#he doesn't try to be someone he's not and he's always making a path for himself while living to the fullest

[tinyshyteacup]

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Gif from @daryl-dixon-daydreams

TW: walkers (zombies), fighting, unaliving, blood, injuries, feelings of helplessness.

Part 36

Dead Weight - Part 37

The room feels smaller than usual with everyone packed in—Alexandria residents mixing uneasily with your group as Rick stands at the front, his expression grim. You're seated in one of the folding chairs, still favoring your side where the stitches pull tight under your shirt. Five and a bit weeks since the warehouse disaster, one more week until Denise clears you for full activity. It might as well be a whole damn lifetime.

Daryl stands against the back wall, arms crossed, his eyes constantly moving between Rick and the crowd. You can feel his tension from across the room—the way his jaw works when he's thinking hard about something he doesn't like.

"The quarry's been a natural barrier," Rick explains, pointing to the map spread across the wall. "Keeping a massive horde contained. But the trucks that were blocking the exits are starting to give way. When they do, all those walkers are coming straight for Alexandria."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and you see several Alexandria residents shifting nervously in their seats.

"How many are we talking about?" Aaron asks.

"Thousands," Michonne answers. "More than we've ever dealt with at once."

Deanna's face has gone pale. "What are you suggesting?"

"We lead them away," Rick says. "Create a path, make noise, draw them off in the opposite direction. It's dangerous, but it's our only option."

"That's insane," someone speaks up from the middle of the room. "You're talking about deliberately attracting thousands of walkers. What if something goes wrong?"

"Then we handle it," Daryl says from the back, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Same as we always do."

Rick nods toward Daryl. "Daryl's going to lead them on his bike. Make noise, keep them following. Abraham and Sasha will provide backup in a car."

Your stomach clenches at that. The plan makes sense—Daryl's the best tracker, the most experienced with this kind of thing. But the thought of him out there alone on his bike with thousands of dead following behind him makes your chest tight with anxiety.

"I'll go with Abraham and Sasha," you say, standing up carefully. "Extra backup."

"Like hell" Daryl's response is immediate and sharp, making everyone turn to look at him. His eyes meet yours across the room, and you can see the worry he's trying to hide behind his usual gruffness. "You ain't healed yet."

"I'm fine—"

"Y'ain't fine. Y'got stitches in your side and you can barely lift your arm over your head."

Heat creeps up your neck as everyone stares. He's not wrong—the injury from your own knife had only just started feeling better after weeks of careful recovery. But you hate feeling useless, hate the idea of everyone else risking their lives while you sit safely behind Alexandria's walls.

"Daryl's right," Rick says gently. "We need everyone at full strength for this."

As Rick continues explaining the logistics, you see Daryl push himself off the wall and make his way around the edge of the room toward you. His movements are casual enough that most people don't notice, but you can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set.

He crouches down beside your chair, one hand resting on the back of it as he leans in close. His voice is barely a whisper, meant only for you.

"Ain't riskin' you," he says, the words so quiet you almost miss them. His eyes are fixed on Rick at the front of the room, but you can see the way his free hand clenches into a fist.

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his voice. He's not looking at you, can't seem to, but you can feel the fear radiating off him in waves.

"Daryl—"

You want to reach for him, want to tell him it wasn't his fault, but there are too many people around, too many eyes that might see and he's not one for public displays of affection. Instead, you let your fingers brush against his knuckles.

"I'm okay," you whisper back. "I'm right here."

He finally looks at you then, and the vulnerability in his blue eyes takes your breath away. "Just... stay put this time, alright? For me?"

Before you can respond, he's standing up again, moving back to his spot against the wall as if the conversation never happened. But the weight of his words settles heavy in your chest, and suddenly you understand.

This isn't about your injury, not really. It's about his fear of losing you, about the guilt he carries, even when he doesn't need to.

Rick's voice drifts back into focus, but all you can think about is the tremor in Daryl's whispered words and the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes when he said them.

Glen catches your eye from across the room and gives you a sympathetic look. He knows how much you hate letting them do all the work, especially when it comes to protecting the people you care about.

"So who else is volunteering?" Rick continues, scanning the room.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. You see Alexandria residents looking at their hands, at the floor, anywhere but at Rick.

"This is our home too," Maggie says firmly. "Glen and I will help with whatever you need."

"Same here," Rosita adds quietly, but there's steel in her voice.

More of your group volunteers—Tara, Eugene despite his obvious terror, even Father Gabriel. But the Alexandria residents remain mostly silent, their fear palpable.

"We'll need people to help set up the barriers," Rick explains. "Create choke points, funnel the herd where we want them to go. It's going to take all of us working together."

Daryl watches the faces around the room. Half these people look ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

They've been lucky, living behind these walls, but luck runs out. Always does.

Two days later, you're standing at the intersection where the temporary fence is going up, watching the organized chaos of preparation. Cars are being positioned behind the makeshift wall to create additional barriers, teams are stringing rope and wire between them, and everyone's working with the kind of focused intensity that comes before a big operation.

You're relegated to light duty—checking supplies, organizing gear, handing out water bottles—but at least you're helping. Daryl's been working all morning, fine-tuning everything, making sure it'll run smooth when it needs to.

"You okay?" Glen asks, appearing beside you with a crate of flares.

"Just worried," you admit, watching Daryl dig his spade into the dirt again. "It's a big risk."

"He knows what he's doing."

"I know. Doesn't make it easier."

A commotion near the fence line draws your attention. A small group of walkers—maybe six or seven—has wandered too close to the work site. It's nothing your group can't handle easily, but the Alexandria residents react like it's the end of the world.

"Oh God, oh God," one of them is saying, backing away as Rick and Abraham move to handle the walkers.

Another Alexandrian drops his tools and runs, actually runs, leaving his teammates scrambling to pick up the slack.

You watch as another Alexandrian stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his own feet as one of the walkers gets tangled in the tree line. Rick and Abraham are moving efficiently, but they're on the far side of the small herd, and there's one walker that's broken free, shambling directly toward the panicking residents.

"Move!" you shout at them, but they're frozen, clutching each other like that's going to help.

Without thinking, you grab the closest thing at hand—a long-handled shovel someone had been using to dig post holes—and stride toward the approaching walker. Your side screams in protest with each step, the healing wound pulling tight, but the frustration burning in your chest is stronger than the pain.

The walker turns toward you, drawn by your movement, and you swing the shovel hard. The blade connects with its skull with a wet crunch, and it drops immediately.

"Seriously?" you snap at the Alexandrians, who are still huddled together, staring at you wide-eyed. "I've got stitches holding my insides together and I can handle one walker. What's your excuse?"

One of them—Carter, you think—opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but you're already moving toward the next walker that's gotten caught in the fence wire. This one takes two hits with the shovel, your injured side making your swing awkward, but you get the job done.

"There," you say, breathing harder than you should be, sweat beading on your forehead from the effort. "Two down. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The Alexandrians are looking at you like you've just performed some kind of miracle instead of basic survival. It makes your frustration spike even higher. These are the people who are supposed to help when things go wrong tomorrow? The people your peudso family is counting on?

"Maybe next time don't just stand there screaming," you suggest, leaning heavily on the shovel handle as your side throbs. "Might actually try helping instead."

"This is what we're counting on?" you mutter under your breath.

Daryl appears beside you, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. "They'll learn or they won't."

"And if they don't?"

He's quiet for a moment, watching Rick efficiently dispatch the last walker while the Alexandria residents slowly creep back to their work. "Then we handle it ourselves. Like always."

There's resignation in his voice, the tone of someone who's learned not to count on anyone else. It breaks your heart a little, the way he automatically assumes he'll have to carry the weight alone.

"Hey," you say softly, touching his arm. "You don't have to do this by yourself. Abraham and Sasha will be right there with you."

"I know." But his eyes are distant, already focused on the plan, on what could go wrong, on all the ways he might fail.

"Daryl." Your voice pulls him back to the present. "Talk to me."

He looks at you then, really looks, and sees the worry you're trying to hide. The way you unconsciously press your hand to your side where the scar is still healing.

The dark circles under your eyes from nights spent worrying instead of sleeping.

"Just... stay inside the fences tomorrow, alright? When this thing kicks off, people are gonna panic. Gonna do stupid shit." His hand finds yours, squeezes gently.

"I will," you promise. "Just... come back in one piece, okay?"

He nods once, sharp and decisive, and you have to believe it's a promise he can keep.

The morning air is crisp as you stand on the porch, Judith balanced on your hip, watching the convoy prepare to leave for the quarry. The weight of what they're about to attempt hangs heavy over Alexandria—leading thousands of walkers away from their home in the most dangerous operation any of you have ever conceived.

Rick is in front of Carl, his hands on his son's shoulders. "You take care of your sister, alright? And you listen to Carol and—" his eyes flick to you, "—and you do whatever they tell you."

"I know, Dad," Carl says, trying to sound mature but you can hear the worry in his voice. "Just... be careful out there."

Rick pulls him into a fierce hug, pressing a kiss to Carl's head before stepping over to you and Judith. His daughter reaches for him with chubby hands babbling away.

"Hey, sweetheart," Rick murmurs, taking her from your arms for one last moment. "Daddy's gonna be back soon, okay? You be good for everyone."

Judith gurgles happily, completely unaware of the danger her father is about to face. Rick hands her back to you, his expression grateful. "Thank you. For staying. For watching them."

"Of course," you say softly. Your side still aches from the surgery—five and a bit weeks healed but not quite ready for the kind of action they're heading into.

Part of you hates being left behind, but the rational part knows you're needed here.

Daryl's bike is nearby, the familiar sound making your heart clench. He's been quiet this morning, more withdrawn than usual, and you know he's going over things in his head.

He catches your eye as he heads down the porch steps and nods toward you, When he reaches you, he's gentler than usual, his rough hands careful as he touches Judith's cheek.

"Be good for m'woman Lil Asskicker" he says to the baby, his voice softer than most people ever hear it. Judith grins at him, reaching for his hair.

His eyes meet yours over Judith's head, and you can see the worry there—not just about the mission, but about leaving you behind.

Something vulnerable flickers across his face before he leans in, pressing his lips to your temple in one last soft moment.

He climbs on his bike, kicks it to life, and with one last look at you and Judith, he's gone.

The plan is solid—Rick's plans usually are—but there are so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. And he's leaving you behind, still recovering, still not at full strength. The thought of something happening in Alexandria while he's out here...

The quarry is worse than he imagined. Thousands of them, packed together like sardines, all held back by a few trailers that are barely holding. One look tells him this was always going to happen—the trucks were failing, the walkers were getting out whether they did something about it or not.

"Holy shit," someone breathes over the radio.

"We gotta do this now," Rick's voice crackles back, automatic and focused.

The plan unfolds like clockwork at first. They get the walkers moving, create noise to draw them away from Alexandria. Daryl takes point on his bike, leading them down the predetermined route. It's working. It's actually working.

Until it isn't.

The horn—loud, persistent, coming from the direction of Alexandria—cuts through everything. Every walker in earshot turns toward the sound, toward home, toward you.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl growls, watching all the planning fall apart in seconds.

Back in Alexandria, you're in the kitchen with Carol, Carl and Judith, flour dusting your apron as you help roll out cookie dough. It's peaceful, domestic—the kind of normal afternoon that feels almost surreal after everything you've been through.

"Think they're okay out there?" Maggie asks from her spot at the kitchen table.

"They'll be fine," Carol says with the kind of confidence that doesn't allow for doubt. "Rick knows what he's doing."

Carl looks up from where he's cutting cookies with Judith on his lap, letting her "help" by grabbing at the cookie cutters. "Dad's been planning this for weeks. They've got it handled."

You want to believe that, but the knot of worry in your stomach hasn't loosened since you watched them drive away.

Five weeks ago, you would have been out there with them. Now you're stuck on the sidelines, useful only for babysitting and baking, which you wouldn't mind if not for the risk everyone else was taking.

The first sign something's wrong is the sound—shouting, not the shouts of children playing but visceral terror in the distance. Carol's head snaps up, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant.

"Carl," she says, her voice sharp. "Take Judith upstairs. Now."

"What—"

The front door explodes inward.

Everything happens at once. People pour through the doorway—but they're wrong, all wrong. Crude 'W's are carved into their foreheads, fresh blood still seeping from some of the self-inflicted wounds.

Their eyes are wild, feral, like they've given up on being human. These aren't walkers, but they might be something worse.

Carol moves like lightning. The sweet, harmless housewife persona drops away as she pulls a gun from somewhere and starts firing without hesitation.

You grab the nearest knife—not yours, that's still in the bedroom, but a kitchen knife that'll have to do—and push Carl and Judith behind the counter.

"Stay down," you hiss. "Don't move unless I tell you to."

The screams from the house across the street cut through the air like broken glass. You can see Mrs. Niedermeyer stumbling out of her front door, blood streaming down her face, before one of the wolves brings an axe down across her back.

She falls and doesn't get up.

"We have to help her," Carl says, starting to rise, but Carol yanks him back down.

"We can't save her, shes gone Carl" she says harshly, though her voice cracks slightly.

Your side screams in protest as you duck and weave, avoiding the stream of intruders while trying to protect the kids. You're not as smooth as Carol, not as deadly, but adrenaline and desperation make up for a lot.

One of them gets too close to where Carl is hiding with Judith, and you don't think—you just move. The knife slides between his ribs easier than you expected, and he drops with a surprised grunt.

The reality hits you—you just killed a person. Not a walker, not some mindless corpse, but a living, breathing human being.

Your hands shake as you stare down at the blood on the blade, at the man's face twisted in death.

"Focus!" Carol shouts, snapping you back to the moment. "They wouldn't hesitate. Don't you dare feel sorry for them."

You nod. "We need to move!"

She nods back, still firing with mechanical precision. "The storm cellar. Get them to the storm cellar."

You scoop up Judith while Carl grabs the diaper bag, and the three of you bolt for the back door just as more attackers flood into the kitchen.

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

Outside, Alexandria is chaos. Smoke rises from several buildings, and you can hear gunfire echoing from multiple directions. These people, are organized and vicious, tearing through homes like it's some sort of sick a game.

"This way," Carol leads you toward the storm cellar behind the houses, moving with the kind of tactical awareness that most people don't know she possesses.

You help Carl down into the cellar with Judith, the cool darkness a stark contrast to the chaos above. "You're in charge down here," you tell him, pressing the knife into his hands.

"Don't let anyone in unless it's one of us."

"Where are you going?" Carl asks, clutching Judith protectively.

"To help the others," Carol says grimly. "Alexandria's got people who can't defend themselves."

You're about to climb back out when you hear running footsteps. Enid appears, her face streaked with tears and dirt, running like her life depends on it.

"Enid!" you call, grabbing her arm. "Get down here!"

"I can't—I have to—"

"You have to stay alive," you say firmly, pushing her toward the cellar. "Carl, watch her too."

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

As you and Carol move through Alexandria's streets, helping evacuate families and fighting off the Wolves, you catch glimpses of the horror they're inflicting. The 'W's carved into their foreheads aren't just marks—they're like brands, symbols of whatever twisted philosophy drives them to this savagery.

You watch helplessly as the wolves move methodically through the streets, their crude weapons gleaming red in the afternoon sun.

They're not just killing—they're butchering, hacking apart anyone they find with the same casual efficiency they use on the walkers they've herded inside the walls.

Bodies litter the pristine streets you walked safely just this morning, and the metallic smell of blood mingles with smoke from the burning houses.

You're helping Mrs. Henderson toward safety when one of them corners you both.

This one's different—calmer, more calculating. His eyes fix on the way you're favoring your side, and a slow smile spreads across his blood-streaked face.

"Well, well," he says, circling you like a predator. "Someone's hurt. You ain't at full strength, I could help you"

He motions to a walker on the ground.

"Wanna make the change?"

You raise your knife, but you know your slower than usual.

"Gonna be real easy to carve my mark into that pretty face of yours," he continues, pulling out a blade of his own.

Before he can move, Carol appears behind him, her gun pressed to his skull. "Try it," she says coldly.

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

The sound of the horn cuts through everything then—loud, continuous, cutting through every other sound. You look toward the source and see smoke rising from the direction of the watchtower.

"Oh God," you breathe. "The quarry horde."

Carol's face goes pale as she realizes what this means.

That horn means there being led back. Right to you.

Miles away, Daryl feels his chest tighten as that horn cuts through the afternoon air. Everything they've worked for, everything they've planned, compromised in an instant.

"We have to go back," he says into his radio, his voice tight with worry.

"Daryl, no," Rick's voice crackles back, firm but understanding. "We stick to the plan. The walkers are following us now—if we turn back, we lead them straight to Alexandria. Straight to them."

Daryl's hands clench on his bike's handlebars. Every instinct is screaming at him to turn around, to get back to you, to make sure you're safe.

But the voice that sounds like Merle won't shut up. "Sure, tell yourself that, baby brother. Your girl's probably already dead while you're out here playing shepherd to a bunch of corpses."

"Rick's right," Abraham's voice comes over the radio. "We turn back now, we doom everyone."

Daryl closes his eyes for a split second, thinking of your face this morning, the way he'd kissed you goodbye.

The only way to keep you safe, keep the home your building safe, is to finish the job first.

"Alright" he says finally, his voice rough. "But the second we get these things clear..."

"The second we're clear, we go home," Rick promises.

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

In Alexandria, you and Carol have managed to get most of the vulnerable residents to safety, but the sound of that horn means your respite is temporary.

Hopefully the tower holds or the streets will be flooded with walkers, and everyone will be trapped.

The sky is thick with smoke and ash, a heavy dusk pressing down even though the sun hasn’t fully set. You’re crouched behind a shattered fence post beside Carol, your breath ragged from sprinting through smoke-filled streets. Blood is smeared on your arm—not yours, thankfully—and your heart feels like it might split your chest open.

Screams echo through the air, distant and near. The smell of fire, blood, and decay mixes with the dust kicked up by the commotion the wolves caused. There's constant noise—gunshots, growls, yelling—and none of it is background anymore.

You flinch as a walker slams against the corner of a nearby shed—Carol lifts her pistol without hesitation and fires once, clean through the skull.

“You good?” she says, voice clipped.

You nod quickly, though your hands are trembling and you feel exposed. You don’t even have a weapon the knife you had is now gone.

Carol’s eyes flick to your empty hands, and without a word, she pulls a small handgun from her belt and shoves it into your grip.

“Don’t hesitate. You’ll get one chance.” she says, hard but not unkind. "Ready ?"

You nod again, this time firmer.

Then—sprinting from the smoke, Glen appears. He’s filthy, blood smeared down one side of his face, his eyes wide with urgency. His voice cracks when he shouts.

“Where’s Maggie?!”

You and Carol both stand, startled. “We—we lost her in the chaos, but she'll be fine she's stron—”

“She’s pregnant!” Glen blurts cutting you off, as if the words have been rotting in his throat for hours.

Everything stops.

The chaos doesn't, but for you, for that one moment—it does. Your breath catches, and Carol’s face twists—not in shock, but in a silent curse to herself. You, however, freeze.

“She—what?” Your voice is small, confused.

“She's pregnant!” Glen’s repeats voice breaking. “I don’t know if she’s okay, I don’t know where she is—I just—”

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

BOOM.

The world lurches violently.

A massive groan of twisting metal and splintering wood tears through the air. You whip around just in time to see it.

The old tower the watchtower—damaged by the truck—finally gives. It tilts, groans, and collapses inward in a plume of dust and ash.

It slams into the outer wall.

And that’s when all hell truly breaks loose.

Walkers. Dozens. Then hundreds. Like a crack in a dam, and the flood is death.

Carol reacts instantly. “Move! Move now!” she screams, grabbing your arm and shoving you toward the nearest alley.

Glen stares for a beat longer at the breach, then bolts the other way, looking for Maggie.

Searching for the mother of his unborn child.

You follow Carol, pistol at the ready.

Your heart is hammering too hard to think.

All you can think about is Maggie. The look in Glen’s eyes. The way he said pregnant. The way his voice had cracked.

"We need a plan," you say, checking your ammunition. You only have a few rounds.

Carol nods, her expression grim but determined. "We hold out until they get back. Whatever it takes."

You meet her eyes, seeing the same fear you feel reflected there. "They'll come back," you promise, praying you're right.

"They always come back."

[runforthehillsbestie]

Broken Lullaby

Part 5 - trial and error

Pairing - Brahms Heelshire x Female reader

Read the story context and warnings here

That night, Brahms doesn't get a kiss. You lock your door and go to sleep, resisting the urge to relive what happened earlier with the help of your vibrator. He could be watching. In fact, you do not doubt that he is. The house is ominously quiet, so you're glad when it starts to drizzle, a soft patter against the window panes that lulls you to sleep.

The next morning the weather is nice, so you dress in a baggy printed t-shirt and some shorts before you head downstairs to scrounge up some breakfast. There's no sign of Brahms, but the doll is sitting in the foyer facing the stairs when you descend. Out of habit you take it with you into the kitchen and whip up some scrambled eggs and toast. Does Brahms like coffee or tea? Or maybe juice? You look around the quiet kitchen, regretting your decision to send him away.

You make plenty of everything just in case and leave it set out on the table. He doesn't have to hide from you anymore, so he can eat whenever he likes. You've just finished cleaning up when the phone rings in the foyer. When you pick it up the shrill voice that blasts into your ear almost makes you drop the receiver.

"I have been trying to call you forever!" Alex hollers.

"I thought the doll had come alive and killed you or something."

You stifle a smile at the irony. "Calls don't always come through and I was out yesterday, so I might've missed your call."

"Oh, you went out!" Alex croons.

"Well, not it in the way you're thinking," you reply.

"Where to then?"

"You know the groundskeeper I told you about?"

"Thorne?"

"Thorton," you correct. "Turns out he lives on a farm not too far away with his wife. I picked up my groceries from there yesterday and got a tour of the place." Alex laughs. "Must've been charming for a city girl like you, eh?"

You joke back and forth a little and Alex updates you on what's going on in London.

"Anyway, how are things coming along? You are writing, right?"

"Yes. I'm on schedule too."

"So the countryside is doing you some good! That's wonderful. I can't wait till you get back so I can see the fruits of your labor. I've missed your scholarly despair. The apartment has been too quiet."

"How sweet," you laugh.

"Well, just nine more days to go!" Alex says. A doorbell rings in the distance. "Oh, that's my takeout. I'm having someone over. Sort of like a date. I suppose I'll try to catch you again another day. Bye!"

You hang up. Nine days. Suddenly the thought of returning to the city isn't as appealing as it used to be. You take your laptop to the porch so you can make the most of the nice weather and work for a couple of hours. When it begins to get windy and cold you relocate to a couch inside and grab some wine. After you have a glass you begin to get drowsy and once the words start to swim on your screen, you call it a day. While it's past twelve, you still want to make a late lunch, but you're so comfy that you decide to curl up on the couch for a nap.

You're slowly dragged back to consciousness sometime later by a touch against your leg. You're lying on your side facing the back of the couch, so Brahms doesn't immediately notice you're awake as he crouches beside the couch. You have a knot in your side from the single position you've been sleeping in, but you keep your eyes closed and pretend to still be asleep so you can figure out what he's doing. He strokes your skin, keeping his touch light as he traces a path from your ankle to your knee, then up to your thigh and back down again. You almost shoot off the couch when you feel his breath against your skin. Is he not wearing the mask? The temptation to turn over and look is huge, but you force it down. If he wants you to see his face he'll show it to you. Right now, he thinks you're asleep and you'll only scare him off if you move. The tip of his nose drags over your skin.

What on earth is he doing?

You're unsure what to do but you decide to let him entertain himself because it's harmless, right? That is, until his lips--his chapped, dry lips--press to your thigh and you feel the tiniest bit of suction. You almost make a startled sound. A small part of you is irrationally disappointed that he didn't kiss you on the lips first. You feign waking up, rolling onto your back and stretching with a yawn. You don't hear a single floorboard squeak but when you open your eyes, you're alone. You sit up and examine your thigh. There's a tender spot there, the beginnings of a hickey.

You shuffle into the kitchen and begin making a late lunch, rubbing your thigh now and then. You've been subconsciously making bigger meals than you'd usually do, and today is no different. There's leftover chicken in the fridge, so you decide to make a chicken salad with rice. You forget that you need to boil the rice until you're done with everything else and since the package says it needs to boil for forty-five minutes, you decide to take a quick shower while it cooks. You stop in the drawing room to put some music on so that you can cross that off the list, reminding yourself to read aloud later. It's what you're being paid to do, after all.

Maybe I can coax Brahms to come out with that, you muse.

The water is heavenly against your skin. You tilt your face up to the spray and let the water rush over you. The only way you know the bathroom door has opened is because you feel a cold draft through the shower curtain. As you turn around soap suds sting your eyes, forcing you to squeeze them shut.

"Brahms?"

"Yes?" The word is drawn out, distracted.

You rinse your face and blink your eyes open. You can see his hazy form through the shower curtain, which is mostly clear. He's clutching the door frame, leaving dusty greyish fingerprints behind. His gaze is dark and heavy behind the mask and his cock is tenting his pants, straining against the material which already has a wet spot seeping into it. You can trace the outline of his shaft with your eyes as it swells against his thigh and as you look, the wet spot grows. He makes a small sound in his throat, almost a whimper. You don't bother trying to hide yourself from him. Instead, you tilt your head to the side.

"Since you're here, you might as well take a shower with me. Come here."

He hesitates, eyeing the water.

"It won't hurt, it's not hot. You can test it if you like."

He shuffles closer and parts the curtain, holds his hand under the stream. The moment the water touches his skin a thin rivulet of greyish runoff drips down his elbow.

"Remove your clothes and get in," you instruct.

He fumbles out of his clothes and you have to suppress a smile at his eagerness. The pants come off last, joining the pile of fabric on the floor. His chest and belly are dark with hair which tapers into a happy trail. You can't help but follow it with your eyes as it leads to bushy pubic hair and a cock which is thick and swollen, with a purplish head that drools precum.

Poor boy, you think.

The shower is just about big enough for the two of you. You step back as far as you can so that the water is spraying on him instead and get a generous squirt of shower gel and rub it between your hands to form a lather. He almost falls forward when you touch him for the first time, his knees going weak. His hands press against the wall of the shower to steady himself, boxing you in. His cock throbs so hard it brushes against your belly in pulses and he shivers but makes no attempt to intentionally rub against you--even though he probably wants to.

"I'm sorry for being bad," he chokes out, lowering his head to rest it against your shoulder, cool porcelain lips pressing against your skin.

"We all make mistakes, Brahms," you say gently. "What's important is that we learn from them, okay?"

He nods fervently.

"If you want something, you have to ask. And when someone tells you no, you have to listen. Especially when it's me."

He nods again, his now-wet curls bouncing. "I'll listen, I will."

"Good." You spread the lather over his shoulders, feeling muscle bunch and shift under your hands.

While you're aware that he's enjoying you touching him, you also just want to get him clean, so you treat this more like a task, allowing him to press his nose against your hair as you work. Your fingertips slide over a scar just below his ribcage, not a wide one, like whatever caused it was not too big. Brahms goes very still when your fingertips run over it.

"What happened here, Brahms?"

"A screwdriver. Greta," he whispers.

"A woman did this? Was she a previous nanny?"

He nods, his eyes fixed on your face.

"Oh, Brahms. It must have hurt," you murmur and switch to a soft loofah, scrubbing and rinsing his torso off till the water runs soapy but clear into the drain.

You could keep going lower, but it makes sense to try and wash his hair first. It turns out Brahms does not want your hands anywhere near his head or face. He freaks out and stumbles back, bumping into the wall and nearly yanking the shower curtain off. He loses his hard-on in mere moments, growing confused and suspicious all at once, pressing a hand against his mask and rising to his full height above you.

"No," he says.

"Okay. Do you want to wash your hair then?" You keep your voice gentle.

He hesitates.

"How about you do the rest yourself?" You rinse off and step out, wrapping a towel around yourself. "I'll just dry my hair over here, okay? Sorry if it's loud."

You switch the blow-drier on and proceed to do just that. He keeps his eyes on you while he scrubs his soapy hands in his hair, only closing his eyes briefly when the soap runs into them.

"Do you want me to leave so you can remove your mask and wash your face?"

"No. Don't go," his tone grows sharp and you wonder if he'll ever begin to trust that you're not just going to grab your suitcases and sneak away.

You turn your back to him instead and drop the towel to put on your clothes. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you. By the time you're dressed, the shower turns off and Brahms stands dripping onto the bath mat, squeaky clean and smelling of your shower gel. His skin has a bit of a sickly undertone from the lack of sunlight and you make a mental note to add vitamins to your grocery list. You hand him a clean towel.

"Dry off and we'll get you some of Mr. Heelshire's clothes to wear."

Brahms doesn't react at all to the mention of his father's name. He follows you to his parent's bedroom. You feel like you're not supposed to be in here as you pick out some clothes. Mr. Heelshire is wider around the middle, which explains the suspenders Brahms wears. It doesn't look like Mr. Heelshire owns any belts. A few minutes later he's dressed in brown slacks and a flannel shirt that's a little too small on him, revealing his wrists.

"Okay, now that we're both clean, how about a snack and some reading?" Brahms nods, shadowing you as you head downstairs.

"How do you like your tea?" You ask as you fix two cups of Earl Grey.

"Milk and sugar, please."

"You sound so prim," you tell him with a smile, arranging some tea cakes on a plate. "Like a proper uppity Victorian child."

He reaches out and presses his thumb wonderously to the corner of your smiling mouth.

"What is it?" You ask.

He looks at you with puppy eyes. "Kiss?"

You oblige, getting up on your tiptoes to meet him halfway. Brahms seems to need to touch you whenever he gets a kiss and this time one large hand cups your waist while the other curls gently around your neck. You practically feel your ovaries explode and a flame of arousal burns through you so hotly that you pull away after the briefest peck against his mask. You've never had someone do that before and you had no idea you'd even like that. The discovery shakes you up.

"Let's go read," you announce.

Your hands are trembling, so you ask him to hold the tray. He follows you, unaware of how much he has affected you. Luckily, reading gives you a chance to cool off and you tuck away this little incident to analyze later. It doesn't take long before you're lost in the rhythm of the words. The last sip of your tea has gone cold, forgotten on the side table. Brahms has been sitting beside you on the couch but now, to your surprise, he tucks his big body onto the couch and lays his head in your lap, resting his hand against your thigh.

"Such a darling," you can't help but coo, stroking his arm. "You'll be good, won't you Brahms?"

He nods, his eyes flickering shut behind the mask. You feel warm and gooey inside, like you've just gotten a neglected puppy to trust you for the first time. You're not sure if he's fallen asleep or he's only pretending he has, but you let him use your lap as a pillow. You've never had anyone be this cuddly with you and you're enjoying the weight and warmth of him, getting lost in your thoughts, until you eventually doze off yourself.

You wake up to the disorienting sound of the doorbell. You rub your cheek and sit up to find yourself alone in the room. The book slid from your hands at some point and is now resting on the floor. You pick it up and set it on the coffee table. The doorbell rings again.

"Just a minute!" You call out. Who on earth is that? Thorton?

You stride over to the door and open it to find a young man and an older woman in cycling clothes and helmets. The young man is at the bottom of the porch stairs, leaning on a professional racing bicycle. He gives you a brief wave but his eyes quickly shift away.

"Hello," the woman says brightly, crow's feet appearing at the corner of her eyes when she smiles. "Sorry to trouble you, but we took a wrong turn somewhere and I'm afraid we're lost. How do we get to the nearest town?"

"It's not too far from here. Half an hour, maybe, if you double back until you reach the fork in the road," you reply.

"Excellent!" She hesitates, then holds up two empty water bottles. "Could we have some water? I'd be glad to pay you for it."

"Of course, and there's no need to pay me." You open the door. "Come to the kitchen and I'll get those filled for you."

"Thank you," the woman says, unclipping her helmet and tossing it to the young man. "I'll be back, you wait here," she says to him, smoothing a hand through her greying hair and following you inside.

She'll be in and out in five minutes, you think to yourself. Brahms might not even notice.

"So, do you cycle a lot?" You ask as you fill the two bottles.

"At least once a week," the woman says. "It was a family thing until my husband passed away. Now it's just me and my son."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was two years ago," the woman shrugs, looking around the kitchen. "May I use your washroom?"

"It's just down the hall to the right," you tell her.

She thanks you again. You finish filling the bottles and take them out to give them to the young man, except he isn't there, and his bicycle is toppled on its side. You turn and hurry back inside, your stomach already dropping.

"Brahms, please tell me you didn't--"

The young man steps out of one of the rooms and into your path. You stop short, surprised to see that he's unharmed.

"Where's Hattie?" He asks.

"She had to use the toilet. Um, what are you doing with that?"

He looks down at the small statue he's holding.

"This thing can probably sell for a lot of money, you know," he says casually.

Your eyebrows raise, uncomprehending. Before you can say anything Hattie appears at the top of the stairs.

There's a toilet downstairs. Why is she up there?

"It looks like you're all alone at the moment," she calls. "Now that's a pity."

"Wait, what are you doing?" You protest.

"Just taking a couple of items off your hands," the young man says, dropping the statue into his backpack.

For a moment you just stand there in stunned silence, and all you can think of is Brahms. Brahms in the walls, watching strangers in his home, taking his stuff.

"No," you breathe.

"This house is like a museum, dear. You have so many things, surely you won't miss much," Hattie says, trotting down the stairs with a painting of a desolate, windswept plain tucked under her arm. "This is a De Bruin original, by the way," she adds.

"Please don't," you say. "Stealing from here will get you killed."

"Because it's haunted? Yeah, we've heard the stories. Whoo, I'm terrified," The young man snorts, pulling a knife out of his backpack, tossing and catching it before pointing it at you. "Look here, if you don't make this a problem for us, we won't make this a problem for you."

"But--"

"Shut up!" He yells, coming closer and waving the blade in your face.

You back away and bump against the wall.

"Don't scare the poor bird," Hattie laughs going up the stairs again, surprisingly spry for her age. "I spotted an attic! Maybe there's some old jewelry up there. Give me a few minutes," she calls over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up!" The young man shouts back.

"You don't understand," you press, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. "What you're doing is dangerous."

"I told you to keep your mouth shut," the man says, growing antsy the longer his companion takes. "Hattie, hurry up!"

There's a heavy thump from above and a startled yelp, and Brahms appears at the top of the stairs, dragging Hattie. He grabs her and lifts her off her feet with ease. She coughs and chokes as the collar of her shirt digs into her neck, her feet kicking fruitlessly.

"Brahms, no!" You scream.

He shoves her down the stairs. She tumbles and thuds all the way down, coming to a dazed stop at the bottom. There's a cut over her eyebrow that's bleeding profusely. The man swears and grabs you, pressing the blade against your neck.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," he says shakily. "You let us go and I won't do anything to her."

Brahms descends the stairs, stepping over Hattie. His hands curl into fists and his head tilts to the side as he studies the man. His eyes are burning with cold fire. He takes a step forward.

"Brahms, just let them go," you say, your voice thin and high with fear.

"I'll do it, I'll hurt her," the man insists, pressing the blade harder into your skin. "Get back!"

The man is trembling so hard that you're sure he'll end up cutting you by accident. You feel a slight sting and a warm drop of blood rolls down your neck. Time stops. Brahms seems larger than life, possessed with unholy anger. He rushes at the man, who shoves you away so he can meet Brahms head-on instead.

His attempt at defense is pathetic. His swing goes wide, and Brahms pushes him against the wall, slamming his wrist against it over and over again until the knife drops from his numbed fingers. Before the man can move to grab it Brahms punches him in the gut and when he doubles over he does it again, smashing his fist into the man's face. You gasp when you see a tooth drop out of the man's mouth and bounce across the floor.

"Brahms, stop!" You cry out, but he isn't listening to you.

He throws the man to the floor and starts to kick him viciously in the ribs. The broken sound the man utters makes your stomach turn.

"Stop it!" You grab Brahms by the arm, trying to pull him away.

He turns on you, shoving you against the wall. He's so angry, glaring into your eyes as he squeezes your throat just hard enough for you to struggle to draw in your next breath.

"Brahms," you squeak. "Don't do this."

His eyes soften a little and he releases your neck. His bloodies hand strokes your face. A second later he's stumbling to the floor from the impact of a bat against the side of his head. You scream in horror as blood splatters against the floorboards and you drop to your knees beside him.

"Oh my god, Brahms!"

He shoves you to the floor, covering you with his body moments before the bat comes down again. It makes a solid thwacking sound across his back. You catch a glimpse of ruined skin where the mask shattered and cut into his face. Brahms stares down at you, his pupils dilated. Blood soaks into his beard and drips onto your chest.

"Motherfucker!" The young man snarls, lifting the bat again.

Brahms turns around and catches the next swing with his forearm, absorbing the brunt of the impact with a grunt. He rips the bat out of the man's hands and swings it into his ribcage. You swear you hear something shatter and the man crumples to the floor.

"No," Hattie cries from the bottom of the stairs, reaching out a pleading hand. "He's sorry! We're sorry. We'll leave. Please!"

Brahms raises the bat above his head and brings it down with all the force in his body. There's a sickening crunch, followed by a sudden stillness. You've covered your face with your hands, too afraid to look. You can hear Brahms breathing in ragged, hitching gasps. His footsteps are wet as he crosses the foyer. Hattie makes a thin animal sound of fear, and then there's a snap and she too goes silent.

"Oh my god," you whisper into your palms. "Brahms, what have you done?"

"I had to," he responds, his voice pitching into that eerie, childlike voice. "They wanted to hurt you."

"You didn't have to kill them," you choke. "I told you no! They begged you to stop!"

"I had to protect you," he says.

You flinch when he crouches in front of you and tries to pull you into his arms. His hands and shirt are warm and sticky. Wet with blood. You shove him away and scramble to your feet, almost losing your balance on the slippery floor. You try not to look at the bodies. Brahms lowers his head, staring you down.

"I had to do it," he says, his voice growing deeper. "For you."

You shake your head. He reaches for you again and you spin around and run towards the door.

"No!" He roars, and you scream and burst out onto the porch.

Brahms freezes at the threshold, catching himself against the door. He can't follow you out for some reason. There's a familiar car pulling into the driveway. It's Thorton. Brahms backs away before spinning on his heel and stalking down the hallway, stepping apathetically over the bodies and disappearing further into the house. Thorton gets out of his car, all jolly and smiling. He starts to greet you and then sees the blood on your clothes and the expression on your face.

"What in god's name happened?" He asks, and you burst into tears.

"He k-killed people," you stammer, shivering as the wind cools the blood on your shirt. "They're dead."

"Tell me everything, but first let's get you inside, dear."

You can't stop shaking, but you shake your head. "The bodies are right there. I don't want to see them."

Thorton runs a hand through his hair. "Wait here."

He disappears inside, and you hear him muttering in dismay. He returns a minute later with a thick blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"What are we going to do?" You whisper.

Thorton shifts his weight and clears his throat. "I've called in a favor with someone. It'll be taken care of."

You sit on the porch steps with a thump.

"This has happened before, hasn't it? What about the repairman? Brahms killed him too, didn't he?"

Thorton sighs, and you bristle.

"You lied to me."

"I didn't want to scare you off." With a pained groan, he sinks onto the steps next to you.

"Brahms doesn't hurt people unless he's provoked. He has tremendous anger issues and he doesn't know his own strength, and that combination tends to go badly."

You rub your neck where the ghostly feeling of Brahms's hand remains, so rough compared to earlier when he kissed you. It's hard to reconcile the two sides of him.

"Brahms is an extremely unstable individual. He has grown up isolated and alone, and I'm certain his parents were of no help either. They were ashamed of him, of what people said he'd done. Whether it was true or not, they chose to bury the past and him with it," Thorton says. "None of this is right, but I can't say Brahms can be fit in a box. He's much too complicated for that."

"He didn't listen to me," you whisper, staring at the man's bicycle that is still resting on its side. "God, I shouldn't have let the woman in the house. This is all my fault."

"No." Thorton clamps his hand on your shoulder. "Don't blame yourself."

"I don't know what to do.'

"One step at a time," Thorton says. "It's cold. Let me make you a cup of something warm, yes?"

You nod slowly. Time passes in one big blur, and you hardly notice when Thorton brings you a cup of tea. You can only manage a few sips, but at least it warms up your hands. A nondescript white van comes up the driveway, and a man in dark coveralls out.

"Where?" He asks you.

"Just inside," you mumble.

You huddle in the blanket and wait. Fifteen minutes later the man comes out again, carrying a wrapped body. You avert your eyes as he brings out the second one and heaves them into the back of the van. He exchanges a few words with Thorton and drives away. You jump when Thorton touches your shoulder.

"You'll catch a cold like this. Please come inside."

You step inside. The air is tinged with the scent of disinfectant and the floor is clean. There's no sign that two people just died in here, and that makes you want to throw up.

Part 6 - see me for what I am (Coming Soon!)

@fromsaltandsea and @lovelymindescape asked to be tagged! <3

@runforthehillsbestie

[innerxsanctum]

Happy birthday to the reason I became a Pethead in the first place. There aren't enough words to express everything you mean to me, so I won't even try. But you've changed my life in ways I never thought possible. Thank you for being unapologetically yourself, and most of all, for being the driving force behind Pet Shop Boys.

“Writing new stuff and doing new projects and everything is really what I live for.”

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[ourceliumnetwork]

y'know. i don't often hate the way my brain is and how difficult it makes certain things for me.

i do a little today though.

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ roommate!sukuna is, deep down, probably the biggest, most lovesick fool you know. he's also a massive pervert. and since he’s utterly shit at actually saying how he feels, he defaults to being a complete fucking creep in ways no normal person ever would.

he likes to stare, for starters. you can feel it whenever you walk past him – his eyes lock onto the curve of your hip, your ass, whatever part of you happens to be passing.

he tracks the sway of your hips like a predator, leaning back against the wall, maybe dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. he's not even subtle about it. if you catch him, his gaze doesn't waver.

"what?" he'll snort, all arrogance. "someone's gotta appreciate the view. consider it a public service." heat flares on your cheeks, but you just shoot him a glare, refusing to give him more reaction than that.

sukuna also likes to test boundaries with your belongings. you always thought it was weird that laundry was the one chore he never bitched about. sometimes, he even offers to do yours, which should’ve been the first red flag.

inevitably, he'll accidentally mix things up, making you sift through his boxers and worn shirts when you’re just trying to find your own stuff. then, later, you’ll find him lounging on the couch, casually inspecting a pair of your underwear you didn't even realize was missing.

"sukuna!" you hiss, snatching them back. his fingers brush yours, a fleeting contact he clearly savors.

"nice pair," he nods, eyes glinting with amusement at your blush. "i like the cartoon mice. don't blush. i'm sure they look great on you. or, off." and no, he doesn't bother mumbling that last part.

he also just happens to be wherever you are in the apartment. convenient for him, annoying as hell for you. if you're cooking, he'll suddenly need something from the cupboard right above your head, pressing his body flush against your back in a half-assed excuse of reaching.

he presses close enough you can feel the unmistakable ridge of him against your lower back through his thin sweats.

jesus, is he hard? you think, trying not to jolt away as he lingers just a second too long. (he probably thinks it's your fault; your ass just feels that good against him.)

more often than not, he pads around the apartment fresh from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. hair damp, ink stark against damp skin, water droplets tracing paths down the hard planes of his chest and abs…

god, those abs. enough to make your brain short-circuit right in the middle of a work zoom call. yes, zoom, because he has zero issues barging into your room half-naked, pretending he absolutely needed something that couldn't possibly be in there.

then, there are the nights you bring guys over. not often, but often enough to wind him up tight. the walls are paper-thin, your room right next to his. hearing you is unavoidable.

sukuna scoffs into his pillow, knuckles white where he grips the sheets. as if that panting loser could make you feel half as good as he could. he grits his teeth, the sounds filtering through the wall – your sounds – a raw torment.

closing his eyes, he forces the image: not that pathetic asshole touching you, but him. his cock sliding deep inside you, feeling that tight clench instead of the friction of his own fist. he imagines those choked whimpers and sharp cries are for him, ripped from your throat by his touch, his length filling you up.

he clenches his jaw, trying to stay quiet even as his hips start an involuntary rhythm against the mattress. fuck that, this is his place too. why should he have to be quiet when you clearly aren't bothering?

slick pre-cum coats his fingers as his eyes squeeze shut. his wrist picks up speed, jerking down his hardening dick, pulling hushed, rough groans past his lips.

it never takes long when it’s the thought of you, even with the distraction of that rat squeaking alongside you. he tries to time it, always tries to match his peak with the crescendo he hears through the wall.

a ragged groan leaves from his throat, followed by your name, broken and low, "oh, fucking hell," thick ropes of heat spurt over his knuckles, coating his lower stomach and thighs in sticky white.

his breathing slowly evens out, chest rising and falling as he tips his head back against the headboard, spent.

and hey, you're definitely not an idiot. sukuna might be, though. as you finally shove the latest disappointment out your door, you allow yourself a faint smile. your pervert roommate isn't nearly as quiet as he thinks he is.

besides, can he really not tell the difference between genuine moans and the over-the-top, fake-as-fuck performance you've been putting on lately?

one of these days, you hope he'll finally get the hint. or just grow a pair and do something about it. if you're going to be living with a creep, you'd rather live with a creep who actually has the balls to make a move.

[cowboybeepboop]

Perfection

 "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

Genre: smut

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re Sergei’s closest (and only) friend, one night things become more than just friendly.

a/n: as always send any request you have my way! I’ll get to them asap 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the foliage above, you felt an eerie presence nearby. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught a flicker of movement among the trees. It was Sergei, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. 

You'd found him in this very forest when he had first left home, and now, years later, he remained a silent guardian. 

Sergei stood amidst the shadows of the forest, his form blending seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. His gaze lingered on you, studying your every detail. The familiar scent of the forest and your presence filled his senses, stirring a mix of nostalgia and concern within him.

"You've been here a while," he observed, his voice a low rumble. "Looking for something?"

"Just watching," you murmur, standing as he approaches your side. you brush your hands over your jeans, grinning as you look up at him. 

Sergei, towering above you, stands close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes study your every movement, taking in the way your hands brush over your jeans. A faint smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Watching, eh?" he remarks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the forest around you. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not particularly, well at least not before you showed up," you observe his strong features in the sunlight, hands aching to touch him.

Sergei's smirk widens as he notices the way your eyes roam over his features, taking in the play of sunlight on his chiseled face. He can feel the subtle tension rising between you, a familiar pull that has always been there.

"Is that right?" he responds in a low, amused tone. "So, I'm more interesting than the scenery then?"

"But of course," you glance around, "the forest doesn't exactly talk back, does it?" 

Sergei's lips quirk into a crooked smile as he considers your retort. His eyes follow the movement of your gaze, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

"True, the forest is a silent spectator." he muses, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But I happen to be a little more engaging than a few trees and squirrels."

Then, his tone shifts slightly, a touch more commanding yet laced with an underlying softness. "You should join me for dinner. It's late, and I doubt you've eaten anything substantial."

"What's on the menu?" you grin, linking your arm with his as he begins to guide you to his home.

As you link your arm with his, Sergei lets out a chuckle at your question. It was never a struggle to get you to come along when food was involved.

"Nothing fancy, just a simple meal," he replies, his hand instinctively resting on top of yours as he guides you through the trail he and his family had made years before. "Some stew from a rabbit I caught earlier, fresh bread, and maybe a few berries if I can find any."

"Sounds perfect, Sergei." you lean your head against his shoulder, enjoying the heat that's radiating off of him. 

As your head rests on his shoulder, Sergei glances down at you, a warm smile playing on his lips. The familiarity of your touch and the way you lean into him stirs emotions within him. He'd always been protective of you, seeing you as someone he needed to keep safe.

He continues to guide you along the path, the sound of nocturnal creatures filling the night air. "You're quiet tonight," he notes, his voice gentle. "Everything alright?"

Your eyes widen as he catches on to your distracted mind, thoughts filled with the idea of being in his home and surrounded by his scent rather than making conversations. "Of course..." you murmur, "Just a little.. preoccupied." you grin up at him 

Sergei narrows his eyes slightly, a mix of concern and curiosity in his gaze. Your vague answer and the hint of a grin on your face pique his interest, making him even more curious.

"Preoccupied, hm?" he muses, a hint of humor in his voice. "With what exactly?" His arm tightens its hold on you, pulling you closer as if to physically keep you from drifting away in thought.

"That's a secret," you retort, eyes glued on the building ahead of the both of you, Sergei finally guiding you inside his home. 

Sergei's smirk only widens at your response, your words fueling the curiosity further. He watches the way your eyes dart towards his home, knowing exactly what you're thinking. With a slight chuckle, he leads you inside.

The interior is cozy and warm, lit by a few oil lamps that cast a soft, flickering glow over the room. The scent of woodsmoke and herbs fills the air. Sergei closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

"A secret, huh?" he muses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now you've got me genuinely intrigued."

You take a seat on the couch, relaxing into the plush fabric. "I'll tell you after dinner, I'm too hungry to wait." you pull a blanket over your body, instantly making yourself at home in the familiar environment. 

Sergei watches as you settle into the couch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Your ability to make yourself at home in his space doesn't go unnoticed, and he finds it almost endearing.

"Fair enough," he smirks, moving towards the small kitchenette area. "Dinner won't take too long. I promise I'll have you spilling your secrets soon enough." He grabs a few items from his cupboards and sets to work on preparing the meal.

"Take your time pretty boy," you murmur, eyes glued to his back as he moves around the kitchen.

Sergei's shoulders visibly tense for a moment as your voice drifts over to him, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. Your playful nickname causes a familiar heat to rise up within him, and he can feel your gaze on his back.

Without turning around, he responds in a low, teasing tone, "Careful, I might get used to the praise."

"Youre right, I cant inflate your ego too much." you giggle softly. He finally finishes the meal, bringing you a bowl of the stew.

Sergei carries the bowl of warm stew back to the living area, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he sets it down in front of you. He doesn't miss the way your eyes light up at the sight and smell of the food, and it only adds to his amusement.

"Here," he says, placing the bowl gently in your hands. "Be careful, it's still hot."

Once you have the bowl securely in your grasp, Sergei takes a step back, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He watches you closely, his gaze taking in every movement, as you bring the spoon to your lips and take a tentative taste of the stew.

"It's perfect Sergei, amazing." you hum in satisfaction, your eyes meeting his while you enjoy the meal he prepared.

Sergei's smirk blossoms into a satisfied smile as he watches you relish the meal. Hearing your genuine praise and seeing the contentment on your face brings a sense of satisfaction to him. 

"Glad you like it," he replies, leaning back a bit as he observes you. His smirk morphs into a wry grin, and he adds, "I promise I didn't poison it."

"Well of course not, you can't go poisoning your only friend." the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish your meals. Once you place the empty bowl on the coffee table you feel the intense stare boring into the side of your head, Sergei watching your every move.

As you set your empty bowl aside, you can feel Sergei's intense gaze on you. His eyes meticulously watch you, cataloging every movement, every flicker of emotion that passes across your face. Being the center of his unblinking attention is a sensation that never fails to awaken the butterflies in your stomach.

After a moment, he breaks the silence. His voice is low, with a hint of huskiness in his tone. "So... about that little secret you've been holding onto..."

"Well, I was thinking.. about asking you if I could stay here for the night." you turn to him, expression pleading. "Look I know it's a little inconvenient-" he interrupts you.

Before you can finish your statement, Sergei cuts you off. You sense a hint of surprise mixed with something else in his expression, but it's quickly concealed behind his usual smirk.

He crosses his arms over his chest, a slightly challenging look in his eyes. "Let me get this straight," he says, his voice taking on a dry edge. "You want to... crash here for the night, no explanation?"

"Well I was going to explain but you interrupted.." you murmur, voice soft as your gaze falls to your hands. "It's just I really like spending time with you.." 

Sergei's expression softens as he hears the note of disappointment in your voice. The hint of challenge in his eyes fades, replaced by a touch of guilt. He doesn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your lowered hands.

After a moment, he sighs heavily, his voice holding a hint of resignation. "So, that's your big secret then? You just want more time with me?"

"Yes.." you whisper, silently cursing yourself for ever bringing it up. You always knew that your affections were one sided yet the confirmation of it hurts more than you were anticipating. 

Sergei's eyes are unreadable as he absorbs your words, his expression neutral. A moment of silence follows, the only sound in the room the soft crackle of the fireplace. His gaze is fixed on you, studying your expression and the subtle change in your demeanor.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, a hint of sympathy lacing his words. "Is that the only reason? You just... want to be around me more?"

"I like your company, you're comfortable, *familiar*." you carefully gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes. 

A muscle in Sergei's jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your big, pleading eyes meeting his. The sight stirs something within him, but he's not entirely sure what it is. 

After a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh, his expression a mix of resignation and something else. "Fine," he mutters, looking away. "You can stay here whenever. But only on one condition."

"Anything you want." you smile, moving closer to him, your eyes filled with excitement. 

Sergei notices the way you shift closer to him, the gleam of excitement in your eyes making it obvious how much you want to be close to him. He lets out a huff, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Anything, huh?" he muses, his voice a low rumble. "Careful, you're giving me free reign to make all sorts of demands now."

"You're free to make any demands, it is your house after all." you bring your hands to his knees, fingers gently digging into his clothed skin. "But what is your condition?"

As you place your hands on his knees and dig your fingers into his skin, Sergei can feel a slight shiver run down his spine. The mixture of surprise and a sudden flare of heat takes him momentarily off guard, and he has to force himself to focus on the conversation. 

He takes a moment to reply, eyes flickering down to your fingers before fixing on your face again. "My condition..."

He pauses, swallowing back a sharp reply and instead opting for a straightforward request. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then where will I sleep?" your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you move closer.

Your closeness causes Sergei's breath to hitch ever so slightly, his eyes roaming over your face as you approach. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. 

"You can take my bed," he says bluntly, his gaze not wavering from yours. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No," you begin to protest, "can we share the bed? I don't want to steal it from you..."

Sergei blinks, clearly not expecting your response. The idea of sharing his bed with you had never occurred to him before, but now that you've suggested it, he can't deny the spark of heat it ignites within him.

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his cool composure. "You... want to share the bed?" he repeats, his voice a touch huskier than usual.

"Yes.." you grin sweetly, "I'd love to." Sergei can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as you grin sweetly up at him, your eagerness obvious. The thought of sharing his bed with you - of having you that close to him for an entire night - is suddenly far more appealing than he wants to admit. 

He swallows, trying to regain some sense of control. "Very well," he manages, his voice rough. "You can share the bed with me, then."

"Shall we head to bed then? It is getting a bit late.." you yawn quietly. 

With your yawn catching his attention, Sergei glances at the nearby clock. It was indeed getting late. The thought of sharing a bed with you is still on his mind, but he has to admit, he's also feeling rather tired.

"Right." he agrees huskily. He stands from the couch, offering you a hand to help you up. "Let's get some sleep then."

"Lead the way, handsome." you follow close behind as he guides you into his bedroom.

As you follow behind him, your light footsteps echoing quietly against the wooden floorboards, Sergei leads you into his simple yet cozy bedroom. The space is just big enough for a queen-size bed and a small dresser, but it's kept tidy and neat.

He steps aside to allow you to enter first, gesturing towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmurs, his eyes on you the entire time.

"Thank you, Sergei." you silently creep into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before sliding out of your pants, folding and placing them on the nightstand. You're blissfully unaware of his tense gaze, watching as you pull your bra off from under your shirt, placing it off to the side. 

Sergei stands in the doorway, watching every one of your movements with unblinking intensity. His eyes seem to follow your every gesture like a hawk tracking its prey. Your casual actions - stripping off your pants and then your bra - are like a slow, torturous reveal to him. 

His jaw clenches, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure. He cannot deny the effect your presence in his space - in his *bed* \- is having on him.

With a final small stretch you slip beneath the covers, eyes wandering to look at him in the doorway. "Are you coming in?" you murmur, not wanting to steal his space from him.

Sergei's eyes remain glued to you as you slip beneath the covers, a mixture of desire and restraint clearly visible in his gaze. At your question, he snaps out of his trance, realizing he's just been standing there staring. 

He clears his throat slightly, steeling himself before slowly approaching the bed and pulling back the covers on the other side. "Yeah. I'm coming in." 

He slides into the bed beside you, trying to maintain a distance but finding himself drawn to your warmth.

"Good night Sergei.." you whisper in the silent and dark room, eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into the sheets. The sound of your soft voice whispering goodnight only serves to heighten his senses, the intimacy of the situation making it difficult for him to even breathe. 

"Good night," he mutters in response, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment longer before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.

As the minutes tick by, Sergei finds himself unable to sleep. Your body is a mere arm's length away from him, causing the most primal part of his brain to struggle against the temptation to pull you flush against him. 

He tries to think of anything else - anything that could distract him from the overwhelming desire surging through him. Yet, no matter what he tries, his mind drifts back to you, lying so close but still just out of reach...

You shift in your sleep, soft incoherent murmurs slipping from your parted lips as you move closer to him, craving the heat of his body, the feel of his skin against yours. 

As you shift closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth in your sleep, it takes every ounce of Sergei's willpower not to react. He feels the heat of your body as you press up against him, your murmurs sounding like a soft siren's song to his lust-fogged brain. 

He grits his teeth, his muscles coiled tight as he struggles to resist the urge to pull you even closer. "Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, his heartbeat increasing with every inch that separates your bodies.

Your bare leg wraps around his thigh as you pull yourself flush against him, your cheek pressing into his chest. You stir slightly, eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly. 

You place your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his abs as you turn your head to look at him. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you make eye contact with him, "Is everything alright?" 

As you stir and awaken, the innocent brush of your fingers against his chest sets his nerve endings ablaze. His skin tingles wherever you touch, the feel of your bare leg wrapped around his sending a jolt of heat through him. 

He meets your gaze, his own eyes dark with poorly concealed desire. "It's... fine," he manages to rasp out, trying to ignore the way his body is reacting to your touch. "Just... can't sleep, that's all."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" your eyes lock with his, full of sleepy affection.

Your sleepy gaze, full of warmth and affection, only makes Sergei's self-control slip further. He swallows roughly, his hand itching to reach out and touch you, to pull you even closer to him. 

"I... I don't... know..." he whispers hoarsely. His gaze drifts down to your parted lips, the temptation to lean in and claim them nearly overpowering. "You're making this very... *difficult* for me, you know." Your eyes widen as you realize his implication, your body tensing slightly. 

Sergei can feel the tension in your body as you realize the meaning behind his words. He curses himself silently, hating the way your slight recoil makes him feel. 

He loosens his grip on your hip, shifting to create a small gap between your bodies, his voice dropping to a more soothing tone. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... your presence here, in my bed... it's stirring up some unexpected... *desires*."

"Do you.. desire me?" your voice is a breathless whisper as you scan his features, your heart pounding rapidly inside you.

Your quiet question hangs in the air, and Sergei finds himself hesitating for a moment, the weight of his answer almost too much to bear. His gaze fixates on you, unflinching, as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip. 

"Yes," he finally responds, his voice a rough, low rumble. "I do. More than you could possibly understand."

You take a shakey deep breath, gathering the confidence to make a move on this gentle giant. You slide the blankets off of your bodies, moving to straddle his hips, your eyes full of desire as you gaze down at him. 

Sergei's eyes widen slightly as you remove the blankets and boldly straddle his hips, your unexpected move taking him off guard. The sight of you looming over him, your eyes full of desire, sends a sharp thrill of heat through his body and straight to his core. 

His hands fly to your hips, gripping them with a possessive force. "What are you doing...?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with restrained desire.

"Sergei.. I want you." you press your palms to his chest, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his. 

As you begin to rock your hips against his, Sergei feels a growl rumble in his chest, his fingers digging further into the flesh of your hips. The pressure builds between your bodies, the friction of your movements driving him wild. 

He grabs your wrists, pinning them down on his chest as he looks up at you, his eyes full of a primal need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he hisses, his voice barely recognizable.

You continue to grind against him, soft unintelligible noises falling from your lips as you get lost in the feeling of his hardness pressed into your cunt.

With each movement of your hips, Sergei's control unravels further. The feel of your body, grinding against his hardness, sends a surge of raw need through him. He groans loudly, his grasp on your wrists tightening as he fights to maintain some semblance of restraint. 

"Fuck... You... You're going to drive me insane," he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"

Sergei's eyes flare with a wild, almost desperate hunger as he watches you, his restrained power a stark contrast to your unbridled passion. He releases your wrists, allowing his hands to glide up your arms, feeling the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers. "If we do this..." he warns, his voice strained with need. "There's no going back." His words hang in the air, a silent question and a promise wrapped in one.

"I know..  know but I need you, Sergei please." you whine, lost in the intoxication of his body against yours. 

Sergei's eyes darken further, the raw desire in them unmistakable. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment, it seems like he's fighting an internal battle. Then, with a low growl, he surrenders to the need, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that steals your breath away, his tongue demanding entry as your bodies become one in a tangle of heat and passion. The bed beneath you creaks as he rolls you over, his strong arms holding you firmly in place as his hips surge up to meet yours. 

Breaking the kiss, Sergei's eyes never leaving yours, he reaches down to tug at the hem of his shirt. With a swift motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing the defined planes of his chest and abs, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

His gaze is intense as he watches you, his movements deliberate as he undoes the button of his pants and slides them down, his erection springing free. Without breaking eye contact, his hands move to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt and lifting it up over your head. 

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to expose your bare skin to the cool night air. The anticipation is palpable, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down further, exposing your wet, eager cunt. 

He groans low in his throat, the sight of your nakedness driving him closer to the edge. With one swift move, he rids himself of his own underwear, his cock bobbing heavily with desire. His hand moves between your legs, his fingers sliding through your slickness before he lines himself up, his tip brushing against your entrance. 

"Ready?" he asks, his voice a harsh whisper, his eyes burning with need. At your nod, he pushes into you with a slow, agonizingly sweet motion, filling you completely as he buries himself to the hilt.

You nod, unable to find words as his cock slides into you with an agonizing slowness that makes you quiver with anticipation. Your eyes never leave his as he continues to fill you completely, stretching and claiming every inch of your body with a passionate dominance that sends shivers down your spine. 

His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, his powerful strokes setting a rhythm that echoes through the quiet night. Each thrust is punctuated by a guttural groan, his eyes never leaving yours as you both get lost in the moment. 

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the faint aroma of the stew from dinner. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets, creating a delicious friction that sends sparks of pleasure dancing across your skin. 

As he moves within you, Sergei's eyes burn with an intensity that you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you are exactly where you're meant to be. His every touch, every kiss feels like coming home, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly alive and desired.

With each powerful thrust, Sergei's control frays further, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. His hands grip your hips, guiding your body to meet his with a perfect rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

You moan his name, your nails digging into his back as your body arches off the bed, begging for more. The room is a symphony of your muffled cries and his feral grunts, the sound of flesh slapping together in an intimate dance. Your eyes are locked in a silent conversation of passion, the fire in his gaze igniting a fierce need within you. 

You can feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as the pressure builds. "Sergei, I'm... I'm going to cum," you gasp out, your body trembling. 

He responds with a low growl, his strokes becoming faster, deeper, pushing you over the precipice until you shatter in his arms, your climax ripping through you like lightning in a summer storm. He follows close behind, his own release a powerful wave that crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless and spent, your bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets.

He falls to the bed next to you, satisfaction filling his body as you cuddle into his warmth. As you both lay there, the night's passion still lingering in the air, Sergei's thoughts whirl with conflicting emotions. 

He can feel your gentle breath against his chest, the weight of your body against his own, and a sudden realization hits him like a punch in the gut. He can no longer deny the depth of what he feels for you. 

The way he had just made love to you - as passionately, hungrily, almost desperately as he had - betrayed his true feelings. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he tries to make sense of his thoughts.

"Sergei," you breathe out his name, your eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into him. 

As you breathe out his name, Sergei's arms tighten around you instinctively. He feels a sudden wave of protectiveness wash over him, a fierce need to keep you safe and loved. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Yes, my darling?" he mutters into the darkness, his voice thick with an emotion he doesn't dare name.

"That.. that was good," you murmur sleepily, body slowly relaxing.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he listens to your sleepy murmur. He can hear the contented exhaustion in your voice, the way your body is melting into his embrace. "Good, huh?" he replies, his tone soft and faintly teasing. "Just good?"

"Perfect." you correct yourself, causing a satisfied and cocky smirk to rest on his lips. 

A cocky smirk forms on Sergei's lips as you correct yourself, his ego swelling at your praise. "Perfect, hm?" he repeats, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. 

He leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

[kkusuka]

i'm back on my medic bullshit.

being hired to be the medic for an elite task force came with it's own insanity- which you prepared for.

you prepared for the amount of blood, Sergeant MacTavish and his tendency to get shot in the arm, then not heading your warning about overusing said arm, then blowing his stiches causing even more blood.

you prepared to be fought against, Captain Price and his need to be constantly working and on top of things, which he can't exactly do with a nasty concussion from being in a helicopter crash, but he only listens to you after getting flash banged by his own office lights.

you prepared to be listened to, Sergeant Garrick is like an angel in a sea of demons, it's not often, but when he does get injured he hangs off of every word you say to him. he comes in early for his check-ups, heads your warnings and even got you a little mug when you clear him for field activities.

you even prepared to get nothing, Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, then when he does he just sits and listens to you rattle on about how to take care of his ankle, then he leaves with a nod of his head.

what you did not prepare for was walking in on poor Sergeant MacTavish- after a nasty fall out of a moving truck, then rolling into a ditch and diving right into a river- sat up, head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. he isn't nearly as shocked as you were, there was always a risk of someone walking in on you in the military and he had been practically shouting your name.

and Johnny was not the 141 member known for sweet-talking but he somehow convinces you that getting him off will not only make him feel better now, but it will also exponentially speed up his recovery! and so you end up on your knees, licking his cock up and down as his hand guides the back of your head.

and, to your dismay, he did make a speedy recovery, but gave your blowjob skills all of the credit. and he made sure everyone possible knew about your magical skills. (you were worried about getting fired for malpractice, the 141 was plotting who was gonna be next.)

now they didn't all suddenly throw themselves in the path of danger, no amount of horniness would make them risk their jobs, but no one can help not getting hurt every once in a while.

Sergeant Garrick getting his face thrown into a concrete wall and just needing you to sit on it to make him feel better. hands holding your hips to his face, tongue circling your clit as you try to hold onto the metal headboard of the infirmary room. and one time just isn't enough, most medicine takes a few doses before it can actually start working, so he needs you on your back, and bent over the bed, and sitting on the examination table; not to mention those weekly check-ins to make sure he's actually healing.

then Captain Price gets caught in a nasty helicopter crash, his leg is hurt, not broken, but he can't do anything but paperwork for a month. and that's ok! because he has you to sit on his cock for hours, you don't want him to be lonely while his team gets to be together, and laswell is for too busy to keep him company. and it really will help him to have your tight pussy squeezing his cock while he completes his work. and since it's all confidential, he can’t have you reading over all of it, so his only choice is fucking you until the only thing you can think about are his fingers playing with your clit and his cock fucking into you.

Lieutenant Riley doesn't get hurt, so he has to get a little creative. (he wants to just pick you up and fuck you wherever he can but Johnny said that would ruin the bit, he doesn't care about the fucking bit when he's the only one who hasn't fucked their medic.) so he's suddenly in your office about everything; his fingers are aching from having to teach rookies the proper way to hold a gun, he hit his head on a doorframe and needs some pain meds, dog bite, until he just gets fed up. those fuckers were handed perfect opportunities and it's clear that he isn't getting the same grace, so he'll just have to create it on his own.

obviously that includes just going to your office, locking the door, and fucking you against it. it's unceremonious and rather inopportune but his face is in the junction of your shoulders, biting into the flesh of your neck, and his hands are keeping you pinned to the door as his hips piston into yours. he sits with you for at least an hour after, cleaning the cum on your thighs, then leaves you with four dog tags and a command to wear them at all times.

and any question about who's medic you were are promptly shut down now that a  6'4 ghost, or the loudest scot on the planet, or the smell of cigars that don't come out even with bleach, or Sergeant Garrick follow you around.

[fawnindawn]

Jason Todd is sure he's never met someone as good as you.

In a city as vile as the one he crawled out of, he's gotten near bullseye on the portfolios he makes for every single bastard that breaths and sins in this city. He thinks he's got it narrowed down, and he's all but decided that there isn't a single living person he will ever let his guard down for again- till he meets you.

Technically, you've all but forced yourself into his world. He thinks it's a cruel joke sometimes, how the world forced everything he had out of him, forcing him to forget how to love, how to treat every word as just that and not an underlying threat, how to have a proper relationship with anyone- before they tossed you into his path. Like a whirlwind, it was impossible not to grasp onto you when you were so good, so unlike anything in him.

"I want to be so good for you, baby." He breathes into your skin, wrapping you into his arms and holding onto you, hoping that if he somehow engraves his promise into this moment, he'll hold it forever.

"But you already are." Then, you look at him with that look of yours that reminds him that he's still alive, because his heart near leaps out of his body to land right into your palm. You treat him with such tenderness he couldn't have even envisioned in his dreams. You're nothing he could've come up with. When he looks into his own reflection, he thinks he sees what everyone sees. A failure of a project trying to make some good in this world even when he has nothing good in him. A madman trying to fix what can't be fixed, whether that be the city or himself. Then he looks into your eyes, and he can't see all that through the adoration so evident in your gaze.

Sometimes, you look at him and he thinks that if anything he knows about love, it's all just you. What is love, if not the utter devotion that runs through his blood, night after night where he cleanses the city, knowing that the very next night, some other thug or crook will replace the one he's gotten rid of. It's a never ending process that seems to see no end, but when he comes home to you, and oh god, does the idea of going to a home with you in it push him through everything.

He still struggles to word it, how your existence seems to shatter every concept he's had of the world, how he's never felt hope the way he's had since he started daydreaming about a future with you. He doesn't think the simple word, love, can capture what he sees, thinks, and feels about you. You're everywhere in his fractured mind.

The long-minute hugs standing in the kitchen, the way he goes silent when you rant about your latest discovery on the internet because he's hit with the sudden thought that he's here with you and you exist, the kisses he presses on the indent near your shoulder as he presses himself into that very spot, the way he always finds his way back home to you no matter what because he refuses to leave you afraid and waiting for him to come home. He'll always come home to you, because you are his home.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[timkontheunsure]

Stolas' hints about the abuse

Stolas thinks Blitz's exes would actually try to kill him, when he was fine walking through them earlier. Maybe one or two would punch him.

But even Verosika, the most hurt of his exes, doesn't really want him dead. Unlike Stella does.

He talks about relationships being unfairly tethered. Thinking he'd trapped Blitz, like he was trapped to Stella.

Stolas flinches when screamed at.

That rough housing scares and triggers him. He is genuinely worried about M&M here.

And while he's not scared when Blitz tries it, it does still really does upset him.

That when he's depressed he blames himself; and his affair, for someone (Stella) trying to kill him.

Agreeing that maybe he doesn't deserve to live for leaving his wife. And trying to be happy with his boyfriend, and their children.

And Blitz does now know that Stolas' family is fine with killing him.

Blitz almost all has the puzzle pieces.

Edit: forgot this one that leads to a whole heap of them.

"I'm sorry nevermind. It's not a big deal.

I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast.

But maybe I read too much into that that. I'm glad if that's not the case. I wasn't upset either.

I just wanted to make sure you weren't, and obviously you can handle any stupid joke a clown make.

Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humour. But I thought it was pretty funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest.

Maybe you can say mean things to me to me next time you come over".

Stolas tells Blitz to be mean and take the piss out of him, like Ozzie and Stella do. Just as long as he stays around.

And that he's used to being torn to pieces emotionally over things like how he loves his kid, or being gay.

Because it's always just a joke, and he's always the punchline.

That he's used to being physically grabbed and restrainted while these attacks happen.

And he's used to having things thrown at him and just having to take it, while he dislocates to get away in his mind at least.

Honestly if this leads to Blitz learning about Stella's sexual assault of Stolas; I don't know how easy it'd be too stop Blitz going on the war path.

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ʙᴏʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

yan magical boy who lived within a enchanted, magical forests with his parents, and siblings. He was a prodigy, overpowered and everything. He learned how to work with his magic at the age of 8.

yan magical boy who was youngest student to ever be admitted to the prestigious Arcane Academy, he was hailed as a prodigy, gifted with magic far beyond his years. His peers admired him, his teachers pushed him toward greatness, but none of that ever mattered to him. He didn't care about all that, all he cared about was being better than everyone.

yan magical boy who was a annoying bitch, he would bump into you on purpose, and giggled at your irritated expression. He noticed the way your eyes narrowed at him and he would blush. He needed to be near you, like a spell that only worked if he was within a certain distance of your presence. He clung and followed you like you were the very source of his magic.

"The hell's your problem dude?" You said to him, looking down at him since he was shorter than you. He innocently blinked up at you, titling his head. "What are u talking about, n/n?" He said with that soft voice he always did when talking to you. You rolled your eyes and walked past him, not noticing him sniffing you as u walked past.

yan magical boy who was used to getting what he wanted, so imagine his surprise when the first ever person he wanted, doesn't want him!

yan magical boy who began using his magic in subtle ways to keep you close. At first, it was harmless. A slight enchantment to ensure they ended up paired together for projects, a simple spell to lead her path toward his in the hallways. But, he was an impantient fuck, he couldn't stand seeing you laugh with someone else, talk with someone else, even breath near someone else!

yan magical boy who made a love spell, and while sparring, he acted as if was going to block her strike, but as he did, he “accidentally” brushed his hand against your skin, dabbing the potion on you. He grinned, waiting for you to drop on your knees and propose to him or sum

But, nothing happened, and you still kept trying to fight with him, your expression stoic like always. He blinked, his mind racing. Surely, the potion should have worked by now? He had calculated every ingredient, every step—there was no way it could have failed?

yan magical boy who failed.. LMAOOOAOA

yan magical boy who after that, became even more clingy, pouting and becoming whiny whenever the love spells wouldn't work. (he kept tryna put love spells on u HE DOES NOT CARE)

“Y/N!” he called, running towards you like an excited puppy. “I was looking for you! Here, I made you a lunch! Don't mind the white cream in your sandwich okay? Its..ranch! Yup! Ranch! And the goey yogurt is definitely not a love potion!"

yan magical boy who whimpers when you congratulate him, feeling his pants tightening, and knowing hes gonna need to use his delusionals to imagine your the one fisting him off.

yan magical boy who is ur magical freak who loves you so sooooo much! <3

SEND REQUESTTSSSTSSTSY

GUYS PLS MAKE YAN BLLKS BOOKS OMGGOGMGOGM

[n3ptoonz]

'Political Animals'

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit; pre-Thunderbolts, ADULTERY! (reader has a wack husband), COCKY BUCKY COCKY BUCKY, PLOT HEAVY, dirty talk, desk sex, reader is the secretary of state, cunnilingus, fingering, refers to your vag in third person (i can't stop doing this), squirting, f!multiple orgasms, f!cum as lube, exhibitionism if you squint, use of "baby" and "sweetheart", use of titles, breeding kink if you squint, inspired by the show he was in called political animals :3c, half proofread

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter two here (it was originally a one shot, so reading the others is optional)

The Congressman has known you for a while now. Even before he stepped into the political realm, he knew who you were and actually looked forward to crossing paths whenever possible. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't have a crush on you. He was a sucker for people who fought tooth and nail for what was right.

However, it was a year and a half until your term was over, and there were lingering rumors about you running for president against the very man you work for. It was bold, but that's what drives this nation, no? Everything was on hush-hush, especially because you know your husband--if you could really call him that--would throw a fit if he merely heard about it.

Politics was your life. You lived and breathed diplomacy. You were practically nothing if you weren't leaping at the opportunity to help those in need by any means necessary.

Two soft knocks came to your office door before your assistant poked his head in.

"Madam Secretary," he prompted with a small smile. "You have a visitor. He says it wasn't an appointment but he wanted to speak with you."

Your head tilted as you tried to think of who'd show up to the White House unannounced like that. "Did he give you a name?"

"Congressman Barnes." he answered. "The one with the metal-"

"I know who he is," you said with a growing smile, secretly glad you weren't busy this time around. "Send him in."

You've interacted with him a handful of times when you went down to the Capitol. Not only for trying to get a bill passed/when handling foreign affairs, but sometimes you went down there when you were invited to events. Usually by the Congressman. He was always an interesting man to you, given his past and how he ended up here with buttoned up assholes. However, he warmed up to you almost instantly.

"Madam Secretary." he said, his voice practically bounced off the walls over that door shut, snapping you out of it as you stood to shake his hand.

"Congressman. What brings you by?" you asked him and gestured for him to take a seat in front of your desk. "I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who shows up unannounced."

"Force of habit." he shrugged and tried to put humor to how it was true, he was used to just rolling up on people without saying anything. "Old habits die hard."

"Right," you sat back down and leaned forward on your elbows while watching his eyes. You didn't miss the way his eyes darted back up from your covered chest to your face. "That still doesn't answer my question."

What was in the air today, nobody knows, but Bucky was feeling it. He hadn't openly flirted with someone since Sarah, and that might've just been out of spite to Sam for fun. But you were real deal. He had to tread lightly but make it known he wasn't a punk.

"Maybe I just wanted to visit. I was in the neighborhood and thought 'Why not stop by the White House?'"

"Barnes." you half-warned. You hated the cat and mouse game, you didn't have time for all that. He said your surname, married surname and caught the subtle cringe in your face when he said it.

Noted.

"Well, I just wanted to know...is it true?"

You gave him a puzzled look as if you didn't already know what he was talking about. "I don't follow."

He narrowed his eyes at you and rested his chin on his fist. You're lying to him. Did you not trust him with such sensitive information? Was it not official yet? Were you having second thoughts?

"Madam President." he dared with a slow blink at you. A warmth crept up your neck as those words fell from his lips. It was your first time hearing it be said aloud other than you or your supportive assistant entertaining the idea.

You chuckled lightly and shrugged. "I don't know where you heard that. Perhaps journalist gossip isn't a reliable source, Barnes."

"Bucky." he stated.

You blinked a few times. "I'm sorry?"

"Just 'Bucky' is fine when we're alone." he insisted. This was a dangerous game he was playing and yet he didn't feel an ounce of shame or fear. Your brows furrowed at his tone and leaned back into your chair.

"I'm married."

"Happily?" he asked in a softer tone. And there it was, that timeless charm and wit that never left. The same charm that had the ladies swooning and fanning themselves in the 40s. He still got it.

Bold. Real bold, Buck.

You huffed an incredulous laugh through your nose and sighed. He's got you there, you had to admit. But you won't do that out loud. That was highly unprofessional. Even if you had thought about it at least once...tw...enty times...

You'd be lying if you said you didn't develop a little something for the man. He brought a fresh vibe to the political scene. A former deadly assassin joins congress and obviously doesn't know what the hell he's doing. It was... honestly kinda cute. And you'd be remiss if you didn't take note on how handsome he is. That slick back will do it every time.

"You're bold," you said looking him up and down. "Bucky." saying his nickname subconsciously felt like you stepped into a room you didn't know you had access to. Like the door was open the entire time. It was like a silent acceptance of some sort, but you didn't know of what.

The side of his mouth quirked upwards in satisfaction. He's got you.

"I mean, I'm just letting you know you'd have my vote." he said as he stood up and pretended to smooth out his blazer. "If the rumors are true, of course."

You stood up with him but neither of you moved. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable.

"And if they aren't?" you said. Not to burst his bubble, but you can never be too sure about someone using your title to get ahead.

"Then that'd be a damn shame. Who's to say you wouldn't have a leg up when trying to get a bill passed?"

You let out a genuine laugh. Not at him, but you really weren't expecting him to say that. So confidently too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just, I mean your heart's in the right place but that's not how it works."

Bucky didn't take any offense to it at all. He was aware he was just firing off whatever he could to get a reaction out of you. That and he was still fresh in that chair, so it was fair that you knew way more than him.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice somehow getting lower and smoother with one word uttered. "Mind showing me how it works?"

Never in his time has he ever used his charm, let alone openly flirted with a married woman who was clearly not happy in her marriage. He took a shot in the dark with a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

The ball was in your court. Though this wasn't that hard of a decision considering the fact that you've been cheated on before and had to suck it up for appearances. You slowly rounded your desk, dragging your finger along the edge and letting your clacking heels fill the deafening silence in the room.

"Well," you began as your eyes glided up his chest, and you were just now noticing his muscles straining against the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You stood in front of him and lightly tugged his tie towards you. A hint of a smirk on his lips as he let it happen.

"First, a bill is introduced and assigned to a committee for review," you said while undoing the tie and tossing it onto your desk. Then you went to undo the buttons while keeping your eyes on him. "If approved by the committee, it's voted on by the House. If passed, it moves to the Senate."

Bucky shrugged off his blazer along with his shirt and took a step forward so your butt hit the front of the desk, leaving him in a white tank top. He leaned forward with his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you there as you sat on the edge with him between your legs.

"What happens if it's not passed by the House?" he asked as he took your hand and slowly kissed your palm a couple of times.

"Then you're shit out of luck." you caressed his cheekbone as you replied. "But the Senate can then consider, amend, and vote on the bill. If the House and Senate pass identical versions of the bill, it's sent to the President for approval."

"And that's where you come in." he murmured. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "The gracious and headstrong Madam President of our nation, passing laws for the greater good."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's fuckin' sexy is what it is," he whispered before capturing your lips. Your soft laugh turned soft moan when his cold metal hand met the hot skin of your thigh under your skirt. The hand that rested on his cheek snaked around to the nape of neck to pull him closer, if possible.

He pulled away and licked his lips, looking drunk on just kissing you. His left hand pushed your skirt up further while his right spread your thighs. His eyes never left yours as two fingers glided over your slit through your panties. You inhaled sharply as your thighs naturally spread more in response to his touch.

It was clear to the both of you that it had been such a long time since you've been touched like this. With an already high demanding job and a shitty husband, you were stuck with occasionally sitting at a certain angle in your chair after hours.

"Oh, poor thing," he muttered and kept rubbing, silently daring you to look away. "Too many nights of being left to your own devices, hm? Look at how she weeps to be taken care of properly." he whispered, earning a soft whine from you, given that you were wetter than you thought. A simple rub up against you like this made the pit of your stomach tight.

Bucky hooked his fingers around the band and pulled them down with ease before sinking to his knees. He kissed up your legs and removed your heels. The only thing on his mind was if he was going to successfully get you to cheat, forget about your shit husband even for a little while, he was going to make it worth your time. Make it so if you ever decided to fuck your man again, it'd be spoiled by the fact that it wasn't him. Should you ever cuddle up with him again, you'd wish it was Bucky.

Once his mouth was attached to you, you rolled your hips and shuddered. The soft prickling of his beard between your thighs was something you didn't know you craved until now. He groaned in satisfaction, both hands gripping your thighs and hooking them over his shoulders.

He was genuinely getting off to the taste of you. The subtle twang of today's efforts dripping off you. The contracting of your folds against his tongue was signaling that you were close already and he had just got started.

"All this? For me?" he said as he licked up more slick. "Baby, you shouldn't have." he continued and added a finger to get you there faster.

You gasped and laid back onto your desk, exhaling shakily. The balls on this man to call a married woman any kind of pet name was beyond you, but that was thrill. And you loved it.

"My apologies," he leaned upwards for a second to see you clutching your torso as a means to focus. "Madam Secretary. I'd never take that away from you." he added, along with another finger at a steady rhythm.

You moaned out your own name, a choked gasp following after. He smiled and dove back in between your legs, licking and sucking to see what it's like when you come undone.

With your own hand over your mouth, you moaned loudly under your palm as you came. You were a tad embarrassed that you were squirting all over his face, but he just wouldn't stop and let you ride this out.

When your body finally calmed and became less tense, he backed away and pulled his fingers out slowly. He stood up and wiped his face while his other hand quickly undid his belt and pulled his pants/boxers down just enough so that his dick sprung free. He nodded, impressed with how much you came and that he was able to do such a thing. He lifted your left leg from your knee and used your own cum as lube.

Your name rolled off his lips so naturally as he made sure all of your essence covered the shaft, but he was done playing games. Bucky took the liberty of wrapping that leg around his waist and used the leverage to push himself inside you, bottoming out so you could adjust. The man was girthy and long. It felt he was splitting you open, leaving the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

You couldn't remember the last time you had sex with your husband, but it definitely was nothing like this. And Bucky was definitely way bigger than he ever was.

"You okay?" he asked softly and soothed you by rubbing circles on your thigh. He hovered over with a look of concern and wasn't going to do anything else unless there was a verbal confirmation.

You nodded, "Yeah," you said and reached up to pull him towards you by the shoulders. His arms were on both sides of your head as he watched you grab the tie you tossed earlier to wrap it around the back of his neck. He smiled softly at you before he moved his hips, liking the way you think.

Bucky leaned down and left kisses along your jaw and neck, relishing in your hushed noises of pleasure so that nobody could hear outside. Thanks to your assistant, he doesn't interrupt if you're speaking with someone and warns others not to.

"Mm...that son of a bitch is lucky I didn't meet you first," he whispered and nipped at your earlobe. "He doesn't deserve you," he added with your name at the end. One of your hands came up to lightly tug on his hair. He chuckled in response.

"Too soon?" he asked, half-serious.

He was about to say something else when your phone rang. Your cellphone. You both lifted your heads and looked over by the computer, but he grabbed it quicker than you could. Your eyes widened in horror when he answered it.

It was your husband.

He leaned up and said his name aloud so you were fully aware this was really happening. The truth is, he knew everything about him. He knows about his cheating scandals and all. So, when he saw the name, he just couldn't help himself.

Old habits die hard.

"Yes, hello. The Madam Secretary is not available at the moment as she is currently busy with a meeting right now." he said, putting your phone between his ear and his shoulder. He quickly covered your mouth with his metal hand and started thrusting into you again. There was a tsunami wave worth of emotions running through you right now, but it was all being overridden by the angle he was hitting and the sudden quickened pace. He spoke on the phone like it was nothing, smiling down at your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes rolling back. Your muffled moans gave him goosebumps.

"Uh, I could try to get her on the line if you'd like," he said as he looked down again, trying not to chuckle at you snapping back to reality. "No? Ah, ok. I'll let her know you'll be here in thirty minutes. She should be finished in...one second, please," he muted the microphone and uncovered your mouth for a brief moment to kiss you, taking in your frustrations and embarrassment at the muted cellphone being right next to your head.

You could just cry. The wave of guilt only made you want to unmute and let him listen in on what he couldn't do.

"Time's ticking, sweetheart," he muttered against your lips. "Cum with me. Come on. Don't wanna leave him hanging, right?"

Your mouths moved in sync and your tongues danced to a dangerous tune. Bucky fucked you like his life depended on it.

That tight feeling inside you both snapped at the same time. Bucky pulled out in time, letting his cum hit the tiling so it didn't get in the carpet. You trembled beneath him, pouring everything you had into this kiss that kept the entire office from rushing in here.

After a few seconds you tried to make yourself calm down, pushing Bucky off you and quickly sitting up on the edge of your desk as you grabbed your phone. He playfully scoffed and snatched your phone from you. But before he unmuted, he leaned in close to your ear and said,

"Should've given you my babies." seeing your genuine look of shock.

He unmuted cleared his throat as he stuffed himself back into his pants. "Hello? Yes, she's finished now. I've delivered your message to her and she can speak now. Alright. No problem, sir."

Bucky handed the phone back to you with a wink before grabbing his clothes and putting it back together. Once he got his shirt and blazer on, he went to grab his tie that was still in your clutches. He couldn't fight the urge to plant a soft kiss to your temple while you were on the phone before he put it back on. He also cleaned up the mess he made with a tissue from the box on your desk, tossing it in the nearby trash can. When he took the entire box and handed it to you, he snickered when you snatched it from him to clean yourself up, effectively shooing him away while trying to hide a smile.

The Congressman put his hands up in defense before giving you a small salute, leaving you alone. Once the call ended and you got yourself situated, you put your heels back on and quickly walked over back to him, giving him a tender kiss and fixing his hair.

"Now go. I have an election to think about."

[ozzgin]

WAIT WAIT WAIT!!! I have an ask for Yandere School! What if, Y/N finally did become a yandere for someone, BUT Y/N is the 'never lets on' type of yandere?

There's no change in Y/N's grades, no change in demeanor, they still act- or maybe in this case- pretends to be innocent and oblivious to everyone, especially their crush (Y/N might abuse the fact that they're known as the worst Yandere student who acts more like a Darling, to gain their trust before they realize it's too late). The extreme obsession is there, but it's just not noticeable enough.

How will they react if Y/N shows subtle signs of being a yandere? Will they actually believe Y/N finally became a yandere, or will they have doubts? This is just optional, but imagine Y/N became obsessed with a yandere, but both of them didn't knew they're yandere to each other, so they always unintentionally end up sabotaging each other's plans (ex. both Y/N and the yandere are asleep on the table, because they spiked each other's drinks. The Yandere is genuinely confused and had been trying to stalk find Y/N for hours, unbeknownst to them Y/N is secretly following behind them all along)

Soo this is yet another Clumsy!Yandere crossover, but it just makes a lot of sense to me. Hear me out.

You’re consistently failing classes and struggling to keep up with your peers. Everyone finds it cute, however, and it's a fantastic excuse to get closer to you.

Then the Yandere School x Darling Academy event happens. You immediately take the initiative and pair up with your best friend, Clumsy!Yandere. And that’s when things take an unexpected turn.

It turns out that when it comes to Clumsy!Yandere, you can be extremely protective. You don’t even realize it. In your eyes, you’re just looking after your sweetheart. To everyone else, you’re flawlessly executing the role of a yandere.

The other fellow students can only stare in disbelief, watching you as you figure out things you were previously clueless about.

“I c-could do the yandere part”, your clumsy partner suggests with feigned confidence.

Oh, no. You know how competitive your classmates are. No way you’d ever allow him to potentially get hurt. Not on your watch.

Were you always this good of a yandere?

When the teachers ask you to replicate that same performance, you have no idea what they’re talking about. You’re back to your pathetic, helpless self. A paradox yet to be deciphered by your peers.

“That damn pest”, one classmate curses out, pocket knife sneakily hidden as they wait around the corner ahead of Darling Academy.

They can’t take it anymore. The way you look at him, the way your voice softens whenever you speak to him…it should be them instead! What has he done to deserve your grace? He needs to be dealt with.

“Enjoying your walk?”

The student jolts in surprise and turns around. It’s you. Yet you look different this time. Your smile is cold, and your eyes have an eerie glisten to them.

“H-how did you know where I-”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be this close to Darling Academy. I suggest you leave.”

“Are you going to tell the teachers?”

“Teachers? Nonsense. I can take care of you myself", you say mechanically, blocking their path.

An abrupt shiver crosses their spine, and they scramble. Revenge will have to be postponed for now.

Moments later, Clumsy!Yandere greets you with a cheerful smile.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long. Shall I walk you home?" he proposes with a blush. Your answer doesn't really matter, truth be told. He will follow you either way. How else is he meant to guarantee your safety?

You'd be lost without him.

[Yandere School] | [Clumsy!Yandere]

[taeyongdoyoung]

chase and attract

summary: your best friend decides to fulfil yet another one of your freaky shared fantasies... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to ??? warnings: cnc/primal play, chasing in a forest, public indecency but there are no witnesses, fingering, finger-sucking, doggystyle, unprotected sex, praise, degradation, reader wants to use the safeword but doesn't, reader experiences subdrop, insecurities, crying, aftercare, pet names, the word daddy is mentioned but after they're done having sex, discussion of future scenario 👀 author's note: hello hello, this is the second part of my wolf & bunny series, i think i'll write one more to tie up the loose ends 🤍 part one & part three word count: 1.7k

After a number of discussions and precautions, you and Chan are finally ready to embark on your next sexscapade. He's reassured you multiple times that he knows the forest well enough that you won't get lost and as a safety measure, he brought a compass and his phone. You purposefully leave yours in his car to further heighten the feeling of danger you two had in mind.

“Are you ready?” Chan asks you gently.

“Kinda. I'm really nervous, Chris,” you confess, your hands shaking in your lap as you are still sitting in the passenger seat.

“Remember that you can stop this at any moment, right?” he reminds you sweetly.

“I know that,” you sigh. “But I want this, I really do.”

“Okay, then, there's nothing to be nervous about. You know I'll keep you safe. Always, yeah?”

You nod, trusting him completely, despite how insane this whole thing might sound to a stranger. You are fully aware that Chan has your best interest at heart.

“I'll give you a five-minute headstart this time,” he sets the timer on his phone. “Ready, set...go!”

You dash out of his car faster than ever and speed through the forest. You've got this. Last time your stupid legs gave out due to being in a box for too long but now you've trained for this moment for a week and you feel confident enough that you'll have a blast. Sure, you know that the point of this game is for Chan to eventually catch you. And boy, do you look forward to that moment. But the more you run, the more your heart will jump out, the more thrilled you feel.

You begin to lose track of time as you go deeper and deeper into the forest. Have five minutes already passed? You don't hear Chan's footsteps so either he hasn't started chasing you yet or he's going in another direction. Whatever the explanation, you keep running even though you're beginning to lose your breath. How much longer? You still don't hear him and you are in desperate need of a break. You should have brought a bottle of water. But carrying something like that would only slow you down. You're thinking too much again. You just want him to catch you already and fuck you until you can no longer think. Truly the best feeling in the world.

Finally, you hear leaves rustling. You don't hear his voice but you know he's getting near. Shit, what if it's someone else? No, that can't be it. Chan made sure that people rarely walk this path and it would only be the two of you. Still, you're terrified at the thought of someone other than Chan catching you. The mere suggestion of that is enough to send speed to your muscles and make you faster.

But all good things must come to an end (or maybe the good things are just about to begin...) and you are engulfed by a pair of strong arms. Before you can react or try to fight your attacker off, he's pressing his hand against your mouth.

“Shhh, don't scream,” Chan's voice is both a comfort and a threat, sending mixed signals to your core.

“Mmpf,” you struggle to make some kind of noise but it comes out muffled against his rough hand.

“This will all be easier if you don’t fight it,” Chan says soothingly and you shake your head in disagreement.

He momentarily removes his hand from your lip.

“Please, somebody help me!” you scream loud enough to paint the scene more vividly but not loud enough to actually attract attention in case a stranger passes by some forest. Which honestly seems impossible at this point. Chan really picked a very secluded trail.

“No one’s gonna hear you, sweetheart. And even if they did, do you think they’d help you? Silly little bun, you brought this on yourself walking in the forest all alone, wearing this dress…”

Fuck, why is he so good at this? You try not to wonder if he’s had prior experience with such a scenario or he simply just has great imagination to come up with such lines.

“Please, don’t do this,” you pretend to be afraid as your best friend pushes you on your knees and situates himself behind you. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Why not? I’ll fuck you so good you’ll want to brag about it,” Chan chuckles coldly and sticks his thick fingers inside your pussy unexpectedly.

“Nnghh,” you cry out and are beginning to lose energy of all the running and no longer feel like faking it, letting out moans and whimpers of pleasure.

“See? You’re all wet for me, so obviously you’re enjoying it,” Chan gathers the evidence of your satisfaction with his fingers and pushes them into your mouth.

You don’t need an order to know what to do as you lick them clean of your arousal.

“Fuuuck, good girl,” Chan praises you and briefly breaks character, stroking your hair gently.

Oh, shit. You think you’re falling for your best friend. But such thoughts will only bring complications, especially in the current context, so you push them down as much as you can.

Chan makes sure you’re wet enough by mercilessly stroking your pussy and finally, fuck, sweet finally, enters you from behind with his cock.

“N-no, d-don’t do this,” you scream and try to escape his strong grasp but of course, it’s no use.

“Such a useless slut, only good for fucking and nothing more.”

The degrading words sting but you’re trying not to dwell on it too much.

“So fucking wet for a stranger. Disgusting,” he says.

Fuck, this hurts. Not the cock stretching you out to the fullest but what he’s saying. Is it really true?

You want to say the safeword. But you also don’t. By the time you make up your mind, Chan has already painted your walls white and you are also coming with a shudder, loudly and devastatingly.

You feel broken. Bad broken. You want to go home and cry and sleep and eat ice cream. What went wrong? You were having such a great time. So why are you suddenly having such dark thoughts? And not dark in the sexy way…

Chan picks you up gently and checks up on you.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I just want to go home,” you respond briefly.

He nods, quietly wondering if he did something wrong or if he’s just imagining the sad, empty look in your pretty eyes.

Chan helps you walk back to his car and makes sure you drink water and cleans you up to the best of his abilities with some tissues he prepared in advance.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again as he parks the car in front of you place. “You haven’t said a word during the whole ride. Usually you have funny stories to share and…”

“Gee, sorry for not always being the class clown, I guess,” you snap at him angrily with an eyeroll.

“Okay, don’t give me that attitude,” Chan scolds you gently but firmly. “If we want to do this healthily, you gotta communicate with me. If I did something wrong or if you felt uncomfortable at any point.”

You shake your head, still in denial.

“If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t force you. But you gotta remember that you mean the world to me, yeah? Even if these games end, I need to have my best friend in my life, am I clear?”

You blink and finally gather the courage to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” you admit and burst into tears.

He pulls you into a hug and pats your back.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Well, the truth is I wasn’t all that into it when you said that thing about me being useless, only good for fucking and disgusting,” you confess.

“Oh, babygirl, you know I don’t mean these things. I only said them ‘cause you mentioned you’re into degradation.”

“I was, I mean, I am, but for some reason, it really hurt me this time, sorry. I should have said. I just don’t want you to think poorly of me.”

“Alright, first of all, stop saying sorry, it’s completely normal to get caught up in it and feel insecure sometimes. As a dom, I should have been more careful and checked up on you more frequently. And second of all, please, remember that you are very smart, sweet, funny and not to mention incredibly beautiful so there is no way in hell I think lowly of you. Now, did you put that down in your pretty brain of yours?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer enthusiastically and your tears have dried up, instead a bright smile appears on your face. “Thanks for saying that. I guess I really needed to hear it.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Just next time if you happen feel like that, say the safeword and talk to me. About anything, I mean it.”

“You too, Chris. I know that’s particularly hard for you to open up but whatever you tell me, I would never judge you.”

“I know, babygirl,” Chan chuckles softly and does something that further confuses the already blurred lines of your friendship. He kisses you on the lips, deeply and sweetly. Not like how you kiss your best friend but how you kiss a lover.

“Do you want…to come inside?” you offer, not knowing what exactly, considering you just ended a very overwhelming scene.

Actually, you know what you want. You want him to hold you, to watch a dumb movie and eat popcorn together. You want…more than you can have.

“I gotta get some work done,” Chan says with a wince. “I’m really behind on stuff.”

“Is it…my fault?”

“No way. I just can’t stop thinking of…our games even when I’m supposed to be working,” he admits.

Phew. You’re glad he didn’t say he can’t stop thinking of you. If he had, you wouldn’t be able to let him go to work.

“Right. Same here,” you reply dumbly.

“If you need anything and I mean, anything, just give me a call or a text. I’ll keep my phone nearby.”

“You really shouldn’t, I’ll keep annoying you,” you mumble self-consciously.

Chan grips your hand and squeezes it comfortingly.

“You could never annoy me, okay?”

“Okay, daddy,” you say it playfully, eliciting a giggle out of his beautiful mouth.

“Do you have any particular wishes for…you know, next time?”

“I do, but it’s kinda mild compared to what we’ve done already,” you shrug. “Dunno if you’d be into it.”

“Name it and it’s yours,” Chan assures you.

“How do you feel about…fucking me while I’m asleep?”

To be continued…

[justaz]

merlin who uses his magic everyday in ways that he doesn’t realize isn’t normal. magic helping him see in the dark so he can find his way in the woods or dark rooms with no problem. connecting with the woods around him so he always knows where he is and whats in the general vicinity which allows him to sense bandits just before they attack. using magic to keep warm in the cold or to cool down in the heat. confident and willing to go toe to toe with anyone bc he knows that regardless of what they throw at him, he could always win bc he could just use magic.

then somehow someway (post magic reveal) a sorcerer takes away merlin’s magic. or well just locks it away ig. but anyways merlin doesn’t have this part of him anymore and is left feeling empty, exposed, and vulnerable. arthur, the knights, and merlin going on a quest for answers to their problem and a way to get merlins magic back. but. but. but merlin is all jumpy and he’s rambling more than ever and is often reaching out to grab onto someone (usually arthur) and everyone’s confused and then they get ambushed and merlin freezes in the middle of the path like a deer. he’s watching everything go down around him with wide eyes until he’s targeted and one of the knights have to rush in to save him. afterward merlin is constantly holding someone and his grip is rather tight. he keeps looking around, his eyes scanning the trees around them over and over. when they try and settle down for the night, merlin wont leave the camp without an escort or two and when they’re trying to go to sleep, merlin is flinching at every noise in the woods around them and ends up shuffling over toward the person closest to him and laying pressed up against them.

arthur opening his mouth to tease and call him a coward when the word registers in his mind and he realizes that that’s what he’s actually seeing, merlin scared and defenseless. he ofc doesn’t realize the true depth of it all, i mean he knows merlin is missing his magic but he doesn't know that magic has always been a part of merlin, it makes him him. he’s had magic since he was born, he’s never known life without it. as he is now, he feels bare and exposed and blind and deaf and terrified. the knights are his defense rn and for the past few years, merlins been their protector so its a complete reversal of everything he’s ever known. he’s scared. arthur bites his tongue and lets merlin hold onto his arm and snuggle up close at night for some form of comfort and security. he doesn’t tease or mock and responds to his ramblings of fear with a level of gentleness the knights weren’t aware he even possessed. merlin slowly relaxing as arthur subtly comforts him without addressing it