#the place you call home doesn’t have a house there where you should have grown up

[fulane-de-tal]

your house isn’t there anymore. it’s been killed, brutally, and replaced by drywall and given a similar name. your grandfather’s passport has the wrong birthdate and too little information. your last name isn’t spelled right for what it is but the real spelling will never be found. the places in your mind are gone forever. what do you do with that?

[percervall]

till morning comes, let's tessellate

Pairing: Mark Webber x fem!reader Words: 1219 Warnings: flirting, dirty talk, bratty behaviour, cockwarming

In which you're willing to play with fire

---

It’s far too hot, is the only way you can describe the weather. Having grown up in Europe, it always messes with your brain a little whenever you and your husband spend the better part of January in his home country of Australia, where it’s very much summer instead of winter. Mark doesn’t mind; he will happily work out in the garden while you prefer to remain in the shade of the plum trees as you read a book in the hammock Mark had hung for you. Which is what you had been doing until watching your husband doing manual labour proved too much of a distraction. You can’t help but clench your thighs together as he walks back towards the house, wiping his brow with the shirt he had taken off already. There is no way you can continue reading now, not when Mark lifts one of the logs of a fallen tree up onto his shoulder to carry it into the shade. The threadbare fabric of the oversized t-shirt you found in the back of his closet rubs over your nipples and you can’t help but bite back the whimper that’s threatening to come out at the feeling. Fuck, you are so turned on already and all he’s done is carry wood. Mark looks up at you, giving you a knowing smirk.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get her husband to give her attention?” you pout, e-reader now forgotten in your lap. 

“You always have my attention, sweetheart,” Mark responds, dropping another log next to the ones already there. 

“Besides, you were reading,” he adds, an eyebrow raised. He has you there; the world could go up in flames without you even realising whenever you’re engrossed in a book. Whatever witty retort you might have come up with dies on your lips as he swings the axe and chops the fire wood for the pizza oven you had surprised him with for your anniversary. Your breath catches in your lungs and your clit throbs as you watch the muscles in his back move under his bronzed skin. 

“I’m sure Fernando would’ve,” you say instead once you’ve found your tongue. Mark just hums, amused at your sudden brattiness. 

“I wouldn’t bet on that, but sure darling,” he says, raising the axe again. Mark’s got a point, even if it pains you to admit that.

“Jenson definitely would,” you counter instead. At this point you might as well fully commit to riling him up.

“Sweetheart, you work with him and know just as well as I do, he would not give you the attention you need,” Mark replies. Damn this man, you think as you grow hot all over at the implication of his words. Jenson is just as much a tease as you can be, and while this makes for great TV as you wind each other up, you need a man who-.. Well, frankly you need a man who can put you in your place, sometimes literally. Just the memory of Mark throwing you onto the bed as if you weigh nothing has you clenching your thighs to alleviate the ache you feel. 

“That’s what I thought,” he muses as he watches you. You huff, folding your arms over your chest which causes the shirt to bunch up a little higher up your thighs. Mark’s eyes catch the way it shows off your legs, lust quickly replacing the bemusement in his eyes. Oh, you’ve got this man right where you want him. Trying not to show just how smug you’re feeling, you place your e-reader on the little side table as you sit up on your knees –which, given the fact that you’re in a hammock, is easier said than done.

“Maybe I should give Sebby a call. If all you’re gonna do is talk, I might as well have a little fun,” you taunt, shrugging a shoulder as you give him your most innocent look. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, bringing up his last teammate. Mark and Sebastian were competitive to a fault, and while you never even considered giving in to Sebastian’s advances on you, you know the fact they vied for your attention always brings out this possessive streak in your husband.

Mark drops the axe and saunters over to you.

“Is that so, sweetheart? What exactly do you think Seb can give you? Hm? Bees?” 

“Among other things,” you quip, anticipation swirling low in your belly as he towers over you. One hand comes to rest on your chin, lifting your face up so he can look you in the eyes. His thumb drags on your bottom lip, making your eyes flutter closed, and for a brief moment you think he will make you suck on it. Your eyes snap open as soon as you hear his chuckle.

“You always talk such a big game, but as soon as there’s even a possibility of me giving what you want, you fold so quickly. What happened to using your words, darling?” 

“‘S more fun this way,” you mumble, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“Getting punished for being a brat is your idea of fun?” Mark asks, eyebrow raised. You shrug once more. 

“You know how much I love it when you spank me,” you say as plainly as you can while you need to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs shut. One of Mark’s hands drags up your thigh and under the t-shirt. Biting your lip, you look at him waiting for the moment he will realise this t-shirt is the only thing you’re wearing. 

“You are incorrigible.” “Mm, that’s a big word for you, baby.” 

“It’s not the only thing that’s big, sweetheart,” Mark says with a grin that has your heart beat stuttering. His hands move to your ass and you have just enough awareness to wrap your arms around his neck before he lifts you up. In hindsight, it’s quite impressive how he manages to get in the hammock with you. 

“Wha- what are you doing?” you ask as he moves you into his lap, both your knees bracketing his hips.

“Oh sweetheart, wasn’t this your plan all along? So desperate for my cock that she forgot all her manners,” he coos, pulling his shorts down just far enough to free himself. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper as he drags it along your slit, rubbing over your clit with each pass. 

“Mm, thought so,” Mark muses, lifting you up slightly so he can align himself with your entrance. He slowly sinks you down onto him, and you can’t help but pant at the stretch when he bottoms out. 

“Mmhmm, that’s right sweetheart. You just wanted to be full, didn’t you?” 

“Uhu..” you whisper, unable to come up with any sort of comeback or sassy remark. Placing your hands on his pecs, you try to roll your hips to get some friction, but Mark halts your movements. 

“Mark,” you whine, “please, need you..” 

“Oh but you have me, sweetheart. Only good girls get fucked. Naughty girls will just have to make do with cockwarming.” 

“So mean,” you pout, earning you a kiss.

“Make you a deal, read your book like the good little girl I know you can be, and maybe I’ll let you come.” 

written as part of @footballffbarbiex's kink bingo challenge

Well. There you have it. My descend into madness has lead me down a semi-smutty path. Y'all have @norrisleclercf1 to blame for the existence of this fic

Please let me know what you think! Your comments, tags, and likes mean the world to me 💜

[ghouljams]

Part 2 of Love stabbing Ghost! Soap to the rescue.

You're at a house, it's right in the middle of a place it probably shouldn't be. Arched door and gabled roof sandwiched between two very modern and tall looking buildings. Simon knocks on it twice and waits. There's a very loud noise from inside and then a lot more loud noise before the door is yanked open. There's a man, just about Simon's height, with a Mohawk and a smile leaning against the doorframe. He looks happy to see your boyfriend.

"Ghost," he glances down at the unattended stab wound in Simon's stomach, "I see you're doing well."

"You're hilarious," Simon says, pushing past him and into the home. You don't move. Something is... stopping you. The other man smiles at you, waiting. Simon turns to look for you over his shoulder and stops. "Soap," Simon warns, but it's something else too, questioning.

Soap cocks his head at you, you've never seen a man that looks like him before. Too human. Like everything human about him has been cranked up to 11. He's not blocking you from entering the house, but he hasn't invited you in either. It would be rude to-

"She can't cross the threshold," Soap grins, his smile so wide you think you could count all his teeth. You vibrate just on the edge of something, you can feel it like a second door preventing you from crossing into his home. He nods his head at you finally, "Alright, come in. Can't have you attracting attention."

The door opens and you slide past him. Simon grabs you quickly, tipping your head this way and that to study you. He looks so concerned that you don't put up a fight. Soap ignores both of you, walking past to rummage around in his kitchen. You look around as Simon looks at you. It's a cute place, comfortable, you'd almost call it cozy. 

"How many tethers you got in her?" Soap calls, setting a white medical kit on the coffee table.

"Enough," Simon tells him, finally releasing your face. You wish he'd at least kiss you if he was going to hold onto you for so long. You must pout because he leans down to do just that, soft and sweet as he presses his lips to yours.

"Yer aff yer heid," Soap pats the couch and Simon releases you again. He strips his shirt off and sits where Soap directed with a grunt. Soap pokes at the skin around the wound and you lean over the back of the couch to want. “How’d you do this, lass?”

“Knife.” You tell him plainly. Soap snorts, Simon sighs, shooting you a warning look. “He asked me to, said ‘I want you to stab me’. So I stabbed him.” Soap gives Simon a look of concern.

“Mate your kinks are really gettin’ out of hand.”

“Didn’t think she’d do it.” Simon replies gruffly, you see him wince when Soap presses too hard too close to the edge of the wound, “Was trying to teach her about us.”

“You barely know about us.” Soap hums, grabbing a needle and thread from the med kit. You settle a hand on Simon’s shoulder as Soap starts stitching him up, squeezing to try and take some of his attention from the pain. You’re starting to get phantom pains just watching him, you can’t imagine how Simon’s so stoic about it.

“What’s your name lass?” Soap asks, and you frown.

“How’s that any of your business?” You reply, trying to memorize the way he twists sutures and snips the thread. Next time you stab Simon you should at least know how to stitch him up. Simon gives a small purr, aborted immediately when Soap pulls the last stitch tight.

“Christ you are a fucking mess, you know that?” Soap’s not talking to you, he’s talking to Simon. Looking him over, plucking at invisible threads with a frown. “How’d you-” He pulls on something and you smack his hand without thinking. Soap looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. He stands from the couch and stares the two of you down. “Simon Riley,” He says with purpose.

Simon doesn’t move, just raises a brow. Soap makes a ‘come on’ gesture and groans.

“You are fuckin’ jokin’.” He presses his hands to his face before dropping them and pointing at Simon. You’re starting to like this guy. Or maybe that’s Simon’s pleased hum through the tethers. “You-” He groans again, “I can’t believe you. Best mates for years and you don’t even- Price is going to kill you.”

“What’s happening?” You whisper ask Simon. Soap turns his annoyance on you.

“What’s happening, is you own this bastard and he didn’t even send out a wedding invite.”

“I didn’t think she’d give me her name,” Simon starts. Soap holds up a hand to cut him off.

“You are on probation, I’m not listening to you anymore, don’t talk to me.” You bite down a smile, you definitely like this guy.

[buckyownsmylife]

don't - manager!henry cavill smut

The one where Henry is your much older manager, but that doesn’t stop you from falling for him.

Warnings: age gap, secret relationship, parents disapproval, smut, unprotected sex, celeb!reader

Henry’s P.O.V.

I watched her from afar, the flashing lights not nearly as blinding as she could be. She was magnificent, but not because of the designer dress or the bling that she was always scared would be too much. It was all her. Her personality, her smile, the way her eyes shined brighter than anything under the sun. And when her eyes met mine after she was done posing for the pictures, I felt like time had stopped right then and there.

I should be so lucky.

She smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but think that this was unfair. Why was I so much older than her? Why did we have to meet in these circumstances? Why had I met someone so close to perfection, only to be unable to ever have her?

Those were ridiculous questions, I knew. Questions I’d never know the answer. And while sometimes the anger of having to stand so close to paradise without being able to live in it did consume my waking thoughts and recurring nightmares, most of the time I was able to live with that knowledge.

The knowledge that at least I could be near her. Touch her. Have her the way I wanted to. Even if it wasn't exactly that. It was something, at least. It was better than nothing. Having her was better than not being near her at all.

“You ready to go?” She asked when she approached me, and I swallowed down the lump in my throat to guide her through the sea of people in the direction of our seats. She hesitated for a second, looking in the direction of the exit, but came anyway. I knew what she was thinking and feeling - I’d known her long enough, intimately enough, to know that there was nothing that she despised more than this sort of event.

“It’ll be over soon,” I reminded her, even though it wasn’t necessarily the truth, simply because I couldn’t reach out and hold her hand like I wanted to actually comfort her. “We’ll be back home in no time.” When she looked up at me, I could see in her eyes that the words had elicited the same thoughts in her as they did in me.

Home. The place where we didn’t have to hide.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I took a deep breath when we were inside the house again and the door closed behind us, signaling the end of a long and tiring day. It felt like the first one I’d done in a long time, like I’d been deep underwater and only now was able to get back to the surface, reacquaint myself with the oxygen again.

It wasn’t all bad, I know, but it *was getting harder and harder to get through these things when I had him so close to me, but had to stop myself from reaching out and just hold his hand like I wanted to. The more in love I fell, the harder it was to remember that the world shouldn’t know about this feeling that had grown between us. It was difficult to believe that opening our relationship to outsider’s views wouldn’t simply maximize this feeling of peace that I only got when I was with him.

“Tell me the truth,” he started, and I already smiled, despite my somber mood. “Didn’t you have a good time, after all?” It had been a nice night, that remained true despite my tendency to focus on the bad. I’d even won a couple awards, and that always felt nice. Still, it hurt so much not to be able to thank him when I went up there, and I couldn’t recognize his role in my life for what it truly was - my inspiration, my love.

“Yes.” It was clear that my word hid a ‘but’. “I just wish everyone could know I’m yours.” It was then, and only then, that I turned around to meet his eyes. I don’t know what I expected to find there - probably understanding, maybe even resentment for finding himself stuck in this situation with me, but when pain was what I found in his beautiful eyes, my bottom lip started trembling.

“I owe you so much, Bear.” I’d been calling him that ever since we first started working together, when I was still a teenager with big dreams and no real understanding of how Hollywood worked. “I just wanted to be able to acknowledge that.”

He pulled me into his arms then, but instead of just holding me against his chest, like he usually did when he wanted to comfort me, his hands cradled my face and I instinctively raised to my tiptoes so he could lap into my mouth, tasting me for the first time in the evening. It felt so good to have his lips on mine again, it felt like a lifetime away when I was last able to kiss him. So I lost myself in the kiss, allowing him to take my hair out of the fancy bun so he could bury his fingers in my strands, curl them to pull me away from him and say, “You’re everything to me, darling. People knowing about it won’t change a thing. My smile is still for you and you only, just like I know yours is for me.”

My heart filled with love for the man in front of me. I let him pick me up, wrapping my legs around him as he took us to the bedroom we’d been sharing for so long, promising me that he’d “make me forget all about it.” 

And that’s when I remembered why we stayed together despite the hardships. I’d live through one thousand shitty days if it meant I’d get to have him like this at night, mine and only mine.

Our lips were still fused together when he deposited me by the foot of the bed, and I felt his fingers slowly unzip my dress until he could slip it off of me. “Let’s go to bed, baby.” I’d follow him anywhere if he just kept looking at me like that.

Henry’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t stop the small smile from spreading over my face as I watched her join me in bed, her body trembling with anticipation. She was always so eager, my little angel. It only made me feel more powerful, knowing how thoroughly she enjoyed it when I took care of her. 

And God, how I loved taking care of her. “You look so beautiful like this, my love,” I whispered as I cupped her face with one hand, guiding her to climb my body with the other. “You want me to fuck you?” By now she couldn’t speak, just whine. Her smaller body rubbed against my lower belly, her pussy betraying her desire as it slathered her wetness just over my stomach.

“Come here, let me give you what you need.” I easily adjusted her so she’d be hovering right over my cock before I pulled her down by her hips, a gasp escaping me as I felt her tightness slowly engulfing my hard member. Instinctively, my thumb found her nub, rubbing it in tight little circles so I could be sure she would find her pleasure before me. “Yeah, you like that, huh?” I teased when she whimpered, hips following my movement as she narrowed her eyes at me.

I raised my feet to the bed so I could have the leverage I needed to invert our positions, taking advantage of the space between her legs to stuff myself inside of her over and over again. I loved feeling her from the inside. I loved that I was the only one to have her like this, the only one who knew what made her fall apart and meet the heavens above. I’d spent the entire ceremony thinking about this moment and now that I had her, I wanted to appreciate every single sound that escaped her perfect lips.

It was bliss, having her like this, hearing her moans and being the cause for them. I knew just how to make her louder, I knew just what and how she liked it. Thinking back on how it had all started, I never expected to have the luck I now knew I possessed, being with her like this.

I came inside of her with a shudder. It was the sight of her fucked out face, her eyes hazy with bliss, and the knowledge that I was about to get her dirty with my seed that ultimately had me reaching my own orgasm.

“You’re mine, darling,” I assured her, pulling out to lay back on the bed and bring her to my chest. “I’d do anything for you.” And I knew she was aware of that. Her only response was to push away from my heartbeat to deposit a kiss on my lips - a passionate, breathtaking kiss, that left me with my eyes closed for a few seconds after we parted.

“I love you, Henry.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I woke up with a familiar ache between my legs, the perfect mixture of sensitive and empty that had me filling myself with two fingers only to find the remnants of last night waiting for me. My heart pounded as I considered talking to Henry about stopping taking the pill. It was something that had been in my mind for a while and never failed to make me aroused, but I still hadn’t found the courage to address it with him.

Maybe today was the day.

Deciding to take a quick shower before finding something to eat - I was always starving when I woke up, considering all the exercise Henry made me do just before falling asleep - I quickly washed my body before throwing a simple dress over it, hopping downstairs to fix the both of us breakfast before he woke up.

That was how Henry found me in the kitchen, wearing only some sweatpants, his body still deliciously wet from his own shower when he pressed it against me to give me a quick kiss on the temple.

“Hmm… Good morning, honey,” I greeted after he parted, laughing lightly when he went back to press another peck on my lips.

“Any morning with you is a great one, my love.” My heartbeat raced out of control, still not used to hearing these sorts of comments from him, even after all this time together.

The food was ready, so I turned the stove off, fully prepared to plate it for the both of us, but before I could, two hands made their way to my hips, quickly spinning me around to meet his lips once more.

“Henry!” I jokingly admonished, laughter spilling from my lips whenever he let go just to come back for another kiss again. “Baby, the food is going to get cold…” He didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with stealing kisses from me. I was about to give up and pull him in for a deep one when the doorbell rang, startling me into jumping away from his embrace.

“Gosh, who could it be?” The answer came sooner than expected since instead of waiting for one of us to go get the door, keys were heard and then it was being opened by the visitors, who clearly had a way of entering my house, which could only meant one thing: they were my parents.

“Oh, no.” The words escaped my lips before I could reel them in, as I considered the situation my parents would find us: Henry without a shirt on as we made breakfast for the both of us.

“Good morning!” My mom greeted us before stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, her eyes skimming the scene in front of us, just as my father did the same. “Are we interrupting something?”

That was a heavy question because the truth was a resounding yes, they were. In all of the years Henry and I had been together, my parents had never even gotten close to finding out about us - I made sure of that. But the last few months, with the paparazzi shots and inquiring fans, even they had become a bit uncomfortable about my relationship with my manager, and I couldn’t blame them for questioning when I knew what was the truth.

I was in love with a man twice my age, and there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing that I wished to do, except keep on loving him forever and ever, until my dying days.

“Sweetheart, we came here to congratulate you on your win last night…” My mother rushed to explain, but not before sending a weird look towards Henry and I. “But also to grab that jacket that you promised to let me borrow, remember?”

I did. I also knew this was nothing but an excuse to get me out of the room, but I didn’t know how to fight back. “Please, go grab it for me,” my mother insisted, and after sending one last look to my beloved, I did exactly as she told me to, feeling a heavy weight on my chest for having left Henry behind.

Henry’s P.O.V.

“Stay, Henry.” I had tried to escape after she left, even though it was rude to leave guests unattended, but we all knew where this was headed, and it was a shit storm I was not looking forward to face. “We’d like to talk to you.”

I nodded and waited, wondering which one of the two would be the first to break the apparent calm exterior they were working so hard to maintain.

It was him.

“How could you?” Punching the island, it was a surprise that Y/N didn’t run back at the sound that she surely heard. “That’s my baby, and you took advantage of her!”

“I did no such thing,” I rushed to defend myself. “She’s an adult, she can make her own decisions. Don’t diminish her intelligence by making it seem as if she can’t.” He shook her head vehemently at that, and I knew I wouldn’t get through to him. It was his daughter we were talking about, his baby.

“Mom, dad.” It was her, and she looked pissed. So I was right, she had heard the sound of him punching the island because she didn’t even have the jacket her mother had told her to go get.

“Yes, it’s true. Henry and I are together, and there’s nothing that you can do about it.” Her parents’ mouths opened in protest, but she shut them up by holding her hand up in a gesture of patience.

“No, you need to hear this.” We all remained silent as we waited for what she had to share, and my heart sped up in anxiety at the prospect of what was to come. “I owe him everything. He knows me better than anyone else. And I can’t stand the thought of you ever doubting his character.”

While her parents rushed to apologize, all I could do was stand there and stare admiringly at the woman that I loved, the woman who had defended me so fiercely to her own parents.

Too bad I wouldn’t be able to show her my appreciation tonight.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Henry? What are you doing here?” I whispered-yelled at the man who was climbing onto my bed as if my parents weren’t on the room next-door.

“I can’t sleep without your body on top of mine,” he explained, and how could I be mad at that? Relaxing against my sheets, I allowed him to move so he’d glue his body against mine, but I wasn’t counting on feeling his incredible hard-on pressed against my thigh.

The rush of lust that engulfed me was instantaneous, and I turned around to capture his lips in a kiss, all while I climbed onto his body so I could rub my cunt against his clothed member.

“Are you sure?” Was all he asked, always so in sync to me that we didn’t need more than a few words to know what the other wanted, so I nodded. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning, but it would be worth it.

“Shh… You’ll have to be quiet, baby,” he tried to quiet me down as he slipped inside of me, and I inhaled sharply, trying to get through the first bite of pain of being stretched so throughly.

“There you go…” He silenced my cries with a kiss, and it didn’t take long for us to meet bliss together, as I laid spent on his chest.

“Are they right?” He asked suddenly, cutting through the silence of the night.

“No.” My answer was instantaneous, and I pushed myself away from his chest so I could stare into his eyes as I spoke the next few words in my mind: “No one can love me like you.”

“Do you love me?” It was my turn to be insecure, even though I knew the answer to the question, and I was reminded of it by the smile in his face.

“You’re the only one for me,” he reassured me with a deep kiss that left me breathless, and I kept my eyes closed after we parted.

“I hate the thought of not waking up next to you tomorrow,” I admitted, knowing he’d have to sneak out after I was asleep. He clutched me tighter against his chest, brushing a kiss against my forehead.

“I hope you know, I’ll never let you go.” I nodded, almost asleep when he completed, “You do know you don’t owe me anything, right?”

“It’s thanks to you I found out what love is,” I quietly explained. “I owe you everything.”

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[watchmegetobsessed]

JUST HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES (part 3)

A/N: writing this part took me way longer than i thought but here we are! it's a bit shorter than the prev parts, but its waaay more loaded with emotions!! warning is included down below, but its also kind of a spoiler

WARNING: discussion about miscarriage

PAIRING: Harry x High-School-Best-Friend!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

He didn’t feel this nervous before his first Grammy performance. Not even before his Wembley shows. His nerves are on the verge of snapping, his mind racing a thousand miles per second as Friday finally arrives. He wants the evening to be perfect, make you feel comfortable so he can show you how serious he is about reconnecting with you on any level you’ll allow him to.

He’s been up since five in the morning, he went to the market to get the freshest ingredients possible for dinner. He’s been cleaning, polishing the house even though his cleaning lady was there just two days ago. He’s been a tad bit maniac, to say the least, but he just wants to show you how important it is to him. He spends most of the day cooking, a full three course meal will be waiting for you when you finally arrive. 

You text him sometime after six that you’re on your way, you’ll be there in about thirty. Mentally he is cursing himself out for not sending a car for you, but he can’t do anything about that now. He obsessively checks his outfit every five minutes, fixing his hair, changing his mind whether he should have shaved or not. Well, there’s not much to do about that either now. 

And then the intercom rings through the hallway and he is shooting out of the bedroom, running towards the front door. 

“Hi!” he beams, pressing the button and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face when he sees you on the tiny screen, standing outside his gate.

“Hi,” you chuckle.

“Just straight up, I’ll be at the door,” he instructs you before buzzing the gate open and letting you in. 

Throwing the door open he steps out into the chilly winter evening, instantly spotting your approaching form and he stops himself from running ahead like a little puppy welcoming its owner. God, he thinks it’s worrying, how obsessed he has become with you so fast, he shouldn’t be acting like this, he is a grown adult, not a little kid. 

“Hi, come on in!” he holds the door open for you.

“Hi, thank you,” you smile shyly, silently assessing the luxurious, yet not too flashy home. 

“Let me take this.” He helps your coat off your shoulders and hangs it up in the closet in the hallway while you step out of your shoes and put on the fluffy slippers he left out for you. “Do you want a tour?”

“Sure,” you chuckle.

You follow him around as he shows you the main areas of his home, living room, kitchen, dining room and then he walks you upstairs where you get a glance of his own bedroom as well as the three guest bedrooms.

“This looks amazing, Harry,” you gush as the two of you head down to the kitchen so he can serve dinner.

“Thanks. I’m trying to make it homey, so it actually feels like home when I’m here.”

“Do you struggle with that? Feeling like you’re home?”

“It was hard to pinpoint a place that I could call my home, but I think it’s better now.”

They make small talk as Harry heats up some of the food that’s been ready for a while, and then they move to the dining room where he already set the table.

“You really went all out,” you chuckle, when he opens a bottle of wine and serves dinner.

“Of course. It’s important for me.”

“To show me you can make a fancy dinner?” 

“To show you that you’re important,” he simply says without hesitation, his words stunning you for a second as he joins you at the table. “Sorry, that came out weird, didn’t it?” he chuckles awkwardly.

“No, no… it’s just… doesn’t matter,” you shake your head, turning your focus on the food. “Let’s eat.”

The food is delicious and you don’t hold back telling him about it. You never thought he would ever be this good in the kitchen, part of you imagined he is way too used to eating in fancy restaurants that he never even has the time to cook.

You were wrong.

As one course follows the other you slowly start to open up more and more, you tell him about university, how work is these days and Harry listens to anything you have to tell him, drinking up even the smallest information crumb you throw his way. 

He tells you stories too, ones you probably haven’t heard if you ever looked him up online these past few years. He lets you in on his private life he keeps locked away from the public and he hopes you see it as a sign of trust. 

When you’re both full, you insist on helping him clean up at least a bit, loading the dishwasher while he packs away the leftovers. Then you move to the living room with a new bottle of wine, he even lights a cozy fire in the fireplace as you sink into the soft cushion of his sofa. Now he feels like you’ve loosened up fully. You’re joking, teasing him, letting yourself laugh loud with your head falling back, your legs are pulled up, feet rubbing together under the fluffy blanket he handed you to make you even cozier. 

He wishes he could take a picture of you like this, looking so carefree and unapologetically yourself, like you don’t have any worries in the world.  Maybe it’s just the wine, maybe not. He selfishly wants to believe that it’s him who finally cracked you open enough to leave your burdens behind even if it’s for just tonight. 

He tells you about a time he got drunk a few years ago and somehow ended up outside his hotel room without pants on. Mitch had to push him back into his room before anyone saw him running wild. It makes you laugh so much that you almost spill the last drops of the wine. Harry wouldn’t have minded that either, he would have gladly bought a whole new couch, he’s just thankful to see you have such a good time as he laughs with you.

“I would have loved seeing the headlines following that!” you gasp for air, wiping your tears away from the corner of your eyes.

“Yeah and my publicist would have gotten a stroke at the same time,” he huffs, making you laugh some more. It takes a few minutes for the two of you to calm down and Harry can’t help himself from speaking up. “I’ve missed this,” he smiles over the rim of his glass and you sink deeper into the cushion. “I’ve missed being our old selves.”

“But we’re not our old selves, Harry,” you softly breathe out, the sinking feeling returning in your guts, your laughter now long gone. 

“But it feels just like that. It doesn’t matter that we’re older or how much has changed,” he insists.

You turn silent, the smile slowly fading from your lips as you stare into your drink before downing it and placing the glass to the coffee table.

Harry fears he said something he shouldn’t have and he is just about to apologize when you speak up again, dropping a bomb.

“I had a miscarriage.”

The words hang heavy between the two of you and you’re not even sure why you felt the need to share it with him. Very few people know about what happened, it’s not something you can just easily bring up and share with others but now Harry belongs to this tiny circle as well.

Keeping your eyes down and off of Harry you continue speaking.

“The doctors said nothing extreme happened, the baby was just… not strong enough. I have great chances of getting pregnant again. Drew, my ex… ex husband has… had different views though.”

“What do you mean?”

You open your mouth to answer, but you can feel the tears dwelling in your eyes, so you take a moment to try and swallow your emotions back, though it’s quite impossible. It’s been over a year, but you’re still not fully over it.

“He never said it out loud, but it was pretty obvious he blamed it on me in some twisted way. Made me feel like I did something that resulted in losing…”

Harry is quick to move closer when your voice dies down, he places his glass to the table and wraps an arm around you, pulling you against him.

“I swear I didn’t do anything, I was so careful, I even stopped working out, I took days off every time I felt too sick to work… I did everything…”

“I know. I know you did, it wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss on top of your head as he patiently lets you get it all out. It takes a couple of minutes before you can speak again without sobbing.

“Drew grew cold, he worked late, always made plans for himself, without me. There were weeks we barely even spoke. Deep down I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with the possibility of my husband having an affair after losing my baby… I should have done something, though…”

“You went through something very hard, he should have been there for you, it wasn’t your fault, Y/N.”

“It’s what everyone tells me, but I don’t feel like it’s the truth,” you let out a shaky breath. 

There’s so much Harry wants to say, but he knows he has to hear more to even try to comfort you the right way.

“Want to tell me more about what went down?”

He waits and no answer comes for a while before you take a deep breath and move back from his embrace. 

“I think deep down I knew he was cheating on me, but I tried to talk myself down for a few weeks, told myself he wouldn’t do that to me. Guess I was wrong,” you scoff bitterly. “It was with his coworker he swore was not his type. And when I confronted him about it, he didn’t even try to apologize, beg for forgiveness. It’s like… it was a relief for him, that he didn’t have to keep this a secret anymore and he could use it all against me finally.”

Harry exhales sharply, his hands curling into fists as anger rushes through his veins. He never met this Drew guy, but he better pray their paths never cross, because Harry surely would lose his temper.

Wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand you clear your throat as you hug your knees and continue talking, it’s like a plug has been pulled, you feel the urge to share it all with him. 

“Anyways, he basically said that he doesn’t see a future with me anymore. We had been married for less than a year at that point. He moved out by the end of the month and we were officially done in six months. I think… Uh, whatever, forget about it.”

“No, you can say it, you can say anything,” he assures you.

“I think that we were over even before I got pregnant. I feel like that was the only reason that kept him by my side. Then we… lost the baby and… I guess he used it as a reason to leave. I just don’t understand why he even married me in the first place,” you add the last part in a whisper as you swallow down another cry that’s bubbling in your throat. 

Harry is devastated, in many different ways. He is ashamed for your ex, it’s hard to believe any man would treat a woman like this, let alone a woman like you. He is mad that you had to go through all of this undeservingly, that you had to deal with not just the loss of your pregnancy but also with your husband cheating.

It’s unfair and terribly wrong and the worst part is that he wasn’t there for you and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he exhales as he wraps his arms around you and you lean onto him, your head resting on his chest, finding great comfort in his closeness. “I know you’ve probably heard it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

You remain silent as you let him hold you and you stay like that for a while. Minutes, maybe hours pass by, you can’t tell, but he doesn’t let go of you until you move back, wiping your cheeks.

“Sorry for unloading all of this on you so suddenly,” you huff out an awkward laugh, now that your head is clearer. 

“Oh no, no, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about, Y/N. I feel like it’s wrong to say this, but… I’m glad you shared it with me,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why I blurted it all out, not… not many people know about this. And please don’t share it with others,” you peek at him.

“Of course, I would never tell anyone. It’s safe with me,” he assures you. 

“I kinda ruined the evening, didn’t I?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Not at all,” he smiles. “It’s all good. Thank you for sharing.”

Silence falls over the two of you again, but it’s not at all awkward or frustrating, there’s more comfort in it than in a lot of conversations you’ve had over the years. It’s much needed after all the heavy stuff that’s been just shared and Harry wants to give you time, as much as you need.

Your eyes wander over to him and then down at his wrist. Your gaze lingers there and he catches the gloomy look that runs over your expressions.

He understands it right away.

“I still have it,” he speaks up.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet. I still have it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he nods smiling.

“Why did you stop wearing it?” you ask, but you realize it might have sounded weird. He is a grown man, why should he wear some silly bracelet he got as a teenager?

“It was–Wait, let me show you.”

He jumps to his feet and shuffles out of the room, leaving you there in confusion. You hear him fumbling around until he reappears and sits back on the couch with his wallet in his hand. You hold your tongue and just watch the events unfold as he opens the wallet and pulls out a little pouch, one they often use for jewelry.

“I was, I think in Paris when it got caught in a doorknob and the string snapped,” he starts explaining as he opens up the pouch carefully. “The beads were all over the floor and our manager was screaming at me because we were late, but I just had to collect the beads.” 

He chuckles softly and you watch as he gently shakes said beads out into his palm and your lips part in shock.

“I couldn’t find all of them, tried to fix it, but there weren’t enough left to fit around my wrist.”

He plays around with the beads, letting the roll in his palm, a sad, but somehow still goofy smile tugging on his lips before he looks up and his gaze meets yours.

And he sees just how touched you are.

“I always thought you stopped wearing it because… because we weren’t talking anymore and… you know,” you shrug, unable to find the words as you gulp back your tears. 

“That was never the case,” he exhales, realizing how important it was for you and that you lived with this false idea of him up until now. “I still keep it with me. It’s important. It always was,” he quietly adds. 

You’re absolutely speechless. All this time you thought he got rid of the bracelet in an act of leaving you behind as he entered his superstar life. You vividly remember when you first noticed it missing from his wrist, you pathetically cried yourself to sleep, hugging a teddy bear Harry got you for one of your birthdays. You felt betrayed, forgotten and unimportant and it never occurred to you something else might have happened. 

Now this ultimately sad memory has turned into something so touching and unexpectedly comforting, you can’t remember the last time someone made you feel like this. It’s like the universe has gotten its balance back.

“Thank you,” is all you can say as you cover the beads with your palm. 

You stay late, way longer than you imagined, but it’s like you’ve entered a bubble of comfort that you never want to leave. When you start yawning like a baby, that’s when you know you have to head home. Though Harry offers for you to stay the night in one of his guest bedrooms, you feel like that would be over some kind of boundary you’re not ready to cross just yet. So he calls you a car and even packs you some of the food to bring home with you. You tease him about being a malewife, but he just shrugs, accepting his fate.

“Thank you for tonight, Harry,” you smile at him sleepily as you stand by the car’s open door.

“When can I see you again?” he eagerly asks, not even caring if you think he’s crazy.

“Sometime soon. How long are you staying here?”

“I have two shows in Palm Springs on the thirty-first and then on the first as well.”

“Birthday shows?” you chuckle softly.

“Something like that. Throwing myself a party. Do you want to come?” he asks, at first just as a joke, but as soon as the words leave his mouth he realizes he means them.

“To Palm Springs?” 

“Yeah. I’ll have a birthday dinner before too. You can fly out with me, I’ll arrange everything for you. A nice little trip, what do you say?”

“I’ll think about it,” you sigh and he can tell you’re not too fond of the idea, but he still has time to convince you. Having you there on his special birthday shows would mean the world to him and it would be the best present as well for sure. 

“Alright, it’s not a no so I’m fine with that,” he smirks. “Take care and I’ll see you soon, right?”

“Sure,” you smile as you let him embrace you in a tight hug before you get into the car. 

He watches you drive away as he stands by the gate with the cheesiest smile on his face from the connection he was able to rebuild with you, but his chest also aches for everything you shared with him. And if he wasn’t sure about wanting to make everything right before, now it’s more important than anything to be there for you in any way you need him to.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[malum-forev]

"Who did this to you?" For the bingo plz & thank you!💕

Bby girl, ask and you shall receive! This is a Mafia!40's!Bucky x MobBossDaughter!Reader. Think the godfather style when you read this! I think this is one of my favorite things I've written, and I hope you like it too!

 You were running, your heightened senses making everything around you feel like a series of photographs. Snapshots taken to reduce space in your mind after your fight or flight response.

You weren’t supposed to be here, if you’d only listened to your father’s overprotective words or at least listened to his nagging nanny- your father had scolded you many times telling you not to call Bucky that but whenever the two of you were behind closed doors he would laugh, calling you the funniest woman he'd ever met- you wouldn’t be in this position. 

Your feet ached, blisters were sure to form, your heels were definitely not made for this kind of activity. You looked down at the shiny leather shoes, gromets now vacant where a bow used to be tied. It must have fallen off somewhere on the way, your fleeing movements loosening the knot.

You turned the corner and finally saw your house, the four-story Brownstone had only two lights turned on. You looked down at your broken watch, your first attempt to flee your “date” if you could even call him that, it marked ten past eleven and that was hours ago. It pained you to admit that Bucky was right, he’d warned you thousands of times that the Walker family was not to be trusted. 

“Even though there is peace today, it doesn’t assure you it will be that way tomorrow.” Bucky had told you once after you’d said you were considering accepting a date from the family’s oldest son. “Remember your position in this family and in this world, then consider their true intentions.”

But you’d only rolled your eyes at his remarks. “I believe you are the one who should remember his position in this family and in this world.” You came closer to him, his towering height did not intimidate you. The two of you had virtually grown up together. He was ten years your senior, making everyone around you think you were as close as siblings but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. A brother should never think of his sister the way Bucky thought of you whenever he let his mind roam to that place he shouldn't. You smoothed the lapels on his three-piece dark wool suit, you flattened your palms on his firm chest and dragged them down slowly. He took in a sharp breath as your hands inched down below his belt and stopped parallel to where he desired you the most. Your fingers twitched as if they had a mind of their own, wanting to get closer to him, closer to the part of him that made him masculine. 

You ripped your hands from his hips and took his right hand, you rested it on your palm and your other hand toyed with the signet ring on his pinky finger. The gold shone against his skin, your family’s crest forever imprinted on it. Your father’s wish to have had a male heir would linger as long as the ring lived. There was no amount of duties you could complete that would let your father pass his empire down to you. A stinging truth that made you curse having been born as a woman. 

“Did you make a vow of chastity when my father picked you up from the streets?” Your voice was calm as you rubbed your finger on the gold ring. “Or is it just your terrible personality that forbids you from making a woman climax?”

Bucky chuckled, low and throaty. “The only vow I made your father, was to never fuck his darling little girl.”

“Hm.” Was the only thing you said, dropping his hand and leaving the room. 

You climbed up the steps to your home almost having to drag your body, the exhaustion of sprinting what felt like hours catching up to you. You slowly turned your key, trying to make the smallest amount of noise and stepped inside. There was the faint sound of a record playing and light chatter coming from your father’s study. But as you were about to walk up the stairs to your bedroom and finally put an end to this abhorrent night, the door opened. In a panic, you quickly hid in the coat closet. 

“That’s it for tonight, James.” You heard your father say. “I better get upstairs before I’m sent to the doghouse.”

“Good night, Sir.” Bucky responded. 

You leaned back on the plush fur coats, trying to steady your breath. This was the first time you caught a glimpse of your garments. The silk dress you’d saved up over a month’s allowance for, was now gashed down the middle. You were lucky no one had seen you run around at this time of night, one bad move and you’d be revealed. Your chest was starting to purple, finger sized hues of blue and violet started to appear where John had tried to force you down. You wouldn’t be surprised if your aching neck was covered in these bruises. 

Your shoes were filled with mud and scratches and your tights that once had a seam going up the back were ripped, holes everywhere. Your eyes started to burn as you remembered the crazed look in his eyes as he tried to rip your clothes off but you swallowed down your tears.

Once you made sure your father had retreated to his bedroom, you wrapped yourself in one of your mother’s fur coats and quietly left your hiding spot. But once again, as soon as you stepped foot on the staircase another creak came from the study. This time you weren’t quick enough.

“Is it past three am already? Done with a hard night’s work of terrorizing young children?” Your back was to Bucky but you were sure his face was adorned with a smug smile. 

Your shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Not today, please.”

The first alarm rang when he heard your tone. His eyes trailed from the top of your head, noticing your usual pinned up hair was awry, to your muddy shoes. He heard his heartbeat in his ears as he zeroed on the small patch of skin being revealed from a hole in your tights. You had more than enough money to buy a pair each day of your life if you wished that so, why were you wearing a ripped pair?

“Turn around.” Bucky said quietly at first but as you stood glued to your spot he became more and more desperate, his voice becoming louder. “Turn around and look at me now!”

Bucky had no care for your parents sleeping two floors up. He just wanted you to turn around and tell him you had been carelessly running through a field or whatever you decided to do whenever you weren’t with him. He wished, even though it would fill his being with madness, that you would tell him some man had wooed you with enough love that you’d followed him to bed. Taking you for the night of your life. But as you slowly shifted and he looked at your reddening eyes, he knew something was terribly wrong. You kept your head low, something your usual gutsy nature would never allow. 

Bucky took you into the study, the light illuminated the bruises that were peeking out of the fur collar. 

“Take it off.” Bucky demanded with a gruff tone he’d never before used with you.

You shook your head, one single tear fell from your eye. “I can’t”

“Please, darling.” Bucky closed his eyes and steadied his breaths, trying to keep his anger at bay but it was proving to be impossible. Impossible because your courageous personality was something he loved and seeing you like this could only mean one thing, impossible because his blood boiled when you flinched as he raised his hand to caress your cheek. 

With a gulp you let the coat drop to the floor, pooling around your feet. 

Bucky gasped, his trembling hand traced from your jaw down the valley of your breasts. His touch ghosted the ripped fabric, slipping the scraps of what used to be the sleeves down your arms, making the dress join your discarded coat. 

His jaw ticked as he took you in, your once smooth skin he’d so often wish he could kiss had been dishonored. Your body was a temple only few had the privilege to access and someone’s corrupted mind had tainted it. His fingers circled every single bruise on your body, counting thirty-five. 

Bucky sat you down on your fathers couch and took your heels off, carefully checking for any sign of swelling or injury there. 

“Who did this to you?” Bucky whispered, looking at you for the first time since he’d discovered you on the staircase. 

“It was my fault, I should have listened-“

Bucky’s jaw twitched again. “Who did this to you?” He asked through gritted teeth. 

You couldn’t answer him, the embarrassment and pain of the events becoming too much to bare. Your tears fell freely. 

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time.” He raised his voice, frustratedly running a hand through his hair. “Who did this to you!”

“John- John Walker.” You whispered through sobs. 

Bucky got up and paced the study, his fists curling and uncurling at his side. 

“Bucky- don’t-“ you tried but he interrupted. 

“Go to your room!” He barked, you’d never seen such fire in his eyes before. Bucky took off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, covering your body. He gently led you to the staircase, his hands were careful, like he was scared of hurting you. 

“Where are you going?” You worried. 

Bucky ran his hand over his face, he was trying to calm himself but all he could see was red. 

“Go to your room.” He repeated, this time calmer, opening the front door. “And don’t come out until I knock on your door.”

He didn’t wait for your reply as he slammed the door shut. 

At first, you paced your room and gnawed on your lower lip. Then you showered, trying to clear your mind but each time the soap disappeared and your bruises showed, you were reminded of what happened.

Around three hours later, there was a soft knock on your door. 

You tugged your robe close to your body as you opened the door. Bucky had a gash on the bridge of his nose and a reddish mark on his jaw. You let him in, closing the door with your back. 

As soon as he was inside your bedroom, Bucky dropped to his knees. “Please forgive me.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the usual stoic man now crying. Your lips parted. 

“Forgive me for not protecting you.” Bucky pleaded, opening your robe and placing a chaste kiss on each of your bruises trailing his lips from your ankles to your stomach. 

“I sentenced John to thirty-five blows, one for each of the marks his vile hands created on your body.” His usual white shirt was stained with dark red marks, Bucky looked up at you his blue eyes clear. “Until my last breath, I will protect you. That is my vow to you.”

Bucky took your hand, his bloody knuckled hand placed a stained cloth bag in your palm. You gasped as you saw teeth inside of it. 

“I have given your father two of his fingers to prove my commitment.” Bucky said before returning his journey up your body, trying to take your pain away. One kiss at a time. 

Part 2

0-0

Pleaaaseee be sure to comment, like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Remember, one comment = one kiss on my forehead! <3

Hi hiiii This is part of my 1k Celebration, if you like this please be sure to look at the Bingo Card and ask for a prompt! Love y'all <33

And you can find the Bingo master list and what prompts are still available here!

tagged: @kpopgirlbtssvt @shara-ne @namelesssaviour @hallecarey1 @send-me-styles @jessicaloons @shewhojumps @honeyglee @giftedyoungster3000 @likehonestlysametho @batmanbiersack02-blog @calwitch @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @soldiersweiner @maggiejackson3 @chelseaslibrary @kittybeansbarnes @ryebr0d @leyannrae @jvanilly

*I have tagged those who commented and reblogged my last Mafia!Bucky story, I hope that's okay! If not, please message me so I can take your @ off the tagged list :)

[no1frogfan]

Impending, part 3

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~3.4k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v. There is cum. Pubes exist in this world. A little angst, pining, guilt, and desperation (my four favorite flavors).

Note: Finally finished this mini-series. The word counts have grown too much each time, but what can I say? — I want him emotionally, spiritually, biblically.

part 1 | part 2

You can’t stay in bed forever.

Probably.

Not unless you can convince Hiro to bring you something for dinner, but that’s never going to happen.

A particularly angry gurgle from your stomach makes you roll out of bed and pick your way to the kitchen. The tackiness of your skin is proof you made the right choice to sleep the day away. Summers are always stifling, and the humidity lingers even after the sun has set, preventing the air from dropping to comfortable temperatures.

A cool gust from the fridge provides a welcome relief, though it’s unfortunate the shelves are empty. That’s the worst part of being at home — the isolation. The trees and hills are beautiful, even the warbling of the birds at 4am is nice, but grocery stores and restaurants are few and far between. You could walk to the ancient ramen place a few streets down, or the sukiyaki place a few streets up, but neither sound at all appealing in this heat.

“Did mom and dad leave us anything for dinner?” You shout toward the open basement door.

No answer.

“I know you can hear me.”

You can’t see the middle finger Makki holds up. “I’m getting pizza later.”

“Can we order now? I’m starving,” you pad downstairs with a whine.

Sprawled on the couch, Hiro is sporadically illuminated by some anime show on tv. While you don’t recognize it, you can at least pick out the white-haired guy Hiro likes landing a couple of (over)dramatic punches on a black-haired guy.

“How are you even hungry? You’ve just been sleeping all day.”

Your brother doesn’t take his eyes off the tv where the black-haired one finally managed to dodge, and now the white-haired one is strategizing (at length) about his next move.

“You’re one to talk! As if you’ve mov-”

“I’m hungry too,” a deep baritone chimes in seemingly from below you.

You leap back with a yelp, squinting into the darkness at your feet. Out of the shadows, Issei’s form slowly takes shape. Honestly, you’re shocked you didn’t step on him.

“That’s not what you said 5 minutes ago,” Makki grumbles, but picks up his phone to place the order.

Issei shrugs, reaching his arm out toward you.

You dodge beyond his fingertips and beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs, calling out over your shoulder, “order me a Hawaiian pizza.”

“No way in hell. That’s disgusting.”

Fake retching sounds follow you to the top.

The cold spray of the shower is calming, necessary even, to wash the stickiness from your skin and quiet your frazzled nerves.

That happened almost a week ago, and seeing him in your house every day has only made things more fraught. While you haven’t exactly been avoiding Issei, you haven’t tried to talk to him either. For your brother’s sake you should probably make clear that it was a mistake; one that will never happen again. You could blame it on the beer or the weed, but the truth is, Issei plagues your thoughts even while sober — his breath hot on your neck, fingertips digging into the fat of your hips, the utter fullness when he pushed into you.

Before that night, the image of him as a gawky preteen was all your mind could conjure up. But now… Your fingers aren’t enough to relieve the pressure anymore.

Your encounter unleashed some latent magnetic field, prickling your senses and hopelessly drawing you toward him at every turn. You welcome his attention more than you care to admit, so, unsurprisingly, it’s been hard not to make it weird, and harder not to second-guess every single interaction these days. Since when did he know your favorite snacks? Did he used to stare at you so much? Had he always been this touchy?

Or is he just hoping for a repeat of the other night?

The possibility stirs up both anxiety and relief. Except for the teeny, tiny detail of being your little brother’s best friend — you know, the one person outside of family that Hiro places 100% of his trust in — Issei would top your list of fuck buddies (and if you’re honest, maybe even more than that).

What’s been most confusing is that Issei doesn’t seem bothered, and you’re not sure why that irritates you so much. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy who would treat you like a notch in his bedpost, but then again, best friend’s sibling is a perennially popular porn trope for a reason. Surely he’s not immune.

None of that really matters though. Hiro’s been acting strange lately, like he knows something’s up. Half the time, he books it out of a room as soon as you walk in. God knows how he’d react if he found out what happened. Issei said he wouldn’t care, but how true is that? You try to imagine how you’d feel if one of your friends told you they’d slept with Hiro, and you can’t help but be…one, grossed out because you really don’t want to think about it. And two, well…protective, angry maybe. He might be an ass, but he’s still your brother, and you’d never do anything to actually hurt him.

A knock breaks into your anxious musings.

It’s then you notice you’re standing vacantly in the middle of your room. Somehow, you’d finished showering and walked back while lost in thought.

“Go away!”

Hiro is the last person you want to talk to right now; especially not before you can get your thoughts under control.

Footsteps shuffle away, but instead of the telltale creak of the stairs, they pause, then turn back toward the door.

The door jiggles and clicks open.

“What part of-”

Except it’s not Hiro. It’s Issei.

His audacity dumbfounds you, but only for a second.

“The hell?! Get out!”

Hesitation flickers across his face but he takes a step forward.

“Can we talk?”

“NO.” You wrap the towel tighter around yourself.

When he doesn’t move, you reiterate the point by whirling on your heels and stomping toward the dresser. The underwear drawer suddenly captures your full attention, and you rummage through it with single-minded focus.

The door shuts behind you with another click, and you let out a shaky breath.

The relief is short-lived.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Goosebumps break out all over your skin at his words.

“That’s not true.”

The lavender scent of your shampoo tickles his nose. With you faced resolutely away, he steps closer and allows his eyes to sweep over the droplets gleaming across your shoulders.

“No?”

His lips brush against the base of your neck, and whatever retort you had fizzles on your tongue.

“Issei,” you whimper, “you said you wanted to talk.”

You lean back into his touch and feel him grin against the juncture of your neck. His hands, big and warm and firm, slide up under the towel to knead at your soft thighs, rapidly emptying your brain.

He gives you a gentle nudge toward the bed.

“I don’t think we should do this,” you protest, but your lack of conviction is apparent in how eagerly you obey, practically tripping over yourself to perch on the edge of the mattress.

He raises one thick eyebrow. “Why?”

“Hiro’s going to find out.”

Issei unbuttons his shirt with unhurried movements, unveiling the smooth musculature of his chest. Its slopes and dips are made more dramatic thanks to the yellow-orange light of the single desk lamp. You swallow thickly, eyes drawn to the sharp cut of his collarbones and the faded scar on his right hip.

“Makki knows. He doesn’t care.”

His shorts and underwear quickly land in a pile on the floor.

Even in the harsh light, his dick is nothing short of mouth-watering. A pretty flush tip sits enticingly over its thick, veiny length. Coarse hairs curl tightly at the base, trimmed short to reveal more of him.

He kneels and shuffles forward to tug the towel from your clutch, uttering an appreciative groan before he tosses it aside.

“Fuck, just look at you.”

Your objections devolve into gasping moans when he pushes you back to lay open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down your chest, sluggishly mouthing over your hips, down the tops of your legs and back up, licking a stripe along the tender skin of your inner thigh as he splays your legs up and out. He dives in to suck on your clit and you almost choke.

Your entire body tenses with pleasure when he starts to lap at you. But it’s the way he meets your gaze with hooded eyes — intoxicated from a single taste — that kickstarts the last ounce of resistance left in your body.

“Issei, if you- fuck that’s ahhh- you’re just looking to get your dick wet…”

That stills his tongue. Even though you’re the one protesting, you can’t help but whine now that he’s actually stopped.

“That’s not…” He frowns, a mixture of your juices and his saliva glistening on his chin. In one fluid motion, Issei slides you off the bed and onto his lap. A shudder runs through him when his erection glides against your folds, though it doesn’t distract him.

“Is that what you think this is?”

You’re not sure what answer he’s looking for, so you stay silent, head turned to avoid his eyes.

He scrutinizes you for what seems like an age. How could you not know? All the times he’s tried to impress you? All the things he’s done in the hopes you’ll notice him? All the years he’s trailed behind you — to your house, to university, and even to Sendai?

“Do you remember when your parents made you start watching us after school?”

Your face scrunches in confusion at the change in topic, but he’s insistent.

“Do you remember? Right after you started high school?”

“Ok…yeah,” you indulge, “I remember. I’d just joined photography club and had to quit like a month later. I was pissed — they’d never cared about leaving us home alone before so I didn’t understand why I had to babysit you guys.”

“They didn’t actually care. I made up some lie — I don’t even remember what it was now — to convince my parents we needed a sitter. I figured they’d make you do it, and they did.”

You look up in confusion. Is he…blushing?

“And in eighth grade, when I needed help with math… I actually bombed my tests on purpose for a month because I knew my parents would ask you.”

Wait… “Was that what your fights were about?”

Hiro and Issei were thick as thieves, the only exceptions being in your first and last years of high school. Their fights got heated too, though neither ever told you what set them off, no matter how many times you tried to pry it out of them. The second time, Issei didn’t come over for almost a month afterward (you remember because you had to go to his house to tutor him) but things always eventually went back to normal.

Issei huffs a soft chuckle. “Yeah, Makki figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“It’s not obvious?” Issei drops his head onto your shoulder with something between a groan and a laugh. “I liked you. A lot. I still do.”

He admits it so casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. Like he and Hiro haven’t kept this secret for over a decade. Like it’s hardly a confession at all.

For once, you’re the one struggling to keep up.

“Wait…you like me?”

You feel a muffled snort. “That’s literally what I’ve been saying this whole time.”

“And Hiro’s…not mad? But he’s been acting so weird lately,” you point out.

“Oh that. He keeps trying to ‘give us space’ or something. I told him to cool it.”

“Oh.” Huh. Maybe it was obvious. You were just too worried about Hiro to notice that every time he flew out of a room with some flimsy excuse, you were left alone with Issei. Issei, who you like more than you expected. Who’s had a crush on you for more than a decade. Whose lap you’re currently nestled in, naked.

“Does that mean we can…” You shift, jerking when your clit catches his spongy tip.

He laughs, grinding his hips up to meet you.

“We sure can.”

You’re still wet, really wet, you’re reminded when your pussy glides against him, and getting more aroused by the second as Issei stares, mesmerized by the slick trail you leave along the length of his cock.

His hands slide down to give your ass an excited squeeze before lifting you up onto the edge of the bed.

Dextrous fingers part your puffy lips as he rests his cheek against your thigh, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt. He thumbs lightly at your clit and heaves a sigh of contentment when your hips buck in response.

“Didn’t get to enjoy this last time.”

You bite back a moan when he slides one long finger into you. It reaches deep, and you squirm in encouragement when he sinks a second one in. He works them nimbly, curling and scissoring them while rolling your clit, breaking you down into a whiny mess in seconds, until you’re dripping down his wrists and onto the sheets.

You’re so distracted by his fingers that you don’t notice him dive in, just feel his lips wrap around your clit with a slurp. He licks and sucks at you eagerly, and you can only gasp and writhe, trying to steady yourself with a fist in his soft wavy hair. The walls echo with your cries mingled with Issei’s enthusiastic groans and the wet suction of your cunt around his fingers.

It catches you by surprise when you cum, cresting fast and hard, pulling your body taut and whiting out your vision. Before you realize it, you’re already quaking with aftershocks, trying to twist away from the overwhelming sensation of him licking and suckling dreamily as you come down.

When he finally pulls his fingers out, he makes a show of sucking them clean, stroking himself as he smirks up at you.

He pushes himself up off the floor and god, fuck. He’s irresistible, his cock bobbing heavily between his legs as he gets on his hands and knees above you.

Issei leans down, humming happily when he wraps his mouth around your right nipple. He massages your chest with one hand and grips his cock with the other to smear his tip along your sopping pussy.

It feels good, but you squirm and push at his shoulders. “Want you in my mouth,” you beg.

He placates you with a hungry kiss. “Next time, ok? Next time. I can barely- I don’t think I can last long,” he admits wryly, “but next time we’ll do anything you want.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in anticipation when he lines himself up.

He pushes in slowly, first the fat mushroom tip, then the whole thick length of him, rocking himself in, out, in, inch by inch until he’s pressed flush against you. Issei groans when your face contorts with pleasure. The stretch is incredible. He stuffs you so full, finally hitting that place you’ve been unable to reach.

He takes things slow. Too slow. He wasn’t able to savor you before, but he’s not about to make the same mistake again. His long, languid strokes are just enough to have you grinding against him in frustration with every thrust.

“Let me enjoy this for a minute,” he rasps.

His hands trail restlessly across your body, caressing and squeezing every inch of skin he can reach. He kisses his way down your neck to roll his tongue around your nipple, biting and sucking one before moving to the other, and back again.

After what feels like hours, your patience finally gives out.

You smack him hard on the ass. “Issei! Fuck me already.”

That jolts his hips into action. The length of his body is laid on top of you, pinning your legs up against your shoulders as he pistons into you with surprising force. Wet slaps alternate with the loud squeak of the mattress.

You begin to quiver, your whole body shaking as the heat builds in your core. He reaches deep, so so deep, making you wail every time he bumps your clit and his cock hits that perfect spot inside of you over and over again.

“Ohhh- fuck, Issei please I’m-”

He barely has time to blink before you’re falling apart at the seams again. Wave after blinding wave of ecstasy crash over you, relentless.

Your pussy clenches hard, gripping his cock so firmly he can barely move. Not a second later, he pulls out with a shout. Through hazy eyes, you see his mouth drop open. He fists his cock only once before his body stiffens, convulsing as jets of hot cum shoot out to land on your cheeks, shoulders, chest, stomach, dribbling out to coat your pubes, before finally leaving him twitching.

The room fills with hoarse pants.

You laugh weakly at the mess. “Wow, you came a lot.”

“I think I almost blacked out,” he croaks.

With great effort, he pushes himself off the bed and returns with the box of tissues from your desk. He cleans you up with care, just like last time.

“I wanted to last longer,” he mumbles, pressing a sheepish kiss to your sternum before collapsing on you, pinning you down with his weight.

It does something funny to your heart to witness him like this, so different from his usual confidence.

“Next time,” you assure him.

“Next time?” He looks up, almost reverent.

“Yeah.” You smile and brush the damp curls away from his eyes.

Next time. He breaks out in an obnoxious grin. There’s going to be a next time. And if there’s a next time, there might be a time after that.

“You won’t even need to introduce me to your parents.”

You snort. “Ok, pump the brakes.”

When you finally make your way back to the kitchen (with Issei practically holding you up as you wobbled), you find one Hawaiian pizza and two-thirds of a pepperoni pizza sitting on the counter.

Issei loads up a plate for you both before heading down to the basement. You grab some cold beers and follow suit, pausing in the doorway to take a few calming breaths.

You don’t hear any yelling or scuffling — a positive sign. Hopefully, that means Hiro isn’t too angry.

You take one wary step, then another.

When you reach the bottom, your eyes hesitantly find Hiro’s. There’s an uneasy moment when he frowns at you from where he’s seated on the floor before he gives you a curt nod. It’s stiff, but definitely not angry, not even upset.

Your shoulders untense.

Issei waves you over to the couch where he settles you securely in his lap, his arms encircling your waist. You cast another wary glance at Hiro who just rolls his eyes.

“Glad you’re finally done ‘getting some water,’” Makki snipes. “I’ve been waiting forever to start the next episode.”

“I’m definitely not thirsty anymore if you know what I mean.” Mattsun wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Hiro’s face twists, revolted. “Ugh- I- ugh god, I don’t want to think about-” he sputters. His eyes flick to where Issei’s hands grope at your thighs and ass. “Whoa, ok rule number one: not when I’m right here. And rule number two-” there’s an uncomfortable pause before he mutters, “keep it down next time.”

Mattsun’s not at all chagrined. In fact, he puffs out his chest proudly.

You, on the other hand, shrink in absolutely mortification. Right when Issei opens his mouth to make another (probably vulgar) retort, you shove a slice of pizza in…with a little more force than you intended.

He chokes in surprise and your brother lets out a mean snicker. “Perfect timing! Serves you right.”

You expect him to continue bickering with Hiro, but Issei instead flashes you a dopey grin. “Thank you baby,” he says sweetly, muffled though it is by a mouthful of food.

The gleeful smirk drops right off Makki’s face and he whirls back toward the tv with a loud gag.

“You’re welcome,” you giggle. Your brain’s still playing catch-up with everything that’s happened today, but you think you like where this is heading.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Share your lastest WIP! If you want 👀

which one 🥲😂😭💀 i have a few - will this do?

~

“They’re quite odd, aren’t they?” 

Abraxas is snickering when he says it. He’s just loud enough to grate - nothing new - but in what should be the quiet sanctity of the library, his tone sufficiently pulls Tom from his reading. 

His eyes lock on Abraxas across from him and flick to the ‘they’ in question. 

And, of course, it’s the Grangers. 

Since entering the magical community, Tom has learned a thing or two about their societal norms. An interesting component being that it is surprisingly challenging to be seen as ‘odd’ here. A wixen can be any number of things: lazy, stupid, poor, muggle - the list goes on, but ‘odd’ is a category used sparingly when directed towards each other. Much unlike the muggles Tom has known and grown his whole life around. 

He was always seen as odd by them - freakish - and continues to be whenever he returns to the orphanage for summer. So he doesn’t much care for the word. 

Besides, if anything, the Grangers aren't even worth gawking over and snickering about. Their worst can be summed up to anti-socialistic, codependent, and exclusionary behaviours - probably a trauma response from the war. They clearly have no interest in playing house with their dormmates or the rest of the school, so why bother?

They are sitting beneath the second-story stair landing where the elves have managed to shove one last table. It’s one of the more tucked away and private places on this level — a place Tom would not consider and will not consider; he needs to be visible, available — and they’ve claimed it like it’s never belonged to anyone else. Like it was placed there just for them. Their ease of acclimation to Hogwarts as a whole has certainly raised some eyebrows, yet still, he isn’t concerned. 

He had also known Hogwarts was his home the moment he had stepped foot in it, after all. He is not so foolish as to believe himself an outlier.

Hermione Granger’s hands are waving wildly, turning in circles and gesturing in a vague sphere-like shape. She’s talking aloud - not that Tom, or anyone else, can hear it - and doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying, given the harsh line between her brows. Ronald Granger is sitting in front of her and starts shaking his head. He says something and reaches across the table to take her wrists — expands them — the sphere becomes an oval.

Harry Granger sits beside them pensive, with his head down and reading carefully from a book in his hands. He starts to turn the page but pauses; he frowns and looks up.

He looks right at Tom.

Granger blinks once, slowly. He mouths something, but it’s not directed towards Tom because his siblings turn to look at him. It only lasts a moment before they suddenly turn around to stare at Tom as well, their eyes wide and alarmed. 

Tom watches on as Harry Granger slouches - maybe sighs? He shakes his head and palms his face in something like dismay. It doesn't take a legilimens to read his lips now—

“You are both such idiots.” He says.

The corner of Tom’s lips curl. It’s possibly a smile. He’ll never call it that out loud.

“Very,” he finally replies to Abraxas.

[matchingbatbites]

Part 1

Steve visits Eddie often. He loves being around the other man, loves how kind Eddie is, how funny he is for someone who rules the dead. He seems to love making Steve laugh and is always cracking jokes that send the goddess into giggles.

Honestly, Steve spends more time than he should in the Underworld, but Eddie has so many duties to tend to, it makes more sense for Steve to come to him than the other way around.

It’s nearly a year since he met Eddie that his joy is brought to an end. Steve is summoned to Olympus, is told that his visits are sending the world into chaos.

He didn’t know that traveling to the Underworld would cut the human world off from his magic, that the plants that bloomed with his presence would die off when the connection is severed.

Zeus bans him from visiting Hades, and Steve ignores the smug look on Ares’ face, the pitying looks from Hera and Aphrodite. Not all of the gods are here to witness his humiliation, but there are enough to make him flush with shame, to have him leaving as soon as he's able to.

Aphrodite catches him before he gets too far, her hair and robes both immaculate even as tears stream down her face. “Ares told them where you were going. I tried to stop him, but he’s… bitter. Jealous.”

She takes his hand, holds it between her own. “I can tell that your feelings are true, and that Hades feels the same for you. I wish I could help you, Persephone. You both deserve happiness.”

And like a stroke of lightning, Steve knows what must be done.

He thanks her and leaves Olympus, finds the nearest gate and descends into the Underworld. Cerberus is given three loving pets as Steve passes by, heading to the garden behind Eddie’s home.

The plants have been thriving thanks to Steve’s frequent visits, the flowers are in full bloom and the plants that can fruit are full and heavy with produce. He plucks a pomegranate from its branch, and stares at it as he remembers.

The goddess had found Eddie eating one on his third or fourth visit, and the older had stopped him when he’d gone to grab a few of the seeds for himself.

“You can’t eat anything grown in this realm. You’ll be stuck here if you do.”

Eddie had looked almost sad as he’d said it, and Steve had tipped his head to the side.

“Are you saying you don’t want me around?”

“No! I mean, I would-” Eddie stopped himself, took a breath. “You don’t belong down here. This place is far too dark, too bleak. It doesn’t deserve you.”

And Steve could read between the lines, could hear what Eddie wasn’t saying. He had ignored it at the time, let Eddie be right, but now? Now Steve knows that Eddie is the only one who deserves him.

Call him selfish, but no one has ever treated Steve the way Eddie does, has cared for him so, and he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his days in the Underworld, side by side with the man he loves.

He tears open the pomegranate as a voice comes from the house.

“Steve? I didn’t realize you were here.”

Steve turns to face him, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s hands, dripping with red as he holds the fruit in his hands. His face pales and his eyes jump back to Steve’s.

“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a cautious step forward.

“Do you love me?” Steve asks in return. Just seeing Eddie has firmed his decision, and he stands, unwavering as he watches the other man pause at the question.

“I do. More than anything.” Eddie seems nervous, but his voice is steady, and Steve knows he's telling the truth.

“If I asked it, would you let me stay? Let me stand by your side for the rest of time itself?”

Eddie steps closer, now in arms reach. “I would. I would not turn you away, even if it meant my life.”

Steve’s eyes don’t waver from Eddie’s as he scrapes a handful of seeds from the fruit and shoves them in his mouth.

The juice is tart at first, but is followed by a delicious sweetness, something that reminds Steve of Eddie himself, and as he swallows, Steve can feel the shift within him.

Hands grab his face and the fruit falls to the ground as Steve grabs Eddie in return, both meeting in a desperate kiss. Magic flows between them, invisible threads tying them together in a bond so concrete, even the Fates themselves could not cut them.

They pull back after a moment, and Steve’s eyes drop to the red smear across Eddie’s mouth, something that is surely mirrored across his own.

“My wonderful little goddess,” Eddie mutters, awestruck as he places another kiss to Steve’s lips, more tender than the last.

“You're stuck with me now,” the goddess responds, sending them both into giggles, and yeah. It feels good to be selfish.

(Later, Steve will cut a deal with the rest of the gods. He will come back for half a year at a time and tend to his duties, leaving his beloved twin Demeter in charge while he’s gone, in exchange for Zeus’ blessing to have children. Zeus will have no choice but to agree.)

-

Tagging @stardustonpages because they respectfully asked for more <3

[chickenparm]

Fidget Device (Alhaitham/afab!Reader) (2)

AO3 LINK

Previous Part/Prequel

Next Part

Art inspired by this fic by @drawlypsy can be found here!

Alhaitham/afab!Reader

2,867 Words - NSFW

Blowjobs, allusions to m!Masturbation

---

Pleasant dreams aside, the reality upon your waking is startlingly mundane. 

Alhaitham doesn’t stay, he doesn’t look at you as he drops his coffee mug into the sink and turns to leave. There’s barely any acknowledgement at all beyond him calling a generic goodbye into the depths of the house that really only housed you at the moment - Kaveh was absent as often as possible, including this morning. 

Your own work beckons you, but it’s impossibly hard to focus when you’re entirely unsure if last night was a dream or the real thing. 

Chewing on the end of your pen - something Alhaitham would’ve scoffed at if he’d spent longer than 5 minutes in your presence - you mull over the possibilities. It had to have been a dream, that’s the only conclusion you can really come to. Even someone as composed as Alhaitham wouldn’t have been able to be so nonchalant in your presence. 

Nothing but a sweet dream, one that you immerse yourself in with your cheek in your palm and the sun coming through the stained glass window against your skin in shades of teal and olive. Even in the mornings, Sumeru’s sun shines bright enough to warm you pleasantly in the home that Alhaitham stubbornly keeps cold in all seasons. 

How he’d smelled, how even in your dreams he’d let you cling to him as he thoughtlessly toyed with you as if it were nothing. Even in your thoughts he doesn’t pay you any mind, even in the throes of your excitement, even as you grind down against his lap, against his hand. The fabric of his gloves dragging against the skin of your-

Chin nearly falling off its perch with enough force to sting, you sit upright and push back from your desk. Glove. Alhaitham wasn’t wearing his gloves when he left. Alhaitham didn’t particularly favor change, down to the very outfit he wears and the various accessories that come with it. Why would he forego wearing something he’s so attached to?

His bedroom is never locked. There’s no reason for it - Kaveh knows better to cross the line into messing with Alhaitham’s belongings, and there’s always been a quiet acceptance of your presence when you poke your head in to ask him something. Even so, it feels odd to cross the threshold and step inside when he isn’t present. 

Alhaitham’s room is filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, a large desk that serves to hold unsorted books rather than any sort of work, and a bed that sits unmade beneath the window facing the sun. It’s tactically placed for him to awaken when the light brushes over him. Stepping closer, your fingers reach for the divot in the bed that he seems to lay in, blankets thrown back as if he’d risen in a hurry. 

It’s far from being still warm with his body heat, long chilled despite his departure less than an hour ago. Pressing your palm to his pillow, you wonder what he might’ve looked like as he dozed. The sunlight feels thick as it comes through the window, dust motes lazily crossing the beam in little pinpricks of light. Absently, your thumb drags along the pillowcase, pretending for only a moment that the fabric could be substituted for the smoothness of his cheek. 

Would he hum in response? Smile in his sleep at your touch? More likely he would awaken the moment you entered the room, pushing himself into a sitting position and look at you as if you were nothing more than the very sparks of dust that cast impossibly small shadows against the back of your hand. 

Snatching your hand back, clutching it to your chest and turning on your heel, you remind yourself of the entire reason you entered in the first place. Alhaitham’s gloves - where would they be?

Easy enough. His laundry hamper sits in the corner, its wicker lid pulled shut to hide what’s inside. Without as much shame as you should have for going through a grown man’s laundry, you lift the lid with a single finger and find your answer sitting right on the top. Black fabric that has an unmistakable stain as if it’d been hurriedly used to-

The lid snaps back down and you take two measured steps back to the middle of the room. There’s no misinterpreting any of that - from the evidence of what he’d done to you that’d seeped into the base of the glove’s fingerless portion, to the remains of his own pleasure smeared along what would’ve been the palm if he were wearing it. 

“Not a dream, then.”

Your quiet murmur feels deafening in the silence of Alhaitham’s bedroom. The sun still moves across the sky, his bed still sits unmade, the dust dances before your eyes as you stare at the wicker basket and try to piece together the simple truth. Everything he’d done last night truly happened, and he still left so quickly in the morning that you’re beginning to think he might have regretted it. 

Perhaps he was fearful of your reaction; he hadn’t necessarily given you room to say no, but neither did you want to. Certainly if you tried he would have, Alhaitham isn’t like that. So what caused him to run?

Shame. It had to be shame, judging by the evidence left behind. Alhaitham isn’t necessarily the neatest person in the world. Often you’ve entered this room where his jacket has been tossed across the back of his chair, or one boot sits by the door while the other is across the room. Even his bed is often only made to the point of laying the duvet flat and the pillows aligned, the sheet still mussed under the covers. 

Alhaitham put his gloves there to hide them. On purpose. 

—

This is a stupid idea. But it’s the only one you have, and that has to count for something. 

If there’s anything about Alhaitham that you know for certain, it’s that he’s punctual down to leaving his work at exactly five o’ clock without deviation. Then the short walk home, reinforced by the way the front door shuts and a little slower than usual he makes his way to the kitchen where you’re just serving up a portion of the soup you’ve made that you know he detests.

Just one portion. 

Keeping your back to him, you stare into the earthenware dish before you and ask, “How was work?”

“It was work. How was…” Alhaitham trails off, as if just now coming to the realization he had no clue what your plans were for the day because he didn’t bother to say anything to you before leaving that morning. 

Maybe you’re a little too satisfied that he’s come across this blunder in your presence, but you don’t let him flounder for too long. “My day was enlightening. Lots of new thoughts, I’m sure you understand.”

And oh does the sound of his sharp inhale make your heart race in anticipation. Elaboration isn’t needed; this conversation could be left right here and Alhaitham would know exactly what you’re referring to. But he calls your bluff, stepping closer as if his proximity would cause you distress. “I’d understand better if you shared them.”

“After dinner.” You promise, turning to hold the bowl out to him with hands outstretched, your chin jerking toward the table that oft goes unused. Angular eyes narrow in suspicion - first at the bowl in your hands, then to the table that’s been set with a single placemat, cup, and utensils. Everything tonight has its purpose, including the absence of your own seat.

But without a history of malice, Alhaitham can’t truly deny you this. His ungloved fingers pass across your own as he takes what you’re offering, skin burning against skin for the briefest moment before the exchange is made. When he’s seated, staring listlessly down at the food you’ve made, you busy yourself with extinguishing the oven’s flame and cracking the door to let the heat seep out. 

And then, your own dinner portion. 

Alhaitham has made it through a few bites, that damn book laid flat on the table as he multitasks. For once, you’re thankful for his utter distraction. It lets you sink to your knees unbothered, it allows you the freedom to crawl across the floor beneath the table until you can slot yourself rather neatly between his parted knees. 

The chair shoots back enough for him to look down at you, eyes wide and pupils visibly dilating at the sight of you on your knees, apron pooled around you, hands barely ghosting across the tops of his thighs. “What are you doing?”

A simple question, one that arguably fits his definition of needless, but you’re not here to split hairs over things like that. Letting go of him, you reach for the legs of his chair and tug him back toward you forcefully to emphasize your reasoning. “Having dinner, obviously. Don’t mind me.”

Alhaitham looks at you with undisguised wonder as your fingers creep higher, tracing the inner seam until you can cup your palm against him. Not completely hard, but he’s well on his way, and you remember quite vividly how he’d felt against you last night. Burning hot, insistent, begging you to do something about it if he’d only allowed you to.

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, anticipation for giving him exactly what he deserves proving to be a little too close to ambrosia for you to resist it. He’s grown hard enough beneath your fingers that you can feel the outline of him clearly, and you drag the pads of your fingertips hard enough that he jolts in his chair. Alhaitham’s knees press into your shoulders, and you tsk up at him in admonishment. 

“Eat your dinner. Quit squirming.”

And you’ll eat, too. Fingers tugging at the hem of his pants, just enough for him to bob free, you take a single moment to admire him. It’s a shame he kept this to himself last night - he’s rather pretty.

Saltiness blooms on your tongue as you press it against the head of his cock, first dragging then dipping the tip into the slit at the very tip. Above you, the spoon clatters against the table in response, but rather than chide him you instead fill your mouth with his hardness instead of your words. 

Alhaitham fills your mouth easily, pressing your tongue down as you take him further. The undulation of your tongue along the bottom of his cock make him jerk against you, your swallowing around him must feel far more interesting than whatever he’s reading up there. But he was so interested in it last night…

With a wet pop, you pull back and speak with your lips pressed against the head of his cock, threatening to take him in again, “Having trouble focusing? Do you need me in your lap again?”

Audibly he inhales, certainly prepared to give you a piece of his mind that he must be dying to share, but you cut him off by taking him as far as you can once more. The sound in his throat turns from something coherent to a choked groan as your lips reach the base of his cock briefly, then again, starting a slow pace that’s entirely at your leisure. 

Not his, despite how he rocks toward you in encouragement. Hooking your elbows over his thighs, you leave no room for him to chase after you. Just as he’d locked you in his grasp, you ensnare him just as solidly. At your mercy, he can only lean back in the chair and grip at the armrests with bare fingers and nails digging in audibly. 

The tip of your tongue presses against the prominent vein beneath, relishing in the feel of his racing heartbeat. It’s concrete proof that he isn’t as aloof as he tries to be, though his unfocused eyes on you are just as telling. Now he gives you his attention, undivided and blazing with complete focus. 

It should feel empowering, flattering even. Instead you only feel annoyed, and raise one hand to knock at the bottom of the table above your head. Focus elsewhere, you wordlessly tell him with your cheek bulging around the mass of him, pay me no mind.

Or you’ll stop. You’re not above that, even if you’re getting as much enjoyment out of this as he is. Intuitive even when you’re sucking on him hard enough to veer toward pain, Alhaitham’s hands shake as he reaches to the table, paper rustling enough to tell you he’s at least trying.

But the pages don’t turn, his eyes don’t move as he stares somewhere off in the middle distance. This is how he should’ve looked last night, rather than unaffected and bored. Without a doubt, he’s much easier on the eyes when his jaw is slack and his entire body is full of tension that’s threatening to snap.

The muscles of his abdomen clench, threatening an apex that you’re well aware is looming quickly. His throat bobs with a thick swallow, the exhale through his nose catching on the motion before he rasps, “You’re going to… I’m-”

The words can’t form, not while you drag your tongue on the ridge of his tip, against the vein beneath, along his length with no small amount of self-indulgence. Alhaitham throbs in your mouth, a clear warning for what he’s trying to tell you, and it’s one that you promptly disregard. 

He’s salty on your tongue, between your teeth and cheeks, his release hitting you with force that he can’t use on you himself. Paper crinkles above with his tension, and you’re treated to the sweetest sound of his appreciative moan from low in his chest. Alhaitham’s knees have locked you in, keeping you from pulling back even as he grows soft in your mouth as you swallow his release. 

With his clear refusal to let you go just yet, you gauge his expression from your lower vantage point. Blushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, chest heaving despite so little exertion - Alhaitham paints a pretty picture, one that you wish you could’ve been allowed to see earlier if he’d been just a little more forthcoming. 

With a thud, his back hits the chair once more and he stares up at the ceiling, cutting off your view of whatever expression he wears. Having lost your patience now that he’s obstructed your sight, you wiggle your way from his grasp and awkwardly shimmy from beneath the table. Lips swollen, you sweep at the corners with your thumb and pointedly turn back to the stove to actually get your dinner. 

Alhaitham can worry about dinner cleanup - you’re rather happy to lock yourself in your room and have a quiet evening alone. Maybe some more of those pleasant dreams are on the table, now that you’ve given yourself more fuel for the fire. 

—

His book has long since closed itself under the pressure of its own binding, but the sound can’t drag him from the half-aware, meandering reverie he directs toward the rafters of the ceiling. Steam that once rose from the bowl of soup is no more, leaving it to congeal in the bowl with only a single spoonful having been taken out of it. 

A tacky clock on the wall - one bought for the purpose of driving Kaveh insane - ticks steadily, ensuring that time is passing. He can’t make heads nor tails of it. Alhaitham doesn’t even try.

Somewhere deeper in the house, Alhaitham hears you moving around. The shower starts with a squeak of turning knobs and water moving through pipes. Images of you flicker behind his eyelids as he closes them, ones that include you undressed under the falling water, humming some tune to yourself that you seem to favor with its simplicity. 

How long has he been sitting here, unable to pull himself together? Slouched in the chair until his back aches, mind whirling with thoughts that are too ephemeral for him to dig his fingers into, openly indecent with his pants down for anyone to see if they were to come into the room. 

Archons the house is cold, he feels it along the backs of his limp hands, on the sweat across his forehead. Even on his dick that you hadn’t bothered to put away when you were finished with him. You’d left rather unceremoniously; at least he’d had the decency to put you to bed.

Cracking his eyes open once more, he turns them to the hallway that would lead directly to you and tries to imagine the exact amount of footsteps it would take to cross the distance to the bathroom. Or from the bathroom. 

Maybe if he called for you-

Alhaitham sits up at the mere thought, fingers digging into the arm rests as leverage. No, he’s not doing that. The chair clatters to the floor as he stands, first tipping to two legs and then all the way back under the pressure of his sudden movements. With still-trembling hands, he reaches to his waistband to put himself away, grimacing at the stickiness. 

It might just be in his best interest to shower as well.

[sinner-as-saint]

soft like winter

Dark!Mob!Bucky x Reader (one-shot)

Run-through: You’re newly married to his father. Married - only on paper. The alliance was nothing but a mere convenient transaction between two crime families for the sake of fame, power and peace. Peace which Bucky is hellbent on disrupting. As his father’s only son and heir, and ever the spoilt prince he is, Bucky wants something he knows he shouldn’t have - you. 

Themes: smut, dark!bucky, possessive!bucky, taboo romance, no ‘mommy kink’ but bucky does call reader ‘mommy’ (x1) to taunt her, mentions of death and violence (not gory) 

“It’s late.” 

You spoke, coming down the ornate stairs and walking into the dimly lit, spacious living room where the only source of light was the huge fireplace. And not far from it sat Bucky on a sofa. In his all black suit, as always. Except right now, the jacket was carelessly thrown on the floor and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. 

You almost sighed just looking at him, and the complex feelings that followed. You don’t know what it was that told you to get out of bed and go check downstairs in the middle of the night. But now you were glad that you did because here Bucky was, drinking in silence in the middle of the night. 

“It’s three in the morning, Bucky.” 

The room was so quiet, and Bucky so still that it felt like you were talking to no one. The only movements were from the flames in the fireplace and the mechanical movement of Bucky’s arm as it occasionally brought his glass up to his lips. You could only see his side profile from where you stood, and he looked like he was in one of his broody moods. 

“Bucky, it’s-,” 

He finally spoke up, cutting you off. “Oh please, you’re barely a few years older than me, stop trying to be my mother.” He said in that bitter tone of his. 

You blinked, sighing because it was always like this. Each day for the past year, ever since you married his father, whenever you and Bucky saw each other it was always like this. 

“I’m not.” You clarified. “I just- it’s three in the morning and you’re drinking. How long have you been up? Did you just get home?” You asked, taking a step closer to him. None of the men in the house ever really told you what’s going on. 

Bucky’s dad stays away. You could count how many days he’s been home ever since he too was forced into marrying for the sake of so-called peace and power. And Bucky… well, he was as unpredictable as he was spoiled. So you never knew when he was home and when he wasn’t. 

“Is my father home?” Bucky asked instead of answering your questions. His tone was cool and dark. 

You almost scoffed. “You know he never is.” Then a pause. And you said, “It’s late bucky, go get some sleep.” 

This time he scoffed, and said, “Don’t tell me you care. You don’t have to pretend when no one’s around, you know? Now leave me alone and go play with the pretty things you buy yourself with our money.” 

His words used to hurt. But now it doesn’t. Growing up around the people that you did, you had grown a tough skin. And Bucky’s words came from a place of hurt rather than hatred and you knew it. 

So instead of raising your voice and defending yourself passionately, you just spoke softly, “I’m not pretending. And I do care. After all you are part of this family too, Bucky.” 

Bucky let out a chuckle. “Family,” he scoffed. Then he set the glass down, and got up from the sofa, stalking towards you. Silent and a look of determination and… hunger on his face. “I’m part of your new family, right?” He taunted, “And you wanna take care of me?” 

The sound of his voice was enough to get you to take some steps back. But not in fear, never in fear. “Bucky…” You whispered, shocking yourself with how softly and easily his name fell off your lips. 

He caged you between him and the wall you’d just found yourself pressing against. One hand pressed against the wall beside your head, Bucky leaned in. Close to you. Closer than a family member should. This was one of his power plays again, and you recognised it. You didn’t back down either, you stared right in his pretty blue eyes. Eyes that spoke volumes. 

“Well then,” He said, nuzzling your jaw as he reached down, grabbed your hand and guided it over to the very prominent bulge in his dark pants. He pressed your hand against it. The hard, warm flesh. “Can you take care of this?” He asked. 

You resisted the urge to squeeze him just a little. You did truly resist, but then you couldn’t. So you petted and gently squeezed him through his pants. Bucky made a sound which sounded a lot like a growl. 

Then his mouth was on yours. Kissing, biting, tugging on your lower lip. There was nothing gentle about him or the kiss. He tasted like expensive whiskey and smelt like an equally expensive male would. It was heady. He was heady. 

Then you mumbled against his kiss, “Bucky, we shouldn’t.” 

Bucky pulled away, smirking like the arrogant prince he is and kissed down your chin. Down your neck, making you squirm and shiver in his arms. You bit back a moan as he easily slid your satin robe off your shoulders, leaving you in just a cool, satin nightdress. 

He looked down at your satin covered body for a quick moment before he looked back up into your eyes like what you wore offended him. “Did you wear this for him? Hmm? Did you wear this in case he came home and wanted to fuck his young wife?” He asked dangerously with fire in his eyes, “Answer me.” He slid his fingers into your hair and tugged on it gently, “Did you?” 

“No.” You answered firmly. “It’s not like that between us and you know that.” Of course it wasn’t, Bucky’s father treated you like you were non-existent. Not that you minded. 

“Good.” Bucky looked down at your lips again and said, “Because you’re fucking mine.” And then kissed you again. Less harsh this time, but deeper. Then his mouth found its way down your neck again, until he wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and sucked. 

You couldn’t help but gasp and moan as his warm mouth wrapped around your flesh, wetting the fabric of your nightdress. Then he shifted to the other one, making you whine and squirm against him. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently as he toyed with your breasts. 

And then he was kneeling, eagerly bunching up your nightdress so he could taste what he wanted the most, that wetness in between your legs. 

You groaned, “Bucky, we shouldn’t…” You protested again, gently and doing absolutely nothing to stop him. 

Bucky looked up at you and smirked, “What, now you don’t wanna care about me?” With that mischievous look in his eyes, you knew it was coming… “Well, I’m hungry mommy, won’t you let your boy eat? Hmm?”

You groaned again, that fluttery feeling back in your stomach. His eagerness made your body tingle. “Oh damn you…” 

And you let him. You let him taste you until he had his fill. You let him take one of your legs and put it over his shoulder which opened you up even more to his warm, eager mouth. To his tongue which slid in and out and up and down until you were almost crying in pleasure. 

He ate you out until you were trembling, until your arousal was dripping down his chin. And only after making you come more than once did he pull away. He looked up at you with a satisfied, lust-drunk look on his pretty face. His lips and chin were all wet and shiny even in the dimmed room. He looked proud of himself. 

You were still catching your breath as you cradled his face into your hands. And Bucky remained kneeling there, between your legs. There was so much you wanted to say to him. But all you said was, “Bucky… you know we can’t keep doing this.” Because of course it wasn’t the first time you two had fooled around like this. 

“Why not?” He asked like a brat. “Do you want me to tell daddy dearest that you’re not taking good care of me like you should?” He taunted again. 

“Bucky…” 

“What?” He asked, standing up. “Don’t you see it?” For the first time tonight, the mean and dangerous mask dropped and all that was left was a man wanting to be loved by the woman he knew he shouldn’t want. “Don’t you see how good we are together?” 

You tried to reason with him, even as he licked his lips and tasted the remaining taste of you left on his skin. “Someone might see. We have staff, you know? And they talk-” 

“I don’t care.” He said, meaning it. “You’re mine.” 

To which you said, sadly, “I’m not. You know I’m not.” 

“You will be.”  

And that was it. He walked away, all broody again. And you let him, sighing as you bent down to pick up your robe and wrapped it around you. You almost laughed dryly. What had your life come to? 

—

Over the next few days, you didn’t see Bucky at all. The house was quiet and you lived in it like a ghost, all alone in silence. You did have work and all, you helped in managing your family’s businesses but your heart wasn’t in it. Your heart was barely content unless Bucky was around. Quiet, spoilt and broody Bucky. 

You smiled at the thought of him. If only things could be a little different… 

– 

One morning you woke up and the house was a little noisier than usual. You could hear the staff moving about quicker and with purpose. 

You realised why when you got downstairs. Wishing you hadn’t because Bucky’s father was here for a quick visit before he flew off again. And that morning, Bucky and his father argued. 

Though you only heard part of it:

“Will you say something?” His father asked. And the silence that followed meant that Bucky was shamelessly ignoring him. “I am talking to you.” 

Bucky sighed and finally spoke up, “Fine, what do you want to know?” 

His father mumbled something, swear words if you had to guess then asked, “Have you been good? Or did you cause even more trouble around the city? Before I go I have to know whether I will have to stuff money in more mouths to keep them quiet. Because we all know you rarely ever behave in my absence.” 

Bucky chuckled. “You’re always absent. Why do you care?” 

“Because I don’t want you ruining my-,” 

Bucky cut his father off, “Hey, dad?” 

“What?” 

“Fuck you.” 

And that’s when it began. The shouting, both men yelling louder than the other. Someone may have punched the other too but you didn’t see it. You heard all that while hiding in a corridor and when the argument began, you ran back upstairs. 

–

You were in the shower when you felt him behind you. His hands wrapping around your body and pulling you back against his bare chest. He nuzzled the crook of your neck, kissing your skin. 

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “You’re gonna have us both killed.” You whispered to Bucky. 

He chuckled. “He left.” 

“I know.” 

This made him pull away to look at you. You turned in his arms and faced him properly, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You heard us fighting?” 

“I did. Then I ran back up before it got dirty.” You confessed. 

With all the steam in the hot shower, his body was extra warm as you pressed against him. Bucky pulled you closer, eyeing your body like he’s in the mood to play. 

“Did you know he was coming?” He asked, leaning in to kiss your neck. 

You almost laughed. “We don’t talk, Bucky. You know that.” 

“I know. I just like hearing you say it.” He said, moving his mouth back up over your lips. 

You almost told him that you shouldn’t do this, especially since his father was just here. What if he comes back? But then even you knew that you were just looking for excuses. So you stopped, and let it happen. 

Bucky pressed you up against the cold tiles of the shower, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed you and muffled your moans while he pushed inside of you. You were moaning against his mouth as he filled you up, making you squirm and whine in his arms. 

Bucky fucked you slowly, savouring the moment while whispering his promises against your lips, “You’re all mine, you hear me? Mine alone. And he can’t have you. I won’t let him.” He spread your legs further apart, holding you up against the wall by the curve of your ass, and pushed deeper inside you. “Fuck, you feel like you were made for me.” 

Your mind was a foggy mess at that point so you could barely focus on anything other than how he moved in and out of your wet, tight hole. That fluttery feeling was back again. 

“Bucky…” You whined, breathing heavily as you rested your forehead against his throat and holding onto him for dear life as he fucked you faster and deeper. 

“Come for me,” he said, grunting and moaning as he sped up into you, feeling your walls clenching around him and gripping his cock. 

“Fuck…” You came around him with a quiet cry. He leaned in to kiss you roughly as he came right after you. 

“Mine.” He said again. 

—

“Dad’s gone.” Bucky said to you one morning, sounding distant and as he came to wake you up to give you the news that his father had passed. 

“How?” You asked, feeling no sadness at all because you barely knew the man you’d married. 

Bucky told you how. Apparently he was out on his yacht, partying and then went missing sometime during the night. Everyone on the boat was too high or too drunk to notice so they only realised he’d been missing when they saw his dead body floating somewhere near the boat. 

“Oh.” You’d said. But somewhere, something wasn’t adding up. But even then, you couldn’t bother to care. 

Not right away at least. 

Not until days later after the funeral was done and countless people came to offer their condolences. 

Only then did you really take the time to think about it. Not because you missed the man or anything. A twisted part of you was glad that he was out of your life and no longer tying you down to the marriage. 

You found yourself in your late husband’s study. His things were getting taken out, to be replaced by Bucky’s stuff. But none of the workers were here right now so that’s where you went to think. You looked out of the window, into the front yard. 

You were lost in your thoughts when Bucky walked in. Smirking as he asked, “Miss him?” 

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. There he stood, black suit as always. And a sly smirk on his face. You couldn’t help but point it out, “You look happy.” 

He walked over to you, “Careful there,” Even in his warning you could hear that teasing tone of his. 

“Did you do it?” You asked, keeping a calm and composed face on. “Did you finally do it just so you could replace him? I mean, you seem very eager to take over after him. I’m not sure you even mourned him properly.” You paused and gauged his reaction. He was weirdly calm. “So, did you do it? Did you finally kill him just to have what you want? To have all that was his?” You let out a dry chuckle, “Me included.” 

He reacted this time, coming closer and grabbing your chin so you couldn’t look away from him. “You were never his. You were never meant to be his. And as for the rest, well, we all knew all of this would be mine someday, sooner or later.” 

You noticed the way he avoided your accusations. “Bucky…” You shivered under his stare. Not because he scared you, but because his eyes had never been this intense before. You felt like they could see through you. Read all your innermost secrets. Read all about how you wanted him so badly it hurt. 

Bucky leaned in closer, rubbing this thumb over your chin gently, “I’ve got you now. And you’re mine.” He whispered, before he pressed his mouth to yours. 

You melted immediately. Sliding your hands up his chest and into his hair as you kissed him back with just as much passion as he kissed you. His mouth moving against yours like he was throwing a tantrum. 

As he walked the two of you towards the desk, you mumbled against his lips, “You’re so bad for me.” 

Bucky smirked into the kiss, “Well, too late now.” He pushed you onto the table, stepping in between your legs already. As always, he was impatient so your underwear came off of you immediately, and in pieces because he ripped it. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss you again, as his hand reached in between your legs to play with your wet folds. He smiled into the kiss upon finding you already wet for him. Sliding a finger, then another inside of you, Bucky stroked your walls gently, preparing you for more. 

You clenched around his fingers, moaning wantonly into the kiss as he finger-fucked you, making you whine in need and desperation. You tangled your fingers into his hair and kissed him deeper as he made you come all over his fingers. 

“That’s my good girl,” He whispered, removing his fingers and shoving them into your mouth. “Now clean them.” He said, watching how you sucked on his drenched fingers. His eyes now darker and hooded. 

He couldn’t wait anymore. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, looking deep into your eyes as he did. He watched how the sound of his zipper made you shiver with lust and desire. He smirked, watching you as you looked down to where he lazily stroked himself. 

Lips parted, heart pounding, you watched him play with himself like you were starving for it. Which you were. 

“You want it?” He asked, teasing you with an ever slower stroke. 

You whined at the way his big hand moved up and down his erected cock. You squirmed, trying to scoot closer to him, “Please…” 

“Tell me you’re mine first,” He demanded. 

You would give him whatever he wanted in that moment, so reassuring him was no difficult task. You fisted the fabric of his shirt and looked up at him, pleading, “I’m yours, Bucky. I’ve always been yours. Now please, just… fuck me, please,” You begged. 

He just smirked in triumph, “All mine,” He said, sliding his cock into you finally. You wrapped your legs around him and welcomed him inside you. And fuck, he felt good. “All mine, you understand?” 

You nodded, whining as he began moving in and out of you so perfectly that it felt like you were losing your mind. 

“I’ll fuck you whenever I want now,” he whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, “Even right here, in what used to be his study because it’s mine now. Like you are. And like everything is,” He said. 

His possessive tone only lit your body on fire even more. 

“I’m the man of the house now, and you will be my woman. You hear me? All mine.” He said, fucking deeper into you like he truly did own you. He bent down to kiss your open mouth, swallowing all your moans and whines in the process. 

His mouth, his taste, his scent. The way his strong body moved to bring you pleasure like only he could. It was all that existed in that moment. The rest of the world was not here. Just him. All of him. 

You could only gasp and moan, unable to form coherent sentences while he pounded into you like he owned you. Your entire body tingled. The pressure between your legs was getting hotter, tighter, and it would snap at any moment now. 

Then Bucky pulled away just a little, looking down to where your body swallowed his cock each time he thrust in and pulled out. “Look,” he said and you followed his eyes, letting out an even louder moan when you did. “I’m fucking my woman, do you see it?” He purposely slowed down his thrust just so you could see. 

You nodded, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Please,” You begged, “Please, can I come?” 

He smirked and sped up into you again, “Wait for me, baby. Just a little more,” He sounded all growly again and it only made you clench around him even tighter. 

Hearing you moan and squirm under him only encouraged him to thrust deeper and faster into you. He was relentless as his body moved perfectly against yours.

A tear fell from your eye, out of pleasure. He was quick to wipe it away as he bent down and kissed your lips again, pounding into you rapidly. “Come for me now,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice strained and raspy. 

And that was all you needed. You cried out as you came around him, the pressure finally exploding and a familiar warmth washed over you. You felt Bucky come as well, his cock throbbing against your walls as he came with a grunt, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise your skin surely. 

Your mind was a little foggy from there on, but you know that you and Bucky made your way back to your bedroom and fucked again. And again after a while. 

Then he just held you, in his warm embrace in the dimly lit room. 

–

Bucky  looked down to where you nuzzled the crook of his neck, gently biting, tasting and kissing his skin, running your hand lazily all over his naked torso. He smiled, looking up at the ceiling and feeling like a King with you in his arms. Finally. 

He pressed a kiss on your forehead, which made you let out a moan which sounded a lot like a kitten purring in bliss while laying in the sun. Then he asked, “Did you eat today?” 

You shook your head, rubbing your face against his chest in the process, “I haven’t had the time.” You answered quietly. 

He huffed, “Well, we can’t have that. Come, I’ll make you something.” He sat up, getting out of bed to right his clothes, zipping his pants and finding his shirt somewhere on the ground and putting it on. 

You smirked, “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? You know, man of the house and all?” You asked, teasing him. 

Bucky dragged you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and you squealed as you went. He pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you as you stood there, hugging one another by the bed you’d just fucked in. 

“I’m gonna take care of you now. Let me.” He whispered against your forehead. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of his cologne and his skin. “Okay.” You whispered, melting against his touch. 

Bucky smiled against your skin, wrapped his arms tighter around you and thought about your previous conversation in the study. Now, his study. 

‘So, did you do it? Did you finally kill him just to have what you want? To have all that was his?’

He almost scoffed at the memory of your accusation. 

Like it was even a question. 

Of course he did. 

[jerzwriter]

Body Positivity:

TW: body shaming, fatphobia, skinnyphobia, eating disorders, and the like.

I'm so fucking angry and triggered right now, and I need to vent. I was at what was supposed to be a fun family event, and because I didn't want to completely blow up, I stepped outside. But I am SO PISSED that I need to get this out. While trauma dumping on a toxic website is probably not the best idea, I literally have to vent, or I'm going to explode, and I REALLY HOPE someone will read this and learn something.

I think the body positivity movement has been great—and I wish we had something like it when I was growing up because, trust, it was non-existent. But, like many things, it's great on the surface, but a certain segment has morphed it into something that is as destructive and hateful as the behaviors/actions that led to the need for such a movement.

Some background, so you understand my perspective. I've struggled with my weight my whole life. I've been everything from a size 6 to a size 22. I'm very tall, and when I was at my thinnest (mostly because I was starving myself), people came up to me constantly to tell me how amazing I looked. I'm talking friends, family, co-workers, people at the club, and strangers on the street. I was literally dangerously underweight. My family doctor, who had treated me most of my life, was begging me to get help.

I wound up getting help for what turned out to be an eating disorder and moved past that as much as I could. Since that time, my weight has fluctuated from average, to "a few extra pounds", to very overweight. While I am usually OK with myself and try to be positive about my body, it can be hard. I don't like the way I look right now, and I’m ashamed to say that because I don’t feel that way about others. Beauty is not a number or a size, and I know that, but I am my own harshest critic. It doesn’t help to have the voices of many people, people who were supposed to love me, in my head constantly at these times.

“Do you think you should wear that?”

“Oh, that dress is so becoming on you!” (Meaning: it hides some of your fat!)

Or my favorite, coming home in an outfit that I felt so good about that I thought I looked adorable in, just to have my mother (and later my husband) say something like:

"Perhaps you should retire that until you lose some weight." or "You actually went out in that?"

(PS - I am divorced and barely speak to my mother)... I'm doing so much better, but I know I'll never be 100% comfortable, and, as with most things, the voices seep in when I'm at my lowest. So I GET IT. I get it big time.

But - on to today.

We have a wedding taking place later this week, so the family has descended like the buzzing locusts they are. The ten women in the bridal party, of all shapes and sizes, are at my house for a get-together, and they began complaining about how ugly the dresses are. (They really aren't the nicest dresses.)

The eight anti-dressers were commiserating when one, we'll call her Obnoixous Bridesmaid (OB), loudly announced that another bridesmaid had to shut up and leave the conversation because she's thin (we'll call her Thin Bridesmaid—TB), and therefore has no business being there. I should point out that TB's contribution to the conversation was the dresses were cheaply made and "is so damn shiny" and, for the record, OB is not thin but not overweight.

So another bridesmaid, who is extremely close with TB, jumped in to defend OB, going on and on about how much she "hates" TB for complaining when "everything" looks good on her. TB looked like she was going to burst into tears but stayed silent. It morphed into four grown-ass women bullying TB, so I stepped in and told them all to shut the fuck up. Minutes later, TB left the room, and I found her in the bathroom in tears, saying she wanted to go home and skip the rest of the events - up to and including the wedding.

I went back to the room where the 4 were still mocking TB, and I told them I was appalled by their behavior and they could shut the fuck up and apologize, or they could leave my house. I was told I should understand because I'm a "big girl," too, and therefore should be on "their" side.

Are we fucking kidding me here?

I should point out that 3 of the 4 asshole bridesmaids are well aware that TB has dealt with a serious eating disorder that stems from being body shamed by grown-ass men in her family when she was a mere child. She's dealt with outright abuse and trauma, and they know how bad it's been. She doesn't walk around mocking other's bodies or bragging about how "good" she looks; in fact, she struggles to feel positive about her looks at all.

Body positivity should be about everyone loving their body, no matter its shape and size, and never subjecting ANYONE else to shame because of theirs. When the fuck did it became "fat chicks have to stick together and fuck them skinny bitches."

I'm so on fire I had to step away before I ended up on the evening news. On a micro-level, I'm disgusted with these people, and this has put a total damper on the wedding events this week.

But on a macro level, I have seen this time and time again. Yeah, our society is fucking horrible when it comes to how it treats fat people, especially fat women, and that should change. But it's as fucking wrong to be skinnyphobic as it is to be fatphobic. Perhaps, ESPECIALLY AS FUCKING WOMEN, we should be uplifting and supportive of one another. PERIOD. Don't we see that the obsession to be thin and eating disorders stem from the same fucking toxic place that shames fat people? That's where it is BORN.

I'm so sick of seeing this trend in everything. Every movement I'm involved with is dealing with this... YES, be proud of YOU, ESPECIALLY if you're in a marginalized or maligned group. YES! DO IT! I've got your back in every way! But don't fucking turn it into an us vs. them... even with people you supposedly love! Don't become the fucking monster you profess to hate.

Is asking for human decency really too much? I'm literally shaking.

We really, really have to do better than this.

[seangelfish]

can I request a cat-reader that mika has taken in? like he found them on the doorstep of his house?? thank you in advance!!

A/N: This is a really interesting request haha but it’s cute! I decided to write it in this format though because I feel like it falls into the headcanons/scenarios category. This is my first time writing a fic about a cat, so please bare with me!

w/ a cat! reader

Mika Kagehira x reader

Tags: Headcanons/bulletpoint fic, platonic, wholesome, no mention of pronouns

Word count: 741

– He found you after rehearsals on top of his doorstep. You were sat there patiently waiting for him inside a worn out cardboard box.

– He was very confused. Surprised, even. He kind of screamed when he saw you in there – a dirty black cat with big eyes.

– He calls Ritsu right away and asks him if this was his package.

"Nope, I didn't order anything," Ritsu replies. "Wait, you mean there's a living cat in there? Haha, that's cute. What are you going to name it?"

"I haven't even thought about adopting it yet!" Mika cries, kind of overwhelmed with this ordeal. "I'll probably send it to the vet..."

"Aww, that's a shame..."

– He looks back at you. You were just a little kitten. Cute, actually. He couldn't help but kneel down and stroke your head. You liked that very much, purring at his touch. He chuckles at this.

"Heh, you're actually pretty cute!" he says. "Where did you come from? Who brought you here?"

You purr in response.

"Hmm, what should I do with you?"

– He ends up bringing you inside the dorm he shares with Ritsu. First, he should bathe you! You were pretty stinky after all.

– He watches a YouTube tutorial on how to clean you since he doesn't know how. He puts you in the bath and gets the water running, and is pleasantly surprised that you don't react harshly when he starts washing you up.

"Hehe, you're a good cat!" he giggles.

– When he's washing in between your eyes, he notices that you also have heterochromia just like him!

"Woah, you're just like me..." he says, astonished. "Haha, we're so similiar! You have black fur and different coloured eyes!”

— Second, he decides to feed you! He looks in the fridge to see if there’s leftover tuna for you. He places it on a plate and watches you eat it happily. He smiles at this, stroking your head to your tail.

— He ends up taking a few photos of you too. He sends them over to Arashi who squeals in delight, calling him the second the pic was sent.

“Mika-chan! You adopted a cat?!” she exclaims. “What did you name it?”

“I-I didn’t name it anything!” says Mika. “I was planning on bringing it to the vet. It’s a stray I found on my doorstep…”

“Oh, is that so? I think you should keep it! Just so I can visit the cutie too~”

— After spending time with you, washing you up and feeding you, Mika has grown attached. Maybe he should keep you after all…

“Hmm… what should I name you?” he wonders as you look at him curiously. “What about… (Y/N)?”

— You nodded which surprised him a bit, but it was cute nonetheless. When Ritsu arrived home, Mika picks you up to show him the cat that was sent to him. Ritsu was surprised at how much you looked like Mika.

— Ritsu brought Arashi over too. She was SO excited! She immediately started playing with you and you enjoyed her presence!

— Mika tells them that he might be keeping you. Arashi is over the moon, and Ritsu doesn’t have a problem with it either.

— From this day forwards, Mika has done everything with you. He brings you everywhere that is permitted. Takes a lot of photos of you too. Has even introduced you to Shu who has taken a liking to you.

— Sometimes Ritsu would play with you with a cotton ball. Shu would sew you clothes which Mika deeply appreciates!

— Arashi would babysit you whenever Mika was busy with idol training/work. Her roommates, HiMERU and Tetora, were always happy to see you too. If they weren’t available, Jun was able to take care of you. Thankfully, you got along with Jun and Hiyori’s dog Mary quite well.

— Mika would buy cat toys that he hopes you’ll like! He loves watching you play, he finds this time fun. He takes a lot of videos too.

— You would lay on the table beside his laptop as he works on his homework. When he’s learning choreography or lyrics to his new song, you’ll watch and listen. You’ll even fall asleep to his voice.

— He likes waking up everyday to say good morning to you, and kisses you every night. He’s very thankful that you came into his life.

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

[tboybuck]

I am always always thinking about different scenarios where Eddie could have gotten mixed up in The Mess (tm), and I just think that season 2 would have been great for that tw: reference to kidnapping and child murder

Hawkins has always been a weird fuckin’ place, even before the Byers kid went missing last year. Eddie’s never really been able to put his finger on what it is, but he sees it on the periphery of everything Hawkins touches. It’s not something you can see if you look at it head on, like a migraine aura or one of those floaty things you get in your eyes sometimes.

A couple of days after Halloween, though, Eddie plummets headfirst into the weird that makes the town of Hawkins churn.

He’s skipping school, because O’Donnell has it out for him, swear to god, and he’s flying up a back road on the outskirts of town when the weird comes striding out of the woods to his right. 

It’s a fucking kid, and he’s driving too fucking fast to be able to stop in time but he slams hard on the brakes of his van anyway. The back fishtails and the brakes screech and the air smells like burning rubber, but he comes to a halt, and he didn’t feel the sickening thump-thump that he’s been bracing for. His heart is in his fucking throat, his head pounding, hands sweating, and he is trembling from head to toe.

Eddie launches himself out of the driver’s seat. The kid - the girl, middle school aged, curly hair that falls just to her ears, flannel and jeans - is standing there with her hand out toward the van. She’s posed like a comic book superhero, feet planted, shoulders back, and… her nose is bleeding. The van’s grille is dented like… Eddie can’t even bring himself to think about it. It’s like she stopped the fuckin’ thing with her mind ro some shit.

He definitely needs to cool it on the weed.

Eddie scrambles for something to say, but all he can come up with is a choked out, “Holy shit, kid.”

And that’s how he ends up with ‘Jane’ in the passenger seat of his van. That’s not her real name. Eddie’s not sure how he knows it but he knows it. She says she’s going to see her mother, and Eddie’s not good with silence so he tries to ask her questions, make conversation. She does what she can, but her grasp of language isn’t… great, and Eddie finds himself trying to fill in the blanks and coming up short.

He thinks she must be a runaway who's finally grown tired of not being home. She’s clean, though, and she looks fed, but she looks like she doesn’t sleep all that much, and Eddie wonders what it was about her home life that made her run in the first place. And the further and further they get outside of Hawkins, the more he wonders how she ended up in his little town anyway.

“Hey, kid, uh,” Eddie begins, unsure how to even say what he’s thinking. “You’re not, like, a kidnapping victim or anything, are you? You didn’t escape from, like…” At the word escape, Jane draws in an anxious breath. 

Eddie hears about it in the news sometimes, about kids that are snatched and murdered and the awful, awful things people do to them. He remembers Adam Walsh in eighty one.

“Kid, are you safe?”

“I am safe,” says the girl, but she doesn’t seem so sure.

When they pull up in front of the little house, the last name Ives painted in swooping curls on the mailbox, Eddie puts the van in park and shuts it off.

“I should probably, uh, talk to an adult,” he says. “This is very weird, Jane, and I just want to make sure, uh…”

He doesn’t know what he wants to make sure. Make sure he’s not dropping this kid off into a death trap? Make sure there’s an actual human person behind the door of this house, and that that person isn’t some weirdo who wants to hurt the kid he almost ran over with his van? If she’s just a runaway, though, pulling up at home alongside an eighteen year old boy with long hair that smells like weed will just get the cops called on him.

“No,” Jane says when Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt. “It is okay. You do not have to come with me. Thank you for the ride.”

It might be the most she’s said at one time, the whole way over here. The urgency in her voice just makes Eddie even more anxious to leave her. 

“I really, really should. There’s some sketchy people out there, okay? I just need to make sure this is someplace safe for you.”

Why the fuck does he even care? She’s just some weird kid that he almost hit with his van on the outskirts of his very weird town. He might as well just drop her here and go, get the hell out of dodge and away from whatever brand of weird he’s just stumbled his way into.

But if he sees this kid’s face on the news in two days, Eddie will never fucking forgive himself.

“Wait here, then,” Jane says. “And once I go inside, you can go. This is a safe place. My mother is inside. Please.”

“Fine. Fine. Go ahead, then.”

She goes. She’s walking slow up to the house, like she’s nervous too, and it makes Eddie all the more uneasy about letting her walk away.

She knocks (at her own house?) and then there’s a woman behind the door. There’s no recognition in the woman’s expression, and she closes the door in Jane’s face again. And just as Eddie is about to get out of the van and go up there, Jane puts her arm out toward the door, just like she’d done with his van, and the door swings inward.

What. The fuck. 

He must be hallucinating. Right? The woman who answered the door before must have just opened it back up again. Right? Because that’s not possible. Magic isn’t real. This is real life. …Right?

Eddie sits there, trying to make sense of what he’s just seen, but he convinces himself he must have just been seeing things wrong. It must have been someone inside the house opening the door for Jane.

And if that's not the case? If this kid has magic fucking powers, if she can stop Eddie's van and open up the front door of a house she is clearly not welcome in, why shouldn't he want to fucking hightail it in the other direction? He's no hero. This isn't a Hellfire campaign. Maybe Jane isn't the one that's in danger, here. Maybe Jane is the dangerous one.

Eddie goes, but after about five minutes his paranoia and worry for this little kid gets the better of him, and he turns around.

He’s just gonna drive past, just circle the block to see if everything looks okay. One more time won’t hurt. Maybe he got a fucked up bag of weed, making him more paranoid than usual, but Hawkins is a weird goddamn place, and this doesn’t seem like your usual run of the mill kind of weird. It feels a little dark, a little sinister. 

That girl had a bloody nose when Eddie got out of his van. The grille did not look like that this morning when he left the trailer. (Did it?) The way she talks, the body language, the way she really stood there and faced down Eddie’s van with her hand out like she knew she would be able to stop it. It’s weird. And if nothing else, now Eddie’s a little bit fucking curious, okay? 

So he circles the block where the Ives house sits, and as he drives past, the fucking lights in the front room are flickering.

So he sits. And he waits. And it’s dark outside by the time the front door swings open again and fucking Jane comes striding out clutching a wad of cash in her fist. What the fuck. She spots Eddie and glares at him, but then she wrenches open the passenger side door and gets in.

“Drive,” she says, and Eddie does. “We’re going to Chicago.”

[pbjelly90]

I should absolutely be going to bed now for work tomorrow, but I finished vol 8 of Jeweler Richard tonight and just wanted to put down some thoughts and feelings I had on it, even if they’re not all particularly coherent or in any real order. May add more later on.

SPOILERS FOR VOLUME 8 OF JEWELER RICHARD AHEAD

A lot of folks found vol 7 a bit hard to read, and this one still had some heavy themes, with the treatment Seigi faces from the house flippers, the hurt and misunderstanding within Richard’s family, and the shadow of the butler’s group and Octavia and their plotting amidst it all. But I still found a lot of joy and catharsis in this one that made it a very moving read and maybe in some ways easier than 7.

The biggest theme of this book for me was mothers and their children. Richard and his mother Catherine, of course, but also his mother and grandmother, and Seigi and his mother. If vol 6 was cathartic in helping Seigi realize he does not have to become like his father, that he is not somehow tainted by his past suffering with his father, he is worthy of love and care, and that he can cut his bio father out of his life completely and move forward to heal, then this touched on a different type of painful family relationship. Someone you’re very similar to, close to, clash with, become distanced from, but you still have some feeling or care for each other. You can get under each other’s skin. No one sees Richard the way his mother does, and vice versa. Seeing their journey in this book gave me a lot of feelings and was very relatable. Sometimes its the family members you were closest to who can make you the angriest. Seigi was such a good supportive friend to Richard throughout this and their love was very evident. One of my favorite scenes was when Richard and Catherine’s tension finally came to a head with her argument about how he treats Seigi and Seigi finally gets to speak up and set her straight.

Richard seeing then just much Seigi loves him and would stay by his side, unlike past friends who’d sided with his mother, was so touching. Then Catherine testing Seigi at the end. I think she was just as touched, after the initial anger subsided. This book presented a really human, fallible, nuanced view of motherhood. Hearing her story about being called beautiful and then it all stopping really shed some light on what must have happened between her and Richard’s father, her mind went there as soon as she saw the Amazonite. She wants better for her son, despite any of their bickering. I was happy to see them get to a place of maybe a little more understanding at the end with Richard calling her Maman. Maybe through Seigi’s support, he was able to move past some of his old hurt from that time with his childhood friends at the villa. Catherine even seems in a better place, knowing her son has someone like Seigi by his side.

Seigi’s own attempts with Hiromi at the end really broke my heart, but it was very realistic, and I’m still proud of him. He’s grown so much. Instead of getting too down or upset, he accepts that’s not where they’re at yet and recognizes his own part in that. They would have a lot more healing to do to try to make any change, if they can, but he reached out and has given their relationship more thought after all of this. I hope he can go see her and his stepdad soon. I could feel his relief that his stepdad was home now and she was safer. I hope he can return to Tokyo and feel better there in time too, he deserves it. His homesickness and his happiness to see Haruyoshi in this volume really touched me too. I’ve always felt a bit split between two countries and could feel a bit of how he did to hear the language of his home. 💕

Random other thoughts, in jumbled order:

I want to hug Jeffrey and for him to have more friends, no more playing the “villain”, give him all the souvenirs. Him pretending he doesn’t read Seigi’s blog was gold lol

Jeff, I too want to give Seigi headpats

Hugs also for Haruyoshi and Henry, they’re so cute I love their friendship

Loved Haruyoshi and Seigi’s conversation about being “off the rails” and forging their own path, and how much they connected meeting up this time after college and supported one another. Their friendship is lovely and it felt like a warm hug seeing them have fun and laugh together

Seigi feeling okay enough to take photos and put a few on his blog, and even post a blog at all, was such a sign of his healing

Richard probably should have warned Seigi more clearly about how some folks in the countryside might treat him, but I understand he didn’t want to worry him that all people might be like that one couple either. I’m happy Pierre was good to Seigi. Also Richard is human and imperfect too and that’s okay, he realized the potential error in not warning him, stood up for Seigi and apologized. Catherine should have listened closer when Seigi told her he was going to paint, and Seigi I wish had resisted that whim to help, but I understand where Seigi was coming from, and Catherine’s got her shortcomings and that can’t all change at once

Seigi recalling the rules of Etranger not to discriminate after this 🥺 coming full circle with understanding them and with understanding the feeling of Etranger being abroad

Catherine wanting to help roll up Seigi’s pantlegs to wade in the river—how many times must she have done that for young Richard during his childhood in their summers at the villa 🥺 some motherly instincts are still in her, there was some real care between them. Richard remembering she's lactose intolerant. They mean something to each other

Vince I’m sure you have a good heart and your reasons and all but I still kinda wanna throw hands with you sometimes. Stop being so mysterious and cryptic. I figure he’s trying to look out for Octavia and maybe Seigi somehow, but his method of playing the “villain” aggravates me far more than Jeff’s does so far. He even makes Seigi go bark bark sometimes xD

The conversation in the hole with the treasure HOW DID SEIGI WALK AWAY DURING THAT? He compartmentalizes like no other. Richard was really showing his feelings more in this volume. For a while I was unsure if he had a fever or was blushing furiously from embarrassment, shame, or some other overwhelming combo of feelings. His praise of Seigi and questioning why he would stay by him… oof in the feels

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” RICHARD TOOK ME OUT xD Seigi.exe stopped working

Seigi saying he’s not “especially vulnerable” to Richard’s sad face, ah the unreliable narrator evidence continues to pile up

Him reaching out towards Richard before they go to sleep 🥺 they were adorable sharing the room

Richard blanket burrito, honey I hate mornings too, he wanted Seigi to see him “well coiffed” 😂😂😂

Richard keeps getting compared to Sherlock Holmes in this volume and plays a violin, thank you for the food, Sensei. He was already British, very intelligent and a boxer, I’ll add this to the list

Seigi’s and Richard’s happiness during the conversation where Richard calls Seigi his friend was so so adorable and precious, these cute fools can’t even walk properly after lol

Is French solitaire similar to mancala or am I way off? That’s what I was picturing

Richard and Seigi would be very cute on a tandem bicycle

Them both wanting to take panoramic photos after big moments to remember them, cuties, anytime Richard borrows a line of Seigi’s

Loved all the artist references in this one, pander to the art nerds please yesss, once again thank you for the food

All the actual food sounded so delicious. Seigi just casually whipping up bouillabaisse from an online recipe his first time 🤌🏼 *chef’s kiss*

All the times Seigi wanted to make Richard sweets, but also the time he WITHHELD THEM to get Richard to cooperate and talk 😂 I’m convinced I hallucinated that scene and I just read it today, I wanna reread

In the early parts, Sensei loves to fake us out and build suspense by making the reader think we’re gonna see Richard / have Richard and Seigi reunite 😆 It happened THREE times this vol with Jeff (as soon as he described the person’s skin as sickly I was like I can’t see Seigi saying that even if Richard was ill, but aww Jeff is going through it), then Haruyoshi where Seigi kept being so vague and just saying he was meeting a friend, and then finally Catherine whos doing the most entertaining herself with Richard cosplay to test Seigi 😂 Sensei got me good EVERY TIME

He may frustrate me at times, but I like Vince’s gamer side and his fashion sense. Gimme the phoenix jacket and the pink sneakers thankss. Probably the only time he enjoyed himself in this book was geeking out with Pierre about FPS games

Seigi and his new doggo Jiro 🥺 I NEED THEM TO BE SAFE

THAT CLIFFHANGER?!?!? VINCEEEE

Will probably edit this to add more as this book spins around in my brain further until the next volume. Formatting on my phone is the worst so my apologies if it’s all over the place here. 😅