succumb to Bucky’s wishes; you fear you’d do awful things if only he asked and you’d even do it with a smile. You’re so doomed.

With a triumphant grin, Bucky plucks the dish cloth and plate from your grasp and carefully places them on the sink’s edge, before taking your hand in his and guiding you to your piano.

Nerves prickling beneath your skin, you trail behind him and silently revel in his touch. It’s hard to not stare at his perfect body as you stumble around furniture, the sharp muscles of his shoulders rippling as he tugs you with him. Flicking off the speaker on the way, you fall onto the small piano stool beside Bucky, and with such little room, your left thigh is pressed up against his. The solid curve of his muscles prod into your flesh and yet despite the fluttering it causes in your stomach, you’re far more focused on his hands.

From the bulge of his toned biceps to the trail of prominent veins in his forearms, your eyes drag down Bucky’s arms till you pause at the sight of his large hands. They lay spread across the span of his thighs, his right pinky finger mere atoms away from your exposed skin where your dress has ridden up. You find yourself craving the sparks that alight with his touch, so you adjust your position to make sure your leg brushes against his hand.

It certainly hasn’t gone amiss to the firefighter that you’ve taken a liking to his hands. Sure, he’s caught you staring at them before, but the hunger in your gaze right now is greater than ever.

The corner of Bucky’s lip turns up into a smirk as he reaches for your hands once more, lifting them to rest on the ivory keys of your piano.

“Wanna hear you play me something before you give me a lesson.” He admits, his words more of a demand than a question.

When you fail to respond, still caught up in scanning the crevices of his calloused hands, Bucky nudges your shoulder.

You shake your head with a dazed frown, “Huh?”

A playful chuckle falls from his pink lips, “I said play me something, sweets, before you start teachin’ me.”

You giggle sheepishly, sighing an ‘Oh’ before you gather your thoughts. Bucky returns his hands to his lap - a movement you struggle to ignore - giving you free rein of the instrument.

Running through some songs you could teach him, you settle for one of your favourites, or more accurately, one of Bucky’s favourites. The cool surface of the keys is harsh beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the Bucky-induced-heat flushing through your veins, hands stretching into place as you prepare the opening chords.

Rhythmic tones swarm around the two of you as you begin playing, masterfully dancing across the keys like it’s a second language. Your graceful motions always bring Bucky to a halt as you entrap him in your art.

He recognises the song straight away, lips turning up at the sweet melody. You didn’t even have to ask to know what he wanted to hear, you just knew. Bucky’s head feels light at the sight before him. A knowing grin has settled on your soft lips, your body ever so lightly swaying to the music, clearly getting lost the sounds.

It’s impossible not to feel the adoring stare of your neighbour, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. Warmth is pooling in the depths of your heart where it feels like you’re bleeding out, your love for Bucky forcing out the blood till the only thing circulating through your veins is him. No longer able to cope with the feelings swarming within you, your fingers abruptly stop mid song before you turn to look up at the firefighter.

“Okay, your go.” You state, but when Bucky raises a bemused brow your way, you continue to instruct him. “Come on. You’re gonna do the left hand, I’ll do the right.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Bucky chimes with a mock salute, earning him a glare.

It takes a few tries to move his fingers into the correct positions, both because he’s apparently wholeheartedly incapable of doing what you say but also because you may or may not zone out every time the veins of his hands stick out as he moves. But it’s still entirely his fault though. Entirely. ‘Maybe like 98% his fault. That’s seems fair.’ You think.

“There you go!” You cheer when the firefighter successfully plays the right notes in tandem.

“Would you look at that, not so useless after all.” Bucky winks at you and you blush lightly.

Glancing at him hopefully, you ask him to play the first chord you taught him.

“Oh, umm-“ He stutters, fingers flailing about and pressing random keys in search of the right pattern.

“Here, let me…” You chuckle sweetly at how utterly lost he looks and move to help him.

Leaning forward, you drag Bucky’s fingers over the ridges of ivorite, slowly placing them on the correct keys. You feel his lust-filled eyes trained on your face while you work, though it’s getting harder and harder to focus under his stare.

A frown tugs at your brows when your mind goes blank as to where Bucky needs to put his left hand, his still-wandering gaze burning into you and spreading to your cunt faster than you care to admit.

Of course, Bucky notices your breath quickening, chest stumbling up and down with shaky pants. His proximity is intoxicating and the will to fight it is slowly slipping past you, fingers itching to trace up Bucky’s thick arms to his neck so you can finally pull his lips to yours.

Bucky reads every inch of your skin like he’s studying for an exam. From the clench of your jaw to your eyes fluttering shut, he knows that he’s winning this tussle for control.

“Bucky…” You breathe, the wavering sigh rolling from your tongue like a stray secret.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky smirks with glinting eyes and you bite back a whimper.

Opening your eyes, you keep them trained on where yours rest on his. “I can’t focus with you looking at me like that.”

Bucky knows exactly what you mean but he can’t help but toy with you. “Like what?” He cocks his head with faux innocence that fools no one.

You turn to look up at the firefighter, eyes meeting his half lidded ones, the blue of his eyes barely visible behind his lust-blown pupils but the blue you can see is so impossible dark that you wonder if they were ever light in the first place.

Taking a breath, you wet your lips so briefly that Bucky nearly misses it. Nearly. “Like you want to kiss me.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs, leaning in closer, “I want to do much more than that.”

Your body is alight with need. Craving his touch, a breach of the barrier between you, you practically whine your reply. “Then why are you just staring?”

“Well, I wanna remember you like this; sweet, angelic, so perfect in your little sundress.“

With the back of his hand, Bucky nudges the hem of your dress higher till his whole hand is spread against your thigh. You quash the aching desire to glance at where your bodies meet and lock your eyes on Bucky’s, whose lips are turned into a knowing smirk.

“Gotta savour it while I can.” He says as he pushes his palm further to your inner thigh, his pinky finger mere inches from your heat.

“Why?” You ask, heart racing.

It dawns on you that you may actually pass out when the firefighter leans in close to you, nose pushing your hair aside to expose the soft skin of your neck which now sits defenceless to his advances. The heat of his breath is electrifying, lips nearing your pulse point eagerly.

Bucky’s lips ghost over your skin as he explains, “Cause once I’ve had my way with you, you’re gonna be a hot fucking mess, sweets.”

A breathy moan tumbles from the depths of you chest at the crude insinuations of his words; your eyes flutter shut, an unintentional reaction that you’re grateful for as it hides the way your pupils roll to the back of your head.

Through the dark span of your eyelids, you picture exactly how Bucky will make you a hot fucking mess. Spread legs with his tongue delving through your folds, back arched as he pounds into your pussy with vigour, his hands guiding your hips back to meet his as he fucks you from behind. The images bear too much for you yet you can’t stop picturing the salacious scenes, not when your neighbour is pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“James…” You sigh, voice carrying the weight of a thousand pleas.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

Nodding your head desperately, you whine, unable to form any words beneath his sinful tongue.

“Words, doll.” Bucky says, lips hovering over your ear. He’s struggling to hold back but can’t let himself touch you the way he wants to until he hears you spell it out for him.

Turning your head slowly, you peer at Bucky with half-lidded eyes and a slack-jaw. “I want you, James. Please.”

That’s all it takes to disintegrate the final remnants of the firefighter’s self-control before his full lips meet your own with a hunger that’s been brewing for months.

Bucky’s lips glide across yours, slotting between your own so easily it’s got you believing this is not your first kiss. It’s soft and sweet but so goddamn sensual that you can’t help but moan into his mouth, the now open gap giving him the perfect chance to slide his tongue inside.

You bring your hands up Bucky’s body and rest them on his neck, fingers tentatively feeding through the hair at the nape of his neck while you jostle for control of the kiss.

Forced to pull back for breath, you take a peek only to find those strikingly blue eyes already on yours.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky whispers, “you don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“Probably not as long as I have.” You scoff.

“Then let me make up for lost time.”

“Wait, what do y-“

Within moments, Bucky is lifting your legs over the bench and is knelt between them, his large hands teasing the hem of your dress as he keeps your thighs spread apart.

Your mouth is agape with surprise while you grab onto the piano behind you for stability, a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins. And as if he can read your anxious thoughts, Bucky looks up at you with the most sincere expression across his soft features.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, despite the deep desire shining in his eyes. He wants you more than anything, but he needs to know you want him too.

It’s an easy answer and you’re shaking your head faster than you care to admit, but the memory of Bucky’s prior words flash through your mind and you still just as quick.

“No.”

Watching intently as he runs a hand from your ankle up to your knee, the firefighter rolls his bottom lip between his teeth when your breath hitches.

“Then promise me you’ll tell me if that changes?” Bucky asks.

You reach down and run your fingers through his chestnut locks, tucking the few loose strands behind his ear.

“I promise.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweets.”

A hearty laugh reverberates through you, but you’re quickly silenced by Bucky’s lips on your inner thigh, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He kisses his way up to your heat, slowly pushing your dress higher and higher till the only thing between you and his mouth is the crimson lace panties covering your mound.

A sound you can only describe as a growl ripples through the room and you glance down at your neighbour to find him practically drooling at the sight of you. But then his eyes are on yours, his hungry, half-lidded eyes, and he’s tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Your breathing becomes laboured at his touch, your body, your mind, all of you at his mercy.

“Bucky, please…”

“Ah ah ah-“ The firefighter tuts, “-since when do you call me Bucky?”

You frown, back arching slightly in search of some friction on your core, too aroused to process his words properly.

“Look at me, Y/n.”

The stern nature of his tone lures your eyes to his once more. “What?” You ask, confused.

“I haven’t spent months goin’ crazy listening to you use my name only to have you call me Bucky when I’m finally between your legs.”

The throb of your pussy spurs you on and you tilt your head teasingly. “Touch me, James.” You say, and he obeys.

Bucky glides his hands up to your hips and drags your panties lower and lower, his lips chasing the lace till there’s no where left to kiss but your slick folds.

He hovers over your heat with bated breath before forcing himself to close his eyes and ask if you’re still okay with this.

“More than okay, James.” You answer truthfully.

“Good, cause I’m fucking starvin’.”

You feel his mouth on your pussy before you’ve even processed his words, tongue delving between your folds like he really is starving and you didn’t just feed him the best dinner he’s had in years. Though something tells him that title is about to be beaten the second you cum all over his face.

Your mouth curves into an ‘o’, the most pornographic of moans escaping you at the sinful sounds of Bucky’s mouth on your cunt. Drowning in increasingly intense waves of pleasure, your senses are dialled up to the max; with every flick of his tongue and suck on your clit, you find yourself falling deeper in your arousal. It becomes impossible to listen to anything Bucky’s telling you.

“Y’taste so sweet, doll.”

“Doing so good for me, aren’t ya? My good girl.”

“Let me hear you, doll, need to hear how good you feel.”

Whether it’s praises or orders, there’s no chance in hell of you understanding a word that falls from his lips, though Bucky doesn’t mind. The clench of your soft thighs around his head tells him all he needs to know - that even if your heads not fulling comprehending him, your body is. And the sheer amount of slick glistening across your cunt is enough for him to know that you’re ready for more.

The sensation of Bucky’s finger tracing along your pussy lips sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your hips lifting off the stool.

“James- oh fuck-“

Words die on your tongue when Bucky eases a finger inside you. White hot pleasure builds at your core, burning the last remnants of your self control, its embers coaxing a near-scream out of you.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweets. That’s- shit you’re so tight, pussy’s squeezing me and it’s just one finger.”

You mewl and squirm beneath him.

“How you gonna handle two of ‘em, doll?”

Bucky’s mesmerised at the sight of his finger gliding in and out of you, drenched in your sweet juices, too beautiful of a sight for him to give up by eating you out. But when you groan at the suggestion of two fingers, he drags his gaze upwards and is greeted with a view that’s evening better.

You, draped against the piano, head tilted back and brows drawn together while uneven sighs tumble from your swollen lips. God, you look heavenly, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud, but it makes little difference seeing as you’re rather preoccupied with the thought of Bucky fucking another finger inside you.

“James?” You call, reaching down to cover your left hand around the one at your sex, the other tugging on his hair.

“Yeah? Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” He panics, thinking you’ve grabbed his hand to stop him.

Instead, you look him in the eye and say “Are you gunna fuck another finger inside of me or what?”

An awe-inspired grin spreads across Bucky’s face at your question. He keeps his blue orbs on yours while he presses a kiss to your clit and pushes himself higher till he’s inches from your face.

He rests a hand against the piano, caging you in and says, “Anything for my girl.” before a second digit joins his first.

The stretch knocks the wind out of your chest but Bucky hardly gives you any time to adjust, his fingers pumping in and out of you even faster than before. His palm slaps against your bundle of nerves with every thrust, the force riding to your chest where your tits bounce in rhythm.

“So damn beautiful…” The firefighter says.

You look up at him through your lashes and pull his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. With clashing teeth, the wet slapping sounds only feeds into the moment and Bucky’s suddenly very aware of the tightness in his jeans.

With each passing second, the cord in your stomach is getting so close to snapping that your mouth isn’t even moving against Bucky’s anymore.

“Fuck, James, I’m- I-“

“Shh, I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You gonna cum all over my fingers, doll? Gonna let me see you fall apart?”

You nod feverishly.

“Good girl, now let go for me.”

That’s all it takes for the damn to break loose and the fiercest orgasm of your life to rack through your body. It reaches every part of you, all the cracks and crevices you never thought could be touched, yet here you are, feeling every inch of yourself set on fire.

“That’s it, doll, that’s it.” Bucky comforts you while you lay victim to the aftershocks of his work, slowing the thrust of his fingers till your breathing evens and he moves to gently circling your sensitive clit.

“Holy shit…” You sigh, a satisfied and totally fucked-out grin playing across your lips.

Noticing how your hazy your eyes still are, Bucky smiles to himself while pressing loving kisses on your forehead.

“You did real good for me, sweetheart.” He listens to you hum beneath him as he moves to kiss your temple. “Y’look so pretty when you cum, you know that? Even prettier than I imagined.”

You twist in your seat to face your neighbour. “You’ve imagined this too?”

“Every night, doll.”

“Huh…”

Though Bucky’s eyes remain fixed on yours, it’s obvious that his mind has slipped away; he’s now clouded by memories of his x-rated dreams, ones that have ended with him pumping his embarrassingly hard length into his fist one too many times, and his cock twitches in his ever-tightening pants. You notice the movement at his crotch and, emboldened by his confession and the best orgasm you’ve ever had, you decide to take back some control.

“What have you pictured doing to me, James?” Your tone is so sweet, so innocent, that it takes a moment for your words to register in his brain. But when it does, boy, does a fresh wave of blood rush to his cock.

“You sure you wanna know? Cuz it ain’t all sweet and innocent.” He warns.

You say nothing and let your actions do all the talking; you slide a hand down to meet his left, the one still nestled between your sticky thighs, and tug it away from your cunt. With your eyes locked on his, you raise Bucky’s cum coated fingers to your mouth, slowly wrapping your lips around them and sucking your sweetness away. Making sure to give the firefighter a show, you swirl your tongue around his fingers before taking them as deep as you can, a knowing look in your eyes when you notice Bucky clenching his jaw.

After releasing his fingers from your swollen red lips, you press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Tell me.”

What you can only describe as a growl rises from the back of Bucky’s throat and before you know it, you’re being carried to your bedroom, legs bound tightly around his waist while your arms wrap loosely around his neck.

He sits down on the edge of the bed; hands resting on your hips and edging lower to your ass, his fingers grip the supple flesh to keep you in place.

His force on your hips is pushing you down on his ample bulge, sparking a flash of pleasure straight up your spine that escapes you with a moan. Bucky chuckles softly with a sinful grin as you tilt your head back at the feeling.

“You wanna know what I’ve imagined us doing, doll?” The firefighter grabs your chin to bring your attention back to him. He runs the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging on it and letting it bounce back into place.

“I’ve pictured us just like this.” He drops his hand to your neck, tracing the curve of your collar bone till it meets the strap of your sundress. “You, naked and beautiful as ever, riding my cock like I know you can.”

You gasp lightly when he tugs your strap till it’s tumbling off your shoulder.

“And you’re telling me just how full you are, how stretched your little pussy is around me, choking my cock like a damn vice.”

Bucky’s filthy words send your hips into motion without warning; you grind your bare cunt over his crotch, the tent in his pants settling between your slick folds till his shaft is enveloped with your warmth.

“Does that sound good, doll? To have my cock buried inside you when you bounce on it? Fuck, I bet your cunt is dripping for me again,”

“It never stopped, James.” You whimper, your sensitive clit sending jolts up your frame as Bucky guides your hips over his.

“That’s right, you’re never gonna use anything else to cum ever again. You got me now, doll. I’m all you need. Me, my cock, I’m gonna ruin everyone else for you.”

You don’t even notice that Bucky’s hands are on the zip at your back, slowly pulling it down till the fabric are your chest goes slack, and with the straps already draped over your shoulders, the flowing material cascades around you, tumbling to your hips and leaving you defenseless to Bucky’s insatiable blue eyes.

“Fuck me, sweets, you’re- god- you’re perfect.” He leans in and kisses your collarbone. “So,” kiss, “So,” kiss, “perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut, lost in the feeling of his touch, and Bucky smirks when he sees you. He teases a hand up your soft skin till it sits just beneath your tit, daring to reach up and play with you in the ways he’s always dreamt of.

“Is this okay?” He asks, earning an even more passionate grind of your hips as you push your chest closer to his open mouth.

He chuckles, “Needy, aren’t ya, sweets?”

You whine.

“Hmm, lucky for you, this is exactly what I imagined doing to you, what I’ve dreamt of for months…”

His lips wrap around your hardened nipple with haste, the warmth of his mouth a welcome sensation. He sucks at the sensitive nub, this tongue reaching out to soothe you afterwards. You throw your head back and moan loudly.

The sound of bucky loudly licking and sucking on your tits is driving you crazy, to the point where your hips are stuttering over his, practically drowning in the feeling till you have no control over your movements.

“God, I love your tits. Wanna act out every dream I’ve ever had of you. Fucking your tits, your throat, your cunt, anywhere you’ll let me, doll, please. I’ve needed you for so long.”

You blush at the word love, surpressing the hope that is stirring at the possibility that your tits aren’t the only thing he loves. Has he really wanted this as long as me? You wonder, picturing everything he just revealed he’s been wanting.

“M’So fuckin’ hard for you sweetheart, I know you can feel me. Dick’s throbbing, doll, it’s s’hard it hurts.”

You pull at his hair so he’s looking up at you again and capture his lips in yours.

“I wanna see you, Bucky…”

He groans and reaches for the hem of his shirt which he waists no time in tearing off. Your chest rises and falls heavier than before, eyes raking his physique just like you had that night he was leaving the shower at his place.

You trail a finger down his abs till it brushes the button of his jeans teasingly.

“All of you, James.” You look pointedly at his crotch. “May I?” You ask and when he nods, you climb off his lap and sink between his legs on the floor, you dress tumbling to the ground immediately.

Bucky’s abs tense as you work to undo the button, your hands tiny in comparison to his body. Next, you work the zipper up and over the bulge of his cock, the teeth desperate to come apart after being so constricted for so long. The two sides of denim snap away from the tent of his boxers, perfectly presenting where the firefighter so badly needs your touch.

He helps you kick off his jeans till the only thing between you is his boxers. You trace a finger up and down his shaft through the cotton, enjoying the sticky patch of pre cum leaking through the top.

“Have you ever imagined me sucking your cock, James?” You ask with half lidded eyes before kissing his covered shaft. “Cause I have.”

Bucky whimpers - whimpers - at your words, his hips snapping up to your face uncontrollably.

You begin to drag down his boxers, trailing kisses down down down, your lips greeting his tip when his cock flicks up against them before your eyes even get chance to glance at him.

Your eyes flutter shut at the salty taste on your lips, revelling in the breathy moans from your neighbour.

“Fuck- pl-please honey, I need your- argh- mouth around me!”

You make eye contact with him from your place on the floor and ask if he’s sure.

“More than anything.”

And with that, you take his thick length into your mouth, lips sealing around his angry pink cock head briefly when your trace your tongue over his slit, before gliding lower down his cock.

You take as much of him as you can, but you need time to warm up having never taken a cock as large as his before.

“You’re so big, baby.” You say as you pull off his shaft with a pop, “Biggest I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

A frustrated groan arises from the firefighter and you feel his hand on the back of your head, gently pushing you to his dick once more.

“Suck my cock, doll, just like we’ve both imagined, nice and deep, please.”

You take the base of his cock in your hands and guide his tip back to your lips.

“Atta girl,” Bucky encourages as you take him deeper and deeper.

He feels you relaxing your throat to take more of him and his balls clench at the feeling.

“Argh fuck, fuck, fuck. Good girl, oh my god, yes!”

His praises and curses cheer you on and you manage as much of him as you can, only an inch or so remaining that’s simply too thick to fit in your mouth. Lord knows how he’ll fit in your pussy, but you’re sure he’ll figure it out.

You bob your head on his length over and over till you’re in desperate need of air. You let your hands work your spit and his precum up and down his hard cock while you catch your breath and watch his beautiful face contort into one of extreme pleasure.

Your chest fills with pride at Bucky’s facial expressions; making him feel good is somehow more rewarding than anything you’ve done in your life and you find yourself content at the thought of spending the rest of your days pleasing him.

Bucky is oblivious to the gratified smile toying your lips and wholly unprepared for your next movement.

“Oh god- oh fuck, doll-” He groans, his breathing staggered and eyes clenched shut when you take his balls in your mouth, the skin sloppily wet from your work on his cock, and now enjoying the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh honey, do that again, felt so go- argh!” He’s interrupted by you tending to his sack once more, your tongue swirling around them and lightly sucking.

You moan around his pretty, swollen balls, the vibrations drawing a sigh of pleasure from your neighbour. The trimmed hair at the base of Bucky’s member is tickling your nose while you fight to taste every part of him.

With a final sharp suck, you release his balls with a small plop, plant a wet kiss on each and flatten you tongue to lick a bold stripe up his length. The tip of your muscle presses into the vein on the underside of his dick and Bucky thrusts upward, his hips bucking as he desperately searches for more.

As you ready yourself to glide his cock down your throat once more, you feel Bucky’s hand on your cheek, pulling you off him.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” You ask with a concerned frown, nervous that you’ve done something wrong to have Bucky stopping you. You wrap your hand around his forearm, the one outstretched to hold your hair, while the other remains enclosed around his cock.

“Nothin’ bad, sweets, it’s just that- fuck-“

You absentmindedly stroke your thumb over his girth, a motion you intend to be comforting but in reality, it just makes him throb even harder in your hands.

“-I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep using your pretty mouth like that.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

He laughs lightly and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Cause as hot as you’d look swallowing my load, I’d much rather cum inside that sweet pussy for our first time.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth before pecking a doting kiss to his forearm and letting Bucky pull you to your feet. His eyes follow yours till he’s looking up at you from his seated position, his hands falling to your hips with an awestruck face.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” His voice is barely above a whisper. You blush crimson.

“Get on the bed, doll.” He orders. “Lay on your back.”

You do as he says and once you’ve settled, he crawls on top of you. It’s quiet for a moment as Bucky stares lovingly down at you, burning the image into his memory to remind him he has everything he needs.

“I should have found the guts to do this months ago…” You murmur, pushing the fallen tendrils of chestnut hair behind his ear. He looks so goddamn perfect; the golden glow filtering through your window catching every feature you’ve spent so long dreaming about, and now he’s here, really here, and you can’t help but stroke his cheek with revere.

“We have now, doll. That’s enough for me.” Bucky whispers. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod, truthfully, both in terms of your position but also for what’s coming. But then his elbows bend out and he’s lowering himself onto you.

“How about now?”

There’s a gleam in his eye and a playful smirk on his lips as he watches your chest heave, your body taking more of his weight now.

“No!” You giggle.

“No? Is this better?” Bucky teases, briefly laying his whole weight over you until you paw at his shoulders to push him off.

“James! You’re squishing me!”

The melody of your carefree laughter has Bucky melting and he pushes himself up onto his hands once more. His lip is tucked between his teeth, enjoying the view as he becomes increasingly aware of his cock now just one slip away from your pussy lips.

Quickly coming to your own awareness of Bucky’s rock hard length pressing into you, you sober up.

“Darling?” You tug on his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb.

Bucky’s brows pinch closer slightly.

“I need you inside me.”

His soft lips are crashing against yours within moments, his hand fighting between the nonexistent space between your bare bodies to grasp his cock and guide his tip to your bundle of nerves.

The sudden taste of how good Bucky can make you feel forces a sharp breath from you. It’s so much yet not enough, all at the same time.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? Let me take care of you how you deserve.”

After a meek nod with your hands finding refuge in Bucky’s soft locks, he trails his cock head down your pink folds till it catches on the dip of your entrance.

Bucky tempts a whimper from you as he slides inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his larger than average member.

“Fuck, doll, you’re so tight for me.” The firefighter moans, resisting the urge to snap his hips and bottom out completely.

You’ve yet to make a sound, the sting in your pussy not yet dissipating, and when you glance down at where your bodies meet, you realise you’re barely taking half of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky’s reassuring voice is ghosting over your ear, “you’re taking me so well, sweets. You need me to go slower?”

You clench your eyes shut briefly, “No, keep going, you’re just so…”

“So what?”

Bucky watches a deep red creep up your neck before returning his gaze to your eyes, that now dance across the room avoiding him.

A gentle grasp on your chin draws you to face the breathtaking man above you and you clench around his dick.

“What happened to the little minx who was practically beggin’ me to fuck her, huh? Don’t get all shy on me now, dollface. I’m so what?”

His words have you spilling yours without second thought. “You’re so fucking thick, James, cock’s splittin’ me in half.”

He groans and snaps his hips fully into yours, making you scream out, “Jamie!!!”

His scalp burns when you pull on his hair harder than before, your moans filling the room like a broken record. Bucky should be focused on the furrow of your brow, your laboured breaths, the way your cunt is choking him, anything about how perfect this feels, but all he can focus on is how with one thrust, you called him ‘Jamie’. And you didn’t just say it, you screamed it.

“Shit, honey, say it again.”

“Ja-Jamie…” You whine and feel Bucky draw his hips back before pounding into you once more.

“Again.” Your neighbour growls.

“Oh my god, fuck- I”

“Again.”

It takes everything you have to open your eyes and look at him. “Fuck me, Jamie.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky drives his length into you till his tip is hitting your cervix, the pleasure wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air out of you. You fight to breathe as Bucky drills into you, over and over, softly grunting with every thrust.

“Never felt anything as good as your cunt before, doll. Wanna spend the rest of my life buried inside you.”

You pull his lips to yours and, back arching from the mattress, dive your tongue into his mouth with vigour. He lets you explore his mouth while fucking you deep and fast, the headboard of your bed slamming against the wall and probably driving your neighbour crazy. Oh wait, he is your neighbour, and it is driving him crazy, but in the best way imaginable.

“So goddamn tight, sweets, y’pussy was made for me,” He swallows your whimpers happily, “don’t you think? You feel how good i’m filling you up, honey? Sliding in an’ out so easy, you’re so fucking wet for my dick.”

“Harder, Jamie.”

Goddamn.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll do whatever you want.”

You lose yourself in his thrusts; the sting has long turned into the most pleasure you’ve ever felt, and that’s saying something after the orgasm he lulled from you only a few minutes ago.

“Fuckin’ me s-so good, Jamie.”

“Ah- just like that, baby.”

“I’m getting close, James, need you to go faster.”

Your pleas send Bucky’s cock pulsing and he does exactly as you wish. He fucks you faster, fighting off the desperate urge to cum inside your sweet cunt.

“Jamie…” You sigh.

He grins up at you from his place at your tits, his tongue reaching out to tease your nipples. You push his head down till he takes your sensitive bud in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over it while he gropes its twin.

The tight coil in your stomach is twisting to its limit and you find yourself dangerously close to cumming around Bucky’s hard, thick length.

“I’m so- oh fuck- i’m so close, James.”

He lifts his head and eyes you with lust blown pupils.

“Are you gonna cum for me, doll? God, I can feel you clenching around me, you wanna cream all over my cock? Huh?” He smirks at your pornographic moans. “Bet I’ll look so good covered in your cum, sweets, maybe I’ll let you clean me up, put that mouth to good use.”

“I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum,” You chant several times breathlessly.

“Let go for me, sweet girl, make a mess o’my cock. Cum, doll.”

Your body shudders as your hips grind up into Bucky’s, your walls tightening before he feels you gush around him. Practically screaming in pleasure, you bite down on Bucky’s shoulder to quiet yourself, though the pain travels straight to his member, still fucking into you with force.

“Fuck, James, you’re so perfect, never came so hard in my life- shit-“

He’s groaning into your ear, his balls slamming against you and filling the room with salacious wet slaps.

“You’re so wet and- fuck- I can’t- I can’t hold back much longer.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and lick up the side of his throat, tongue catching the salty beads of sweat in its path. Reaching his earlobe, you suck on it lightly and whisper into his ear.

“Want you to cum inside me, Jamie. Fill me up, please, I need your cum.”

“Argh, fuck!!” Your words send Bucky over the edge and his hips stutter while he finally lets go.

“Oh god, yes!” Bucky grunts. “Take my cum, doll, fuckin’ take it.”

Your tongue seeks his neck once more, pressing open mouthed kisses as his cock shoots streams of white seed into you, the spurts seemingly never ending.

“Fillin’ my cunt so much, Jamie- fuck- you feel so good!”

As his cock softens, his thrusts slow to a more bearable pace, both of you so sensitive from your orgasms. Catching your breath takes a minute or two, but in the meantime, you coax satisfied sighs from your firefighter by running your hands up and down his back; the light sheen of sweat greets your fingertips as you touch him tenderly.

With no words being shared, you focus solely on Bucky’s breathing, the rise and fall of his back beneath your hands and the weight of his body on yours. It should be uncomfortable, but you’ve never felt so at home in a place, let alone with a person, in your life.

“That was…” Bucky murmurs into your neck.

You finish his sentence, “Pretty damn good.” Laughter ripples through the muscles of his back.

“Yeah,” He agrees and pulls back slightly to look at you, “you feeling okay?”

“If by okay you mean ‘completely and utterly fucked out’ then yeah, I’m great.”

You grin cheekily before pushing his hair behind his ear yet again, an act you find yourself praying that you’ll get to do for the rest of your life.

“How are you feeling?” You ask sincerely.

Those blue orbs flick between your own, laced with an emotion you hope to be love. “Like I want to be with you like this forever.” Bucky admits. “That and completely and utterly fucked out.”

You laugh heartily, bringing a beaming smile to Bucky’s swollen red lips.

“Let me clean you up, doll.” He offers before pushing himself off you, much to your dismay. He disappears to your bathroom for a minute before returning with a damp cloth in hand.

“Can you spread your legs for me, sweets?”

He bites a chuckle at how quickly you obey him and gets to work, wiping away your shared cum from your pussy and goosebump-ridden thighs. The towel is warm and soft on your skin, lulling you to sleep, though you fight to keep your eyes on your neighbour.

“You’re so beautiful, James.” You say, reaching to place your hand on his that sits beside you hip, where he’s leaning his weight.

He smiles sheepishly and focuses on the job at hand. Once you’re clean, Bucky carries you to the bathroom so you can do your business, waiting patiently outside after putting his boxers back on and grabbing his henley for you to wear.

When you step out of the bathroom, Bucky’s holding his he let out in front of you. “You looked a bit cold so I thought you might want a shirt?”

You smile, “Your shirt?”

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck, muscles flexing at the movement, “You don’t have to, I just thou-“

He stops talking when you pull the henley from his grasp and tug it over your head. It swallows you whole and the sleeves tumble past your hands, but Bucky thinks it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him back to your room and back into bed, tugging the sheets over you both where you nestle into his chest.

“You’re staying, right?” You ask with the most puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

“Of course, doll.”

Smiling to yourself, you curl up against the firefighter. “Woulda cooked you a meal months ago if I knew that’s all it took for you to finally fuck me.”

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: filth. pure filth. so sorry that it took me a lifetime to post this - life got lifey and it took me ages to get this right. it’s my second time writing any sort of smut so i hope it was good for y’all. thanks for all the support, it means the world to me. love you guys, red ❤️

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[novelistwriter]

Ghastly Connections

DP x DC Prompt

This prompt was inspired by "Building a Proper Support System Straight from the Box"

Danny's life is pretty good so far. His parents had accepted his Ghost Half, Vlad isn't being his usual Fruitloop self, his grades are slowly getting better because his Ghostly Rogues are scheduling fights, the Observants aren't as obnoxious and demanding on him because he's the Ghost King/Prince, and the GIW seem to have given up on him, as no one has heard from them at all.

The GIW didn't give up. They just pulled back temporarily to get better. They trapped the entire town and started subduing any and everyone that was Liminal and Ghosts and dragging them... somewhere.

Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, the Fentons, and anyone else tried their best to push back against the GIW. Nothing was working, so the Halfa's pulled off a raid to free the Ghosts and people trapped by the GIW, sacrificing themselves in the process.

The Ghosts that were freed and sent to the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone were too shocked to see that Danny, their King, destroyed the portal without following behind them. They had to help their King and the rest of the Royal Family, but they need help, so they are heading to the people they knew when they were alive to ask them for help.

Pandora is ashamed for letting the White Suits best her because of her weakness to their weapons, but she heads to Themyscira to get aid from Hippolyta and the rest of her Amazon Sister's.

Johnny and Kitty are heading to Star City to see if Johnny's younger brother will be able to help, Johnny knows that little Oli is still alive.

Ember is heading to her home city, Gotham, to see if the Bat can help her. After all, she was a popular singer, and the little Street Rat she knows is Robin will be on board to help.

Skulker is going to Metropolis, his old "buddy" Alexander still owes him some favors, and he's going to cash them in.

Lunch Lady is going to Smallville to see if the Kent's still live there, she knows Superman is Clark, and she hopes they still live on the farm she visited her old friend has, after all, Martha Kent and her were quite the rambunctious duo in their prime.

Youngblood is going to Central City to see if his best friend Barry still lives there and to see if he has any kids to play with when everything is over and done with.

Desiree is going to her favorite Drunk British Man, but not to mess with him. She is on a mission to save the Realms from being destroyed. She'll mess with him later.

Now it's a race against time, and the Ghostly Rogues of Phantom need to gather help fast, or else the Realms will cease to be when the Royal Family is ended by the GIW.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Despite Danny's best efforts, no matter how much time past, Amity Park refused to see Phantom as a hero.

Sure, there were pockets of support, particularly among teens, but most of the town blames Phantom for the property damage, saying if he didn't fight the ghosts then it wouldn't be so bad, to that time he got mind controlled by Freakshow and "attacked" the mayor. It wears him down. It wears Tucker and Sam down. Jazz can only try to support them all.

Then one day, a member of the Justice League visits. Someone minor, and kinda a jerk... maybe a Wonder Twin? Zan? Whatever. They don't investigate; they don't look deeper. They listen to the town folks and declare the ghost hunters, Red Huntress and the Fentons, to be the official heroes of the town.

Worse? Danny Phantom is officially considered a villain to the Justice League. Tuck hacks into the Watchtower and confirms that they have a file (a heavily inaccurate file) about how to defeat Phantom.

Danny doesn't think he can do this anymore.

A few weeks later, a young villain escapes into Amity and demands (begs) that Danny help them escape from the hero after them. No idea who, I can't find a lot of info on teen villains in DC, so let's fudge some ages and make it Kyd Wyckyd from the Teen Titans cartoon. Danny agrees, because to hell with the Justice Losers, and they defeat the hero, becoming friends in the process. Kyd confesses that they became a villain after being ostracized bc of how they look, and they've been trying to avoid villain organizations because HIVE was abusive, but it's really hard to be a villain alone bc of all the heroes.

Sam gets an idea. Tucker agrees with the idea. Jazz is just happy they'll end up making friends.

The next day, the Teen Villain Alliance is formed, ready to assist with any teenage illegal shenanigans their allies might get into.

Some notes:

It's created to be a healthier option for teen "villains" to connect with others and support each other.

It's more important that this is for Teens rather than Villains. They're tired of adult villains taking advantage of them. The TVA would rather ally with a teen vigilante than with an adult villain.

Again, no idea who the teen villains are, but Klarion is definitely here. He leaves the Light for the chaos of the TVA. Maybe Ember is there too?

Timeline wise, this is around when Tim is still Robin, but Damien has arrived at Wayne Manor.

This is because, when it comes time to try to infiltrate the TVA, they'll have a convenient child-assassin who has none of the monitors of a teen hero that Phantom immediately picks up on.

Damien, who at this point has been abandoned by his mother, dismissed and scolded by his father, and has had no success at carving his own place in the family, jumps at the chance. He is then surrounded by peers who don't insult him or try to change his behavior (too much; jazz is trying to help him find healthier methods of expressing himself). He... might not want to continue being a spy.

Danny, Sam, Tuck, and Jazz are the founding members.

Danny reinvents himself as the High Prince of the Infinite, Prince Phantom Dark. He got kingship from fighting Pariah Dark, but since he's still alive, he's only a prince. He steals the last name Dark as an intimidation tatic against those in the know; only Danny would have the balls to claim family with Pariah.

Sam works as a powerless villain, but she might no be powerless? Either way, Danny gives her a bunch of repurposed Fenton tech, and she buys the rest with her parents credit card. She does NOT care if that's traced back to the Mansons. She would choose something goth, maybe something spider related or even bat?

I love Pharaoh Tucker, so I think he should get magic powers? Since pharaohs of old were considered the balance between the real and the divine. He's still a tech guy, now he's a tech and magic guy.

Jazz isn't really a villain, more of a team mom who's planning on using everyone's psyche's as her thesis paper. You know what, that's her callsign, she's Psyche. Sometimes she flirts with Nightwing.