#because he has never made it an entire week waking up on his own before

[theamazingannie]

These last two weeks I have completely stopped parenting my brother because my parents have made it very clear that I am not allowed to be a parent figure to him and since my mom lost her job I have pushed everything I did onto her because it’s HER job to take care of him, not mine, so why, when my brother overslept and missed his PSAT testing today, was *I* the one who was blamed???

[annabelle--cane]

this is a difficult thing to have conversations about because it provokes really strong reactions in people for completely valid and understandable reasons, so please feel free to hit da bricks on this post whenever you want, but I do want to try and analyse the jonmartin slaps. we get three across 160, 169, and 172, and a line addressing it in 173, and then it never happens or comes up again. none of them come out of nowhere, and they mostly fly under the radar until 173 because they all broadly fit the "slapping someone out of a trance in an emergency" trope, but each of them slowly decreases in urgency.

the first time, the apocalypse starts up and martin comes back to find a passed out jon, can't wake him by making noise, and strikes him in a panic. this makes sense, this is a man who has entered a supernatural coma before and martin had no idea what was going on, so of course he'd jump to something desperate.

the second time, they're in a burning building, jude arrives while jon is still mid-statement, and when making noise doesn't work martin slaps him out of it. this makes sense, they were there for jude and if jon didn't come back to himself then she likely would have hurt them, though martin knew that her powers against them were limited.

the third time, jon is getting pulled into into a repeating statement instead of coming out on his own like usual, so martin speaks once or twice to try and get his attention, and then slaps him out of it. this... again, it makes sense, jon was getting trapped, but there was no immediate peril like before, martin just got freaked out and wanted to leave quickly. he seems to get that it was harsh because he apologizes for it, but they don't linger at all, martin just starts in on them having to leave immediately.

the last time it's mentioned is when they're on night street, during what is one of their most intense arguments. jon tries to talk about the suffering of the children there for longer than he needs to in order to make a point, martin cuts him off, and he pointedly says, "thank you for not hitting me this time." it never happens or is brought up again.

to our knowledge, jon doesn't say anything about the slapping until 173. he's not a guy who's known for speaking up when things upset him, he was amiably working with daisy within about a week of her trying to kill him, so it makes sense that he would just sit with this comparatively more minor thing. however, I do think it's relevant to note that, at this point in their relationship, martin will sometimes voice his feelings and boundaries (not listening to statements, not consenting to mind reading, worrying when jon expresses discomfort with his body), while jon doesn't. from the couple of times he does talk about his feelings this season, I think that tendency comes a few places: he has a hard time being aware of his emotions at all, he doesn't know how to evaluate his emotions' importance in comparison to others', he assumes his emotions are obvious and thus people already act with full knowledge of them, and the topic is just hard to make himself talk about. from what he says in 173, I think the slaps bothered him the entire time, but he made himself be fine with it until he was upset with martin for unrelated reasons and finally let it out.

as for martin's side, I do not think the slaps came from any kind of suppressed desire to hurt or wield power over jon. we've seen him when he's angry at jon, this isn't how he acts, he gets shouty and indignant but never violent. I'd even go as far as to say he doesn't do it in 173 because he's genuinely upset at jon and the situation they're in, and it would never occur to him to deliberately inflict pain on someone he cares about to assert control over them. the connecting line between all of them is fear from something that he wants jon to help him handle. the apocalypse starts, he is stuck inside one of his worst nightmares, and he's paranoid that the web took control of him. he's someone who is "always following, never leading" (170), and he gets tunnel vision when something scares him and his "leader" isn't there.

jon did need to be pulled out of all three of those situations, and words proved insufficient, and maybe a quick jolt of pain was the only thing that could have worked, but martin doesn't seem to consider what that would feel like from jon's pov. in my experience of relationships, if there's ever an unavoidable emergency where you do actually need to cross a line that you never would otherwise, you talk about it afterwards. you do a debrief where you say "I'm really sorry about that, I didn't see another way, I'll try and be better prepared next time." they do this for problems they have later on (177, 198), but martin doesn't do that here. jon's point-of-view just doesn't seem to occur to him. when jon expresses discomfort, he drops the tactic without a word; later, when he needs to anchor jon in the panopticon, he talks him through it before it can get too far. so, it's not about a lack of care for jon's feelings.

I think it comes down to a few things: a) his occasional tendency to treat people as a means to an ends and not think about their perspective. he's so glued to putting others first most of the time that when he stops, he can't find a middle ground and forgets that other people can have feelings about his actions. b) his problems with conceiving of himself as a person of any importance who is capable of doing anything, especially of doing harm. as a concept, "hurting jon" is the thing he would least like to do in the whole world, it is his nightmare scenario and literally the culminating moment of his tragedy. he finds it almost unthinkable, so the idea that he does it casually when he's scared doesn't cross his mind. one of his central worries at this point is that jon is now so powerful that he no longer needs martin, how could he hurt someone like that? he's not anywhere near a comparable level of importance, it's not like he has his own domain that he's not aware of because jon told him about it and he immediately rejected the information. he's powerless and could never bring himself to hurt the man he loves.

I just. think it's an interesting microcosm of some of the lows of their relationship. once the problem is discovered martin instantly takes the note and doesn't put it on jon to explain himself further or assuage his guilt, they are willing and able to adapt, but it still comes from some of their bedrock flaws. martin doesn't understand that he can hurt people, and jon has such an inflated understanding of his capacity to hurt people that it sabotages his self-worth and his ability to respond to pain and displeasure.

[leychin]

All of it.

part 2

Tomura is due for his procedure in one week.

You don't bother trying to talk him out of it. Whats the point. His brain is too clouded by his hatred and rage towards heroes, towards his master, towards everyone around him.

It overpowers anything he feels for you.

You want to believe he hates you so it can be easier, but its never easy with Tomura. He knocks on your door at night so gently as if he isnt the most feared man in all of Japan, sits on your bed as if it's a rocking ship, and asks you to hold him like he's made of glass.

But Tomura wouldn't say it, he can't, he doesn't know how. He's lived with this hate for so long that loving you isn't something that comes to him naturally, in the mornings you don't exist. Just another League member with a job to fulfill, so why is he here with you like this?

It's because he's scared. His entire body is going to be ripped apart and then put back together for months, who wouldn't be scared? You're scared for him, he comes into your room at night and you press sweet kisses to tear sodden cheeks as he truly realizes what hes going to do. He knows hes going to leave. Its going to hurt. But it's something he has to do.

Not for his master, but for you.

He could never say it though, because how could he expect you to understand? Would you believe him? He knows you would try and convince him to stay how he is, he doesn't need to he stronger.

But Shigaraki needs to, he has this overwhelming urge to protect you, the one good thing in his life. He needs this power to keep you from disgusting people like master and the heroes. He wants to keep you in this room right here, with the minecraft music playing softly in the background as you ask him for more iron for some lanterns.

Its things like this that Shigaraki is fighting for, His hatred overshadows everything but you've lit a candle in his heart. When you fall asleep with your controller in your hands he's taking it from you and tucking you in, ghosting his lips over your head in his own form of a kiss.

God, he really does love you.

But it's never said, it can't be said. It's too late. Shigaraki will be gone for months and he'll be different, All for One will have everything he's worked for and he'll take your Tomura from you, and you'll be nothing to him as he moves to things much larger than the two of you in this shared space that's littered in old wrappers and empty cup ramen.

Eventually though, you wake up one morning and Tomura is gone, the menu music still playing softly in the background, the pause screen only showing one player showing he's logged off long ago.

Though, you unpause for a moment just to take a final walk around the world you two created. Beautiful cherry blossom trees lining a pathway to the updates village you made, ugly creeper holes Shigaraki didn't bother to fill up. You keep them uncovered, as a way to permanently mark the time spent with him.

You decide to log off and never play this game again, to never let yourself feel this hurt again, to never love again. But theres a spot in your enchantment room you've never seen before, Its hidden by clever bookshelf and stairs placements but theres a button wedged between the blocks, and when you press it you hear pistons whirr and open to what looks like an armory.

Theres an empty armor stand and one thats in full enchanted netherite armor, its his armor. The chest next to it is full of valuable items but one stands out to you; a signed book.

The glow makes you quickly add it to your inventory and open it yourself.

"It's all for you. Everything." -T.S.

That fucking idiot.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Three Hundred

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

Warnings: 18+. Fluff and smut.

Words: 5,8OO

Your head is feeling heavy. Heavier than normal. The mellow music in the background, the rumble of the voices of your trusted friends around you and the warmth radiating from Bucky pressed against your side, all make you feel like you might go cross-eyed if you continue to pry your eyes open when they so desperately want to close.

It has been a busy week of non-stop assignments. You got up early every morning to prepare and brief each other towards the operation, then tiring yourself out during the complicated missions that required most people on the team to get involved, and if you were lucky, you’d be home just in time to collapse into your puffy bed, unable to crawl under the sheets or change your clothes. It was incredibly fun to let out your energy and be together with the entire team again, but the week is catching up to you and Natasha’s idea of having a ‘boozy night in’ backfired greatly.

Your muscles are tight with tension and your cheeks are glowing with fatigue. But you have buried yourself in the corner of the couch, Bucky’s frame blocking you from the rest, so you can comfortably swim in the atmosphere of peace and relaxation around you. As fun as the back-to-back missions had been, there were a few close calls and you never really process the relief that comes from getting out alive until all of you are sat together, talking, laughing and most importantly… unharmed.

“I’m not carrying you to bed,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, taking another swig of his beer as he keeps his eyes on Thor who is telling some strange story about a man made of stone and a creature made of blubber. You kind of clocked out after the words ‘sex club on this purple-blue planet’, which was shame because you wanted to know what it was, but you couldn’t possibly comprehend those stories at this hour.

“Yeah, I know. Just… Just wake me up,” you murmur, your voice soft and breathy as you tilt your head to rest on his shoulder, the soft jitters of his arm making you hum in delight. The bulging pressure of Bucky’s frame against your side has you struggling not to bury yourself into him as far as you possibly can.

Your best friend sighs softly, biting back a smile when you nominate him to cuddle up against. He might not be someone who likes to touch and be touched, but you always found your sneaky little ways to make him tolerate it. He couldn’t possibly pry his sleepy friend off him to fend for herself when she can barely form a coherent sentence, could he?

“Alright. I’m waking you up. Go to bed,” he orders, his voice strict, and you sit up before he can shake you off. Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes open with all your might, making Bucky turn his head to you with eyebrows raised in amusement at your devastating state.

He had already noticed earlier how your heartbeat had slowed to a heavy thump, your breathing evening out and the goosebumps appearing on your skin as the heat seeped from your body with the last remnants of your energy. He may or may not have let it happen instead of offering you the blanket on his other side so that you would nudge into his side a little. Bucky, too, found comfort in making sure his friends were around and well after a week as intense as the one they just had.

Especially you. You always have your shit together and manage just fine – in your own way that sometimes had Bucky baffled, but it seemed to work for you. Yet somehow he wanted you to relax around him. It wasn’t something he realised until it had sort of already happened, but he wanted to be the person that would allow you to let your guard down. And he is. If Bucky even captures the slightest sign of you faltering or stumbling, he’ll make sure he is just within reach in case you need him to fall into. Literally and figuratively. Like your safe haven.

And sometimes a look was enough. He didn’t even have to smile at you – thank God he didn’t – but sometimes you would frantically look around and your eyes would fall on Bucky (after he swiftly inserted himself into your sight) and your shoulders would sag. You’d give him a tight smile and return to your task with your mind at ease. He sometimes chuckled at just how easy it was to make you relax.

But never would Bucky admit that he needs to see that look of ease on your face or he will crumble and fall into a pit of disfunction. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if something ever were to happen to you. He doesn’t need anyone. He never did. He’s just making sure you’re okay, because you need it.

“Yeah…” you mutter and push to a stand, blinking rapidly to fight the sleep in your body as you ready yourself to make way to your bed.

“I knew you’d be the first to fold!” Thor bellows with a laugh, his story interrupted and everyone turning to you, and you wave him a dismissive hand as you drag your feet over the carpet.

“We can’t all be tireless Gods,” you retort with a little less fire in your voice than you intended, making everyone breathe different octaves of soft laughs.

But you stumble over your feet, or maybe someone else’s, and fall into Steve’s lap with a gasp. He quickly steadies you with broad hands on your waist and Bucky is on his feet instantly. His hands wrap around your shoulders as he steers you away from the group.

“That’s enough outta you. Come on, sweetheart.” Bucky chuckles and you sway lightly as he walks you to your room. Falling face first into your bed, Bucky grimaces at you with a disapproving shake of his head, peeling your shoes off.

“You have got to start making your bed,” he scolds you as you crawl up to the pillows and he throws the duvet over you.

“Just because you’re a neurotic Super Soldier with endless amounts of energy to make your goddamn bed, doesn’t mean you get to judge my life style.” Your grumble is close to incoherent and open your arms wide, “Now shut up and come cuddle.”

“Absolutely not.” He huffs, but you catch onto the sleeve of his blue Henley, pulling him towards the bed. He stumbles and topples over you, giving you a death glare as he raises his face, but you quickly capture him under the blanket and crawl into his side.

You purse your lips to stop the devious smile tugging at them, knowing that a powerful and trained Super Soldier wouldn’t let himself be pulled into a bed by a flimsy piece of fabric, unless he wanted to. So you bury your face into his shoulder and squeeze him as his scents engulfs you, warmth glowing against you like a furnace.

“Such a baby,” you mumble and wait for his stiffness to dissipate, humming softly when he gives in by wrapping his metal arm around your back and stroking his flesh fingers through your hair.

“I hate you,” he grumbles and sinks down, both of you laying in a heap of limbs into the softness of your bed as you finally let the endless depths of your subconscious submerge you.

As long as you’re okay.

…

“You okay, Buck?” you ask with a gentle frown when see him slump from his bathroom with a towel around his neck. He’s wearing simple leisure wear, nothing more than some sweats and a white t shirt and it makes your insides warm with how huggable he looks. Though it seems that if anyone needs the hug, it’s him.

“Yeah. Just a rough few nights.”

“Hmm…” you hum softly and turn on the sofa to face him. “Wanna watch movies tonight instead of trying to fall asleep?”

“All night?”

“Sure. Yeah, why not?”

“You can’t stay up all night…” he drawls, reining in the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You cheer silently at the sight and the first hint of his happiness.

“Sure I can! Oh, come on… I have to defend my honour now. I can easily pull an all-nighter.” You try to sound convincing, but Bucky raises his brows in an unimpressed glare.

“Liar.”

“So, you’re in?” you ask hopefully and you can see the soldier faltering.

“Can’t be worse than staring at my ceiling,” he admits with a shrug and flings the towel to the side before slumping into the sofa next to you. This side of the compound was usually empty around this time, most of the crew having retreated to bed or having settled to hang out in one of the larger common rooms. But Bucky and you enjoyed basking in each others’ silence sometimes, a little further away from the group. Not that you are the silent type. But Bucky doesn’t mind.

“What kind of movies do you like?” you ask him, already flicking through the multiple apps on the TV that could stream your next movie.

“I don’t know,” and he doesn’t really care. He isn’t here to watch a movie, he is here to drag you to bed when you inevitably fall asleep. He’d pretty much watch anything. It’s not that you fall asleep all the time and he is like the babysitter to send you to bed, but he rarely slept the way you could, so he always ended up the last to be awake. Little does Bucky know, you rarely sleep the way you do when Bucky is around.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’? Aren’t you supposed to have a list of movies to watch to fit into this century?” you frown up at him, referring to his little culture list in Steve’s old notebook.

“Steve’s book? Yeah, no. That would be a list of my victims,” he tells you dryly and you punch his arm, making him chuckle. You truly are the only one he can joke to about that. He would choke the life out of most people for referring to something so personal, but the traumas that constantly seem to roil and simmer inside of him, quiet down to a quiet lake of emotion whenever you touch upon it. His bones and muscles slacken when you merge gently with his old pains.

“Alright, funny man. What’s it going to be? Action or Disney?”

“Disney? Really?” His brows relax when he looks at you, a stoic look on his face to dare you to get him to watch a Disney movie.

“You know the fairy tale of Rapunzel?” You grin like a fucking child at him and he narrows his stare to stop the alternative from creeping up on his features.

“Yes…” He retreats his face warily as he waits for you to elaborate on your bold choice.

“Oh, you’re going to love Tangled!”

“Isn’t that a kids movie?” He frowns.

“It’s a fucking masterpiece.”

…

“You’re drooling over a cartoon,” he mumbles, eyes still on the screen.

“Flynn is the love of my life. Now shut up,” you spit at him, fumbling a full claw op popcorn from his lap as you watch intently. Bucky’s breath hitches at the faint rumble above his crotch and he scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, deciding to redirect his energy from between his legs to teasing you further.

“You buy into that whole grumpy guy, sunshine girl -bullshit?” he grumbles, judgement clear in his voice as his stare remains on the bright screen.

You turn to him with you mouth hanging open and a stupid heat creeping up your cheeks. How does he know about that? Something that specific…

“How do you…?” you stammer and he gives you an unimpressed glare.

“Read some of your books and saw some shit on the internet.”

“What side on the internet are you on?” you question him further, attention no longer on the animated motion picture. You’ll get back to the book thing, not yet ready to confront him about that. There are more important matters at hand.

“What do you mean?” he feigns a frown with a playful smirk and you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. This stubborn, innocent and old man would not indulge into modern culture. Surely, not…

“N-never mind…” you mutter after a brief silence. You decide not to even try and explain the different sides of the internet to your friend.

“I’m the sunshine in this relationship, you know,” Bucky mutters after a long silence and you snort a laugh, making him chuckle as soon as he hears your delight.

“Obviously.”

…

Curled up on the sofa, you pull your knees up to your chest, nose buried so far into your book, you can’t see anything but the black words on the worn pages. You should know better than to read this …filth in public, but the chapter snuck up on you and you can’t. stop. reading.

He dropped to his knees, eyes drawn up to watch her as his palms slid up the back of her calves. Slowly, so slowly, his hands glided further and further up until they slipped under the hem of her dress. Fuck – you’ve waited over three-hundred pages for this. His mouth came closer and the pounding between her legs increased with every inch he stole from between them. She remembered his lips. The feel of them on her own. Oh, to feel them somewhere else… doing that thing with his tongue. Her knees nearly buckled, if it weren’t for his stare pinning her down.

“Hey.”

You nearly fling the book to the other side of the smaller common room at the sound of Bucky’s voice and clench your thighs to will the pounding between your own legs to settle down already. But your wide eyes have already been caught by Bucky and his brows are raised with amusement, the crinkles in his face not helping your little situation.

“What are you reading? Didn’t hear me come in?” he asks, slowly walking over and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he already knows, his dominant glower at your hunched frame in the corner of the couch challenging you. Lie to me, I dare you, his eyes seem to say as they glitter with mischief.

“No. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” you easily deflect his first question. “You and your trained sneaking methods.”

Closing the book and hiding it in your lap, you swallow hard as if resetting your feelings, the whining disappointment of being interrupted in the middle of that scene.

“What are you reading?” he tries again and you remain your empty gaze on him, thinking so hard of any answer to give him.

“A book.”

“Duh. What kind of book?”

“…Romance.”

“Romance?”

“Yes.”

He stays silent for a moment, his gaze rolling over your features. It isn’t often he allows himself the pleasure of someone else’s discomfort, but it is just too fun with you. And he isn’t stupid. He had to wait in your room once while you were still taking a shower, because you are always so slow when you shower, and he couldn’t help but snoop a little at the time. There was a time he used to enjoy reading a lot, it helped him get more familiar with all the languages he was trained in. Though he had never considered the light and bright storylines that were scattered through your bookcases. Bored, he had leafed through one of them and halted abruptly when his trained eye caught some disturbingly distinct words that he had only seem in a porn site search bar.

So he knows the kind of books you read and has to rein in his wonder at the balls you had for reading that in public, rein in his chuckle because of course you would get a kick out of reading that shit in public. Bucky never thought you were the innocent type, he knows better than that. The dirty nonsense that would leave your mouth after a drink, or when you’re too tired to think of the consequences, told him plenty.

He liked it. Bucky didn’t really allow himself to indulge in fantasies like you could and hadn’t been able to admit to his preferences when you asked him about it those few times. He had done some sexual stuff after returning from Wakanda, but it had always been a bit hasty and vanilla, too uncomfortable for his liking. He silently curses himself, because of course he is uncomfortable. It’s a trait he might never shed, but the things he would do if he could just let loose for once. That thought alone could send his cock skyward.

“You’re reading porn again, aren’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you let out a nervous laugh, opening your mouth to say something, but deciding against lying in the end.

“Way to expose me, Barnes.” You roll your eyes and he grins widely at you.

“It’s the way you are pressing your legs together that is exposing you, sweetheart,” he taunts, his voice having dropped an octave, and you stiffen at his words. Bucky has never acknowledged anything sexual, even when you so openly talk about it all the time, and it surprises you how natural it sounds rolling off his tongue.

“I wasn’t doing that,” you murmur, a tad shy all of a sudden.

Bucky tilts his head at you. “You telling me you’re not thoroughly turned on right now?”

“Bucky!”

“Oh, come on! Indulge me,” he nudges your knee with his metal hand and it shoots electricity up the limb to flutter in your belly. “Read it to me.”

“What?”

“Show me what the hype of written porn is about.” He shrugs and leans sideways against the back of the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t imagine it is better than watching it on video.”

He’s lying. Bucky likes porn as much as most men, but it is a quick fix. He can definitely see the appeal in dragging out the build up and reading from someone’s point of view. But admitting that wouldn’t get you all squirmy and uncomfortable and he finds he quite likes to tease you about this stuff. You always tease him, why not return the favour?

“Absolutely not,” you breathe.

“Pussy.”

“Bucky, I am not reading porn to you, are you insane?!”

But Bucky has already noticed your determined answer and he is too impatient to play this out a bit longer, so he quickly snatches the book from your hold and dives off the sofa, almost roaring a laugh at the impossibly slow response time you have to his actions.

Opening the book to the last page you ended on, he increases the distance between you as his eyes search the words. “She remembered his lips. The feel of them on her own. Oh, to feel them somewhere else… doing that thing with his tongue. Her knees nearly buckled, if it weren’t for his stare pinning her down,” he starts, his voice husky as he reads. “His eyes darkened as they finally landed on her throbbing, warm, aching –”

“Bucky!”

“ –cunt,” he smirks and tries to focus on the words in front of him, even though he suddenly realises who he is picturing as the girl in the book, his brain having latched onto the first person in his thoughts. “She felt as if she might pass out when she felt the fiery trail that the tip of his tongue traced up her bare thigh. So slow, so painfully slow. She couldn’t help the pulsating wave contracting her weeping pussy, another when he dragged his index finger through her folds.” Fuck, this fucking book. “His cock twitched at the feeling of her and the simple sound of the hitch in her breath. He couldn’t help but dip his finger in slightly. Just to test the waters, feel her around his digit. Scorching hot and fluttering with need…” Bucky drifts off.

“Bucky, please stop?” You ask him and his eyes, dark and heavy, snap to your frame on the couch. Your voice has dropped significantly and Bucky can’t help but notice the strangeness in your tone, pleading him to stop reading. Not because you’re embarrassed, no, but because it was turning you on.

And Bucky can’t help but let his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, the air around him thick with your arousal. He can’t possibly make the distinction of whether you are turned on by the book, or by him, but he finds himself slowly caring less. Something tugs at him again. In his chest, his belly, his cock.

You’re uncomfortable. Horny and uncomfortable, aching and needy. He can read it on your face. And Bucky’s protective instinct can’t help but instantly want to make sure you’re feeling better. As opposed to the normal situations, a back rub, a nap, or a glass of water won’t help you this time.

And there you are. This wonderful, comfortable, beautiful person. Always teasing him, making his life better by making it worse. And something he hasn’t realised until now, a person who is completely and utterly… sexy. That sparkle in your eyes, those fleshy thighs, your lips, your hair, your everything. And your mind, especially. How it takes his body nothing to instantly respond to you, like an answer to your call.

Right now, you are calling again. Calling for pleasure and relief. Bucky’s legs stiffen to stop him from marching over and answering that call like he answers all the others.

“I’ll stop,” he replies stoically, shutting the book gently and walking over to you. He reaches out the book for you to take, but when your hands, albeit hesitantly, wrap around the cover, Bucky doesn’t let go and tugs both your hands to him slightly. “Is that what you want?”

His eyes are piercing into yours and you nod frantically, “Yes, I can’t take you reading any longer.”

He clarifies, “I mean the book. The scene – is that what you want?”

Your brows pull together and you search his face, disappointed to be unable to read it. “To have someone eat me out? Yeah… I can’t say I would mind it.”

Those words, followed by your breathy chuckle has Bucky’s fingers curl until his nails dig into the cover of the book. You talked about sex with him sometimes, but to hear you name such a filthy and delicious act so plainly? He doesn’t know how much more he can take. Is that what you felt when you heard him read? Because he will read you a bedtime story every night if this is how it makes you feel.

Bucky reluctantly lets go of the book and takes a seat on the other side of the sofa, running his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath.

“Then why not go and get it?” he asks, staring ahead even if he feels your eyes burn into his side.

“No one will live up to the expectations of a book, Bucky,” you sigh and Bucky hates his name on your lips like that. Filled with disappointment. Absolutely hates it.

“Sure they do,” he shrugs and finally decides to face you, “all you need is that build-up.”

You swallow hard and your chest freezes with an inhale. “A build-up?”

“Yes,” he hums. “Those three-hundred pages of tension, a little teasing, some dirty talk…”

You roll your eyes with a low laugh. “Right. How realistic of you, Bucky.”

He likes that tone a lot more. His name from your mouth like that. Like he might be one of your favourite people. “Easy to get, sweetheart. We have a whole lot more than three-hundred pages under our belt.”

The nickname and the simple insinuation of his words make you curl up tighter in the cushions. You do. You have plenty of build-up. Plenty of teasing and tension, as far as you are concerned. But you never considered your friend to have experienced the same thing. You felt like a burden to him, always seeking him out and him grumbling as he helped you. But you could endlessly wonder. Or you could ask. Who is he to be putting you on the spot?

“What are you suggesting, Bucky?” you ask, even daring to sit up and lean in closer slightly. You should have expected him to not recoil too easily though. He wouldn’t even show you a weakness, despite your close relationship. No, he would lean into whatever you would give him.

“I think you know what it is I’m suggesting.”

You leap. Fuck it. “Say it.”

“You really want me to say it out loud?”

“Would I be reading books if I didn’t?”

He laughs at that, his lids lowering when his gaze narrows back in on you. His hand, draped over the back of the couch, is so close to your shoulder. He licks his lips.

“Say it,” you repeat.

“I’m suggesting,” he drawls, his voice having deepened, “that you spread your legs for me.”

You can’t believe it. Can’t believe he just said that. And how it sounded so natural, something you never expected. But you swallow the primitive response to his words that has your whole body reeling. You will play his part. You will find out just how far Bucky is willing to take his bluff. Sure, you had well over three-hundred pages of foreplay, but also well over three-hundred pages of trust to shatter with one stupid decision. However, you cannot currently find one good reason – not a single one – not to risk it all for him.

So you spread your legs for him.

His eyes widen slightly, an outside power pulling his sight down to the very core that you’ve exposed to him. He didn’t think it was possible, but his mouth waters, the absence of your taste on his lips grating his nerves. He drags his eyes back to yours, only to see you surveying him closely.

“Everyone is out. If I do this…” his voice is low and descends into a rasp.

“No going back,” you finish for him.

“I don’t want to go back.” There is no mistaking his words, his tone clear.

“Me neither.”

“Tell me,” he orders, his warm palms wrapping around your ankles, his thumbs stroking the skin of your shins. Even the metal is warm. Your breathing deepens and becomes heavier.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “I want this.”

“What? What do you want?” he asks, surely testing how far you’ll be willing to go with your confessions. You stay quiet, your eyes peering down into his as his hands slowly stroke up your spread legs, his fingertips grazing underneath the fabric of your shorts. “You want my tongue between your legs?”

Your pussy convulses at his words and you swallow hard. Fucking hell.

“Bucky.” It’s a whisper.

“I bet that book warmed you up for me, didn’t it?” he croons and you nod stiffly. “I wonder if it’s enough. I wonder if I need to spread you open a bit further.” His thumbs dig into inside of your upper thighs, spreading you open more. You pulse in answer, your chest rising and falling deeply.

“Why don’t you try and find out?”

Bucky snickers softly, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “And there I was, thinking you’d be innocent.”

“You never thought I was innocent,” you breathe, the circling of his thumbs against your skin distracting you. More slick gathers between your legs and you wonder if Bucky can spot it through your shorts.

“Let’s just say I never thought I’d get to see this side of you,” he answers and licks his lips with his eyes burning into your warm skin. His fingers start peeling at the fabric and you wiggle your hips impatiently, ready to raise them and serve him.

“You severely underestimate yourself.” Your voice is quieter, more serious. You hope he can decode your vague confession. How much he means to you, how there is no one more worthy to speak to you like Bucky does, no one you could want more.

He stays quiet at that, however, his eyes raising to yours. His stare remains impassive, his eyes darting between yours as if trying to find something. But you stare back just as hard, unflinching, unfaltering. Something flashes across his face, a determination of some sorts, and he gives a quick nudge upward with his chin. An order. Raise your hips.

Serve me.

Your breath halts in your throat while you do as you’re told, lifting your hips as Bucky slowly peels your shorts off, your panties right along with them. Heart pounding at the relentless vulnerability of being naked before him, you stiffen. He twists you by his grip on your thighs, leaning you back against the back rest of the sofa and kneeling down between your bare legs. His eyes are on you.

“I have to warn you,” he starts and you gape at him, expecting some cocky remark that will make you roll your eyes at him. “If we do this – if you let me between your legs – it will not be the one time. I will be coming back for seconds and you will be coming, too. A lot. Tonight. Tomorrow. A week from now. This is it.”

You swallow hard, your eyes wide and frozen onto his relentlessly handsome face. He isn’t joking. In fact, you don’t think you have ever seen him this serious before. And for Bucky, that is saying something. But for him to admit something like that, hint towards borderline addiction when it comes to pleasing you – it does things to your heart and pussy that you cannot describe.

“Kiss me first,” you tell him. You need to kiss him first.

Bucky smiles – smiles – and lifts up on his knees, cupping your neck and pulling you forward instantly, giving you no time to come back from your request. When his lips touch yours, you let out a tiny gasp, the feeling of his lips against you making your chest lurch and your brain scream. His lips part and you moan softly into the kiss when your tongues meet, the strawberry texture of it making you want to whine. Instead, your hands grasp the collar of his shirt and pull him closer. He hums contently against you and both your breathing becomes more laboured.

Bucky pulls back a few times before diving back in, dragging his teeth over your lips and teasing you with the absence of him. Until you are a wet and throbbing mess between your legs. It is when you start wriggling in your seat, that Bucky chuckles and pulls back a final time.

“Getting a bit antsy?” he asks, his hands stroking your thighs as he sits back on his knees.

“Over three-hundred pages, Bucky…” you remind him.

He smiles again and pushes your knees apart once more, leaning forward as his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You lean back and watch him closely, your attention solely focused on the rugged man between your legs.

His thumb starts to slowly rub over your clit and you gasp at the touch, it somehow feeling incredibly unnatural to have Bucky in that position. It being his touch that is causing you so much pleasure – and pain. God, you’re throbbing painfully now and you cannot help the whine squeaking from your lips.

“Shh, I know. I’ll get to it.”

It does make you relax, his words and his tone, and you make yourself sink into the couch, your hands reaching down to run through his hair. He smirks and locks his eyes with yours, slowly – so slowly – leaning down to replace his thumb with his mouth. And you can’t help the heavenly sigh that spills from you when it finally makes contact with your aching core.

“Oh Bucky,” you moan and tug softly on his hair as you throw your head back. He’s there in seconds, bringing you to that long-awaited peak. Apparently, you don’t need much when it comes to Bucky, the man himself being foreplay enough for you to launch towards release.

“Mhm,” he hums, “that’s it. That’s good.”

The warmth of his tongue is making you shiver, the slurping sounds coming from between your legs making you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back. If only to focus on holding out, on not drenching his face. It’s sinful, the protective, passive and gorgeous Bucky Barnes on his knees for you. Capable of destruction and so much violence, unrelenting towards everyone and a grump in his social life – but he’s on his knees for you.

Your moans and words of encouragement are growing incoherent, your belly tightening as Bucky hauls you closer to avoid any distance between your drenched pussy and his mouth. He’s slow, meticulous and ravenous as he eats you, his fingers rolling into your flesh as if he’s savouring every place where he’s touching you.

He is.

It’s unreal, to have such a beautiful woman above him, moaning and panting and grabbing at him while he does something he enjoys so much. His mouth won’t stop watering. God, he’s addicted. He has to remind himself to breathe when his tongue is desperate to make the pitch of your voice raise, get you to your release. He has to know what it is like to see you come, feel you come, hear you come – taste your come.

He needs you, he needs you, he needs you.

Then his finger gently traces the inside of your entrance, wiggling around to spread you open, and you start choking on your moans, your breaths sounding outright painful and your fingers curling around his wrist and into the cushion below you.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky!”

He hums and wraps his lips around your clit once more, rolling it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it. And you crash, the tightness in your body coming to a high before every muscle and tendon snaps into pure euphoria. You buck and roll your hips into Bucky’s mouth, riding the waves of your orgasm with breathy, raspy moans that make Bucky’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

Violent tremors rack through your body as you come down and Bucky ceases his assault on your pussy, which is still pulsating heavily from the warm orgasm that seeps from your body. You finally open your eyes, looking at a Bucky who is completely alert and satisfied.

“Tomorrow,” he licks his lips clean, eyes shimmering with delight, “you’re going to read that chapter to me. And you’re going to sit on my face while you do so. If you manage to keep reading, I’ll make sure you keep coming.”

As long as you’re okay.

And maybe a bit better than okay.

[annwrites]

you need a hand with that, baby?

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: hurt from billy's constant hot & cold behavior toward you, you begin to pull away from him. refusing to lose you, he offers to open up to you, but only on his terms. he then wakes in the middle of the night to an unexpected sight beside him.

— tags: billy actually opening up and discussing his past and feelings toward you, at least a bit. angst.

— tw: drinking, childhood trauma, masturbation, fingering, handjob

— word count: 7,132

— a/n: oh yeah, it's all coming together. pun maybe intended.

find my other posts concerning billy here

When you enter the motel room—your hands full of a selection of things the motel was serving for breakfast—it’s to Billy falling over himself, trying to quickly pull on a pair of jeans, quietly cursing to himself.

And then he barely glances up to you as he finally yanks the zipper up. “There you are. Where the hell have you been?” He looks at you. “Do you have any idea how wor-”

A smile slowly forms on his lips, cutting short the lecture he was about to bestow upon you about never leaving his eyesight ever again unless you wanted to see him pissed...also again.

He settles his hands on his hips—still shirtless—giving you a long look-over before stepping closer and reaching up, twirling a teased curl around his finger. 

“Thought you stopped doing your hair like this weeks ago, doll?”

You shrug, setting the food down on the table, sitting. “I just wanted to try it out again.”

He sits, not bothering with a shirt for the moment being, and watches as you take a bite of a pastry, your eyes flitting to his chest for only a moment, before looking down to the buffet of food before you, cheeks warming.

He leans back, biting into an apple. “Really going to sit there and pretend like it has nothing to do with trying to impress me, honey?”

You glance up to him with furrowed brows, pouring a small bottle of milk into a paper bowl full of cereal. “Why would I want to do that?”

Each day he’s spent with you has made him more bold in his advances, even minimally, and today is no different. He finally just throws it out there. “I see the way you look at me. Especially when I’m like this. Half-dressed, or less. Or working on the Camaro. If you want to keep playing hard-to-get, sweetheart, we still have plenty days of driving before us, so we can play that game. Just know you won’t win.” He leans toward you, eyes boring into your own. “I will get what I’ve been waiting patiently for weeks for.”

You stop chewing, suddenly swallowing. You don’t want to admit you’d spent the better part of an hour teasing your hair and using so much Aquanet you’d nearly finished off the entire can until it was perfect just to see his reaction. But he could see right through you. 

You were tiring of this game to an extent—you pretending like you felt nothing toward him than annoyance, and him making sexual advances toward you every day.

It all amounted to nothing.

Maybe sometimes it did feel a bit exciting to be desired by another, but it wasn’t about you with him. It was about what you were: a collection of body parts for him to play with. He’d all but thrown as much in your face two nights ago. What was it he had said about you being just another pair of lips?

You suddenly regret doing your hair. 

Maybe you have been leading him on a bit lately. You hadn’t intended to. You’d done your utmost to ignore him in Hawkins—he was the one who refused to leave you alone. And being on the road together…it’d simply been about getting from point a to point b. Now…you tell yourself that’s still all it is. Both of you leaving behind nightmares to find new dreams out West.

Once you reach California, you’ll both go separate ways and never see one another ever again. Because that’s what people do: they leave.

You look back down to your food, stirring your now-soggy cereal, mood dampened. And Billy notices your sudden shift in mood, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You stand, throwing your food away. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you state, picking up your chair and going to sit by the window. 

He rolls his eyes. Women and their damn mood swings. “You on your rag or somethin’?”

Your head jerks back toward him. “What?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

You don’t bother arguing as you turn back to the window. “No.”

He takes a few more bites of his apple, watching you. He chooses to change the subject. “So, what’re we drinking tonight?”

You’d forgotten about that… You look back to him. “Can you even buy alcohol?”

He smirks. “I have a fake, honey.”

You raise a brow, not entirely surprised. “You do?”

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slipping the card out and tossing it to you.

You pick it up off the floor and look it over. ‘Billy Squier’, really? You look at him and he has a smirk on his face. 

“What, don’t tell me you don’t get the name?”

You walk it back over to him, extending the plastic card toward him. “You must’ve thought it was terribly clever, since you both share the same first name.”

He considers you for a moment, grabbing the card, tossing it onto the table, then yanking on your hand, pulling you into his lap.

You immediately try to stand up, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him.

“Let go!”

He holds a piece of bacon up to your face. “Not until you’ve eaten something.”

You snub your nose at the offered food, so he just holds it closer. “I have no problem hand-feeding you, princess.”

You sigh dramatically and he uses that opportunity to shove the food into your mouth.

Once you’ve finished chewing do you try getting up again. 

“You can get up just as soon as you tell me what the fuck that was a minute ago.”

You roll your eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” he says casually, taking a bite of the pastry you hadn’t finished.

Feeling your temper growing shorter, you let him have it as you turn the least bit more back toward him so you can look at him. “Stop pretending like you give a damn about me. We both know what this is. That as soon as we get to California, we’re both going our separate ways. Nothing you do is going to change the fact that I refuse to fuck you before then.”

His jaw feathers. He knows you’re not trying to make him angry. You’re just hurt yourself from his vulgar behavior—his being hot and cold toward you. He decides he does not like the taste of his own medicine. You’d tried to connect with him more than once now, had tried to get him to open up like you had with him, but he’d shut it down at every turn. 

You were clearly beginning to grow tired of it. He doesn’t entirely blame you. When was the last time you’d had someone show the least bit of concern for you? Even his step-mom, at times, had tried to show him some kindness.

He reaches up and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word, baby. I told you that you were stuck with me. I meant that. So I’ll wait for however long you want to keep holding out for. You take that to mean whatever you want it to.”

Your brows furrow and your hands come to rest atop his arm. “I… You…” You have no idea what you even want to say.

He holds another pastry up to you. “Muffin?”

Once breakfast was through—Billy refusing to let you off of his lap for the next hour; he’d taken his time eating and hadn’t tried to fight against the erection your constant squirming had caused, even if you’d ceased the moment you’d felt it—the two of you had gotten into his car and driven around town aimlessly, just sight-seeing, even if there wasn’t much to see here in the first place.

Some small Oklahoma town had to be one of the worst places to be stranded. He’d mused to himself that there was a reason it was known as a fly-over state.

You’d stayed mostly silent, even as he’d obnoxiously blared his rock music, trying to get your attention. 

He could feel your interest—attentions—toward him beginning to wane, and it was an unsettling feeling. So, he’d, at every red light and stop and yield sign, reached over and touched you. You thought it’d been just to get under your skin. For him, it was just a reminder that you were still there beside him. 

Once lunch time hit, he’d pulled into a family-owned diner, and even bothered holding your hand as the two of you went inside. You’d tried to tug away, but he’d held firm, twining his fingers between yours. 

Once the two of you were eating—you refusing to even look in his direction, but instead watching the view outside the window at your side—he’d tapped your foot under the table and you’d rolled your eyes, pulling your leg back toward you.

He’d sighed then. “Your hair looks nice, since I never told you. I was right: it makes you look hot.”

“Thanks.”

He’d frowned. “Fine. Since it’s clearly what you’re after—five questions. That’s all you get. So, ask whatever you want and I’ll answer.”

You’d looked to him in surprise. Shocked he was offering such a thing. You were sure he’d never bother to open up. Or, if he did, it would be only when he was ready and deigned to divulge bits and pieces of himself and his life to you here and there. But putting you in control of what he was to share? You weren’t sure what to make of that.

You sit back, idly stabbing at your garden salad. You look up to him then, expression serious. “Why did you pick on me so much back in Hawkins?”

He raises a brow, forearms resting atop the table. “Why do you think?” He gestures as if the answer should be obvious.

You look back down and shift, and you suddenly seem uncomfortable to him.

“I… I thought that… Maybe…” You look out the window and a pained look seeps into your eyes. He reaches over, having no idea why the fuck he’s doing it, and takes one of your hands in his. 

You look at him again. You let out a shaky breath, your hand trembling slightly in his firm grip. “Maybe something was wrong with me. I mean…my dad and the way he treated me. And then you show up and…” You swallow thickly.

That’s what you’d thought the last two months? That he’d been giving getting on your last nerve his every effort because what? You just attracted that kind of treatment—cruelty? Especially from men?

You’re now staring intently down at the table, lost in thought, like you’re somewhere else.

“Angel, look at me.”

You do, hesitantly. “You think I acted that way because I didn’t like you?”

You nod, hand shaking harder.

He leans in toward you. “It’s the very opposite. You should know that by now, honey.”

You blink at him. “You don’t actually like me, though.”

He raises a brow again. “Reading my thoughts now?”

“It’s…” You stop yourself short, pulling your hand back, settling it in your lap. You didn’t want to say this. Didn’t want to let on that you, at the very least, thought you felt something more toward him. Not when you knew how he thought of you. You never meant more toward anyone—they just did for you. Because you were always stupid enough to get attached.

“Go on.”

You clasp your shaking hands together. Opening up…you’d never been able to do that before. Had wanted to. With someone—anyone. But even just crying in front of your dad… That was an excellent way to get hit.

Your heart-rate quickens. You can’t do this. He’ll get angry, too. Just like the other night when he put his fist through a wall.

No man was a safe place for you.

“I don’t remember now.”

He stands then, sitting beside you, pressing his body against yours, arm behind you. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he says lowly, cupping your cheek in his other hand.

You shake your head, your body trembling in fear.

He leans down toward you. “Please.”

You look at him, blinking back tears and his heart fucking breaks.

“What if you get mad at me?” You ask, voice breaking on the last word.

“I won’t.”

You open your mouth to speak, until the waitress interrupts the both of you with the check.

Billy lets out a low swear, snatching it from her.

When he looks back to you, the moment is gone. You having withdrawn further away from him.

It seems he’s not the only one with difficulties sharing parts of himself.

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you whimper. He pulls back, and you still don’t look at him.

After lunch, Billy pulls into a gas station. Getting you drunk probably isn’t the best idea right now, but it’s the only way he’s going to get you to talk—get himself to, even. 

So he heads inside, purchases a bottle of Crown Royal, and then comes back out, handing it to you.

You look it over for a moment, then look at him. “This is a stupid idea.”

He shrugs. “We made a deal, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”

You look back down at the bottle. “I only do stupid stuff when I’m with you.”

He smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Once the two of you are locked in your motel room, you sit on the bed—him leaned back against the headboard, and you at the foot of it facing him. 

“So…what do we do now?” You ask nervously. 

“Could always play a drinking game. Or just start chugging until one of us is shit-faced. Or…” He grows quiet for a moment, then unscrews the lid, taking a long swig. “There’s a reason they call this shit liquid courage. Drink enough and you don’t feel afraid anymore. You want to talk, then we’ll talk. But I need to get my blood-alcohol level up first,” he says, taking another long drink.

He holds the bottle out toward you and you take it from him gingerly, taking a small sip. Your face screws and he laughs. 

“That’s disgusting.”

He shrugs. “It’s one of my favorites. But when it comes to booze, you don’t always drink it for the taste.”

You take another sip and it still tastes just as bad as the first time. You then feel heat pool between your legs and you flush. You look up to him and see he’s just waiting on you to make your next move. You briefly wonder if this is what alcohol does for everyone—cause this kind of reaction. And if so, if he’d really meant the ‘taking advantage of you’ comment from last night. 

You take another drink, then hand it back to him. 

“So, you want to continue what you were saying at the diner?” He asks, taking a sip.

You’d had so many thoughts racing through your mind afterward that you honestly couldn’t remember now. 

You’d asked him about his treatment toward you. He’d insinuated that he’d done it because he liked you and…you were going to imply you felt something for him, but were worried he saw you as just a sex toy.

You have half-a-mind to feign ignorance; that you’d forgotten, but you reach for the bottle again and take a long drink, swallowing multiple times, head beginning to feel light when you lower it down to your lap.

You smile to yourself and Billy only feels mild surprise that the liquor is working so quickly on you. With him having a good bit more body weight—not to mention tolerance—it would take him a few more drinks yet. 

You look up to him, caressing the glass bottle. “I think you were right.”

He raises a brow, making a beckoning motion with his finger for the bottle and you hand it to him. “Oh, yeah? What about?”

“Me being attracted to you.” Your words already sound a bit slurred.

He’s not taken aback in the slightest by your admittance. He was aware of your physical attraction awhile ago. Knew you were too, even if you didn’t want to admit it—or, rather, wanted to try and bury it. 

He drinks. “Read you like a book weeks ago on that, honey.”

You balk. “Weeks?” You’d not liked him back in Hawkins. Not in the least. Not his leather jacket or stupid car or dumb smirk. Not his deep voice or pretty eyes or swagger.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t humor yourself.”

He drinks again. "No?"

You stare at him for a moment and he smirks, thinking. He has an idea, but chooses to hold off for the moment being. He won't make this just another opportunity for him to try at getting in your pants. He's done enough damage to whatever was tentatively starting to grow between the two of you. He fears he's nearly killed it altogether.

This is him trying to dial it back.

You don't respond, instead reaching out for the bottle and he gives it to you. You drink, and then giggle lightly, and his lip twitches at the sound.

"So, the hell happened this morning when you started acting like a sour-puss all of a sudden?"

You look down at the bottle, tracing your finger along the comforter beneath you. You suddenly realize he's right about the whole liquid courage thing when you look up at him and suddenly don't feel so afraid anymore. "You make me feel safe sometimes. You've...done a lot for me. Even if you almost put a hole in my head..."

His jaw feathers. "I wouldn't have done it. Should've never raised a hand to you in the first place." He's quiet for a few seconds, then, "So I make you feel safe, huh?"

That was a first for him. The only person he ever had any responsibility in looking out for previously was Max, and he knew he scared the shit out of her. Not that he didn't do so on purpose at least half the time. They couldn't stand each other. He never pretended otherwise.

You pull the bottle into your lap and he licks his lips as you make a fist around the neck of it. "Mm, yeah."

"How's that?" He asks, unbuttoning his shirt halfway.

Your cheeks grow warm and you lower the bottle between your legs where a pulse is beginning to form. "I don't know. It's just the whole package, I guess."

Unable to help himself, he smirks before giving his reply. "You like my package, sweetheart?"

You groan, rolling your eyes, flopping back on the mattress, feet still planted atop it, knees bent.

He glances between your spread legs, growing hard.

You stare up at the ceiling. You're not drunk yet. And so you choose to revert back to more serious topics while you're still able to think straight.

"You said at the diner I could ask you questions. I still had four to go."

His eyes trail over your pert breasts. "How about we make things a bit more interesting?"

You lull your head to the side, looking at him, his shirt now fully undone. "How?"

His lip twitches, eyes growing dark. "I answer, but once I have, you have to remove a piece of clothing."

You roll your eyes back to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.

He laughs.

"Only if I get to choose what item."

His eyes widen. "Wait, really? You'll do it?"

You shrug. "If it's the only way."

"What's your first question, doll?"

You consider what you want to know the most about him. What best to start with. "Tell me about your mom."

He considers whether seeing you undressed is really all that important to him now. "Take another drink."

Maybe if he can get you plastered, you won't remember any of this conversation come morning.

Not understanding why he wants you to, you sit up a bit, swallowing another sip, then lie back down.

He reaches forward, taking the bottle from you and taking multiple pulls before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "She..." His brow twitches as he imagines her on that beach, watching him in the water, a loving look in her eyes. "She tried with him. But I guess, like you, there was only so much she could take." He's unsure whether he's referring to the situation with your dad, or the other night on the interstate. "He was always fighting with her—accusing her of cheating and shit, not that I'd blame her—hitting her, pushing her around. I guess one day she'd had enough and hit the road. Maybe she just forgot me. Or didn't want me anymore. Maybe she only saw him when she looked at me. Who the fuck knows? She got out, I didn't. Until now. End of story."

You look at him and see that he's now staring up at the ceiling, his eyes a bit bloodshot, nose red. You want to reach out and touch him—give him a comforting gesture, but fear it will only make him feel worse. So you instead extend one of your legs, lying it atop his own.

He looks at you then, smirking, and he slides one of his hands along your calf. "So, what piece is comin' off first?"

You wiggle your foot that's currently resting atop his thigh. He shakes his head. "Of course it's something boring."

He slips your sock off, tossing it on the floor, then pauses, looking at you and a wide smile breaks out on his face as he grabs your ankle in one hand and starts tickling your foot with his other.

You squirm, letting out panicked laughs. "S-stop. N-noooo, please, aha!"

He lets up after a minute, hand sliding along your smooth leg again, chuckling to himself. "Three left to go, sweetheart."

For your next question, you tread as lightly as you possibly can. You make your voice light, soft. "You hate your dad for what he's done to you and your mom. For what he is—who. I guess I understand why you're so angry all the time. But why act similarly? Picking on me at school by pulling my hair...and what happened the other night... Is it just because that's the only example you've ever had set of how a man acts?"

He stays quiet, thinking. He begins to massage your foot with both his thumbs. Then, "I haven't been this open—vulnerable—with someone since before my mom left." He glances up to you. "I was ten then."

He looks back down. "I'm a man now. Not some kid. And a man doesn't cry or broadcast his shit to the world. He gets angry and fights back."

"Is that really what you think? That's how your dad—mine—are. Do you think they're real men?"

He stares at you then, hands stilling.

You wonder if he'd ever thought about it like that before. You continue. "You know what they say: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

He smirks. "Oh, I intend to get myself some honey eventually."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?"

"Not if I can help it," he says, taking the bottle and drinking again. "That your way of asking me to be sweet on you, baby?"

You reach for the bottle again, taking a drink yourself, wiggling your other foot.

He pulls your sock off, tossing it next to the other one. He doesn't tickle you this time. "Two more."

You're both thankful and not that he'd only offered you five. Had he done more, you'd be naked before you were done. And you were sure at that point he'd cut the questioning short, neither of you able to concentrate then. But you have so many things to ask—him still a bit of an enigma to you, or, rather, how he works.

You want to ask about his past with surfing, want to know how many girls he's been with—but know that question is far too juvenile and will make your feelings too obvious. You want to ask about his fascination with cars, what his favorite subject in school was, what about rock music appeals to him so much, maybe even ask about his step-sister. Instead, you ask about yourself.

"Why me?"

He begins rubbing your other foot. "Why you what, beautiful?"

That was a new one. And 'princess' earlier.

"You said it yourself the other night: you could've had any girl you wanted at Hawkins. I mean, I saw the way they all looked at you. So why me?"

He shrugs. "Like you said earlier, I guess it's just 'the whole package'."

You shake your head. "Try again, James Dean."

He laughs then, resting his head back, fighting the smirk on his lips. The last thing he needs is you thinking you're funny and it going to your head.

He looks down at you, the expression on his face now soft. "I only had eyes for you since day one, baby. There was just somethin' about you, I guess. Honestly, I think it was the fact you never tried to get my attention." He smirks. "Every man likes a chase. And I'll be damned if you haven't given me one. A few times."

He thinks about chasing you down on the interstate the other night.

"What about Angie?"

He raises a brow. "Were you jealous?"

You don't respond, just continue looking at him.

He shrugs. "It was what it was. I just did it to piss you off. Try to, at least. But once I had her in the backseat and we got down to business, there was only one girl on my mind, and it sure as hell wasn't her."

You blame your sudden sense of dizziness on the alcohol. "Oh."

"That surprise you?"

"Yes." You reach for the bottle and he hands it to you, your fingers brushing against one another as you take a few gulps. Your head really starts to spin then.

He leans forward, running his hand up your thigh. "Time to take something else off, darlin'."

You hand him the bottle, and with nervous hands, reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off, balling it up and tossing it at him.

"Now we're talkin'," he says, throwing your shirt across the room.

You shrug. "You already saw me in a bathing suit."

He smirks. "Context, doll."

His eyes glance down to your shorts. "Last one."

You're silent, for a long while, Billy taking a few sips from the bottle.

And then you speak.

"When we get to California...what happens?"

"I've been thinking about getting back into surfing again. I used to be really good at it. But that was almost a decade ago now. Might take a bit of practice to get back to where I was on the board." He shrugs. "Maybe I start competing and do odd jobs on the side until I maybe make it into something full-time."

You stay quiet.

"But that's not really what you're asking, is it?" He says.

You look at him.

"You're asking what happens to us when we get there."

You look at the wall. "No, I wasn't."

He clicks his tongue. "Thought we were being honest tonight."

You don't say anything, nor do you look at him.

His lip twitches. "You could always be my own personal cheerleader."

You look at him. "Would you even want that?"

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."

A small smile comes onto your lips. "What's my rate-of-pay?"

His brow raises. "How about I just pay you in sexual favors? Your uniform will be covered."

Your face heats, remembering that comment. Stupid girl.

"Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about that, by the way."

"You wouldn't, would you?"

"No way in hell." He states matter-of-factly.

He then leans over you and reaches down, unbuttoning your jean shorts, slowly easing down the zipper and when you feel your body's reaction to it—rather, the reaction it's been having to him for awhile now—you desperately don't want him to pull them down. But a deal is a deal. And you know he won't be letting you out of this one either.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and begins tugging them down your hips, sliding them off of your legs and he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tosses them to the side.

And then he looks down and your face feels like it's boiling when his eyes grow wide at the sight before him.

He looks up to you then, removing his eyes from your panties that're now soaked through and sticking to you.

And for the first time in all the while you've known him, he's speechless.

But you are as well. So you simply push your thighs together, drawing your feet toward you.

He then shakes his head, letting out a low curse. "I should've let you ask more questions."

Once the two of you have showered and are in bed for the night—you'd gotten delivery for the night, Billy refusing to let you put your clothes back on all the while as you ate, and you pretending not to see his erection the entire time—you lied down in bed.

In truth, Billy had gotten off in the shower after your little drinking game—unable to think of anything else but the lovely sight between your legs, all for and from him. He'd not been quiet when he came, either. And when he emerged naked, going to lay down, he'd noticed a wet spot on the seat you got up from as you silently went to bathe.

It'd taken some time for him to calm down enough to sleep. His mind and body both, wondering if he shouldn't have taken a cold shower instead.

You, however, lied awake next to him, your own body still on fire, head still swimming, replaying the sight of him removing your shorts over and over again. The look in his eyes, his fingers pulling down the zipper, the veins in his hands as he gently yanked them off of you, curls falling over his shoulders, the scent of his cologne. The sight of him coming naked out of the bathroom. The sound of him orgasming in the shower.

You feel dampness in your panties again and you glance to him, still fast asleep. You then make what may very-well be a stupid decision and slip your hand beneath the waistband of them and begin to circle your clit with your fingers and your body jerks in response. You honestly couldn't remember the last time you'd not only touched yourself, but felt turned-on in general.

Living in that house with him...it killed all sense of hope and happiness and normality for you.

You look to Billy, your eyes trailing down his bare muscled chest, to his waist—his privates the only part of him that's covered, and barely at that, with a top sheet—and you slide your fingers between your wet folds and bite your lip.

You glance to his face, his lips, and circle your clit again, closing your eyes.

You spread your legs the least bit wider, closing your eyes, softly panting as you cup one of your breasts in your free hand.

Billy had been just on the verge of sleep when he'd heard you whimper beside him. His first thought had been that you were having a nightmare—stomach dropping at the thought of it being about him, about the other night—and then freezes when he looks at you and sees you touching yourself.

Your hand is in your panties, your other touching your breast, your lips slightly parted as you quietly moan.

His erection quickly returns to him then and he slowly turns onto his side. "You need a hand with that, baby?"

Your ministrations cease immediately, your eyes shooting open and head jerking to the right, looking at him. You open your mouth to reply and at first nothing comes out. Then, "I-I'm sorry."

He raises a brow, moving closer to you, erection brushing against your thigh. "For what, darlin'?"

You stare up at him.

"So, do you? Maybe I should just call in that offer for a sexual favor now. What do you think?"

You feel like your brain is suddenly misfiring as you actually consider saying yes. It's the alcohol. You're not thinking clearly. Not as you usually would without it in your system. But the thought of him touching you like that... It ignited something in you just when he looked at you.

He props himself up on his left forearm, his right hand coming to rest atop your stomach, then slowly moving lower and lower, his eyes trained on yours all the while.

Once his hand is just above the waist of your panties, you slowly pull your own hand out, resting it beside you, your heart now pounding.

He takes that as permission and slips his own between your legs, looking down.

"Fuck," he swears, looking back to you. "Are you always this wet?"

You consider telling him 'only with you', knowing that would most certainly get you a reaction. "S-sometimes."

His fingers explore between your hot folds, erection coming to settle atop your right thigh. It's only then you realize just how lengthy he truly is.

You turn more onto your right side, facing him and he slowly slips one finger inside of you, groaning at the tight feel, the slick sensation of you.

He then slowly—very slowly—leans down, pressing his lips gently to your own. And you let him this time. You kiss him back. And his heart fucking jumps.

Something it's never done with a girl before. The last time it had? The first time he set eyes on you in the parking lot at school as you walked inside. He'd known right then and there it was over for him.

He eases another finger into you and circles your clit with his thumb and you gasp against his mouth, then wrap your left arm around his neck, pulling your body against his own, and you begin to kiss him more fervently.

He circles that sensitive bundle again and again and slips his tongue in your mouth and you whimper, your own coming to dance with his.

He arches his strong fingers upward and you pull away, sighing, your lips brushing against his own.

"That feel good, honey?"

You nod, crushing your lips back to his own.

He massages that ledge inside of you and your body shudders and he smirks, continuing to kiss you, barely believing this is finally happening. That he's getting to touch you like this and you're allowing him to—enjoying it.

The entire time he'd been at the drive-in with Angela, all he'd been able to think about was you and Harrington in his car doing what he was doing with her.

What if he was your first time? What if you fell for him? What if he made you his instead? What if he lost any chance with you for good while Steve became your whole fucking world?

And for the first time, while having sex, he'd nearly been unable to finish. So, he'd closed his eyes, flipping her over, imaging it was you. And he'd finished almost-instantly then. Had damn-near yelled your name as he filled his condom.

And when he came back to reality, his erection had softened quickly as he pulled out and away from her, wanting—wishing—for someone else instead.

You'd never know the relief he'd felt—utter fucking joy—when you'd let it slip that you were a virgin, that you didn't even like Harrington like that.

And then he'd felt secure in knowing he didn't have any competition. Not for the moment being. You could still be his.

He moves his lips to your neck and you ease your head back, whimpering at the feeling of him licking and kissing and gently biting your hot sensitive skin. He then trails wet kisses to your ear and speaks lowly into it—you clenching around him when he does.

"When you come, sweetheart, I want you to fucking scream my name. I want half this damn place to hear it." He crushes his lips back to your own, tongue flicking against yours and you spread your legs wider, his fingers diving deeper.

Just as his arm begins to grow tired, your body jerks, your pants becoming more frequent, harder.

"That's it, baby, come for me. C'mon, sweetheart, you're almost there."

You begin to rock your hips against his hand, whimpering at the feel, clit growing more and more sensitive.

"Mm, please." You look up to him, kissing him again. Then, "Ah, right there."

His fingers work rapidly, rubbing and plunging in and out of you, your body responding accordingly.

Both of you are sweating now, panting, hearts pounding. His excitement grows knowing he'll be the first man to give you an orgasm. That he's the first to have his hand between your legs. The first for, well, a lot of things. And even more to come, he hopes.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breaths coming in shallow gasps and he knows he has you right on the edge. "C'mon, baby. C'mon, fuckin' come for me. That's it."

And then, "Billy! Ah, mm." You practically scream his name as you finish, your walls clenching rapidly around him, his callused hand now soaked in you.

He chuckles excitedly. "That's my fuckin' girl," he says between satisfied laughs, fingers still plunging away between your legs, until your hand comes down to grip his wrist, his movements ceasing.

He slips his fingers out of you, resting his forearm atop his naked hip as he looks down at you and you up at him from under hooded lids, lips swollen, face flushed, hair messy, the look on your face that of satisfaction.

"Thank you," you say shyly.

He presses a long kiss to your lips, then brushes some hair behind your ear. "No, thank you."

And then you do something unexpected: you take his throbbing erection in your hand and stroke him once, then twice.

He looks down, then back up to you. "Yeah?" He asks, brow raised, wondering if maybe you're just curious about touching him there after feeling it pressed against you so many times.

And then you nod, stroking a few more times.

He then wraps his fist around yours. "A bit tighter, baby. Yeah, no, tighter. You're not going to hurt me, sweetie." Then, "Fuck, that's fuckin' perfect. Just like that, angel."

You press your lips back to his, kissing him more softly this time, until his left arm snakes under your neck, gripping the back of your head, tugging at your hair and he devours your lips with his own. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him again, then slides down your thigh, lifting it onto his waist while you continue stroking away.

He squeezes your ass-cheek, then gives it a light slap, slipping his hand under your panties, keeping his hand there, squeezing and massaging as you continue to get him off.

Your strokes are a bit sloppy, and unsure, but he ignores that, just enjoying the feeling of being in your grip, of you bothering to return the favor. He then reaches down, pushing your t-shirt up and it's only then that he notices you're wearing one of his—the front design the cover of Def Leppard's Pyromania album. It only turns him on all the more.

Once your breasts are visible, he cranes his neck down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, then rolling it between his teeth and you moan his name.

He trails his tongue along your chest, taking your other nipple in his mouth, precum dripping onto your hand.

He begins kissing upwards, to your neck, then back down again. God, he's never felt this fucking turned-on before.

His cock twitches in your hand, then does it again and he knows he's close. He should've gotten up and grabbed a towel, but it would've risked ruining the moment.

His hips jerk, sliding through your grip, and then he calms. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to your own, his right hand cupping your cheek now. "I'm so fuckin' close, baby. I'm about to cum. Fuck, keep going. Jesus Christ."

You begin to stroke faster and faster, and then he pushes you onto your back, taking himself in his hand as he comes all over your stomach in hot sticky spurts, groaning all the while, hips bucking, wishing he was doing this between your legs instead.

Once he's calmed—his cock softening—does he lie down for a moment next to you, trying to catch his breath. He then smiles up at the ceiling and starts to laugh.

You look at him and he swings his arms over his stomach. "Woo! Fuck yeah, baby!"

He looks at you, then leans over you again, kissing you, tongue licking your lips, dancing against your own. And then he pulls back, smiling down at you, curls hanging down, framing his face, and he flashes you a smile, showing his brilliant white teeth. "I'll go grab you a towel, sweetheart."

You nod, smiling yourself, pecking him on the lips.

You watch as he walks to the bathroom and he smirks, feeling your eyes on his ass.

You hear the sound of water, him washing up quickly, and then he returns with a damp towel and begins to wipe you down.

He then tosses the towel on the floor and climbs on top of you, resting his forearms on your breasts and his chin atop his arms, looking up at you. "God, that was fuckin' perfect."

You smile. "So I did a good job?"

You'd been afraid he would've eventually gotten bored, or tired of how long things were taking, but he'd not complained once.

He then scoots higher, resting on his right forearm, left hand smoothing hair away from your face as he hovers over you. "Yeah, baby, you did."

He kisses you again, then scoots back down a bit, resting his cheek between your breasts and your arms come to wrap around his warm shoulders. And then you move your hands higher, tangling in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

And he falls asleep in your arms.

[ebbaskz]

needy!jisung messages (m, f)

pairing : han jisung x reader (y/n)

content : explicit 18+, sexting, horny!jisung, skz away on tour, teasing reader, nudes sent, audio messages, kinda subby!jisung, also a cute little mutual appreciation at the end

includes : 3 ss and a written portion

You are already rubbing your thighs together in an attempt to gain any sort of friction on them. Jisung being away on tour just made him more needy then your boyfriend already was when he was home. You couldn’t lie though, it was so hot to see him bothered like this. Teasing him along with it was just apart of your own fun.

You click on the audio message as soon as it is sent, and a quick second of silence is heard before the rhythmic thwacking of what you can assume to be Jisung frantically chasing after his high.

“Baby- fuck. Baby I can’t with you. Sending me pictures like that-“

A shallow gasp is heard at the break in his words, making you giddy as you imagine him playing with his slit in the way that you do when he’s needy like this.

“I love the way you play with me, love. I need to be home as soon as possible. I don’t think i can wait another week to finally have your tight pussy wrapped around me again…”

You clench at the thought, suddenly becoming insanely aware of the emptiness that’s inside of you, pushing you to reach your hands further down into your pants to play with yourself at the sound of your boyfriends erotic moans and whimpers.

The thwacking continues as Jisung stops speaking for a moment, just breathing and whimpering so loudly into the microphone of his phone that you genuinely shiver, remembering every time that he has breathed down your neck, practically sobbing out his words, as he works harder to finally cum inside of you.

“Baby I can’t hold it in anymore. Please tell me you will cum with me, y/n. My baby- Please- fuck-“

His words stop being understandable as he whimpers out a high pitch moan that ultimately sends you over your edge, reaching your free hand up to cover your mouth in an attempt of not trying to wake up your entire apartment floor.

After his break in silence, a quick rustling of the bed sheets is heard over the voice message, reminding you of the fact that he was still recording as you blearily come down from your high.

“Y/n… I’m so in love with you, baby… Have a good sleep, my love… I’ll see you soon.”

And you are suddenly a teenager in love, kicking your feet and smiling like an absolute child. The butterflies have never felt stronger. You already knew that Jisung was in love with you, but it never felt any less significant as he continued to say it.

You quickly hustle to write back a response, hoping that he would still be awake after the time you spent listening to his voice memo.

a/n : HEY POOKS! first time writing anything moderately explicit. i hope this jisung gets more recognition because i NEED a pookie jisung like this ☹️☹️ this did turn out pretty well i’d say, lmk if anyone has any more requests! - eb

[deadbeat-motel]

ᗪᗰ!ᗩᑎGEᒪᗪᑌᔕT ᒪOᖇE ᗩᑎᗪ TᖇIᐯIᗩ

Deadbeat Motel's Angel Dust Lore under the cut. (If you squint hard enough, you can see Vaggie and Charlie's rough design too.)

ᒪOᖇE

Angel Dust was never the best mafia member of his own family. He was too weak-hearted to deal with the types of people who made their home within the seedy world of crime. He was no good with taking a man's life nor was he any good with commanding the goons their family had, so his father had kept him trafficking drugs to be somewhat useful for the family. Angel Dust was happy about that, It was far from being in danger, and if he was careful enough, he would be able to have drugs from the stash he's supposed to be giving out to their clients.

One night, however, while high on PCP, a drug deal he and his brother were on had gone bad because their client finally got wise to Angel's stealing. A gunfight broke out killing men on both sides of the deal. AngelDust, while high on drugs, had killed someone in the middle of it, and he was still reeling from the shock of it when his high came down. His brother punched him in the face causing a black eye and told him how incredibly fucked they are because of what he's done. It was revealed that this drug deal was a way for their group to make peace with one another and killing those goons in that room had doomed the family to a Turf War they were not that prepared for. Going to his father to attempt to apologize had only gotten him killed in his father's rage.

AngelDust wakes up to Hell with a body he was surprised to like (despite his family being homophobic and possibly also misogynistic and transphobic). He's surprised to know how common and easy to find drugs are in this new place he's in but quickly finds out he's broke and unable to find a job because of how unused to his own body he is. His first few weeks in hell have been rough until he realizes he can utilize how this body works to his advantage. Many men and women lined up to want a piece of him and they paid good money too. Plus if they ever tried to hurt him, well this body showed him it's more than capable of keeping him safe. He actually did enjoy sex work more than his work as a former mafia member.

Everything went to shit when Valentino found him, he thought he was just another client who frequented him often and paid big money. When presented with a contract to work with him, he accepted since it looked as if the only thing he was asking for was to be his employee. However, as soon as he signed, hidden words started to reveal themselves on the paper. It turned out, he wanted more than what he was letting on. Val was a new Overlord and he's been slowly gaining the reputation that he has today and unfortunately Angel Dust had been duped by this demon. he just hadn't shown him his true colors back then to lower his guard around him.

Angel Dust has tried to fight Val before but nothing good came out of it. He wouldn't be able to do much about him if the contract was still in effect. He even lost the mandibles on his mouth because he had bitten Valentino reflexively one time. For 2-3 decades (might be subjected to change) he's had to deal with Val's abuse of him All optimism has dried out, and he's been living and coping with despair.

Angel Dust learns of the Motel and checks in mainly to get away from Val (He constantly moves places and doesn't feel safe in his previous apartment as Val has found him once again). He doesn't take the entire point of the motel seriously because he'll be gone within a month or two. After all, that's how often Val found him and sure enough, he did find him. Val starts talking like he owns the place, starts threatening everyone, and even attempts to control Valerie and Charlie when they confront him about what he's doing to Angel Dust. They of course are unaffected because of their angelic natures and Valerie absolutely thrashed the unliving shit out of Val. But before she can kill him, Val brings up the fact that if she kills him he will kill Angel Dust, taking him and the other hundred souls he has under his contract. With Angel Dust's and the other hundreds of souls' lives on the line, they had to concede and let him live, but not without warning him that if Angel Dust dies because of him, both women are going to make sure he begs for a second death.. This of course is not a big change for Angel Dust, but he's glad he can keep crashing at this motel knowing that Val won't dare come into this place if he wanted all his limbs attached to his body.

Angel Dust has become a permanent resident of the motel.

TᖇIᐯIᗩ:

Angel Dust frequented more LGBT-friendly speakeasies before he died (considering OG Angel Dust's family was homophobic iirc) and while he didn't participate in "pansy shows". He did want to join them.

Angel dust can produce webbing and uses it to slow down his pursuers. They've got a really strong grip on anything that touches it.

As a last resort, Angel Dust uses his webbing whips. They're non-lethal (At least I think so) since he mainly uses its sticky factor. They're good at disarming enemies who have guns from far away, especially since Angel Dust is creative with his uses of it.

Angel Dust used to have sharp teeth but had them forcibly flattened because Val was tired of the fact he's been nicked by those teeth of his multiple times.

The motel is actually the first place in a while he's stayed in for a year. Angel Dust has been able to make his room more comfortable for him and has his own stash of knick-knacks on display.

He is never seen front-facing. The view in front of Angel's face is treated like Phineas' front-facing view. Never allowed to be seen other than in smear frames.

A running joke for me is how everyone has no idea how a Spider's anatomy even works (I don't either).

Yeah, he'd still be shipped with Husk but I'm not having Husk call him a loser because my blood would boil, plus I'm changing their dynamic but I'll get into that when Husk is finished.

A big plot point for Angel Dust would be that he gets to kill Val with the aid of Valerie/Husk or the both of them and that while he'll be free of his abuser, it has screwed over his ticket out of hell in the eyes of heaven. However, it was able to spark a debate within Heaven's court... should the rules be so strict that they would punish a victim that finally fought back against his own abuser? (It's not that deep but it's a start at least rather than "You don't know what gets people into heaven?")

Currently unsure as to how Cherri Bomb would fit into his story but I might be able to figure it out later when I get to her redesign

I think that's all for now? This may be subjected to change at some point in time, but ask me anything about this version of AngelDust

[watermelonlovershigh]

The Diaper Blowout👶🚼

AN: this idea came out of nowhere but when i thought of it i started writing it imidiantly. i love some good dadrry so i hope you do too. don't forget to share your feedback. thx.

This story contains: VERY poopy diaper, mentions of throw up, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - Rayne is two weeks old - au harry }

word count- 1,590

Your two week old daughter wakes up in the middle of the night with her first diaper blowout and when Harry realizes the situation is much bigger than he can handle alone, he resorts to waking you up for some help.

You and Harry just welcomed your little baby girl, Rayne, two weeks ago into this world. The labor process was one you'd rather forget but after seeing your little bundle of joy for the first time, you knew you'd do it a million times over just to have your baby.

Rayne makes you both first time parents but honestly Harry and yourself read every parenting book under the sun and went to every parenting class that when she was born everything came so natural to you.

Every cry and ounce of discomfort she lets out does of course cause anxiety to fill you, but luckily once she's in one of your arms, Rayne's little body relaxes and she knows everything is going to be alright now that one of her parents are holding her.

One thing you knew you'd expect after Rayne was born was how amazing Harry would be at fathering your baby girl. He was so attentive during your entire pregnancy process and now two weeks after she was born, it's still the same attentive man but ten times more.

Harry has always wanted to be a dad so you making him one was the best gift anyone has ever gave to him. He's eternally grateful for you in that aspect. Seeing Rayne be born and hearing her first cry into this world made him sob so loud in the delivery room that it startled all the nurses who was present.

Now just because you love being parents doesn't mean it's not hard. It's very hard at times. The lack of sleep. The sore boobs after not feeding or pumping for a few hours. The raw nipples from feeding so frequently that no one warns you about. But luckily Rayne is a pretty well behaved baby so you are grateful for that.

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

It's two in the morning when the wailing cry from Rayne's nursery jolts Harry awake. He was never the heaviest sleeper before she was born but now he's an even lighter sleeper. Not wanting to disturb you, he gets out of bed and assumes he can handle the situation himself. Feeling confident he's a pro at this dad thing.

If she's hungry there was pre pumped breast milk in the freezer he could feed her. If she just wanted a cuddle he could give her some of those because he likes to think of himself as a professional cuddler, though you're the one who gave him that title.

As quickly as possible, Harry pads his feet in the dark until he reaches the hallway and rushes over to the baby's nursery down the hall. When he finally makes it, he flips the light switch on and moves swiftly over to her crib. "Hey," Harry coos in his soft baby voice, "what's the matter, little love? Huh?"

Once Harry is right in front of the crib, he goes to lift the small baby up to hold her and asses what could have her crying so hard in the middle of the night when all of the sudden he sees, and rather smells the issue instantly. Poop. Everywhere. Well luckily not near her hands or face but it's leaked out of her diaper and got on her sheets. Rayne had her first diaper blowout.

Now Harry would like to say that after becoming a husband and a father that his stomach is made of steal but that's just not the case. He can handle a little throw up from time to time and has changed Rayne's diapers several times. But none smelled and looked this bad. It has him holding down gags.

Being the good dad he is though, Harry pushes through his own weak stomach and grabs an extra baby blanket to wrap around her small body and lift her out of the crib. Then he scrambles to think of what to do. He really didn't want to wake you up but this is far too much for him to handle on his own.

He shushes Rayne in his hold while making his way back into your bedroom. Harry turns on the lamp and nudges your shoulder gently. "Love, Y/N, wake up f'me."

Thinking the worst, you jolt awake and sit up quickly. "What, what, is everything okay? Is the baby okay?"

Trying not to let a giggle out at the situation in hand, Harry replies, "Yeah, well I think everythin' is okay. Or will be okay but I need your help. Little miss Rayne shit everywhere and I don't know what to do. It's leaking out her nappy and got on her sheets."

Though you are concerned about your baby's tummy troubles, you can't help but laugh out loud. Harry looks so stressed which isn't inherently funny but the way you can tell he's trying not to throw up at the thought of the diaper blowout is hilarious. And the fact he had to wake you up.

"Don't laugh at me!" Harry retorts, not really mad because he has a small smile trying to peek out over his fake frown.

"Alright, it's gonna be okay. Help strip her clothes off and yours as well and I'll help you wash her in the shower." you respond as its the only solution to the problem right now. Harry carries her to your bathroom and begins to peel away the soiled blanket and her soiled onesie. Then he takes her diaper off to throw it in the trash can beside the toilet.

"You think I should shower with her naked?" Harry asks.

You reach in the shower to get the water going and the temperature just right before answering, "Yes H, she's two weeks old. She's not gonna remember seeing her dad naked. You'll get shit on her boxers otherwise."

With that, Harry holds a dirty and naked Rayne with one hand and his other hand reaches down to slide off his underwear. When you confirm the water is just perfect for a newborn, he steps in the shower with her cradled to his chest and allows you to instruct further instructions.

"Okay I'm not getting in but I'll hand you the soaps and stuff. First rinse her off with the water. The pressure shouldn't bother her. Just don't get it in her face." Harry does as told and carefully turns to face the shower head and allow the water to rinse off any poop she still had on hers and his skin. He even turns Rayne around in his hold to get her front really well rinsed.

You grab her baby soap and apply some to a soft cloth before handing it to your husband. "Here, now gently wash her bottom off. But start from the front to back so she doesn't get a UTI, please."

Though Harry already knew how to safely wash a baby girl he listened to you anyways. He takes the soapy cloth from you and while one arm cradles Rayne to his chest facing forward, the other hand very gently wipes over her vagina, making sure no poop got on the area. Then he hands the cloth back to you so he can turn her around in his hold.

While he washes over her bum area, Rayne just now starts to cry. She had been handling the shower really well up until now. "Oh, shush. It's okay. Daddy's got you." Harry coos to the small baby in his arms. As you stand on the outside of the shower doors all you can think about is how much you love them both so much. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Harry looks over to you and says, "All done. Take her from me while I wash up quickly."

"Yeah, of course. Let me grab Rayne's baby towel." You get a towel from the stack of towels specifically for your newborn and walk back over to the shower where Harry leans out the shower doors and carefully places her in your arms.

While you began to dry off your small, crying baby, Harry bathes himself off. Some poop did transfer onto him and he wants to make sure it's all gone and he's clean before going back to sleep for the night.

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

Once Harry is all clean and dry and he's put on a fresh pair of briefs you'd laid out for him, he walks back into the bedroom to see you sat up in bed, half asleep, with Rayne feeding from your right boob. The sight makes Harry feel all warm inside. The people he loves the most just looks so comfy and safe.

Harry rolls the bassinet over to his side of the bed and when Rayne is done feeding and you burp her, he places her inside to finish her sleep for the night. Her bed still had shit on it and that's something neither of you have the energy to deal with tonight. When he's made sure she's all nice and cozy in her bassinet, Harry climbs back into bed beside you and you instantly crawl over to cuddle into him.

Once the bedside lamp is off and the covers are over you both snuggly, you whisper, "Love you. Thank you for helping with Rayne tonight. She has the best daddy in the world."

Harry whispers back, "Love you too, baby. And you're welcome. She means the world to me and I'd do anything for her. And you too, you know. Night, night. Sweet dreams." With that, you're both off to slumberland until Rayne wakes up again three hours later....

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 2/3 (here is part 1)

picking up from where we left off:

some 65 years into the future, steve's plane is fished out of the ice, and they find him, frozen like a sexy hot-dayum popsicle, but still alive thanks to the same super serum that made him go from Smol to Lorge.

steve is thus brought back into the world, but it's a world he no longer recognizes after all these years; a world where all the people he used to know and love are long dead, and his own face has been turned into a tool for propaganda over the years. obviously, he has a hard time adjusting, and he turns to fighting again, joining this group of kinda possibly superheroes, aka the avengers.

lots of exciting new things happen, sure; but steve is still pretty miserable. until one day, a mysterious masked assassin dressed in bondage gear (but not really), and sporting one very shiny metal arm (!!!!), is sent to kill steve's sort-of-boss. and then to kill steve himself. oh no!!

in what is possibly the most gripping, most visually pleasing hand-to-hand fight sequence in the history of cinema,

(NO BUT SERIOUSLY, all jokes aside, if you've never watched it then please do bc it's!!! *shrieks* so fucking good!!!)

a fight sequence which also happened to unlock both steve's and an entire fandom's competence kink with that little sexy knife-flipping trick alone -- i know you know what i'm talking about, don't you lie to me babes--

as i was saying, steve manages to knock the mask off of his opponent's face. and who do you think appears before him? can you guess??

DING DING DING!!! EXACTLY!!! IT'S HIS LONG-LOST BAE BUCKY! who apparently doesn't recognize him??

confused and upset, steve fights to uncover the truth. turns out, the man is indeed the very same bucky he grew up with and loved. only, he didn't actually die in that tragic fall in the ravine; rather, due to the experiments performed on him while he was a war prisoner, he survived long enough to be found and captured by the enemy. who then proceeded to torture and brainwash him, using him as a tool for murder against his will, and literally putting him back in the freezer when they didn't need him.

which, as it happens, is how he stayed so young in the first place: he, uh, spent the better part of 70 years frozen. yeaaah, are the parallels paralleling or what, hmmmm?? preserved in ice like your mom's best lasagna from last week? plunging to a 'death' that isn't really a death? waking up in the future kinda screwed over? :D

ANYWAY

steve is even more devastated than before, now that he's learned that while he was asleep in the ocean, bucky was out there suffering. when he finally confronts bucky again (and it's fucking epic and also fucking heartbreaking, believe you me) steve is desperate to bring bucky, his bucky, back. knowing in his heart that his bae is still somewhere in there, no matter how deeply buried.

in the most critical moment(TM), steve chooses to stay behind, on a plane that's about to fucking blow up around them - just like bucky did for him all those years ago - because if he can't save bucky, then he'd rather die with him.

only, bucky is scared and confused af at the moment, and he attacks steve, because 1) he has a mission after all, he's supposed to kill this guy dammit, and 2) wtf is even going on here??? who IS this man, WHY does he keep saying that they've known each other their whole lives?? and WHY does bucky feel like he's actually seen him somewhere else before?????

AND HERE IS THE PIVOTAL MOMENT OF ALL PIVOTAL MOMENTS: for the first time in his life, steve refuses to fight back. like he literally drops his shield out of the plane and into the river underneath, in a very powerful and symbolic gesture, signifying his surrender: he's not going to hurt bucky anymore, no matter what. THIS FUCKER LITERALLY LETS BUCKY BEAT HIM TO A PULP, WITHOUT EVEN TRYING TO DEFEND HIMSELF, 100% ready to let bucky kill him if that's what's gonna happen here, because that's still better than living in a world where bucky's gone - a world where bucky will look at him and only see a target, or a stranger at best.

and then!!!!

no this is like, this is THE most romantic shit, okay, like you could try to convince me that it isn't for the next hundred years and i wouldn't buy it, because. BECAUSE.

at the very last moment, steve finally manages to break through bucky's brainwashing, breaking the metaphorical spell bucky was under. and do you know how he does that? i ask you, do you know how steve does that, my love?

by repeating to bucky the very same words bucky offered him way back in the beginning, when he proposed asked steve to move in together. till death do us part the end of the line, baby. romeo could NEVER

bucky, who was about to deal the fatal blow, freezes instantly, finally recognizing the man under him.

and when steve falls out of the plane, bucky jumps after him, instinctively saving his life instead.

but bucky can't stay. confused, wounded, vulnerable, and only just beginning to remember who he used to be and what was done to him, he slips away and hides from steve - and from all the other people who might be looking for him, and probably want him dead. you think this is gonna stop steve, though?? now that he knows that bucky is still alive, and that he remembers him??? now that he knows that bucky's not lost to him forever?? AS IF!!

(to be continued in part 3)

[klausysworld]

Any chance of something With Klaus and reader, where reader is worried about how much time Klaus and Cami spend together, but Klaus plus everyone tells her not to worry. It their anniversary and reader is all ready for the night out that Klaus has planned but Klaus doesn’t show and comes home to find reader asleep on their bed still dressed in her gorgeous dress it then he remembers their anniversary.

You were with Cami

Pt 2

For weeks i had listened to the entire Mikaelson family had been persuading me that Klaus was loyal and would never do anything to harm me.

See he’d been spending the majority of his time with his new friend Camille, i’ve met her a few times and she’s so unbelievably nice. Like she’s polite, smiles, gives her perfect opinions and makes everything laugh. And just to top it off she likes me, decided we should be friends too. We even went out for lunch. She’s lovely. I would want her too. And i hate her for that.

It’s wrong to be mad at her but she must know that she’s some what harming mine and Klaus’s relationship. You can’t be giggling at every little thing he says with your hand on his bicep without knowing that you’re flirting.

One time she kissed his cheek right in front of me, she gave me such a kind smile i would have looked like a dick if i didn’t return it. When i brought it up to Klaus he told me i was being dramatic and needed to ‘calm down’

Somehow i’m not allowed to talk to a single being of the male community but if i get upset over him dancing with a gorgeous blond then i’m being jealous and pathetic. I thought at least Elijah would back me up being the ‘feminist’ he says he is but noooo “Niklaus loves you y/n, you’re imagining things. You’re hid redemption and you can’t be thinking silly things, it will ruin your relationship”

Well bet they weren’t prepared for me storming through the compound in a very expensive body con dress. One i had spent hours choosing so that my own boyfriend or whatever he was meant to be would notice me

See he had asked me to meet him at this restaurant and let me just say it was nice restaurant with a lot of snobs sat in it. Lets imagine the immense embarrassment i felt when i sat waiting at a table for over 4 hours. Thankfully the waiter was sympathetic and felt bad so he gave me some free drinks. I actually ended up having a pretty good chat with him, his fiancé had left him a week before their wedding, i think we both cried a little too much and the people in there did not like us.

Once the place closed i came back to the compound and the second i stepped foot inside it seemed to hit me again. He left me alone, no text, no call, no excuses. I was holding together until the other Mikaelsons came into view and Rebekah just had to mention him

“where’s Nik? i thought you two would’ve been back ages ago”

and i burst into tears. I saw the panic in all their faces as they quickly went to comfort me. Rebekah wrapped her arm around me and Kol took my hand but i shoved both of them off

“no! none of you get to pretend you care anymore, you all knew didn’t you? you knew he was with her, knew he wouldn’t come to be with me because why would he anymore!? And i swear if anyone of you says that i make him a better person i think i might just scream, i am not his redemption and i don’t mean anything to him anymore, your entire family is one big lie, you’re all liars and i hate all of you, i’m staying the night and that’s only because i have drank way too much to be driving but i don’t want any of you saying goodbye because i will be gone by the time you wake up and yes Elijah i know you get up fucking early” half of my words were definitely slurred but i think the message was clear regardless as i made my way upstairs and collapsed on Klaus and i’s bed. The bed that i thought we would both come back to, instead i was cold, alone and drunk.

———————————————————————

(third person)

Klaus had just got home to three nervous siblings. Elijah was pacing the length of the living area while Kol chugged his scotch and Rebekah chewed at her once perfectly manicured nails. Klaus narrowed his eyes as they all froze upon his arrival

“who did something stupid?” he asked with a sigh and Kol hesitantly raised his hand

“don’t dagger me but um i think you did…”

“what?”

“i’d check upstairs if i were you”

and so he did

Klaus turned the light on only to find his love curled up in a beautiful tight dress and a tear stained face. It took him a minute before he finally realised what had happened

“no no no no” he whispered as he lifted her passed out body, the smell of alcohol was strong as he held her in his arms

“oh my love, please forgive me” he uttered as he peppered her face with kisses

“i’m so sorry” he told her despite her unconscious state.

“you look so gorgeous sweetheart, you look like an angel” he whispered rocking her gently

“i’m going to make this all up to you when you wake up, i promise you y/n, i love you so so much” he carefully removed her dress and slipped one of his shirts onto her, he wiped her once flawless makeup off of her face

“i’m so sorry” he repeated continuously while getting her ready, slipping her heels from her feet and taking out her elegantly styled hair before brushing it through and plaiting it for her. He didn’t bother changing his clothes as he got into bed and held her as close to him as he could

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t with you”

“you were with Cami” she tiredly uttered, still pretty much unconscious though that didn’t stop the flow of tears in her sleep. His heart hurt as he heard her broken voice

“i’ll never speak to her again, i’ll never see her again” he promised both her and himself

“i love you” he muttered kissing her lips softly

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

[halfway-happyyy]

california king bed (jake seresin)

AN: the one where jake seresin realizes his selfish tendencies could cost him everything. inspired by this ask. fluff and a dash of smut exist below the cut ♡

warnings include: consensual penetrative vaginal sex, some oddly specific details in here friends, so sorry it's part of my process sometimes, minors DNI.

characters: jake 'hangman' seresin x female reader

Jake Seresin is falling in love with the woman sleeping soundly beside him.

It’s much too early to be contemplating such things, yet despite that, a morning sun bathes her in a pale glow, highlighting the parts of her that no one else gets to see as up-close as he does. A front-row show to the world’s most wondrous woman.

He knows it’s love because everything else he’s ever experienced has paled in comparison to what he feels when he’s with her. Where he had never before bothered to know a woman as intimately as he knows her, he can tell anyone who'll listen what her favourite films are. He can name- with infuriating confidence- the types of flowers she wants to make up her future wedding bouquet, the titles of the tattered paperback westerns her beloved grandfather used to collect, that her socks stay in the laundry basket a full week before she finally summons the strength to put them away. He knows he’s in especially deep because the precarious stack of unread novels next to her side of the bed never ceases to make him smile anytime he catches sight of it.

She shifts then, rousing him from his reverie. Her body is entirely nude save for the white cotton sheet draped over her front. He counts the freckles that scatter her back like constellations, and the urge to reach out and trace them is almost entirely overpowering. He refrains from touching her though, because as much as he wants to wake her, he also wants this moment to himself. In the silence, he can admit that he is on thin ice with her. He knows that the fight they had last night could very well have been one of their last, and he realizes without a shadow of a doubt, that he wants a lifetime more of heated arguments with her. He wants the fights and the makeups; the fucking and the loving, and the life- the good bits and the gory bits. He wants all of it with her.

But she is fine sand and he is the hourglass that encases her and sometimes- like last night, he feels powerless to stop her inevitable departure.

“I worry sometimes that I’m not cut out for relationships.” The alcohol in his veins made his tongue loose- made being honest with her as effortless as breathing.

She laughed, but any humor behind it was frozen inside a block of ice the size of Texas. “So what? The last seven months were a trial run? ‘Let’s see if Jake Seresin can do this… and if he can’t oh, well. Onto the next one’.”

“It’s not like that…”

She folded her arms across her chest in defiance. “Then tell me what it’s like because I care, Jake. I care so much. But if you can’t let me in…” Her expression hardened, as if a shadow passed over it. “If you won’t let me in, I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

He watches the steady rise and fall of her chest in the glowing morning light; watches her eyes dance beneath veined lids, wonders briefly what kind of dream she’s having and if it’s as lovely as she looks right now. He gazes at her a little while longer; wants to memorize every miniscule detail of her face lest she opens her eyes and decides she’s finished with it all. But her eyes do slide open a little while later, her pupils constricting to pinpricks at the sudden onslaught of sunlight. She doesn’t smile at him like she normally does when she greets him in the morning and that rattles him a little if he’s honest.

“I’m sorry for last night.” He offers finally, his voice gruff and heavy from recent sleep.

She watches him, her expression unreadable. “You were just being honest.”

He closes his eyes, wants desperately to get what he’s about to say, right. “I do well on my own. I always have. It's why I choose not to share the sky with anyone, it's certainly why I choose not to involve myself with anyone.” He clears his throat. “I have spent so much of my life thinking I was above loving and being loved back, and for some reason that all went out the damn door with you.”

I have spent so much of my life thinking I was above everything, period.

“Women like me come along once in a lifetime, Jake.” She inches closer to him, her fingertips find the jut of his chin, forcing him to gaze at her. “You know that don’t you?”

He nods his head furtively.

“I realize how close I came to blowing this all up last night. It’s the last thing I want to do.”

The weight of the vulnerability that comes along with that confession feels like it may just crush him if he’s not careful.

Her face hovers mere inches above his; her warm breath as it ghosts over his lips causes him to shiver against her in unabashed anticipation. Bending forward, she captures his lips in a kiss that while languid, is also painted with a dash of scarlet passion. This was what they needed after a night of stifling silence. Knotted bedsheets always offered them a solace not found anywhere else on earth; their bed had a habit of bringing them back together when they strayed too far from one another.

He's already entirely ready for her when she breaks their kiss to straddle his thighs. He can tell she is too by the way her arousal trails down the velvet-soft of her inner thigh, over the head of his cock, and down the underside of his shaft. The sensation of it causes his eyes to roll back in his head as he grips himself firmly in his hand and lines himself up at her entrance.

Placing both hands firmly on his shoulders, she lowers herself onto his impossibly hard cock and begins to ride him slowly, and deeply. She drops her head to the hollow crook of space between his neck and shoulder blade and peppers kisses to the warm skin there.

Jake can barely string together a coherent thought; she’s always taken him so well, but there is an intimacy to this time that causes a lump of emotion to swell inexplicably in the hollow of his throat. His large, deft hands roam the dips and valleys of her back; he feels her muscles bend and flex as she rides him like her life depends on it and being close with her like this after last night, just feels like coming home after a long, exhausting mission.

She pulls away to gaze at him, opens her mouth to say something, but a desperate whimper escapes in place of any actual words. Jake stifles a groan and cups a palm to the apple at her cheek, nodding at her.

“I know, baby. Keep going.”

And she does.

She fucks him until her hips still and Jake feels her spasm around him. His name is a breathless scream on her lips; the electric and all-encompassing heat of her orgasm drives him ever closer to the precipice of his own and Jake wonders briefly if this is what heaven is like.

“It’s too good, baby.” He gasps as she continues to pulse around him, and when she doesn’t immediately stop, his fingernails leave crescent-moon indents in the soft skin of her hips as he tosses his head back and comes into her in thick, hot waves.

She stays connected to him longer than she should, and when she lifts herself off of him, the sudden loss of intimate contact is almost painful. Pressing a kiss his sweat-damp forehead, she disappears for a little while. Her absence is felt long enough that Jake wonders momentarily if she left, but then she enters their room a couple minutes later with a bowl of strawberries which she places on counter next to his side of the bed.

“I love you.”

It has nothing to do with how good she just fucked him, or that she brings him freshly washed strawberries in the mornings, or even that she waits for him while he spends most of his waking moments in the clouds.

He loves her because where everything else in his life is difficult or heavy, loving her is the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“I love you too, you cocky bastard.” Her words are warbled around the strawberry in her mouth, and as she tosses a wink his way, Jake can’t help the hearty guffaw that tumbles from his mouth in happy waves.

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: The 10th Annual Hunger Games begin, and things quickly dissolve into chaos. Bellova grows increasingly furious about Coriolanus’s dedication towards Lucy Gray Baird. When she realizes he has cheated just to keep her alive, she decides to ruin him once and for all.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, death, violence, cursing, overall dark stuff (it’s the Hunger Games franchise so that’s sorta a given)

A/n: I am using a combination of the movie and book version of the events that occur in this chapter. I sort of streamlined the events to make the chapter less boring. Also, I highly recommend listening to “…Ready For It?” and “Look What You Made Me Do” while reading this chapter.

Other than Sejanus throwing a chair at the screen and screaming that everyone in the room was a monster, Lamina killing Marcus in an act of of mercy, and Lucky’s stupid commentary, nothing much had happened yet. 

Bellova was disappointed that her tribute was dead. Not because she cared about her, but because it meant she was missing out on the mentor experience. The thrill of having a say in someone else’s survival seemed quite exciting. 

If she wasn’t so pissed at Coriolanus for his behavior towards Lucy Gray, she would’ve reconsidered his proposal to work together. 

When the day was coming to an end, the majority of Academy students started to leave for their homes. Only a handful remained, consisting mostly of the mentors.

Bellova stifled a yawn, leaning back in her chair. Things has gotten dull, with the tributes doing nothing but finding places to hide from each other. She hoped that Dr. Gaul had something exciting in store for them soon, or people would start switching to Billi Bumble’s horrible comedy channel.

She picked up her Academy satchel and stood up from her seat. She noticed that Coriolanus was still present and slumped over on his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked so peaceful asleep, his long golden lashes fluttering slightly. The light from the ceiling made his light blonde curls glow ethereally.

He looked like an angel. 

Bellova suddenly felt a strong urge to wake him up. She had avoided him for the entire day out of spite, but was starting to miss interacting to him. It was routine, bantering and bickering every day. Not talking felt…weird. And lonely.

She sighed. On rare occasions, she wished she could go back in time and change the way they formed their relationship. Instead of it being based on competition and rivalry, it would be full of support and affection. 

Then, an unpleasant thought hit her. 

He had only stayed so late to ensure nothing happened to Lucy Gray while he was away.

Now utterly furious, she slung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the door. ‘He’s such a pathetic sap,’ she thought. ‘He’s acting like a fool, I really should stop associating myself with him.’ 

But she found herself glancing over her shoulder to look at him one last time. And she knew, deep down, that she’s always come back, no matter how much he pissed her off.

She’d never be able to stay away from him. 

Not for long, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova passed out as soon as she climbed into bed, and didn’t wake until nine hours later. She hadn’t slept well in nearly a week, as she was still recovering from her injuries. This was the first time she was able to achieve an uninterrupted night of sleep since before the bombing.

When one of her maids woke her up, it was already 8:00. Usually Academy classes started promptly at 8:00, but because of the Games, the schedule had been loosened a bit. And Bellova, who didn’t feel like interacting with anyone, was in no rush to arrive on time.

After eating a breakfast of fruit and assorted pastries, she slowly pulled on her uniform. She has always hated the Academy uniforms, but with the right accessories and makeup, she had learned to make it presentable by her standards.

Bellova checked her makeup one last time in the mirror and then headed downstairs to meet her driver at the front of her estate. He opened the passenger’s side door for her as she slid into the seat. 

“How are you this morning, Miss Bellova?” he asked, starting the engine and taking off towards the main road.

“Fine,” she said, leaning against the window. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope that once the Games are over, you can rest up properly.”

She nodded. “That would be nice. As much as I like the Games, they’ve caused quite a lot of stress this year.” 

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly. Everyone was so worried about you when you were hospitalized, your father most of all. I haven’t ever seen him so upset in my twenty years of working for him.” 

Bellova sighed. She and her father, Julio Augustus Reginelle, had a nice relationship. But he was rarely home, for he worked almost ten hours a day and often didn’t come home until Bellova was asleep. She cherished the rare moments she had with him. He had taught her to be proud of her wit and her combative nature, even if it sometimes got her into trouble. 

“You are much more like your father than you realize, Miss Bellova,” her driver said. 

“How so?” she asked.

“You are both kind until someone disrespects you. You are incredibly intelligent just like him, and pursue your goals relentlessly.” He paused for a moment. “And, you seem to have the same disdain for certain other Capitol families.”

Bellova raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Well, he’s not fond of the Cardews, as you know. He thinks they hold too much power for how little work they actually do.”

Bellova laughed. “That’s true.”

“He has never gotten along with the Creed family. He finds them irritating and foolish.”

She smirked. “I’m not surprised. Festus can be insufferable. Who else?”

Her driver sighed. “He despised Crassus Snow.”

Bellova felt her stomach twist. “Really?”

He nodded. “I don’t know exactly why he hated him so passionately, but I’ve heard they were rivals during their Academy days.”

‘I suppose I really do take after him then,’ Bellova thought, remembering her and Coriolanus’s worst arguments. ‘Crassus’s son gets under my skin nearly every day.’

Her driver pulled onto Scholars Road and stopped in front of the Academy’s main building. He stepped out of the car to open the door for her, and she gave him a nod of thanks. 

“I’ll see you later, Miss Bellova,” he said, bowing slightly and getting back into the car to drive off. 

As Bellova walked to the auditorium where the mentors were undoubtedly already at work, she pondered what her driver had said about Crassus Snow and her father. She was eager to know more about their history, but didn’t want to pry too far. Her father had a temper just like her, and she didn’t want to be on the wrong end of it.

When Bellova reached the room and walked through the doors, she immediately noticed three things: one, that Coriolanus looked exhausted and distressed, two, that he has brought his cousin Tigris to watch the Games, and three, that Sejanus was missing. 

She grabbed a spare chair and sat next to Coriolanus. He didn’t greet her or even glance look at her.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asked, looking at the large television screen in front of them. 

He scowled. “I’m not in the mood for your snide remarks, Bellova.”

“Clearly something happened. Either tell me or I’ll figure it out on my own.”

Coriolanus gave her a sharp glare, but sighed in defeat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Satisfied, Bellova turned her attention back to the Games. According to Lucky Flickerman, one tribute, Bobbin, had died overnight. However, there was no footage shown of him perishing. 

Bellova found that awfully suspicious. There was such a lack of action in the arena that the gamemakers would have undoubtedly shown the death of a tribute. 

When Bobbin’s death was announced, she noticed Coriolanus tense ever-so slightly. The average person wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read his body language as well as the back of her hand. Clearly, something about his death made him nervous.

She decided to cast it aside for the moment. She’d pry the information out of him later. 

“They aren’t showing us what happened to that little boy,” Lysistrata Vickers said. “He clearly was killed right there. There’s cameras everywhere. It doesn’t make sense.”

“They said they were old cameras, Lyssie,” Festus responded. “Probably just another one of Coral’s.”

“Festus, sit down,” Lucky Flickerman ordered. “Same seats.”

Festus scowled but did as he was told. He and Lucky clearly had some animosity, and it was quite amusing to witness their petty interactions. 

Suddenly, after a few moments, Lucy Gray appears on screen, looking horrified. Bellova had to bite her lip to refrain from grinning. It seemed that the songbird’s luck was finally running out. 

Jessup emerged a second later. He was clearly not well, he looked much worse than he did before the Games.

“What’d you do to me?” Jessup shrieked, backed Lucy Gray against a pile of rubble.

“Nothing!” she responded, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Lyssie, what is he doing?” Bellova heard Coriolanus asked frantically.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata replied, bewildered. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

“Jessup going after Lucy Gray,” Lucky commented. 

“Stop running!” Jessup demanded. “What did you…” He groaned mid-sentence. “What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucy Gray insisted.

“Both tributes from District 12. The same district folding in on itself.” 

“Wait, look. The foam,” Coriolanus said. 

“I think it’s rabies,” Lysistrata said, clearly disturbed. “That bite. From that train.” 

Coriolanus stared at the screen, looking helplessly at his tribute who was nearing her inevitable doom. Then, he turned back to Jessup’s mentor.

“Send him water.”

“Wait, what?” Lysistrata asked.

“You remember the posters in the war? Rabies. It makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone.”

“That’ll scare him,” she protested.

“Yes. Away from her,” he insisted.

Bellova stood up. “Coriolanus-“

“Bellova, be quiet,” he snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “Jessup is done. Lyssie, you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

Lysistrata clearly didn’t want to, but with a few clicks on her computer, water was being sent to Jessup by a drone. 

“Thank you,” Coriolanus whispered.

Within minutes, Jessup was dead, and four lethal tributes were cornering Lucy Gray. 

“Oh, look at this,” Lucky Flickerman said. “The Pack doing what they do best. Packing it in. Lucy Gray is swarmed, cornered. Mizzen, propellering his net.”

It looked again as if she was done for, but then-

“Mr. Snow going for his communipad,” Lucky continued. Bellova saw him send nine - no, ten drones towards Lucy Gray. 

Bellova knew exactly what he was doing. He was using the drones to give her a chance to escape. 

The drones came flying into the arena, causing The Pack to scatter. A few of them got hit, causing them cry out in pain and tumble to the stone-covered floor. 

“These drones are not very good,” Lucky commented, as if it weren’t obvious. Some of the students who had caught onto Coriolanus’s plan started to jeer at him.

“Hey!” Vipsania Sickle said indignantly. “You can’t attack the tributes.”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus said casually, as if he was completely innocent.

After gathering her bearings, Lucy Gray scrambled into a tunnel with Coral on her heels. She managed to pull the vent closed just in time, the metal door nearly crushing Coral’s fingers.

Bellova positioned herself a few inches away from Coriolanus. She was seething, but it didn’t show on her face. She simply looked indifferent, despite all of the violence that had just occurred in the Games. 

“Snow, do you that time before the Dark Days when you pulled on my pigtails, so I slammed your face against my school desk?”

“Yes,” Coriolanus said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Bellova smiled crookedly, the violent glint in her eyes making Coriolanus visibly uncomfortable. “I’m about to fucking do it again, and this time, you’ll have more than a bleeding nose.” 

He straightened his posture, smoothing out his Academy blazer. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

Bellova’s hands twitched. She knew that decking him in front of the majority of the student board would get her in severe trouble, but it was very tempting.

Instead of punching him, she started to storm out of the auditorium. 

“There goes Miss Reginelle. Clearly, the violence on screen has finally gotten to her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Flickerman, before I snap your microphone in half!” Bellova hissed. She threw up open the doors, and made sure to slam them behind her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the hallway outside of the auditorium, leaning her head against the wall behind her. Her anger was threatening to spill over, and her father would be very disappointed in her if she murdered someone on Academy grounds.

She had vowed to make Coriolanus pay if he pulled any more strings for his little songbird. And he had by sending that fleet of drones after her attackers. But clearly, nobody batted an eye at that. He had not been punished, or even reprimanded.

The thought of Coriolanus thinking longingly about Lucy Gray was almost enough to drive her mad. 

Before she could do anything drastic, she heard the speakers inside the auditorium amplifying Dr. Gaul’s voice. Curious, she stood up and pressed her ear to the doors.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss, one that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has, this morning, succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.”

Bellova felt her heart drop. Felix wasn’t all that bad, when he wasn’t bragging about his life at least. She had even gone to the end-of-year Academy gala with him a couple of years ago. They had a wonderful time, and she was gifted a priceless gold necklace by him at the end of the night. She had worn it for a week straight afterwards, which delighted the young son of the president.

“Out there in the districts, they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such a victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games.”

She gasped. She knew Dr. Gaul well enough to know she was completely serious. If she wanted someone gone, she’d stop at nothing until they dropped dead. 

Mere moments later, Coriolanus burst through the doors, nearly slamming right into Bellova. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, scowling at him.

He sneered down at her, beginning to walk away. She followed him, despite knowing he really didn’t want her to. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bellova sighed. “I told you earlier, Coriolanus, if you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own-“

“Fine!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to shut you up at this point. You’re insufferable.”

“The feeling is mutual, Snow. Now spill it, what’s going on?”

Coriolanus, against his better judgement, told her everything. Well, almost everything. He told her about how he retrieved Sejanus from the arena, but omitted the part about killing Bobbin. He explained that he needed to see Dr. Gaul immediately, for the stitches in his back from the previous evening were coming loose. 

Bellova frowned. She briefly felt bad that he was in pain, but couldn’t bring herself to actually care. She was still angry at him. 

She also noticed he said was being very vague with his details. He was definitely hiding something.

“What’s that face for?” Coriolanus asked as they approached the Citadel, which housed Gaul’s laboratory. 

“What face?”

“That scowl. You’re clearly not pleased about something, so what is it?”

She smirked. “As if I’d tell you,” she said, mimicking his words from earlier. 

Coriolanus’s jaw clenched, which satisfied Bellova immensely. She loved seeing his patience waver, it was strangely addicting.

“Will you ever learn to keep your bratty mouth shut?” he asked, his voice raising a touch.

“Bratty?” Bellova scoffed. “I’d prefer it if you called me a bitch.”

Dr. Gaul’s lab was just a few corridors away at this point. Bellova knew that causing a scene here wouldn’t be wise, but she honestly did not care. She could easily talk her way out if it.

Coriolanus glowered at her, his blue eyes icier than ever. “Go back to the auditorium, Bellova. I know you love watching the Games, and you’re probably missing all of the action.”

She laughed. “So all of a sudden, you want me to be happy. Seriously, Snow, if you want to get rid of me, just say so.”

He smirked at her condescendingly. “Then I will. Get out of here, you have no place in Gaul’s lab anyway. It’s too much for your pathetically shallow brain to comprehend.” 

Bellova stared at him for a moment. It has been awhile since he’d said something quite that harsh. It was normal for him to question her intellect, but calling her dumb? That was low, even for him.

Coriolanus was obviously anticipating a slap to the face. He was not prepared, however, for Bellova to swipe her claw-like nails across his face like a wild animal.

Stunned, he watched Bellova walk away as the new gashes on his face began to sting. As she reached the end of the hall, she screamed “You’re such an asshole!” before disappearing from Coriolanus’s sight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellova sat in the stands instead of with the mentors, watching as Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” engulf the remaining tributes in the arena.

She had no idea that when Dr. Gaul said “rainbow”, she was referring to hundreds of colorful, deadly snakes. 

She watched, entranced, as the beautiful mutations smothered the tributes, picking them off one-by-one. She had never admired the “mad” scientist more. Her work was truly beautiful. 

Wovey, Reaper, Mizzen, and Coral were soon dead, lying lifelessly beneath the swarm of snakes. 

“Now, all colors lead to Gray,” Lucky Flickerman said. 

Coriolanus stood watching the screen, amazed at his own success. “She’s… She’s won. It’s over, she’s won.” He looked over to Dr. Gaul, who was standing to the side. “She’s won, let her out.”

The doctor smiled. “Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow.”

Bellova bit back a laugh when Lucy Gray began to sing. At least she’d be able to get in once last performance before her vocal chords went slack.

“Dr. Gaul, she won!” Coriolanus repeated, desperation seeping into his voice. “It’s over, let her out.” 

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” someone asked.

“Must be the singing,” Coriolanus replied. “It’s calming them.”

He really was a terrible liar.

“She can’t sing forever,” Festus said. 

Bellova noticed some of the students around her begin to cry as they watched Lucy Gray sing shakily. ‘Pathetic,’ she thought.

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus begged. “Get her out. Get her out!”

One by one, the Academy students began to chant “Get her out! Get her out!”, almost overpowering the sound of Lucy Gray’s singing. 

‘No,’ Bellova thought desperately. ‘Don’t. Just let her die.’

Then, Coriolanus said, “Who will watch the Games if there’s no victor?”

The chanting came to a halt.

Dr. Gaul looked around, seeing that she was vastly outnumbered. “Get her out,” she murmured just loud enough to be heard. 

“She’s won! Lucy Gray!” Lucky Flickerman cried over the roar of the student body. “Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games!”

Bellova’s face burned with fury, her patience finally snapping after days of wearing thin. 

She was no longer willing to overlook Coriolanus’s behavior. She had let him get away with too much. 

It was time that he faced some real consequences.

As she exited the hall quietly, she smiled, a cruel, twisted smile. She knew exactly how she would make him pay.  

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This was another decently long chapter, and I believe it has been the most intense one yet. Stay tuned for Chapter Six!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[snifflesthemouse]

Is Harry Suing the UK to Hide Truth of Visa and Security?

Let’s talk about a few things going on in the Royal News World, Shall We?

This mouse isn’t completely sure of coming back entirely, but I figured a post here and there would be fine. Let’s get started.

My people come bearing some insights: Just about everyone in the aristocracy is openly aware that Harry isn’t truly cut off. As a matter of fact, some believe that Harry is only in the US because Charles sent him here and he is in fact on an A1 visa. Not so much as a banishment, but as a way to play both sides of the media circus and keep them all relevant. The whole world tunes in every time something pops up.

What brings more clickbait? Ask yourself the hard questions, though, don’t take the easy route. I’ve seen some things going around, and I see people truly never ask the hard questions.

I pray for the day when everyone wakes up and realizes that being elderly doesn’t make you harmless or innocent. This author was told the same things about Harry not being told about the diagnosis for the cancer until we all heard, BUT BEFORE. Interesting that ever got leaked out in the press, isn’t it? Why even tell us when he got told? Harry probably leaked it and did it to make Charles look favorable. Do you think Charles would let it get leaked? To what end? To look like the loving, yet firm father everyone demands him to be, the man that he cannot. The man he is not.

And now there are articles coming out about the contingency plans for Charles being sick. Harry is not in them, at all. Why would he need to be? Doesn’t that say a lot? The fact people have to be told Harry isn't included is silly. But you know what they say about assumptions.

Now, I was told by a friend that’s a doctor the whole story of the cancer being found during the prostate stuff made no sense. They would’ve seen other indicators beforehand. They ARE the greatest medical professionals on the planet, aren’t they? You mean a PET scan or blood test or anything like that, at all, wouldn’t hint at the other problems? This was a choreographed release of information.

It's being suggested that the press will be informed to release a cascade of tidbits over the coming weeks. Lady C said early spring, before summer. She also said it was Princess Anne who made the “racist baby” comments, and that was also a ruse. I’m pretty sure Lady C picked Team Charles back in the 80s, and she’s been working to gain grace and favor since. I think she wants to seem like she knows things to sell books or views. Go, girl, get that paper.

Speaking of paper, it was suggested one of the main reasons Charles was so upset with Harry when he “rushed right over” was because he asked for more money. Anyone could assume that but think about what he did immediately afterwards. He went over there only to have something to give an interview for. He got paid to “not squeal” on an interview. The Sussexes don’t lift a finger for free… they only lift them for freebies. Or money.

If Harry is here on an A1 Visa as a favor between Charles and the US, that means we are paying for that security in America. No wonder Harry is suing the UK, he needs to make it look like he needs something when he already has it. How would they possibly have the money to pay for their own? I posted the mortgage documents, remember. Do the math. They have 10 years to pay that house off in full before they get a 7.48% interest rate. They have upkeep, services, servants, nannies, clothes, utilities, maintenance that must be maintained or the bank could come in and do it themselves… Those things aren’t cheap. You have to have a faucet of money coming in to handle it all. They don’t even have a drip.

Oh, and I was told to really look at Harry’s page on the Royal website. And that the minute Wills gets that crown, his brother will be done for. Which is why Charles could be trying to be a father instead of a king in that situation. Then again, if Wills had hard feelings for both Charles and Harry, and Charles had a jealousy over Wills and the Queen… that’s a lot of ifs

One this is for sure. Harry will NEVER return to the BRF in a working capacity. Everything is a dance of smoke and mirrors.

It makes total sense to have Harry here on an A1 visa, have him in constant litigation with the UK so we peons think he needs security, but in reality he is here on a visa supplying him the protection he thinks he deserves. Of course, an FOIA would need to be filed, probably… I wonder if I could do that and see how he is really here. I don’t believe he is here on an O1 or spousal visa.

What is the real reason for all of this, people? It's just Flying Pasta, like before.

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, idiots in love (?) dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation, angry sex, unprotected sex,

Cw: uhhhh smut

Words: 2.5k

[A/N: russian very kindly corrected by soln, ly<3, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao

Previous Next

Chapter 6: Big-headed? (NSFW)

The corridor leading to Heimerdinger's office was markedly narrower and longer than the others at The Academy, as though he was covertly attempting to thwart visitors. It didn’t stop you, however, and as you found out when you got there, it hadn’t stopped Viktor either. It made sense that, at one point in his life, long before you even met each other, these halls must have been a habitual destination. His close-knit relationship with the professor also showed itself confidently in the volume of his voice, a line that, despite your frustration with the situation, you’d never dare to cross.

You had every intention of staying put and waiting for him to come out, but the half-open door compromised your presence, and given that you were almost certainly there to make a fuss about the same issue, you decided to get it done and over with; after all, perchance Viktor's presence there could give your argument a compelling edge.

"Well, I’m glad you were able to join us at last, dear. I trust you are feeling better." Heimerdinger started.

“I’m okay; yes, thank you for the concern, professor. I should say I have a surmise that I am here for the same reason as him."

“Yes, I was trying to argue that our work styles do not meld well, and making us work together for any period of time greater than 5 minutes could be catastrophic; would you confirm as much?”

“Absolutely, I can do the work all on my own if that’s necessary; just don't make me work with him.”

“Interestingly enough, he has offered to do the same. Although I do commend both of you for your altruism, I must insist. This is what the Academy has decided.”

“Professor, if I may—"

“Enough delays, my boy; the decision is final. If I were you, I would get to it immediately; you have only a couple of hours to work.” You were swiftly rushed out the door by him, swept away by tiny, impatient footsteps and a heavy wooden door closing behind you.

Another door closed right on your faces when the sweet librarian denied you access on the pretense that your arguing had inconvenienced a whole two people the past couple of weeks, and you were now banned from using the premises at the same time. You had to compromise and go in by yourself to get the books you needed and then go all the way to the half-empty and uncomfortably cold cafeteria tables, where you worked tirelessly until you were yet again kicked out once the place closed. 

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

A couple infectious yawns and rubbed eyes later, you leaned back on the stiff plastic chair and stretched your back.

“What time is it?”

“Past 9.” Viktor answered after lazily turning around to try to make out what the clock read. You groaned loudly.

“We’ll need to move again—my dorm or yours?"

“Mine is probably cleaner.”

“Are you implying I’m messy?”

“No, I am affirming as much.”

“Rude.” You were offended, though only as a habit, because he was not entirely wrong.

“Oh no, have I offended you? Someone put me out of my misery!” He dramatized.

“I’d be first in line.” You said already standing up and walking in the direction of his dormitory.

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

“Not everything needs to be done your way, you know?"

In the wake of the cafeteria work stretch, you had found yourselves completely spent and depleted. With most of the work done and text written, you had taken some minutes to stretch and rest your eyes. Viktor had informed you as soon as you got there that it was imperative that you were as silent as possible, given the next-door neighbor's propensity to complain about noise.

You did your best to keep it down, of course, and granted, you had been doing a particularly good job. That is, until Viktor decided to wonder who between the two of you would be the one actually giving the speech with the material you had prepared. Although you did your best to ask him politely at first, his immediate negative response caused you to get defensive.

“I wrote most of the text; why can’t you just do me a favor once?

“It’s not a favor if you have to throw me under a train for it! You know I hate speaking in public, and genuinely, I’m dog-tired of you being so incorrigibly selfish.”

“I’m not selfish, how am I selfish?” You said almost forgetting you had to keep the volume down.

“You never think about any consequences, ever. You can go around saying you are a free spirit and spontaneous and fun as much as you like, but if truth be told, you are nothing but cataclysmic chaos!”

“I don’t make mistakes on purpose, Viktor; it happens; you just have zero empathy because you insist on making everyone believe you are the Academy’s perfect golden boy! You never make mistakes, and you never do anything wrong, right?. But I know all you really do is push people away because everyone is afraid of disappointing you! I don't know. If you were a little less hostile, maybe you’d have some friends."

“You mean friends like you? I’d rather staple my ears together than be friends with a jumbled  mess. He said, standing up from the chair, his nose flaring up as he inhaled a sharp breath and held his cane forcefully. “You are so excruciatingly intolerable, overwhelming, big-headed—”

“Big-headed?"

“That is what you take offense to?”

You couldn’t say anything beyond a dismissive shrug, and you knew your disregard for his opinion was what would sting the most anyway.

The silence was loud; it could be felt in the air between you, the irate flare of irritation in his gritted teeth, his ears colored in that familiar tone of blush, and his eyebrows uncomfortably knit together as he whisper-screamed at you. He took a couple steps forward, leaving you at no farther than a palm's distance. The sudden closeness somehow did not bother you; you could hear both of your breaths, heavy and panting from the strain of containing your screams, and you could tell by the heat you felt all over your head and stomach that your cheeks probably mirrored the flush on Viktor’s face.

In hindsight, you never really understood why you didn’t talk back to him after that last comment. You had so many things in mind you could have said, but an unknown force pulled your attention away from his amber eyes glowing with rage to his lips instead, which were a bloody cherry red from biting on them too much. You couldn’t look away, and Viktor quickly noticed.

Then his shoulders visibly lost tension.

"Ah…prydoruk,” he whispered, mostly to himself, and you wished you understood because it somehow felt like another insult. Perplexity became fright when the loud clang of his cane falling directed your eyes to the floor, but in an instant, both of his hands were holding your face firmly, and one of them slithered in between the locks of your hair.

You hated how fast your guard fell. His fingers, icy yet delicate, caressing the lines of your jaw, were enough to disarm you completely. You mouthed multiple offenses at him under your breath as you searched for his lips. You were agonizingly in need of each other’s taste. Your hands had a strong grip on his shirt, tugging at it unintentionally as your body, which desperately wanted that idiot, tried to gripe with your rationality. The war in Viktor’s mind was a similar one, but just as much as yours, his body was unable to pull back.

Eventually you needed to catch your breath from the kiss, beyond hungry, and when you pulled back just slightly, you looked at each other like two deer in headlights, frozen in place by a blend of contradicting emotions that prevented you from moving and still holding each other closely. Viktor moved first, and when he kissed you again, you could feel his hands move almost on their own, going against his orders to wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him. He felt his lungs grow hungry for air as his tongue buried itself deep inside your throat.

“Stop pulling," he tried to whisper in between kisses. You shushed him, bringing a finger up to his lips, and started leaving a trail of kisses along his jawbone. “If you tear my shirt, I—” He tried once again, but your lips got to his neck at the same time, and his sentence changed into a muffled groan.

“I won’t. Just shut up; don’t make me think too much about this; just sh—”

“So crass,” he said as he walked backwards to the bed, pulling you along with him. “You’re so unpleasant."

“You have history that says otherwise, asshat."

You already had a leg on the bed, fully intending to push him on it to straddle his lap, but he moved faster than you could think and shifted to hover above you. He crawled up slowly without ever stopping the deep kiss you were sharing and used one of his knees to push your legs apart, positioning himself between them. You tried not to react, but the feeling of his erection against you prompted a slight chuckle to come out of your throat. 

“If this is how you get when I’m unpleasant, I can’t imagine what could happen if I were nice to you.” you smirked. He sank his teeth against your skin in response, leaving a small bite mark on your collarbone before he whispered.

“You are not funny, Zaychik."

“You’re just humorless." You said this as you pulled his shirt over his head. This must have been the open invitation he was waiting for to introduce a hand under your dress, completely bunching it up to gain precious access to your bare chest.

Although the energy of the room had shifted noticeably, the pooling heat in between you never replaced the ravenous disposition. You still felt the frustration in him as he bit into you multiple times, leaving a wake of purple and red bruises you would have to explain the next day. You didn’t know if his motivations were guided by a fit of lust or if it was a way to punish you for all of the irritation you had caused him throughout the years of knowing each other; either way, it felt good, and you did not care to keep pondering.

His hand trickled down to your underwear in excruciatingly slow designs, one of his eyebrows raising in a self-congratulatory expression when he felt the dampness of the fabric.

“Pat yourself in the back; why don't you?” You said, rolling your eyes. He did not answer, and, to your astonishment, he did not take your underwear off. He took his hand back up, bringing the fingers wet with arousal into his mouth, pulled down the elastic of his sweatpants and underwear to reveal a cock you wished you hadn’t gasped at, and pulled your underwear to the side to position himself at your entrance, all without ever breaking eye contact.

Even though he was panting abnormally loud and you could tell he would probably soon burst into a cloud of smoke, he still nodded slightly at you, asking for confirmation, and when you nodded back, he impatiently tilted his hips as far as the position allowed it and his leg could withstand, plunging into you with hungry zeal. He didn’t start slow; he was incisive and deep with every thrust, making sure he was completely inside you with every move. Calculated bastard

You used both hands around his back to hold yourself steady, your not exactly manicured nails digging into the soft flesh of his shoulder blades as you did your best to not make any noises too loud. Down on the bed under him, you pondered the dim light in the room and the curious designs of the roof. They might as well have been figments of your imagination, swirls of light and haziness as your eyes filled with tears.

You confused the erratic rhythm of his hips for what you thought at first was the arrival of his unraveling and immediately realized was simply his leg tiring out, and you gathered enough momentum to push him off of you, his back now on the bed, and you were ready to ride him. Long overdue, you thought, you couldn’t let him get his way with you without having a mirriad of his whimpers to your name. Your pace wasn’t slow either; you drove him into you with the roll of your hips, making sure you could feel him in the right spots.

The look of enamoured trance on his face as you bounced on his lap was far from the vexed expression you were expecting, and the suppressed groans of pleasure touched something in you that made you suddenly bashful. You leaned over to nuzzle your face against the crook of his neck and pressed your lips against his when his grin was getting too wide for comfort. You devoured each other again for what felt like too little time before you could feel the overwhelming heat in your core preparing you for your climax.

You tried to tell Viktor you were about to come, but something in your face must have made that obvious, because he brought you close again by the back of your neck, your mouths nearly touching each other as he spoke.

“Say my name,” he murmured into your mouth.

“Yeah, right”

The hand on your neck slithered its way up to your hair, which he tugged at firmly.

“Say it; I know you’re close.”

“Fuck you.” You hissed, neither of you being able to contain a half-pleasure, half irritation, out-of-breath groan.

It didn’t take much longer before you felt the brief pain and sweet spasm that followed it, and Viktor revealed the feeling of your walls contracting around his cock. You took a second to compose yourself with your forehead pressed against his, and then gave him a devilish grin as you slid down to his lap. His eyes opened wide when you pressed the heat of his erection flat on your tongue, taking it in as far as you could manage.

His head shot back and his face contorted in pleasure, the hand that hadn’t left your hair oscillating between pulling at it harshly and gently caressing your head. You tasted him, salty, in your throat soon enough, and sat up after swallowing every drop of it. Viktor drew you back to him, and you laid there next to each other, avoiding eye contact, even though you were too high from your orgasms to feel any regret yet.

‘Yet’ came soon enough, though.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Angst

The skeleton brothers are hanging out in the house, and the storm outside is making the house make creaking and groaning noises, which is pretty normal in that area. That was the world warning them of the fact that holy shit the world is moving and the house is falling over with them inside it. Both end up trapped under the rubble in a lot of pain and unable to move and can't see.

By the time the rescuers come and help, the sanses are all already dead.

How was it for the Sanses in their last moments and how do the papyruses react?

Woah, this is a lot worse than the first ask lol. But oh well, you asked for it.

Undertale Sans - Papyrus jumped on him to protect him from the rumbles, but it actually made things worse as it crushed Sans' ribcage even more. Sans spends his last moments saying it's not Papyrus' fault, that he loves him, and that he's sorry. He holds his brother's hand until the very last moment.

Undertale Papyrus - He felt the shaking and instinctively rushed to protect Sans, but he underestimated the weight of the entire house on his back. Sans got most of the shock, and Papyrus realized to late Sans was actually saying goodbye by trying to ease his crushing guilt. When his brother disappears right between his fingers, Papyrus falls completely silent, in shock. So in shock, he actually doesn't even realize his spine got badly touched by the collapsing and that he's completely paralyzed. He's not sure what's going on when he gets rescued and keeps asking after his brother for a long time, begging Undyne again and again to go look for him again. He only realizes the next time he wakes up at the hospital that he has to be sedated. Undyne and Toriel are here to support him obviously, but it's going to be some hard months for Papyrus, who can't stop thinking all of this is his fault.

Underswap Sans - He knows he's mortally wounded, he can feel it, but he refuses to go before saving his brother. He fights like a warrior to make a way to him, and then he drags Honey out of the house. As Honey is ecstatic, realizing they're both alive, Blue collapses and dusts on the floor. He doesn't care. He did his job as a big brother.

Underswap Papyrus - He hid quickly under his bed and survived without big injuries, but he stayed stuck for a long time. He got so relieved when Blue called his name, and happily followed him out, just to have his hopes crushed all over again as Blue suddenly collapsed. Honey is too in shock to fully realize, and calls Alphys for help, screaming he needs an ambulance for his brother, more and more desperate. Obviously, it's too late for this, and Alphys realizes this right away. She tries to calm Honey down, but he's too agitated. Eventually, he faints because he can't take it anymore and Undyne has to quickly rush him to the hospital to avoid his soul breaking from a fall down. She saved him, but Honey will never be the same again, haunted.

Underfell Sans - That's the most horrible way to go for him as he actually already almost died from a cave-in Underground and survived an entire week like this. It's too much for his soul. He's panicking and, trying to flee, he gets crushed under a big pile of rocks. He doesn't see death coming.

Underfell Papyrus - He's a soldier, and he is trained to act in case of a cave-in. Well, maybe not with a leg missing, but eh, he's still doing it. Well, maybe the fact he saw his very own leg dust in front of his eyes was a good enough shock to encourage him to move the hell out of there. He keeps screaming after his brother, but his brother is not answering. As he finally manages to crawl outside, he meets the rescuers who quickly take things in hands. He waits nervously as they save a terrified Doomfanger covered in blood but still well enough to claw the face of his rescuers, but not his brother. Eventually, Edge has to go to the hospital, but Undyne promises to search for his brother (and watch over his demonic cat). Undyne finds Red dust not an hour later. Edge barely reacts to the news. Maybe he already knew deep inside. He simply stays silent. He needs time to process the information. As the day passes, he's more and more distressed.

Horrortale Sans - He can't think rationally right now and he's completely freaking out, having PTSD of what Undyne did to him. All he knows is that it's hurting like hell and that he doesn't want to go through this again. He decides to give up and his soul breaks. He can't do this again. He can't.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's in agonizing pain because of his back, but he's still talking out loud to calm down Oak. He can't see him, and he hopes he hears him, so he keeps talking, saying random facts he remembers. It helps him to calm down as well. Eventually, he hears Toriel and Grillby nearby, as they hear him talking. He's so relieved he starts to cry. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and he's completely self-conscious of how fucked up his back is right now. He has no doubt he's not escaping the wheelchair this time, but he's taking it surprisingly well. Toriel can't even move him because of how bad he's in pain and despite her healing magic trying to soothe him. He keeps a brave face. It's just a bad moment to pass, he had been through worse. But no worse pain than learning a few minutes later that Grillby found what's left of his brother. Willow completely breaks down, horrified, and no words can't soothe him this time. Toriel and Grillby refuse to let him go alone in the ambulance. They're family too, more than ever now.

Swapfell Sans - He has head trauma. He's self-conscious about it. He can't remember what he was doing ten minutes ago and it's getting worse and worse. He spends his last moment wondering how he will know if he forgets who he is. Can you forget your own identity? His last thought is for Rus. He swears he's going to kill him wherever he's going if that stupid idiot dies too. Unfortunately, he loses his battle against the desperate need to sleep and he dusts a few minutes later.

Swapfell Papyrus - He tried to jump by the window, but unfortunately, his butt stayed stuck in the window. He felt the whole house fall on his back, and a lot of things were stuck in his ribcage. He had time to kill to see it, and he slowly freed himself, patiently clearing the way. He's glad his phone is still working, and he tried to call Nox a few times. He knows his brother is strong, he must be somewhere. He actually hears Nox's phone ring near and manages to find his brother, completely unconscious. He tried to wake him up, but the huge crack in his head was obviously mortal. He tries to lie to himself, but he can't. He simply sits next to his brother and tells him he loves him and that he can finally rest now. And that he will stay safe and that he doesn't need to worry so much for him anymore. He's fine. He's all grown up now, he can go. He doesn't know if Nox heard any of this by the time he dusts next to him... But he hopes he did. Moving on from here is hard, but Rus holds on. It was always a possibility Nox would die one of those days, and they were both ready for it. Sure, Rus didn't expect he would die like this, but... Sometimes, life is a bitch.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He spends his last moments screaming his brother's name until he can't anymore because of his crushed ribcage. Once he hears Coffee answers him, he just sighs, relieved, and dusts on the floor.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He took a big rock on the head and stayed unconscious for a long time before he heard his brother calling him. He weakly tried to answer, but then no one answered again. Distressed, Coffee starts to crawl in the rumble with his head trauma to find his brother and collapses when he sees only his clothes, covered in dust. He immediately gives up and resigns to die as well, too weak anyway to crawl to an exit. Alphys found him unconscious and managed to rescue him. Coffee woke up almost three months later at the hospital, completely confused and disoriented, but with the only thought that it's not fair he made it and not his brother. It's going to be a rough few months as he recovers with no will to do anything, but eventually, he tries to move on.