#the voice is distant but you can still hear it nonetheless. hes always there with her.

[luveline]

Maybe colt comforting reader when things for her film aren’t going right 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Colt comes to your rescue (clumsily) when you have a hard day. fem!reader, 1k words

Very minor plot spoilers for The Fall Guy (2024) if any

“I think he’s mad at you.” 

You pause where you’d been scrubbing your eyes with your hands, though you don’t look at him. Colt Seavers seems to follow you everywhere you go, and consequently plays witness to your many breakdowns. “Thanks, Colt. That’s astute.” 

“Are you mad at me? Why are you mad at me? It’s been ten seconds,” he complains. He has a unique talent for sounding flirty and needy at once. 

“No, Colt. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.” 

Colt is grinning when you meet his eyes. He has blood, fake or real undetermined, drying in the scruff of his facial hair. You gesture to yourself in a slow circle in the approximate area, to which Colt smiles again. 

“You look perfect,” he says confidently. 

“You have blood in your beard.” 

“Oh, right.” 

You sigh heavily, taking the few paces back to a stack of safety mattresses for a quick break. You’ll get up and help whoever needs helping as soon as you can feel your toes. Colt stays where he is, squinting against the sun, strands of blonde ends kissing his tan forehead. The summer shoots are good for him, he always looks so beachy. You’re exhausted all the time. 

As he notices. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“‘Cos I was sleeping badly and then I got this new mattress that has four hybrid layers, there’s a foam layer, and then there’s titanium springs,” —he sees your distant expression and his own flickers— “anyways, you could try it if you want. Test it out with me. Or– Not with me. With me if you want. We’d have fun. But not with me if you don’t want to.” 

You’d laugh if you had the energy. “Do you wanna sit down?” you ask. 

“God, yes, please.” 

He has another talent for being insanely handsome no matter the day. You look like you’ve been badly rewarmed before serving, where he looks like he rolled out of bed with a smile. He’s smiling at you now, the foolish kind that’ll fluster you if you let him do it for too long. “Stop,” you say quietly. 

“You’re doing amazing.” 

“Thank you. You’re the only person who thinks so, unfortunately.” 

You smile at him weakly. Worried you look pathetic, you turn your face to your lap and clasp your fingers together. 

“That’s not true. Mayview is old-fashioned, that’s all, he was around when they were still killing horses on TV.” 

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“But it’s the modern era. He doesn’t get to make you feel like shit, or I’ll make him feel like shit.” He pretends to charge a sucker punch. 

You lean forward a touch, not quite hugging your knees but tempted to fold in on yourself nonetheless, the heat of the sun a memory on your neck as the evening begins and cloud cover floods in. 

The safety mattresses beneath you squeak and shush against each other. Your weight and Colt’s slides together slowly. He might be pushing himself a little with his boot, but you pretend not to notice as his hand comes to rest between your shoulders. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” you mumble. 

As soon as you’ve said it you’re hoping he can’t hear you, but he does. He might have injured pretty much anything that can be fractured, sprained, or just plain broken, but he has stellar hearing. “You do everything right. You do!” he says, quietly and passionately at once, “They don’t realise it, but you’re the glue keeping this whole thing together.” 

“What are you?” you ask, bemused.

His hand is warm on your shoulder, unafraid where he hesitates to answer, “I don’t know. The test dummy? The guy who gets set on fire a lot?” 

“How is that?” 

“Warm,” he says, beaming, his face so unexpectedly close that you can see the glucose shining in the blood on his cheek. Fake blood. “You wanna try it? I’m sure I could convince the guys.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

His voice turns silky. “Good, I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.” 

“Let me?” 

“You could get hurt.”

You give in, melted maybe by his warm tones, or exhausted by a day of playing mom for a director who can barely tell his left from his right. Your face presses to his shoulder and your spine sags under his hand, prompting Colt to pull you flush against his side. He always waits for your signals for stuff like this, no matter how desperate he might confess to being. “Can you make them all leave me alone?” you mumble into his jacket, the fabric rough against your nose. 

“Obviously I can, but… We could run away.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. You can rub sunblock on my back, I can hold the umbrella over your head while you read.” 

“They have stands for that sort of stuff. Or you can shove it in the sand, you know.”

“I wanna do something nice for you,” he interrupts, the sound of a smile in his voice as he gives you a friendly jostle. “That’s the point.” 

“You’re plenty nice, Colt.” 

And he is. He saw you were upset and he came jogging upto you valiantly, and your side-armed cuddle is really pushing the pep back into your life. You take a few deep breaths under the weight of his arm before turning to him, brave, ready to go back to work if it means he’s gonna drive you home tonight. “Thank you for caring.” You kiss his cheek, careful of the fake blood. “You’re super nice.” 

You miss the heat of him the second you stand, but there really is work to do. 

“I’m super nice?” he calls. “How nice is super? Nice enough to get another one of those, or what? Are they by the metre?” 

You bite back a smile. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” He must catch someone’s eye. “She can’t hear me. It’s cool. We like each other.” 

Nobody saves face quite like Colt. 

[orykorioart]

From May 2022.

The river always finds the sea

So helplessly

Like you find me.

[hitoshiyoshi]

dude, your mom's hot | kirishima eijirou

synopsis ↬ your stepson's best friend has a crush on you

warnings ↬ modern au, age difference, the reader is bakugou’s stepmom, kirishima is about 20 and in college, the reader can be any age but obviously older than kiri, infidelity/cheating, 0ral (giving), tit-fuck, slight nipple play, let me know if I missed anything

pairings ↬ agedup!kirishima eijirou x milf!fem!reader

word count ↬ 2.2k

kinktober day one

Outstretching your arm and waving to the two boys, you stood by the front door of your home and watched as they walked away from the lawn. Bakugou, your stepson, mustered a tiny wave and uttered a weak "bye". His head ducked down towards the pavement leading to the sidewalk, partially embarrassed at your overly friendly antics towards his classmate. You were very conscious of his distant and standoffish demeanor, but nonetheless, you didn't mind. Simply thinking he wasn't comfortable with you yet.

Always buddying up and thriving off the attention from them, he wondered if you were getting tired of Dad already. He could vaguely remember the last time he saw you two being affectionate, not that he paid attention to those things. The nights were quiet and the days were too dull for a newlywed couple; last night, he learned that you two weren't even sleeping in the same bed – instead, you resided in a room adjacent to his.

"Have a good day!" You said cheerfully as they disappeared down the street. "I'll be waiting for you to come home!"

"Whatever..." Bakugou muttered under his breath with his backpack lazily slung over his shoulder. He tried his best to ignore you, thankful that you weren't as boisterous as you usually are.

"Dude, your mom's hot..!" His best friend, Kirishima, tried to whisper after they walked some distance away from your home. He spoke in a hushed voice, but still loud enough for some passersby to hear.

"What?" Perhaps Bakugou misheard because there was no way Kirishima would have the guts to say that. Unfortunately, his hearing was clear. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

Sure, he wasn't particularly fond of you with his father but regardless, you were family. He wouldn't tolerate any disrespect.

"Nothing, jus' had to get it off my chest." Kirishima placed his hand over his heart and looked up at the blue sky as if he was daydreaming about something innocent. As his lips curled into a sly smirk, his friend could tell that it was the opposite.

Bakugou didn't have the desire to ask about the filthy thoughts that filled the redhead's mind. It was the same sentiments he heard from his other friends.

Dunce-face Denki kept fidgeting and stumbling over his words as he spoke to you for the first time. Sero wouldn't wipe that dumb smile from his face, practically flirting with you right in front of his father. God, Mina wouldn't shut up about how you almost made her 'switch sides' after meeting you one morning. No wonder you enjoyed the company of his friends. They all seemed so enchanted by your presence and now his best friend was stricken by the same love potion.

"Mina was right... She's so perfect," Kirishima's lips soon began to spill countless praises for you. "I don't see why you hate her, you're so lucky. Wish I could get a taste of that sweet-" Before he could continue more sickening words, Bakugou tightly grasped his friend's shoulder.

"I don't hate her, dumbass..." His fingers clenched around Kirishima as both men halted their movements. "If I ever catch you saying shit like that again, I'll kill you." Kirishima didn't take his friend's words seriously. Of course, to him, it was a light joke so he laughed off Bakugou's threats. Except, he wasn't kidding.

Especially as the mornings seemed to always include Kirishima stopping by his house to walk with him to their University. One day, he arrived early as you finished preparing breakfast for Bakugou. His father had already left for work a few minutes prior. Thank goodness you couldn't see your stepson's scowl and shock as he peeped into the kitchen and saw his best friend handsy with you. Sneakingly placing his arm around your waist and bringing you closer to him. He watched, seething in rage when Kirishima embraced you in a back hug; you seemed so rejuvenated as you two laughed together.

Being stuck in an 'odd' marriage and having a new stepson must've made you lonely, Bakugou thought. Clinging to the ounce of attention his friends repeatedly gave, you knew it wasn't the healthiest decision, yet, you didn't seem to care. Every passing day, Kirishima's stays would lengthen in your home. Visiting in the mornings and returning with your stepson by the evening. Occasionally staying for dinner and even proposing a sleepover that was quickly shut down by Bakugou.

Tonight played out like all the previous encounters. The two arrived home directly after their last class finished. Your stepson kept grumbling under his breath as Kirishima followed close behind him like a lost puppy. You welcomed them by the front door, something you did nearly every day. Kirishima greeted you with a warm yet lingering embrace while Bakugou trudged up the stairs to his room. His crimson eyes rolled to the back of his head, not even bothering to spare a glance at your strange display of affection.

He expected his friend to join him – after all, Kirishima promised to help him on an assignment for a class they shared – but as the minutes passed, the redhead remained downstairs. Bakugou could hear the symphony of your resounding laughter through the thin walls of the home. Fuck it. He reached for his speakers and began to blare loud music, trying to drown out the noise below him. He could already feel himself becoming nauseous from the thought of you two. The sound traveled to the kitchen, where you and Kirishima chatted while enjoying drinks.

"What's that sound?" He asked while peering up at the stairs. The beer glass in his hands nearly spilled with his sudden movements.

It's a luxury brand that one of your closest friends purchased as a wedding gift. Your husband claimed he didn't like beer, but you figured it would be better to use them before they spoiled.

"Oh, it's Kats' music. Sorry, he doesn't always play it this loud. Should I tell him to turn it down?" You say, yet your feet have already begun marching in his direction.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry," Trying to convince you otherwise doesn't work. Kirishima steps in front of you while reaching out, causing you both to collide into each other.

You notice his presence too late; not until his body is fully in front of you and the cold sensation of the carbonated drink touches your cleavage. The liquid leaps out of the glass and sullies your perfectly clean blouse. Your own beer glass is away from Kirishima's body, only spilling on the floor and leaving him untouched. The redhead seems to notice the mess last as the feeling of your chest pressed against him and his hand excites him, even if it was only for a brief moment. He tries to pull his eyes away but your shirt becomes partially see-through and sticks to your skin.

"S- Sorry..!" He stutters out and backs away as he sees his mistake. He sets his glass on the table and frantically searches for something to help clean.

"It's okay, I can clean it up..." You tore off some paper towels on the counter and lightly dabbed the stain. After a few seconds of wiping, you soon realize the amber smudge won't come off your shirt. Kirishima whispers a string of apologies as you curse under your breath out of frustration. Finally, you set the dry towel aside and try to excuse yourself upstairs so that you could change.

Until you feel Kirishima's brawny arms cage your body in a tight grasp, much more desperate and clingy. The apologies from his lips seem to lose their meaning and fade out of his ears. Trying to speak and asking him what was wrong didn't work, he ignored your own voice as well. You watch, completely stunned as his head ducks down to the valley between your chest.

His sharp teeth sink into the fabric, suckling until the faint taste of beer coats his tongue. Your hands naturally reach for his biceps; not to pull him away but to deepen the hold he has on your body as a tingle surges through your core. He continues this for what feels like an eternity, only pulling away when he becomes satisfied. The shirt obviously isn't clean but is only dampened more by his saliva. Kirishima's fingers gently graze across your sides as he presses you against the kitchen counter.

He hooks his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, tugging the clothing upwards until the front of your bra straps is exposed. His tongue flattens out and glides across your cleavage, directly over the area of the stain. Soon lapping at whatever taste of the alcohol remained on your skin. His tongue left behind a clear coating of liquid with each broad stroke along your flesh. Your fingers grip his shirt as he nips into your skin and nestles his tongue between your breasts. Frantically moving, he was trying desperately to clean you after making a mess.

As he finally slowed to a stop, his hands eagerly moved to pull your brassier down and reveal your tits. You easily succumbed to his wishes; a strong urge to continue rushed through your spirit, you were aware of your devious actions. His assault on your chest only continued as his warm muscle flicked across your hardened bud. Enveloping it around his lips before suckling as whines soon escaped from your throat. Your hands reached into his hair and pushed Kirishima's head closer.

Minutes passed and the noise created between you two began to fade. There was no more laughter. Frequent gasps and strange groans were the only sounds Bakugou could hear from his room upstairs. He figured that something was wrong, you were always chatty with the guests whenever they came over. Immediately, he stopped his work and fled down the stairs; only the worst possible outcomes flooded his mind.

As he walked down, your bodies finally came into view.

There you were, kneeling in front of Kirishima with your tits enveloping his throbbing cock. As you moved upwards, his tip oozed clear and sticky precum that mixed with his saliva and lubricated your glistening chest. When gliding downwards, his cock peeked out of your cleavage only to be greeted by your tongue. Fluttering across his tip and collecting some of his precum that failed to cover your chest. His hands that tangled in your hair moved to grasp onto your arms, trying to make you quicken your pace. You happily obliged; Bakugou came right on time, a perfect ending for the show.

Drawing Kirishima closer and closer to his orgasm, you pull away from him for a brief second. A needy whine leaves his mouth but is soon replaced with a pleased hum when his tip enters your slick mouth. Staring up at him with lovestruck eyes, you take as much of his girth until he nearly reaches the back of your throat and moves your hand along the rest of his shaft. As you bobbed your head and hollowed your cheeks, stings of drool trickled down your chin. Feeling your tongue glide across the underside of his cock coaxed praises and words of affection out of his lips.

Kirishima’s face flushed a deep shade of pink at the sudden surge of pleasure on his member. God, if he knew you were this good he would’ve tried this sooner. He could only imagine the feeling of your warmth clenching around him; just the thought almost made him bust on your tongue. His mouth was now held agape with only slurred words and whimpers. Tilting his head backward, the whites of his eyes were visible as his adam’s apple throbbed with his groans becoming louder.

Suddenly, his hand harshly tugs at your hair and pushes your head away. Leaving his girth so quickly nearly caused your teeth to scrape against his skin. Soon, he begins fucking his cock with a balled fist and thrusting over your face as some of his precum drizzles down to your lips.

“Fu- fuck m’ gonna cum… gonna cum,” His hand holds your chin tightly and tilts your head upwards so you look up at him. “Lemme ruin that cute little face…”

“Oh fuck Kiri, gimme your cum..! Wanna taste it so bad,” His thumb pushes past your lips and forces your mouth open. Your tongue hangs down, eagerly awaiting his sweet release.

After a few more thrusts of his fist, the creamy essence gushed out of his tip. Painting your face white before dribbling down to your jaw and throat. He cums with pants and husky moans as his chest rapidly rises and falls. A long streak goes past your forehead into your hair while most of his salty seed pools in your tongue.

Kirishima glances in the direction where his best friend is standing, completely stunned. He leans downwards, licking at his own cum as it runs along your neck. His tongue moves up before meeting your lips and meeting you with a deep kiss.

Bakugou stumbles backward at the brazen act, blinking rapidly in disbelief. His pants suddenly feel tight and constricting; did he seriously enjoy watching that? The blonde seems to answer his own question as he retreats to his bedroom, nearly tripping down the stairs, to settle his new problem.

[sunflower-lilac42]

✧ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 || and they were roommates au ♔

summary: bella gets a call and is asked a huge favor, which she does without any hesitation

warnings: jamie's trade, sad jamie, crying, airports

notes: i don't think this is one of the best things I've made, there are some parts i like but some that i don't. but bella is such a mom and i love it. enjoy some introductory bella and jamie content | add yourself to the taglist ➵ taglist!

publish date: 02/22/24

au masterlist | nhl masterlist | main masterlist

“Hey, Trev. What’s up?”

“Bella? I need a favor.”

“Okay… what’s wrong?”

“Jamie just got traded to the Flyers.”

It was like her heart stopped. Sure she hadn’t known Jamie for that long, barely met him more than twice, but being traded was hard no matter if you wanted it or not. However, there was a bright side to this trade, he knew people here, her and Cam, so at least he wouldn’t be completely in the dark, “Oh god.”

“Do you think that he could-”

“Yeah, of course. No need to even ask. Jamie, when are you going to get in?”

She was grabbing her keys from the counter and getting her shoes on as she held her phone between her shoulder and her ear, “I don’t know.”

His voice sounded distant, physically but emotionally. She frowned and opened her door to leave, “Well you let me know okay, honey? I’ll be there to pick you up.”

“Thank you, Bella.” She heard Jamie’s voice once again, it still sounded distraught and far away. 

“Always. You have a safe flight and Trev?”

“Yeah?”

She halted, not actually knowing what she was going to say, “Uh, am I still on speaker?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you take me off please?”

Trevor did as he was asked, sending his friend an empathic look and holding the phone to his ear, “What’s up?”

“He’ll be okay, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

There was a silence separating his last words and the next ones, “Please take care of him for me.”

“Of course, I will Trevor.”

“Thank you. Love you.”

“Love you too, Trev. Now go get some sleep, okay?”

He nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

She hung up and started driving to the store to pick up some things for Jamie, knowing how much he would need things that felt familiar to him. She sent a text to Trevor once she got there, asking for his favorite foods, things that he loved, his favorite video game, etc. She was practically running around the store gathering things, probably buying too much in some people’s opinion. 

She wasn’t totally shocked about the price, she knew she had thrown a lot into the cart, but she paid for it anyway. When she arrived home, she changed the sheets in the guest room and stocked up the guest bathroom with more toiletries than a person would need. There was something off about it however, something was missing. She couldn’t tell what it was but when she saw her childhood stuffed animal sitting on her couch she knew she should put it on his bed. It always helped her through tough times, so why couldn’t it help him?

When she realized the time, she headed to the airport in a flurry. She knew she would be there early but thought it would be better to wait outside the terminal for him instead. She pulled up near the curb, waiting for him. His plane had landed about 20 minutes ago, so she just sat on her phone, occasionally glancing up to see if he was still walking out of the airport.

Once she saw him, she jumped out of the car and stood on the other side of it, waiting for him to get close to her. Once he was in arms reach of her, she pulled him into a hug. She could tell he had been crying, his eyes were puffy and red. Her heart broke when she heard him sniffle into her shoulder, “You ready to go home?”

Jamie didn’t process what she said, all he could hear was “ready” and “go”. He nodded, nonetheless, detaching himself from her. She popped the trunk open and he placed his suitcase in there before getting into the passenger seat. She pulled out of the airport and started to drive home, the two of them sitting in silence until the sound of her phone ringing blared through the car’s speakers. The two moved their eyes to the screen to see Trevor calling, “You want me to answer it?”

She looked over at him, “If you want. You don’t have to.”

He shrugged and pressed the answer button, “Bella! Why’d you take so long to answer? Is Jamie there? Is he okay? Did you find him? Did-”

“Calm down, Trevor. I’m here.”

“Oh good. How was your flight?”

Jamie frowned, “It was okay.”

Bella could see the way he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He was still thinking of the way he had to leave so abruptly, barely getting able to say goodbye to the team, let alone Trevor. She smiled slightly at Trevor’s worry, “Trev?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re just getting back to the apartment, can we call you back later? Maybe after Jamie gets settled in?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Take care, you guys.”

“You too, Trev.”

She hung up and pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. She could tell he was still hesitant about this, still distraught with everything that had happened, still upset about the news. She let him sit there, grabbing his luggage from the trunk before walking around to his side of the car, “You read to go up?”

He nodded, fully getting out of the car. The two walked up the stairs, Jamie taking his bag from her so she wouldn't have to. She opened the door and gave him a brief tour, “This is your room. I put some things in there for you if you want them, the bathroom has toiletries if you need them, and yeah. I’ll be in my room if you need me, okay Jamie?”

He gave her a small smile in acknowledgement in which she returned before leaving for her own room. It must’ve been less than five minutes from when she left to when he showed up in the doorway of her room. Bella had barely changed out of her clothes into one of Quinn’s hoodies and a pair of sweats due to having been out in the cold. She was getting ready to watch something on her laptop when she heard the knock.

She looked up with a smile, “What’s up, Jam?”

“Can I lay with you?”

She wasn’t bothered by the question, only scooting over to make room for me. She knew he needed comfort, needed to not be alone, it wasn’t a big deal. He was holding her stuffed animal tightly, it did bring him some sort of comfort, even if it was embarrassing. He sat down next to her and placed the sheets and comforter overtop of his legs, “I’m sorry if this is weird.”

She shook her head, “It’s not. Trust me, you’re not the first person to ask.”

That made Jamie’s stomach twist into an unfamiliar feeling but he shrugged it off, not wanting to pay too much attention to it. She pulled up Disney and looked at him, “What do you want to watch?”

He just shrugged, “Well, I was going to watch Tangled because it’s my comfort movie.” 

He nodded, totally fine with watching the movie. It was a quarter of the way into the movie when Jamie broke out into sobs. Bella looked confused as to what set him off but wasted no time in wrapping her arms around him, letting him cry. 

“Everything is changing, Bella. Why does it have to be me?”

She frowned, unsure of how to answer that so she stayed silent. He let out more mumbles and cries before being able to calm himself down, apologizing profusely to her for the way he acted, “Hey, you just got traded, Jamie. I’m not going to say I know how you feel because I don’t. I can only imagine what you’re going through, but it’s not going to be bad forever. There are some great guys on the team and you know Cam and you know me, you’re going to get through this okay?” 

He nodded once more, a small smile forming. She let him settle his head back onto her shoulder before playing the movie and before she knew it, he was fast asleep.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

if your name is crossed out it means i couldn't tag you

@theforevermorereject | @voidvannie

[fortheloveofarchons]

You take care of Pierro while he's sick...

C.W. Pierro being sick, a little bit of smut, kiss and make out, fluff

“Hey, you there.” A fatui member in a mask called out to you. 

“Yes?” You walk over to him, wondering what it is that he wants from you. “Is everything okay?” 

You could see how shaky his posture is, his legs trembling, sweat beading out from his forehead. You wonder if it could be due to him running around or from being scolded by someone. He tilts his head a little to the ground, then looks back at you straight up. 

“It’s the Director… he–” He coughs, straightening his posture before he continues. “He’s calling for you in his chambers. I have to warn you though… he’s not feeling quite well for the past few hours.” 

“...I’ll be on my way.” 

Running as fast as you can, through the long halls and almost stumbling on the other fatui soldiers, you finally made it to his door. As menacing as his large, heavy brass door is, you know that you have to go in nonetheless. The hinges groaned in protest as the door creaked open, the slow, deliberate movement casting the elongated shadows across the dimly lit chamber.  

“My Lord?” You push the door further ajar, a muted squeak echoed through the stillness. “You called for me?” 

“Close the door behind you.” A husky voice ordered. 

You quickly close the door behind you, standing still at where you are. You swallow your own saliva, a palpable tension hanging in the air. As the night lamps had been extinguished, the details of your Lord Pierro remained obscured, his features hidden in the inky blackness. The distant moonlight painted a faint outline, just enough to discern the form of a man sitting on his bed with a quiet and ominous resolve. 

“Come closer.” He ordered again. “Next to me.” 

The closer you walked, the clearer his features were on his face. His forehead is slightly dampened with sweat, and his silver hair glistened beautifully like fine silk. His nightgown unbuttoned halfway, exposing his chest and abs. A blush is added onto his cheeks from the heat. His breathing, slow and heavy, only made your heart ache for him. 

“My Lord, how are–” 

His arm hastily wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as his other hand made its way to the back of your neck. You jumped at his sudden action, your hands instantly placing them onto his chest as you tried to push away. Yet his grip around you wouldn't allow you to move at all. The warmth of his embrace held both surprise and a certain urgency. Being caught off guard, you felt yourself being pulled into Pierro’s embrace, down onto the bed with him, sharing the confined and comfortable space. Your heart carried a mixture of emotions that ranged from surprise to a strange sense of intimacy. 

For a big, bulky buff older man like Pierro, his hold was surprisingly gentle, a paradox to the suddenness of the gesture. With your face pressed against his exposed chest, you could hear his heart beating, and his chest is warm with heat. 

In the silence that followed, Pierro’s intentions remained unclear to you, leaving a curious blend of vulnerability and reassurance lingering in the air. 

“My Lord..?”

“Kiss me.” He ordered, his embrace tighter on you. Both his icy blue eye and his golden one stares at you deeply. 

Without a word, you do as Pierro says. You leave a few warm gentle kisses on his chest, and your lips slowly trails more kisses up to his collarbone. As your kisses travel upward, you shift your body upwards as well, unintentionally showing the curves of your chest even though the fabric of your uniform was thick with cotton to survive the snow. Upon feeling your sensual kisses and seeing your curves, he lets out a groan from his lips. Your lips then travel on to his right cheek, giving him a kiss, and then giving him a last one on his lips. He kisses you back, his tongue sliding in, tasting you. 

“You always know how to deliver…” Pierro said, as he held you. He then unwraps your uniform, and slowly unbuttons them. While he’s doing that, you can feel how warm his fingers are on the crook of your shoulders, how his eyes gaze at your exposed chest, and how warm his breaths are. Without a word, he buries his face into your chest, feeling how soft they are. 

“...Would you prefer it if we’re laying face down on the bed, my Lord?” You ask, feeling his warm breath in between your chest...

Full version down below!!

[wheeboo]

i think of going for a walk with seungkwan. maybe in a forest? with all trees and animals — now that i think about it...it would be a mess.

you'd be like "come on, it's just a little bug!" while seungkwan is literally doing karate moves, waving his hands, shaking his head, screaming like a chicken and running away. "it is NOT just a big! look how big it is AUUGH-"

i'm so funny 😚

no cuz ive imagined this exact kind of scenario for a long time HE WILL BE LIKE THIS YOURE SO RIGHT LIKE

imagine proposing the idea to go on a walk at this new park you passed by earlier with seungkwan. you saw how vast and open it was and you were contemplating whether this would become your new walking location.

seungkwan didn't know why you had chosen to go on a walk at this ungodly hour in the middle of the afternoon with the heat of the sun hitting his face and making him feel like he's melting into a puddle (even with the mass amounts of sunscreen he had put on). he has been enjoying it nonetheless since he gets to spend time with you and admire nature's beauty, but he's had his arm wrapped around yours for the past fifteen minutes because he swears he's been hearing something buzz in his damn ear.

but now the two of you were entering into a more remote location in the park after being on the same trail for the past many minutes. the sun's rays were being blocked by the tall, hovering trees and seungkwan swears he can finally breathe without the sun incinerating him--not entirely though. as the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds fills the air, he always finds himself flinching out of caution.

and he hears that buzz again.

"eugh!" he screeches, yanking on your arm which causes you to stumble in surprise.

his eyes widen as he points to his ear. "it's that buzzing again! there's something in my ear, i know it!"

you suppress a chuckle and pat his arm reassuringly. "calm down, baby. it's probably just a fly or a mosquito. let me check."

he reluctantly allows you to guide him to sit down on a nearby fallen log. you inspect his ear while he shoots anxious glances around.

"see there's nothing in your ear--"

"AHHH!" he stands up from the log and runs back to the trail, shaking his head violently and waving his hands in the air as if he was trying to karate chop something, like he's in an epic battle with an invisible insect army.

"kwannie, what are you doing?" you call out, trying to hold back laughter.

"it's in my hair! it's in my hair!" he shrieks, voice reaching a pitch that could probably shatter glass. "oh my god, i think i touched it! it's huge!"

"baby, it's just a small fly! it won't kill you!" that's enough to send him barreling back in your direction, his hands on your shoulders as he hides behind you, as if your body became a shield for his defenses against a literal fly.

"seungkwan, are you serious?" you say between giggles, looking over your shoulder at him. rolling your eyes, you spin around and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. "i promise you, the fly isn't going to harm you. it's probably more scared of you than you are of it."

seungkwan lets out a nervous laugh as you hold him close, arms hesitantly wrapping around you as if he's still half-expecting an attack from the invisible fly. his heart is racing, and you can feel the rapid rhythm against your own chest.

"well, i hope that fly knows better than to mess with me," seungkwan mumbles against your shoulder, which causes more laughter to bubble out of you.

buzz.

"okay you know what, we're leaving." seungkwan grabs your hand in his, pulling you in the direction of where you both came in from. you find yourself nearly tripping as the two of you dash out of the forest area of the park, your giggles flying in the air together.

[atokirina-tsuki]

@shit-hit-the-fan

a/n: its so bad, im so sorry.

Prompt: “I thought I knew you. But I don’t.” Silence. “Who are you?” [name] whispered.

[name] had always been restricted, constrained within the confines of castle walls. Despite the power being the young prince of [kingdom] allowed, [name] hated it. He hated the dignified tutoring he was subjected to, and so spent every free second riding his dark mare through the courtyard and practicing swordplay with his father figure, a warrior who has been with him since birth. 

[name] always believed that [warrior] was the only person who would ever understand how it felt, trapped here, when the whole world lay just beyond the horizon. [warrior] was the only person who would climb onto the roof with him, old bones creaking, to see wild sunrises streak through the sky. 

But perhaps [name]’s love of [warrior] had blinded him. [warrior] had been growing distant, and their recent talks of confinement had often teetered on the edge of treason. Despite how the king restricted his son, he was still just and kind to his citizens and never did anything worthy of the contempt that poisoned [warrior]’s voice. 

[name] pondered this as he wandered the cavernous halls, lost in thought. He easily found himself at his father's door, muscle memory from when he was a young child with dark nightmares of monsters in the night. He hovered his hands over the doorknob but hesitated as he caught muffled voices through the wood door. 

One was soft, but easily recognizable as [warrior]’s voice. Why would [warrior] be here? He was low-ranked and was no person who could easily demand an audience with the king. [name] presses his ear to the door softly, eyes darkening as he hears the dark tone of a threat. 

It’s [warrior]. It’s [warrior]’s voice, [name] is sure, who is whispering to his father. He’s saying, “Kneel, you old fool. It’s time that the strong take over. Kneel or I’ll slit your throat myself. And then I’ll slit your sons.” There’s bile building up in [name]’s throat, and his vision goes blurry

And as sure as [name] is that the voice is [warrior], he’s sure that he heard his father's words next just as clearly.

“He’s more your son than mine.” [name] can barely breathe, knees buckling as he grips the door frame, eyes shivering with fear. The only sound that worms its way into his ears is the nauseating slice of steel over flesh.

The door swings open, revealing [warrior], casually cleaning his blood-slicked sword, a slight swagger to his step. 

Their eyes meet. [name] makes a run for it, but is quickly pulled into his father’s room, and pushed down onto the couch, the broadsword at his throat.  

[warrior]’s eyes are darkened, and an odd, slimy smile is out of place on his face, looking nothing like him. Or maybe everything like him, because, it occurs suddenly to [name], [name] never really knew [warrior].

“I thought I knew you. But I don’t.” [warrior] says nothing. “Who are you?” [name] whispers.

[warrior] seems to soften, and he reluctantly pulls his sword back, sheathing it. “Be thankful I spared you,” he says darkly. 

[name] doesn’t waste any more time, pulling a wicked-looking blade from his tunic sleeve, and placing it threateningly against [warrior]’s throat. “GUARDS!” He yells and hands him over to the guards, who run instantly to the prince.

[name] points at his father's body, then at [warrior]. “The assassin.” He says shortly. The guards look horrified but nod nonetheless, dragging [warrior]’s body roughly to the dungeons. 

[name] sighs. No longer a wild prince but a wise king. 

[cobrakatharsis]

@zappedbyzabka also requested i post the “nightmares (krilverlaw)” wip so have some [gameshow host voice] more! unfinished! writing!

features hurt/comfort, terry’s ptsd, and vietnam nightmares

—

terry snaps awake with his heart pounding in his chest and the burn of freshly-spilled blood across his face.

except. no. the blood's not real. it's only sweat dripping down his face, confirmed as he swipes shaking hands over his brow and cheeks and chin and nose (and then each again, in desperate succession) and they come back wet but clean. it's hard to see in the darkness of the bedroom, but terry's used to seeing blood in the dark - black, it always looks inky black - and there's none. there's none.

his heart, pounding in his chest, at least, is real - but that's good. that's proof he's alive. here and living and breathing, trying with everything he's worth to focus on the whoosh of his breath instead of the hissing snakes and gunfire in his ears. he can hear it all, clear as day. the murmured prayers of the men around him, the distant sounds of violence. he can smell the jungle and the mud and blood and betsy's perfume, see her face in that photo, see what was left of ponytail's after that gunshot, see john's all beat up and blood-covered and full of indescribable grief as the helicopters roared overhead—

there's a weight in his lap.

the present hits terry like a freight train but there's hands holding either side of his face, thumbs stroking back and forth by his temples. he's breathing, he realises, in careful sync with the movement of the ribcage beneath his palm.

“i’m sorry," he chokes out suddenly, because he realises in that same moment that he's holding on way too hard, practically crushing johnny's ribs in his large hand. he's stronger now. he's big. not a twig anymore. he loosens his grip, tries to let go, but instantly one of the hands leaves the side of his face and covers his hand. holds it there, gently.

“'s'okay," johnny assures him, voice a sleep-rough whisper but full of casual sincerity. “was kinda admirin' the fact you could still prob'ly snap someone in half while you're mid panic attack. mine always fuckin'—turn me into jello."

and, blessedly, that's enough for terry to huff out a weak sort of laugh. it's like johnny pulls the last of the fight of the flashback out of him, and terry collapses forward, lets his head land against johnny's shoulder in a moment of complete weakness. johnny cards a hand through his undone hair, finger-combing it into some semblance of neatness. terry appreciates the effort, untidy as he feels, but bats johnny's hand away and promptly sits himself back up nonetheless. johnny lets him go easily enough, but fails to remove himself from where he'd apparently planted himself in terry's lap, and so terry does the natural thing and wraps his arms around johnny with all the usual firm possession.

if this was one of johnny's nightmares, this would be when they would try and talk about it. john would be awake, because he somehow always wakes up when johnny has a nightmare, and he'd start asking questions about people terry's never met - johnny's mother and stepfather and johnny's old cobra kai friends and an assortment of other names. sometimes larusso sneaks in there. still, it rarely makes a difference and johnny never wants to talk - and terry understands precisely how he feels. it's a mercy that johnny asks no questions, and that john is still somehow sleeping peacefully next to them, dead to the world instead of on one of his common sleepless vigils over his partners.

unless, of course, he's faking.

“johnny," terry says, in that tone that always says precisely which johnny he's talking to, and immediately john's eyes crack open, bright and sharp like they were every second in vietnam.

"yeah?"

and terry laughs again, stronger this time. he manages to give john some semblance of a real smile. the sentiment clearly isn't quite shared - kreese looks the wrong kind of concerned, his brow creased with it, and terry wants to give into the urge to tackle him from the bed and strike it from his face - but terry pushes past it with a slight raise of one shoulder, and then with seeking out johnny's shoulder once again. this time, rather than hiding against it, he presses kisses to the warm, pale skin, trailing upwards towards johnny's neck. johnny hums in encouragement, shifting back slightly to grant more space, and though john from behind pressing a kiss to terry's own neck gives him a moment of pause, it doesn't at all deter terry.

[ellie-winthrope]

The Scent of Sweet Osmanthus - [Gavin]

Since it was going to be the Mid-Autumn Festival soon, a certain mother had decided to make some dessert for the occasion. 

Word Count: 2512 words

Piiiiiiiii!

The whistling sound of the boiling kettle had interrupted Wardia from her reverie. She turned off the stove and carefully moved the hot kettle to its stand on the kitchen counter before returning to whisking the flour mixture in the mixing bowl. It had been a while since the last time she had done any baking. Since she had all the necessary ingredients on hand, she thought that she could try making some osmanthus cakes for the upcoming Mid-Autumn Festival.

“Let’s see…”

While still whisking the flour mixture in the mixing bowl, Wardia glanced towards the recipe paper that was stuck on the hanging cabinet above her. She skimmed from the top of the recipe down to the required next step at the lower part of the paper before reading aloud.

“Add dried osmanthus flower to the mixture and carefully mix it… Ok, got it.”

After placing the bowl down on the counter, Wardia retrieved the sealed packet of dried osmanthus flowers from one of the hanging cabinets above the counter. As she unsealed the packet, she instantly caught a whiff of the faintly sweet osmanthus scent. The familiar scent had brought a smile to her face as she recalled a certain fond memory in the distant past.

Of a time when the tree of the sweet osmanthus was in full bloom and its branches were swaying ever so slightly, further dispersing the sweet scent of the orange blossoms in the air.

Although Wardia was fond of all kinds of flowers, the sweet osmanthus had always been special to her because of its symbolism and the memories associated with it.

“You won’t be happy with him.”

Her smile had faded upon hearing the echoing voice from her past.

Initially, both of Wardia’s parents had strongly opposed her marriage to that man. After personally meeting him, they were certain that her marriage to him would be one bound for unhappiness. Aside from his disagreeable nature, their disapproval was mainly because he was affiliated with the military.

Since Wardia was their precious one and only child, it was natural for them to be concerned for her future with someone like him. That was why they had persistently persuaded her to reconsider her decision to be with that man.

“You deserve someone better than him.”

Wardia was fully aware of her parents’ goodwill and concerns, but she had never doubted the man’s sincerity and feelings towards her. While he spoke bluntly and had a permanently stern expression on his face, she knew that he wasn’t actually a cold-hearted person. Her parents hadn’t known him as well as she did, which was why they had such a poor impression of him.

Nonetheless, it was because her parents had loved her very much that they eventually gave in to Wardia’s persistence and gave their blessings on her marriage. Ultimately, they only wanted her to be happy. If she believed she would obtain this happiness from being with him, they had no reasons to oppose it.

“Whenever things get unbearable, you can always return home.”

She had nodded at them with a smile back then, all while holding back the tears in her eyes.

Wardia wouldn’t say that she had a good eye for men, but she wasn’t completely clueless either since she had been wooed by many men and had also been pestered into attending several blind dates by her coworkers.

Of all the men she had encountered, he was the only person who could give her a complete sense of ease. Even after he had accidentally found out about her Evol, which she had never told anyone before for fear of being regarded as a freak, that man hadn’t shunned or treated her any differently. He was the one who had allowed her to experience how reassuring it was to have someone accepting everything about her without prejudice.

Likewise, Wardia was also one of the few who understood that man beyond his unapproachable and stony facade. He was, in fact, an upright man with a strong sense of duty, who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself to protect others. Even though no one knew about his deeds, the man had never wavered in his convictions. This righteous and selfless spirit of his was what Wardia admired about him.

Even so, the most steadfast person was, ultimately, still merely a human.

Even if he didn’t show it on his face, it didn’t mean that he was impervious to weariness and negative emotions. Knowing that he was the kind of person who chose to bear everything in silence, Wardia decided to be the one who would always stand by his side and offered him solace during these difficult and lonely moments.

“People like him would always prioritize fulfilling their duties above all else. Love and family will never be his top priority.”

That was one of the things that her parents had warned her about before her marriage.

It was something to be expected when marrying a strait-laced military man. Even the man himself had confessed to her during the marriage proposal that he would always prioritize his duty and the greater good over everything else.

While most people would find that statement amidst a marriage proposal to be insensitive, Wardia wasn’t the least bit offended. She understood the man’s intention. Instead of avoiding the subject and having her regret it in the future, the man would rather her be clear about what she was getting into by marrying him.

So, she accepted his proposal and quitted her job in order to become a full-time housewife. Since he would be fully committing himself to the military, she would be dedicating herself to looking after their family and home.

While she wouldn’t know if her decision was the best or the worst choice that she had made in life, what she can be certain of was that she had never thought of their marriage as a mistake, even now, after many years had passed.

“Alright, that should be enough.”

After thoroughly mixing the osmanthus-added flour mixture, Wardia breathed out a soft sigh before she left the whisk in the mixing bowl and placed them on the kitchen counter. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and glanced at the nearby clock on the wall to check the current time. Just when she had taken note of the current time being two o'clock in the afternoon, she had heard a boy’s voice resounding faintly from the hallway outside the kitchen.

“Mum, I am home!”

A tender smile had naturally crossed Wardia’s lips upon hearing the familiar voice.

It was her “little man”, who had finally returned from running an errand for her.

“Welcome home, little Gav!”

She called out from the kitchen sink while washing off the remaining flour mixture on her hands. By the time she had dried her hands and turned towards the kitchen’s entry, she saw a thirteen-year-old boy entering the kitchen with a heavy-looking grocery bag within his arms. The boy had nodded at Wardia before he dutifully went and placed the bag on the kitchen counter beside the refrigerator. As she watched the boy taking out the items from the grocery bag and putting them on the kitchen counter one-by-one, a single thought crossed Wardia’s mind.

How quickly time flies.

Her son was already a teenager and yet, it felt like it hadn’t been that long when Wardia found out that she was with child for the first time. As someone who was fond of children, she had always wanted a child of her own. Thus, she was obviously overjoyed and couldn’t contain her excitement as informed her husband of the news. She could still remember how that man, who rarely showed any emotions, was genuinely surprised when she told him about it.

The sight of his stony expression softening gradually and the way his eyes lit up with genuine wonder was heartwarming to her. At that moment, she didn’t doubt that the man loved their son as much as herself. After all, he had even spent several sleepless nights at the study room, despite his work commitments, in order to think up a name for their firstborn. Eventually, he had decided on a name that was as candid as himself and fully-embodied all his expectations towards their child.

To be brave, bold and undefeated in every battle… Gavin (Bai Qi).

Alas, expectation was akin to a double-edged sword.

The higher was one’s expectation, the more devastating the disappointment would be when said expectation was not met.

Once he realized that Gavin would never be able to fulfill his expectations, he had completely turned his back on the boy, even though it wasn’t even their son’s fault that he wasn’t born with an Evol. Wardia, who had always accommodated the man and accepted his zealous dedication towards his duty, couldn’t help but to feel indignant at watching Gavin being shunned by his father.

She tried desperately in persuading her husband to change the way he treated Gavin. However, the man was stubborn to a fault. So, their conversation always ended up in arguments, which eventually led to the man leaving the house and never returned for a prolonged period.

Wardia was used to the man’s occasional absence, but she pitied her son for having to grow up without a father’s presence most of the time. As his mother, she felt guilty whenever she saw the disappointed look on her son’s face after knowing that his father would not be returning home.

Although the boy no longer asked or talked about his father ever since he was eight, Wardia knew that he merely didn’t do so because he didn’t want her to be feeling sad or guilty about it. Her son had always been far more considerate and mature than his peers, which was something that made her both proud and worried about him. If Wardia could have it her way, she would rather Gavin took his time in enjoying his youth than for him to rush into becoming an adult.

Having noticed her silent gaze, Gavin had suddenly looked over his shoulder. There was a questioning look in the boy’s amber eyes as he met her gaze. With a gentle smile on her face, Wardia stepped forward and embraced her son, who had tensed up for a moment.

“Mum?”

She merely giggled while patting the back of Gavin’s head. No matter how much her son had grown or how mature he behaved in front of her, she would never stop doting on him.

“Little Gav, my sweet child.” She murmured while nuzzling her face against the top of his head.

For now, Gavin’s height was still below her shoulders. However, she had no doubt that he would soon grow to be much taller than her. By then, she would no longer be able to nuzzle against his hair as she did now, just like how the boy no longer clung onto her sleeves as he did when he was a small child. Although the thought had caused Wardia to feel a little lonely, it can’t be helped. After all, that was how it was to watch one’s child grow up.

With a soft sigh, Wardia released Gavin from her embrace.

“Thank you for buying the groceries, Little Gav.”

“It’s nothing,” said the boy while avoiding her gaze. Despite his stoic tone, there was a barely noticeable blush on his face.

“Oh, I am in the middle of making some osmanthus cakes. Would you like to help me fill the molds with the flour mixture, while I keep the rest of the groceries away?”

As she expected, the boy nodded without hesitation. He had always been eager to help with any household chores.

Thus, Wardia took out the cupcake molds from one of the kitchen drawers and placed them next to the bowl of flour mixture on the counter before she went to sort out the remaining items in the grocery bag. The task itself was simple and this wasn’t the first time Gavin had helped her in the kitchen, but she would still glance towards Gavin’s direction occasionally to see how he was doing.

Seeing that Gavin was diligently filling up the molds, she suddenly recalled a similar scene from her memories, of a five-year old boy standing on a small wooden step stool next to a nine-year-old Gavin at the kitchen counter.

Feeling her eyes welling up at the memory, Wardia quickly turned her head away from Gavin’s direction and looked back down on the groceries that were spread out on the counter. She subtly wiped at her tear-brimmed eyes while sorting between the items that need to be kept in the fridge and those that will be used for dinner later.

She felt calmer by the time she was done with her task and had decided to check on Gavin’s progress. She saw the boy sprinkling the dried osmanthus flower on the last cupcake mold. As soon as he was done, he had straightened up from his earlier bending posture and looked towards Wardia.

“Mum, they are ready.”

Wardia nodded with a smile.

“Then, let’s put them in the steamer.”

After the filled-up molds had been placed into the steamer for ten minutes, Wardia took them out and started to gently unmold one of the cakes onto the serving plate. Gavin, who had observed the way Wardia unmolded the first cake, had also helped in doing the same for the rest. When all the cakes had been unmolded, Wardia took one of the osmanthus cakes that weren’t too hot and held it close towards Gavin’s face.

“Little Gav, have a try and see if it still tastes as good as before.”

Perhaps out of embarrassment at being hand-fed, the boy had hesitated for a moment before he eventually took a small bite from the offered cake. Since Gavin’s expression had remained unchanged while he chewed on the cake, Wardia awaited his remark with bated breath.

“Hmm, it tastes good.”

Breathing a sigh of relief at hearing his remark, Wardia noticed that there were some cake crumbs at the side of Gavin’s mouth. Chuckling softly, she reached out and gently brushed the crumbs away from Gavin’s face before speaking in a teasing manner.

“Is little Gav keeping some “leftovers” for his future wife?”

At first, Gavin didn’t understand the meaning of her words. It was after a few seconds had passed that the boy eventually grasped the situation. His face had instantly turned beet-red as he cried out in protest.

“Mum!”

Seeing her son’s flushed face, Wardia laughed heartily.

No one knew what will happen in the future, but she sincerely hoped that she would be able to be with Gavin in every part of his life, or at least, until he found the one who will understand, cherish and share a lifetime with him.

As a mother, nothing assured her more than knowing with certainty that there will be someone who will look after her little Gav in her stead.

[crimson-lilith]

———midnight nocturne

ritsu x f!reader

「Memories are strange. They didn’t always make sense, and they were always fleeting; like the smell of smoke after a fire has broken out, or the taste of an apple after not having one for months on end, or the feeling of hair falling from where it is tied up into bunches because of shaky hands.」

Read here or on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

「now playing : ghost of you - 5 seconds of summer」

Memories are strange. They didn’t always make sense, and they were always fleeting; like the smell of smoke after a fire has broken out, or the taste of an apple after not having one for months on end, or the feeling of hair falling from where it is tied up into bunches because of shaky hands.

Memories are strange. Sometimes, they leave traces behind that could prove that the person that keep appearing behind closed eyelids did indeed exist somewhere beyond that blurry haze. And sometimes, those traces materialize themselves in the form of mundane things, too blended into the surroundings for one to even notice.

"I'll keep that in mind, doctor."

Sakuma smiles as the patient scurries away from the clinic. It was a man, probably in his late thirties, pale, and with rather sad eyes. He came in that morning with a faint, purple bruise on his left cheekbone and his clothes were rumpled, the sleeves hanging off one shoulder. A few poorly-tied bandages had been wrapped around his right forearm with blotches of red staining the white, still seeping through the gaps of its layers, but that was about it aside from his face.

Nothing uncommon, after all, the war is still raging just outside the door.

Most of the people coming in are all either injured from the battle or suffering from some kind of trauma after seeing a family member lying dead on the ground before their very eyes. There would also be the occasional soldier who can't quite stand being at their post any longer, asking to be sent home. He couldn't bring himself to blame them, anyway. At this point of war, everyone has already seen a bloody scene or two.

War.

Soldiers.

Blood.

Sakuma feels his head swirl.

He takes deep breaths, slowly letting the air flow through his lungs as he tries to calm himself down. The last time he saw blood splattered across walls and bodies laid flat on the ground was...

"Sakuma!"

...when was it?

"Sakuma, get out of here!"

Who was that?

Why does that voice sound so familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time?

The world suddenly tilts. Everything is spinning around him, his vision going darker and darker by the second and for a very brief moment he forgets where he is. There's no screaming in the distance. No gunshots. No corpses piled upon each other on the floor.

It was just him, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing echoing in his ears.

That's the third time this week.

It's been months since Sakuma first found himself in this town. He remembers waking up to the sight of the clinic's thatched ceiling. He remembers hearing distant shouts of people asking for help, and screams filled with anguish and agony. He remembers feeling something warm drip from his arm and onto the ground, and he remembers realizing that it had been his own blood.

He doesn't remember anything else before that. It's as if his past just completely vanished.

All that was left was the image of someone's eyes gazing firmly right at him, filled with fear and worry as they stared straight into his soul with such conviction that it almost seems as though they can read right through his heart.

Those memories might be gone, but he knows they're still there, and they haunt him nonetheless.

There's only one way to rid himself of these thoughts and the pain they stir within him—he needs sleep.

Sakuma stands up from his desk chair. A dull ache pulses through the soles of his feet when they hit the wooden floor. His joints hurt, especially the ones located near his toes. This always happens whenever that memory tries to resurface—it leaves his body extremely aching and exhausted, like the feeling he first remembers after waking up with no memories at all.

His gaze wanders towards the glass windows on the far wall. The moon now hangs low and bright in the sky, casting a silver sheen over everything in the small clinic. A soft breeze brushes through the windowpane, creating a slight rustling sound as it passes, and it intensifies his drowsiness.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

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[bonesandthebees]

Also, this is more a world-building question. But in the sections, Wilbur translates, it says that the strength of your Voice depends on how strong your mother’s voice was. So it’s genetic then? And if Wilbur and Tommy are part of the royal family and the royal family has really strong Voices, wouldn’t that mean they also have a strong voice?

Like Niki has an easier time learning how to use her Voice, and she’s good at it. But Wilbur put in a lot of effort to learn and probably has better heritage. Unless they picked Niki as a child because she comes from a family with strong Voice? Actually, how do they pick ambassadors? Do all of them get chosen as children? Are they ambassadors children themselves? Do parents just give their children away?

I’m getting distracted. My original question was who has a stronger Voice between Wilbur and Niki? Did they practice the same amount?

Also, the world-building and the reason why men aren’t allowed to use their Voices is interesting. Like last time we learn men were created as a punishment from a methodological standpoint. Now we learn that there was a prince who because king by abusing his Voice and killing his sister. So it makes sense they would be distrustful, but also there’s no guarantee that a woman wouldn’t do that except that now everyone knows the consequences.

Also the flashback was really sad. Tommy was adored by everyone and Niki had the adult Sirens to take care of her, but they don’t care about Wilbur. Not does anyone else. So he just got stuck with no one to defend him. And given the fact that Ranboo is connecting dots, Tommy is either aware of it to some extent (like he heard the insult too) or even if he doesn’t realise it, it’s so obvious that Ranboo can pick up on it from his explanation.

-🌲

OOO ok i wanted to talk about this so ty for asking!

this got a bit long so putting it under a read more. if you wanna hear a lot of worldbuilding and backstory stuff, click below :)

to start with the easier one of your questions, niki isn't royal, but she's from a noble bloodline nonetheless that has always had ties to the royal family and the politics of Themis. so her Voice is more powerful than an average citizens would be, although it's not as powerful as someone with direct ties to the royal family would have. (though technically most noble families have distant blood ties to the royal family. she actually is related to wilbur and tommy, but it's distant not like a first cousin or anything) to be honest, it's rare for ambassadors to be chosen as children like niki was. but after the death of wilbur and tommy's mother, the sirens knew they needed an emissary to keep an eye on both the boys, and it was mutually agreed upon that they would be more trusting if the emissary was a child around their age as opposed to an adult. they looked through different noble families that had ties to doing ambassador work or just work with foreign politics in general in the past, and interviewed many daughters to find one that could handle a position like that at such a young age.

themis as a whole is very nationalistic, so while the government of course had to get permission from the parents of the children they were interviewing for a position like that where they're basically taking their children away for their whole lives, there wasn't a lot of protest because it was viewed as an honorable duty to the planet. so niki's mother volunteered her.

now regarding wilbur vs niki in terms of Voice strength, the text wilbur read specified that while heritage DOES play a role in the strength of your Voice, it's not as important as practice and training is. so even though wilbur has the royal bloodline, niki's Voice is still stronger than his for two main reasons: one being that she's a girl, and two being that she's had far more formal training with her Voice than wilbur has. the thing is, wilbur learned how to use his Voice from niki repeating what she remembered from her formal lessons to him. but say for example, if you're 8 years old and your only way of learning math was from another 8 year old who would try to teach you everything she learned at school that day, you're definitely not gonna be as good at math as the 8 year old actually going to school is. wilbur actually practiced far more than niki did, but he was never given formal training on how to practice effectively. if wilbur had received the same formal training niki did from the ambassadors, and he practiced more than she did, than yes, his Voice would probably be stronger than hers. but he didn't receive that formal training, and he's already at a disadvantage with learning considering he's a boy.

now, is that to say wilbur's Voice can't still improve? absolutely it can. if he practices more, he could eventually reach a point where his Voice can overpower niki's, but it would take a lot of practice to reach that point.

lol yeah a woman could've just as easily have done that to get the throne (and probably did at some point in time, but like most planets themis has been around for a very long time, and there always comes a point where history gets lost)

yup, the flashback was meant to show how even though niki and wilbur both were ostracized by others, niki at least had sirens taking care of her. wilbur had no one :(

[cherievol6]

jealousy, jealousy

damn this is a much longer one. i have barely edited it because i’m lazy, so sorry if it’s too fast-paced in some areas and not in others. it’s a one shot luv. kind of got the idea from jim getting jealous about the sound guy from the office. 

jim and pam forever. anyways, enjoy.

you and harry can’t seem to remain exes for very long, you’re both just too jealous

word count: just over 4k (everyone pat me on the back)

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, absolutely sickening fluff and cuteness. some sprinkled angst in there and boycotting of versace aftershave. oh, and buff sound guys.

You most definitely were over him.

That's what you like to tell yourself, anyways.

You often have to chant the mantra in your head, every time you're watching his arm muscles as he carries his mic stand around during sound check; when he's belting into the microphone in the studio and he's doing that cute little scrunched face; when he's smiling at you and you can only think about the words he'd said when you broke up.

"We can't keep on doing this to each other."

Doing what? You'd thought. In your head at the time, the relationship seemed fine. You barely fought, you trusted each other - a year and still going strong. You resented him for breaking it off for a while, until you realised his reasoning for doing so. In hindsight, your relationship was just that; nothing more, nothing less. You were busy with tour organisation and admin, Harry was busy writing and occasionally you'd see each other for a quick kiss or a short meal in between schedules. You had a relationship, but it didn't feel as though you were in a relationship. You cried for almost two weeks straight nonetheless, asking yourself why you weren't good enough for him. There was one instance where you rocked up to his house and cursed his name in the downpour as he listened guiltily, ushering you inside to keep warm. You both slept together that night, followed by a serious conversation the morning after, swearing when you wouldn't ever engage in break-up sex again. You also accidentally said 'I love you' when you left his doorway; the beet red of your face matched the flowers in his front garden.

"So you broke up because...?" Your work friend snaps you out of your daydream. You swallow dryly and continue to read through the list of sound equipment for Harry's set that day, trying to hide the fact that you were watching him laughing with his band mates on stage.

"We just couldn't find the time for each other. We were both so busy, and-" you stop abruptly when you hear your name called in Harry's baritone, your head whipping up quickly.

"Sorry to be a pain, but can you ask the new girl to come here for a sec? I need her to fix my mic pack." His voice is awkward as the question leaves his mouth. You mirror his distant behaviour as you feel jealousy sprout in your chest, "Sure."

Harry had taken a liking to the new girl, whose name you'd found out was Aimee, and there had been hushes of him planning to ask her out. Hushes that you wished stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry, but she looks exactly like you...are you kidding?" your friend brings you back to the previous conversation, scoffing and adjusting her headset as she watches the Aimee make her way to where Harry was standing. You outwardly denied her claims, but a small part of your brain chose to believe that Harry was fond of her because she did have a look of you; similar height; similar shimmered undertones in your hair. You like to think that Harry dated you for your unique traits though, and that you weren't just another notch on his bedpost.

Harry catches your eyes as he talks to the girl, looking you quickly up and down before sighing as she replies nonchalantly and fixes his microphone. He looked a little bit irritated and you were struggling to figure out why.

The soundcheck went by fairly smoothly, Harry crooning into the microphone as he always does, cracking a few jokes here and there to help everyone through the slog of the day. Between some songs, you dot about the venue, stopping by at the soundcheck booth every so often to make sure things are running smoothly.

"Do you ever rest, love?" One of the guys says, smiling cheekily at you as you hover by the soundcheck booth for the umpteenth time that day. He was one of the sound technicians that had just started on the team, and you'd acquainted with him quite well considering you oversaw the entire sound crew.

"Unfortunately not. No rest for the wicked, as they say." You grin, leaning against a large speaker stationed by the booth. He mirrors your body language as he leans against his desk, arms flexing and making your throat feel dryer.

"Right, cause you're so wicked." He says sarcastically, crossing his arms and smirking. Your brain can only make you fumble with your clipboard and clear your throat. He was an undoubtedly attractive person, and you weren't sure if you were being flirted with or you were just completely deprived of male attention.

"I can be when the job's not done right." You nod, glancing around to see if anyone was listening in to the conversation. You catch Harry's eye as he not-so-secretly observes; your head turns back quickly. As the sound guy moves his stance you get an overwhelming whiff of his aftershave. It's a nice smell, but your brain can't help but compare it to the patchouli scent you were used to.

"Well, you won't catch me disobeying, boss." He winks before turning back to his desk. Before you can decide whether the words served as a double entendre, a loud voice blears through the speaker your body leans on and shocks the life out of you in your dazed state.

"I'd like to carry on, if the sound crew will permit it?" Harry says cockily. He's stone-faced when you turn around, his eyes never leaving yours as you instruct the team to move on to the next song he was due to practice. And as Harry sang about being an 'arrogant son of a bitch', you couldn't help but think how ironic the lyrics were in that moment.

"Good show today, guys!" You yell, smiling as the crew finally take a breath and the band make their way off the stage with beaming smiles, the crowd's hysterics still filling the arena even after Harry had ducked behind the backstage curtain.

He jogs through the backstage corridors with his shirt half unbuttoned, security guards to his left and right that simultaneously slow down as he reaches the crowd of staff members all shaking hands and hugging at the bittersweet end of the tour.

"Mine tonight? Drinks and food will be provided! Just bring your gorgeous selves.." Harry yells, seemingly full of adrenaline after running around on stage as he zips through every crew member and shakes their hand and thanks them, looking slightly uncomfortable as he shakes the hand of the sound technician he'd caught you with earlier. You were the last person he reached, steps slower and energy seeming to dissipate as he approached you. You decided to take the professional route, extending your hand before he can and offering him a smile.

"Great show, Styles." Your tone is level and he stares at your outstretched hand for a minute before taking it and shaking it gentler than he did to the other crew members before clearing his throat.

"Nice work. With the lights...and stuff-" He returns awkwardly, lips in a tight line. The room starts to clear out and he looks down at his hands, twisting the rings round and round. You missed playing with the rings on his fingers.

"So...tonight? Will I see you there?" He tries to be as nonchalant as possible, looking anywhere but your face and scuffing his shoe against the floor.

"Uh, sure. If I'm welcome?" You try. His gaze meets yours as he looks at you with unreadable emotion, almost like someone else is trying to claw their way out of his body to you.

He nods, small smile on his face before retreating to his dressing room, leaving you in the hallway in confusion but almost relief. Did he want you there?

You were sure he did for the rest of the evening, whilst finalising with the venue crew, when you were scrubbing your body down in the shower, when you were trying to keep the tears in at your vanity before applying makeup. You were sure he wanted you there. You even went out of your way to spray the perfume he said he liked when you first dated, secretly hoping he'd pick it up and possibly mention it.

So that's why you were confused when you awkwardly stepped into his doorway and he was chatting animatedly with Aimee. They were stood closely, his arm leaning on the kitchen island, other arm waving frantically around as he spoke with passion and a glazed look over his eyes from the drink in his hand. She was tucked into the space his rested arm created, not much distance put between you both.

God, were you stupid. You were broken up.

Your smile falters, a hand coming to brush your skirt down in attempt to cover yourself with the length of the fabric. Music trundles from the expensive record player you remember Harry had bought himself after releasing his debut album, you'd spun many of his records on it before. It felt strange, mere weeks ago at the tail end of your relationship you'd been in this house like any other day, working in Harry's home office on tour finalisations like it was your own home. Now, it felt like something had died here, the familiar walls were almost mocking your presence.

"Hey! You made it." Sound-tech guy approaches you from your left with a beer can in-hand, grinning at you as he sways slightly. You unconsciously take a very minuscule step back.

"Uh, yep. Looks like I'm a bit fashionably late." You laugh awkwardly. Everyone was very much more intoxicated than you, the shot you took before arriving paling in comparison.

"Well you look great." He slurs. You thank him awkwardly, never being one to take compliments from people, especially not men. Harry used to get at you for being too modest, constantly calling you sweet names that made you even more lovesick at the start of your relationship. You put the melancholy thought to the back of your mind.

"Great party, isn't it?" You say faux-enthusiastically. He nods and raises his glass to you, taking another swig before stumbling a bit on his feet. You laugh, grabbing his free arm and steadying him. He laughs with you, apologising and pinching the bridge of his nose. A loud clearing of a person's throat somehow manages to exceed the volume of the Shuggie Otis record, and you hear exactly where it comes from. You dare a glance at Harry to see him resting with his back now against the island, eyes flitting from the sound guy to Aimee every few seconds, them once landing on your for a mere millisecond. Why was he trying to rub it in your face?

"Sorry, love. I'm usually the designated driver for these things. My partner has let me be the drunk one tonight. He's gonna regret it." Sound guy's voice cuts through the tension and you laugh at his statement. The words he says settle into your brain and make you stop for a second. Partner. He was in a relationship, and most definitely was not trying it on with you.

"God, I think I need to get on your level of drunk. Any recommendations?"

He ends up directing you to where Harry has laid all of his cheaper (his cheap was still almost three times the price of what you could afford) booze out on the mini bar, concocting some kind of liqueur cocktail that was "guaranteed to get you steaming".

And steaming does it get you, evident by the way you and the sound guy scream bloody murder into the karaoke microphone after stopping Harry's record and amping up the 2000's karaoke CD into the old beaten machine. People egged you on as you both sang, or rather screamed, the lyrics to a Paramore song that was completely out of your range.

The singing most definitely took it out of you, as you found yourself slumped on the wicker sofa in Harry's conservatory with a large glass of water and a headache already on the way mere hours later. The party was beginning to die down and you could hear people saying their goodbyes; you were thankful to be hidden away when the embarrassment starts to set in.

"Hey, I'll see you later! Take- take care, yeah?" Sound guy appears in the door way as quickly as he is pulled away by another man who sends you a small smile and a wave, passing through the threshold of the living room door and brushing shoulders with the designated host for the evening. Harry looks behind him with a clenched jaw, but waves them off nonetheless, before stepping slowly over to the opened door of the windowed room. Each click of his shoes makes you sink further into the furniture.

"Party's ending, Hayley Williams." He jests half-heartedly, not daring to move further than the doorway. You look up and see him staring at his feet with his arms crossed, shuffling a bottle cap around with the toe of his boot. You huff a laugh, dragging yourself up to sit straight, clearing your scratchy throat.

"Sorry. I haven't eaten much so the alcohol just kind of...went right through me," he laughs, or you think it's a laugh, he barely makes a sound. Your hands start to fiddle with your skirt again as you search the air for some kind of conversation topic.

"Did Aimee leave?" You throat is dry again, but not from the singing. This makes him lift his head to look at you.

"Uhm- Yeah she left quite awhile ago, I think." He states, looking at the watch on his wrist. He seems unbothered by her lack of presence, and it sparks a light of hope in your chest. That, and the strap of the watch he checks looking oddly similar to the one you'd gotten him as a birthday present awhile back.

"Oh." Is all you say. You skin starts to prickle at the atmosphere in the room, the awkward air hanging evidently between the two of you.

"I'm sorry. I'm overstaying my welcome-" You stand quickly and begin to gather your things.

"No plea- I mean it's fine. I'm not going to bed yet anyway." He seems urgent in how he speaks, looking vulnerable to you for the first time in a long time, and it makes you lower back down to your seated position on the sofa. He changes his standing position and moves to sit as far away as humanly possible from you on the loveseat.

"So. You and the sound guy?" No build up to the question is offered, no hint of the direction of conversation makes you think he'd ask you about the sound guy, so that's why you can't stop the laugh that bursts out of your mouth. He looks at you bewildered.

"You what?" Your voice is incredulous.

"You just seemed close. I don't know? Forget it." He mutters, laughing breathily and looking out the window grumpily.

"Why have you been in such a huff today?" You look at him accusingly, genuinely wondering what his answer will be.

"Don't know. Concert jitters? Why are you being so giggly with our sound tech?" He snaps back, arms crossing over his body again. You frown at him, not feeling so playful anymore as you watch him blow out a breath and close his eyes. Your eyes wander over his demeanour, he looks upset, almost irritated.

"What's going on Harry? Why are you so irritable around me now? You were never like this." You say defeatedly, crossing your legs and turning your body in his direction to see if he'll open up. He lays his head back on the back of the loveseat and sighs again, lolling it to the side and opening his eyes. You feel your heart catch at the beauty of his unmistakable green eyes, a feature of his you'd always been obsessed with. They look the softest they've been all day...dare you say even teary.

"I know. It's not you...well it is- but not how you think." He grumbles. Harry had always been a hard shell to crack when he was uspet about something, you always worked on trying to make him open up to you a bit more, communication was very important to you.

"It's just me, Harry. What's going on?" Your voice softens to a more comforting tone in hopes that it butters him up a bit. His eyes travel down your face, to your neck, shamelessly over your body before he whips them straight back up. He speaks softly.

"You look really pretty tonight."

You're not sure how to react to what he says. You were in your ex's house, alone, and he was calling you pretty. Of course, you wanted Harry to think you were pretty...you just weren't sure why he felt the need to tell you now. After he'd been so awkward and short with you over the past few weeks in the remnants of your breakup, and dangled a prettier girl in front of you every day at work.

"Harry. I don't think you should- Aimee wouldn't be happy at you saying things like that to me when you're seeing each other."

It's Harry's turn to take the incredulous tone. "You what? Me and Aimee? You think we're seeing- I barely know the girl! I'm pretty sure she has a boyfriend!" He's animated with his words and eyes as he looks at you like you've grown two heads.

"Chill. Everyone was saying you two were sleeping together! What was I supposed to think!?" Your volume matches his now.

"Why are you so fussed? You're clearly knocking about with that buff sound guy. With his fucking nice hair and Versace aftershave. You told me you hated that Versace aftershave, you know!? I remember looking for a new one when we were in London and you specifically told me not to buy that one. Does it smell better on him or something?" You can say nor do nothing as you watch Harry's inner monologue spill out of him and wind him up as the seconds pass. You couldn't believe what you were hearing; he was jealous. Before he gets himself too wound up, you place a hand gently on his bicep and he stops immediately, looking down at your touch.

"Harry. The sound tech has a partner. That guy dragging him out of here before you came in? That's him."

Harry's brow furrows before it softens again, this time a red tinge creeping up on his cheeks, akin to the one you wore last time you were at his house. "Oh."

You can't help but smile, his embarrassment stemming from the fact that he's usually not a very worked-up person. He clearly felt quite passionate about it. A beat passes before he sighs, head in hands.

"He makes me feel really jealous. Like, horribly jealous. The kind of jealous that makes me wanna...like- I don't know. Throw...things." He groans out into his hands.

"If it's any consolation, I was jealous too. Everyone kept taking it upon themselves to tell me about yours and Aimee's rumoured sex life-" Harry winces at that, "and how much she apparently was your- erm...rebound...of me."

You're sure Harry feels the solemn shift of the conversation after you'd tread so lightly around the topic of your breakup. You pick your nail polish and Harry watches you do it, before tentatively reaching over and stopping your hands from fiddling. His warm skin on yours feels achingly familiar, so much to the point where it makes you want to cry.

"There's no rebound." His voice is barely there. "I don't want a rebound."

Your glossy eyes meet his, and you want to just bear your soul to him. The man you'd thought you would be in love with forever, only for your relationship to crumble after only twelve months.

"Then why, Harry?" Your voice cracks. This makes a tears slip down his cheek rapidly, so rapidly you almost miss it as it falls between you and on to your leg.

"You- I felt like I didn't really have you, even though you were there. Our relationship suffered from my career, my career drove that wedge between us." His voice is wobbly and heart-wrenching. You reach a thumb up and wipe the stream off his cheek, your eyes silently pouring into a puddle at your cheekbones.

"It wasn't just yours, Harry. I was over-working too. I guess our timing was off, or maybe we were off-"

"No. No, you don't mean that. We- we were never off. I loved- I love you. So much. Seeing you at work everyday fucking killed me, you know that? God, I just wanted to ditch the place and bring you home with me. Back here. I miss seeing you sat in the armchair reading your books. The place feels dead without you." His voice is firm and unwavering, despite having to speak through the blocked sinuses and the tears and the rambling. Here he was, at two in the morning completely breaking down to you - and for the first time, you felt like you were really seeing him again.

You quickly gather his shattering form into your arms, letting him envelop you with his long arms and bury his tinged nose into your neck, letting out a breath at the feeling of closeness again.

"Please say something. Just don't tell me you don't love me anymore, cause I don't think I can take it.” He laughs humourlessly, and little pieces of your heart break more and more with each word.

Of course you still loved him, you never fucking stopped.

"Harry, love. H, look at me." You whisper, hands in his hair as he pulls back to look at your similar puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

"There is literally no-one on this earth right now who I would rather be with besides you. I don't want the sound guy. I don't want a rebound. I want you, and have still wanted you from the day we broke up. I don't think I will ever not be in love with you." The words are choked, and delivery is shaky, but God, do you mean every word.

"Please can we not be broken up anymore? It's kind of shitty." He laughs, wiping your tears with his fingers and winding his hands into your hair. You nod with bleary eyes.

"But we need to try." You say firmly, he nods over and over.

"We will. Tell me you love me."

"I love you-" He muffles your words with his lips as he kisses you feverishly, hands gripping the sides of your face. He takes you by surprise but you're more than happy as you kiss him back, arms draping over his shoulders and lightly scratching over his shoulder blades. He kisses you like you're about to move across the globe, like you're going to disappear in his hands at any given moment. He kisses you like he's in love.

"God, I've wanted to do this since that day you left my house after we slept together." His mumbling is broken as he kisses you and then breaks apart to speak.

"Shh. Just kiss me." You smirk against his lips, shuffling over the loveseat and sitting on his lap, directing the kiss to a slower, more passionate one, tipping his head back as you tower over him. He lets himself drape over the chair almost at your mercy, and you laugh as you finally pull away, lungs gasping for air.

"God, we're adults snogging at a party like 18 year olds. We need to get a grip. You’re like a man obsessed." You exhale, wiping the remnants of your lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He laughs, arms winding around your waist and locking you in, head diving back into your neck as he inhales the perfume you’d applied earlier that evening. 

"Evil woman, you know I can’t resist you with this perfume. Besides, nothing wrong with a bit of snogging. Especially when you have an empty house and a king-size upstairs." He quips and you give him a deadpan look.

"Wow. Five minutes back together, and you're already jumping my bones. I thought you were a gentleman, Styles."

He laughs out loud and hoists you up, walking towards the staircase with you in his arms.

"C'mon, you know me better than that, babe."

-

[celebrities-imagines]

Pregnancy Headcannons - Simon Basset

• Far from happy when you told him

• He had tried really hard so you wouldn't get pregnant

• "No, no, no, we were careful. I-I-I..."

• It was a complete accident

• He was furious

• His temper got the better of him and he blamed you

• Stormed off

• He went to the bar and drank the day away

• But he refused to abandon his child like his father did

• Simon was distant and unhappy but promised to raise this child

• He knew he was harsh but he made it clear this was a mistake...your "first and only child"

• Simon told Lady Danbury through gritted teeth

• "We're in a bit of a predicament...she's with child."

• He told you he didn't care about the gender at all

• "I don't care what the bloody child is, as long as they aren't a brat."

• Deep down though he wanted a girl, in hopes of destroying the Hastings name

• Simon's icy facade started to melt when your bump starting showing

• He was only human after all

• The sight of the woman he loves glowing with love and happiness was almost too much for him

• It made him want to go back on everything he ever said and have as many children as possible with you

• It was no longer possible for him to distance himself from you

• He would run to your aid when you tried to lift something heavy

• Or make sure the maids were getting you enough water, vitamins, and drinks

• Started listening in on your doctor check ups, which he'd previously ignored

• Simon rarely touched your bump

• Even with Simon warming up to the idea of your pregnancy he still made it clear he would support this child, but you'd never carry another

• That was until you were about 5 months pregnant

• One night you and Simon were out at some dinner you forced him to go to. He had been grumpy the whole night, so you went outside at one moment to avoid his attitude. Your outfit was a fairly nice one with some nice jewelry, which some drunk man across the road had realized, so he lunged at you, hoping to grab your necklace. You screamed and before you knew it the man was knocked to the ground Simon gripping your shaking frame. You sobbed and sobbed, so Simon called the carriage and you made your way home. It occurred to Simon how out of hand the situation could've gotten. And for the first time Simon's shaky hands rested protectively over your bump the rest of the ride home.

• "It's okay, y-you're okay. I'm here, I'll keep your safe...b-both of you."

• That night after you'd finally calmed down he broke down

• "I could've lost you both. I'm the luckiest man on earth. A child with the woman I love and I've been a complete dick."

• He knew he couldn't make up for the way he acted the last few months, so he told you he wanted to be as involved as you'd let him be

• Simon opened up to you and explained why he'd been so upset about the pregnancy

• Of course you forgave him, after that the two of you really began life as a growing family

• Simon constantly had a protective arm wrapped around your bump

• "Your mother says you can hear me. Personally, I don't believe her but I'd like to live long enough to meet you, so I won't argue. Well, um, hello I suppose. I-I, um, love you."

• The first time your baby kicked was when he was "pointlessly" taking to them

• He had been rambling in a bored voice, but he perked up immediately after the kick

• "Can you hear me! (Y/n), I'm not necessarily saying you're right but maybe they can hear me."

• He talked to the baby a lot more after that

• Simon didn't make you go to any balls

• He didn't like them and you got tired after staying on your feet too long

• You still threw a party at the end of the season because Simon is a duke after all

• Simon hates parties but he loves you so much he did most of the set-up so you could rest

• When you went into labor Simon was calm and collected

• Simon almost choked the doctor when they told him he should wait outside

• He let you squeeze the life out of his hand

• When cries filled the room his face was a mixture of complete joy and fear

• It was a boy

• You could tell that rattle him a little but he was happy nonetheless

• "Hello." Simon looked at the child awkwardly. "I'm your father." The baby cuddled closer to Simon and he seemed to relax. "You have nothing to worry about. I'll always keep you safe, and I'll never leave you. I would never leave my son."

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all. 

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1971    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

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

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

Can you write a smut with Tom riddle where the reader and him are dating, and he’s obviously used to being in charge but one night something happens (you can decide that part) and suddenly the reader wants to be in charge but Tom doesn’t want that so she ties him up and teases her till he’s begging her to let him cum or something like the idk.

I absolutely love ur writing, it’s absolutely incredible I could never write anything as good as you!😊

pairing: tom riddle x reader

warning(s): 18+, dom/sub roles (ish), begging, magical ties, oral (make receiving), mentions of oral (female receiving) 

word count: 2.0k

a/n: and we’re back to our regularly scheduled smut. i have a ton of requests so be patient - i will get to it! thank you all for the love and support so far! 

You and your boyfriend, Tom, were strolling through the halls of Hogwarts on your Prefect rounds, enjoying the complete silence of the massive castle. It was rare the halls were this quiet, but late at night tended to be the perfect time to stumble upon echoing walls and corridors where you could hear a pin drop. 

Suddenly, Tom stopped in his tracks and stuck out a hand to stop you as well. “Do you hear that?” He asked in a hush whispering, pointing somewhere off to the left of where both of you stood. 

Following his direction, you turned your head to the left and saw that it was a typically abandoned corridor but you did hear the faint rustle of clothing and distant female giggling. You rolled your eyes and began walking in that direction, already knowing you’d have to break up two young people just wanting to have a bit of fun. It wasn’t that you wanted to spoil their good time, but it was an unspoken rule that if a Prefect caught you, they had no other choice unless they themselves wanted to end up in trouble. 

As you approached, wands drawn in order to cast a lumos charm, Tom put his body in front of you, taking charge. 

“I can handle it,” you whispered, a pout brought to your face. 

He didn’t even stop his movement, just kept walking even as he shot you a smirk. You rolled your eyes in frustration. He did this every time. You were perfectly capable of breaking up two horny teenagers and sending them off to bed, but he always had to be the one in charge. You were growing quite sick of it.

He got there before you and handled the situation with a dominant grace that only he seemed to possess, and he sent the two fifth years scattering on the way back to their respective common rooms. Without even another look in your boyfriends direction, you went stalking the other way and were determinately headed back to the Slytherin common room. 

“Get back here,” he said with a warning in his voice, following you nonetheless. 

“No. I’m going to bed,” you said rather loudly, not faltering in your steps. 

“Oh for the love of Merlin, what’s wrong?” He asked, his long legs giving him the ability to catch up with you. 

“You,” was your bitter reply. 

“Me? What have I done?” He asked incredulously. 

“Yes, you, Tom,” you said, finally halting in your steps and swinging around to face him. “You always have to be the one in charge. I could have easily handled that, like I said, but no. You just had to go and- and-,” you explained, waving your hands animatedly, but you trailed off once you realized this entire conversation was pointless. He wasn’t just going to change his incessant behavior no matter what you said. Besides, the smirk on his face as he looked down at you just proved it was a losing battle. 

“Darling, I hate to burst your bubble but you’ll never be in charge while I’m around. You don’t have to be,” he explained, attempting to be gentle through his cocky demeanor but his words only sent you into another flurry. 

“You want a bet? That I can’t be in charge?” You asked heatedly, your mind already slipping straight into the gutter. 

He paused for a moment, then finally sighed and raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he agreed, “but you only get one chance so don’t mess it up for yourself.” 

~~~

The moment the two of you entered Tom’s private room, your lips were on each other and you took the initiative to slowly back him up into the bed until he had no choice but to sit with you standing before him. His grip on your waist was tight, but you had other plans for his hands anyways. 

The entire walk down to the dungeons, you had been plotting. You needed to prove to him that you could be in charge. Sure, it was nice that you had a boyfriend willing to take charge in all situations and you never had to worry about a thing, but you still felt the incessant need to prove yourself. 

“Take your clothes off and lie on the bed,” you told him when you pulled away from the kiss, attempting to emulate the demeanor he always gave off in situations like this. 

You heard him chuckle to himself, still under the impression that you couldn’t pull this off, but he did as you asked anyways. Finally, he was laying naked on the bed, completely relaxed against the pillows and looking at you expectantly. 

“Do you worst, Y/N,” he jested, his hand moving to trail down to his half erect cock but you stopped him in his tracks. 

“Did I say you could do that?” You asked, holding his wrist in your grip. His eyes darted up to yours and he looked shocked for a moment, but that look in his eyes went away in a flash as the signature smirk came back. 

He put his hand back down on the duvet and you climbed into the bed with him, straddling his legs. When he had been busy undressing, you undressed yourself down to your bra and panties. Little did he know what you had hidden underneath was a matching set. 

“Keep your hands right there. You’re gonna be a good boy for me tonight, right?” You cooed, trailing kisses from his neck down to his abdomen as you spoke. 

“The best,” he shot back with a sarcastic wink and it only made you chuckle to yourself because he truly had no idea what was coming. 

You continued your trail of kisses until you were firmly planted between his legs and your mouth was inches away from his cock. He was fully erect now and could feel your breath against his, making his cock twitch with anticipation. 

“Beg,” you demanded, refusing to touch him until he did at least the bare minimum, only placing kisses on his pelvis and thighs. 

“Please, Y/N. I’d love to cum down your throat right now,” he said lowly, but you could tell the begging was noncommittal. That would change. 

You easily complied, wanting him to think he had the upper hand, and immediately brought him into your mouth. You loved sucking his cock. He was warm and heavy on your tongue, and the noises he made always made you dripping wet. He wasn’t disappointing tonight. 

He released a low groan the second he felt his tip hit the back of your throat and he bucked his hips up, but you pushed the back down with force. You continued your ministrations, just waiting for him to lose himself. When you took him all the way down your throat, he lost it. 

His hands tangled in your hair as he tried to hold you down on him, cutting off your air supply, but you were prepared for this. He loved face fucking you and you knew if you had his mouth on his he just wouldn’t be able to resist. You reached for your wand that was strategically placed beside his leg on the bed and cast a silent spell. Immediately, his hands were removed from your hair and magically tied to the bed frame, locked into place. 

“What the fuck, Y/N?” He asked, seething. 

When you pulled off of his, you could see it in his eyes how angry he was. He didn’t think you had this in you. But how could he be so naive when you had learned from him? The best? 

“Where did I tell you to keep your hands?” You asked him, using one hand to lightly stroke his cock as you spoke. 

“The bed. Fuck. Let me out,” he demanded, struggling against his confines. 

“I don’t think I will,” you answered, suppressing a laugh. “After all, I am in charge.” 

You didn’t even give him a chance to reply, taking him in your mouth again and keeping your hands on his hips to hold them down. He didn’t have much leverage from this angle, so you knew it would be no problem. 

You dragged moan after moan from him, bringing him right to the edge and back down quite a few times until he was a sweating, writhing mess below you. You knew he was frustrated beyond belief, he had done this to you too many times to count. How did he like the taste of his own medicine? 

You weren’t even sure how long it had been going on for, but your jaw was beginning to ache and you were praying to Circe he cracked soon. That non committed begging from earlier was about to be real genuine soon if you had anything to say about it. 

You pulled off of him once more and your eyes snapped to his face. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck, his chest was rapidly expanding and contracting, trying his best to get his breathing back under control, and there was a fury in his eyes so unmatched that you knew you’d be paying for this later. 

“Tell me what you want, Tom. Beg for it. Be a good boy for me, yeah?” You instructed, your hands massaging small circles into his tense thighs, willing him to relax into it. 

You could see the conflict in his face. He didn’t want to concede to you, wanting to prove his own point that you couldn’t, or shouldn’t have to be, in charge around him. But you knew how badly he wanted to cum. He cock was flushed such a dark shade of red that you were sure it had to hurt by now. He was aching for it, aching for you to get him there and let him cum in your mouth. 

“Fucking hell. Please, Y/N, let me fucking cum. Please,” he said breathlessly, his whole body limp against the bed as he stared up at you imploringly. 

A rush of power shot through, knowing you deny him so easily in the moment - leave him tied up and begging and wanting and aching. If you kept this up for much longer you know you’d end up on some sort of power trip. You knew he was letting you have this, letting you have his submission, but it still felt so damn good. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You asked with a gleeful grin before immediately getting back to work, your sights set on getting him the release he had begged for. 

“Fuck. Please don’t be cruel. Let me cum Y/N,” he continued to babble when he felt the warmth of your mouth again, his mind lost to the pleasure his body was feeling. 

That only made you work harder, wanting to show him a shred of mercy for the night he had endured. After all, he was a good boy for you throughout most of it. 

His entire body tenses again right before he exploded into your mouth was a loud groan. His body trembled as warm ropes of cum shot down your throat and onto your tonugue. You suckled greedily from the head, getting every last drop out, until he was squirming against the sheets. When you finally came up, he was still breathing heavily and his head was thrown back against the pillows. 

You crawled up the bed to lay beside him, looking over his body in appreciation. He was glistening from sweat and completely still now other than his breathing. 

“Are you going to let me out now?” He asked bitterly, attempting to move his hands from the ties as he looked over at you. 

“Oh c’mon. You know that was fun. And besides, I think I’d like to sit on your face next,” you said with a giggle, watching his face fall into another shocked expression. You would forever remember this night as a lesson well taught.

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: both non-sexual and sexual pet play, dom!jimin, sub!jk, sub!tae, handjob, yoongi and yn pretending like they don't wanna suck the souls out of each other, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mutual masturbation

A/N: welcome back to my best boys ;;;;-; this chapter is being cross-posted from ao3. in the future i'll try and upload in both places at the same time!

DAY TWENTY-THREE

It’s two blocks of pure ice that wake Taehyung up that Tuesday morning. Before he’s even really coherent, he’s hissing and tucking into a ball away from the cold.

“Puppy, shh, it’s just me.”

Even as those chilled items that Tae can tentatively identify as feet tuck between his bare legs, he goes lax and accepts the body that wraps around his curled back. “Minnie,” he mumbles, and it’s so quiet that the older boy probably doesn’t hear, but his grip tightens anyway. “‘What time ‘s it?”

“Early, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s voice, unlike his thawing toes, blows warm across the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Missed you.”

A sleepy smile of bliss crosses Taehyung’s face for exactly three seconds, at which point he recalls the fact that he didn’t go to sleep alone tonight. Shooting up so quickly that his shoulder catches Jimin’s chin, Taehyung peels his eyes open to see Jungkook, awkwardly hugging a pillow to his chest with his legs crossed.

He bites his lip, avoiding their gazes. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t mean to disturb.”

“Shoot.” Jimin rubs his face blearily. “I didn’t see you there, Jungkookie. I should go-”

“No, no, stay,” Taehyung begs hurriedly, launching himself back onto the mattress and wiggling himself back into the curve of Jimin’s front. “Jungkook, um, you can come cuddle too if you want. I like being middle spoon.”

The youngest gazes back and forth at them, never resting long enough for eye contact. His indecision is palpable, but there’s a pleased glimmer too. “Is that...okay with Jimin-hyung? I don’t wanna intrude.”

Jimin’s voice is soft, his eyes slipping closed as he eases his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, arms snaking around his torso. “You can be a part of us too, Jungkookie.”

The words are perhaps more intimate than Jimin even realises, and in the vulnerable setting of a bed in the early morning hours, Jungkook’s hard swallow is audible, before he slowly puts the pillow aside and tucks his feet under the covers, slipping down. It’s not until Taehyung’s arm is his headrest and the other one provides a comforting weight low on his hips that he speaks up again. “Do you… do you mean that just for now, or… Or for good?”

“What do you think, Minnie?” Taehyung’s fingertips trace lazily over the bare skin that’s exposed by Jungkook’s shirt riding up. “Can we keep him?”

Jimin hums in affirmation. He’s just about asleep again, but Taehyung can feel his pleased smile against his shoulder. “Of course we can, puppy.”

The repeated nickname causes Taehyung’s heart to twitch just as his dick does. It’s no less endearing and special, but Jungkook is still perfectly awake and right there, and it feels a little confronting.

But Jungkook just chuckles, twisting around in Taehyung’s slack embrace to face him, eyes bright. “If you’re a puppy, what am I?”

Taehyung’s careful not to jostle Jimin. He’s begun snoring, nothing more audible than regular snuffling, but still Tae doesn’t want to disturb that rest. “What do you mean, Jungkookie?”

He scrunches his nose, thinking away. “Well, there’s Minnie and there’s puppy. I want a cute nickname too if I’m gonna be - you know - with you guys.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung begins haltingly, “Jimin calls me puppy because… God, it feels silly saying it out loud. He calls me puppy because sometimes when we’re together I go into puppyspace. You know; like petplay.”

“That’s not silly,” Jungkook says reflexively, even as his eyes widen and lips part. “What’s it like?”

“Puppyspace?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook nods eagerly, and the motion is transferred through Tae where they connect, making Jimin grunt and bury his nose deeper into the crook of his neck. “It’s so peaceful, Jungkookie. He takes care of me so I don’t have to think. I can nap and cuddle and play, without all of the stresses of life. It feels all warm and cosy, you know? I love it.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in wonder, his fingers finding their way to Taehyung’s worn black sleepshirt, fiddling with the hem. “Can I try? How do you… how do you know if you can do it?”

Behind Taehyung, Jimin lets out a half-asleep groan, his nose pressing against the taller one’s back. “Of course you can try. Let’s just sleep for now, though? I’m sure Minnie can play with both of us later.”

It’s that promise that allows Jungkook to settle, nodding with a tentative hum and shifting down so that his head can rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung falls back under like this, with a heartbeat thrumming against his back and soft, even breaths tickling his bared shoulder.

--

“Hobi?”

Hoseok pauses, frothed toothbrush clamped between his teeth. “Mmng?”

“I don’t-” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat to dislodge the thickness that distorts your voice. “Can we not tell them?”

He bends over to quickly spit out the majority of toothpaste, but when he stands upright to face you again there’s a smear on his chin. “Tell them what?”

You blink. “Last night. I just… I don’t want them to- to pity me or treat me like I’m glass or anything. I know it won’t happen again, it was just…” Shrugging hopelessly, you give up on trying to put words to it. “I don’t know.”

The dom remains silent for a few moments, lips pursed in thought. “The chicken must have been bad,” he concludes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. “Huh? What chicken?”

“You and I went out for dinner at this fried chicken place, but when you got home last night it made you sick. That’s why you aren’t quite yourself today. I’ll get Yoongi-hyung to make some hangover soup.” His eyes are warm, pulling you into a comforting one-armed hug. “Just the chicken, that’s all. Yeah?”

You swallow down the swell of gratitude and instead bury yourself into his safe embrace. “Yeah. That’s all.”

To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t ask questions, pushing all his concern into his cooking. The doctor all but feeds you himself, hovering with a furrowed brow and a napkin. Strangely enough, his fussing goes a long way in cheering you up, and you let the events of yesterday wash away with the salty broth.

Hoseok hangs around for a while before going down to do some laundry, Namjoon briefly jumps in to steal a spoonful directly from the pan, eyes never leaving the novel he’s holding open with a single hand. Even Jungkook stumbles in blearily at one point, nose first, requesting an extra two bowls for Jimin and Taehyung as well.

You’re onto your second serving by the time it’s just Yoongi and you. He’s pulled up a chair beside you, cradling a coffee. “I got a text this morning, you know,” he begins gently. “I can ignore it if you’re not up to it.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, recalling Sejin’s instructions the day prior. “It’s your day, then?” He nods silently, scanning you for any reaction. You hum, spoon swirling lazily in the dregs of your breakfast. “I’m up to it,” you answer finally, “if you are.”

“Always,” Yoongi replies immediately, voice bared and soft. His hand passes over yours, squeezing briefly, before he stands up and clears the bowls from the table. “Aspirin is in the pantry if you need it, blue container.”

You give him your thanks, left alone as he disappears upstairs.

Grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, you track down the aspirin and take out two tablets, grimacing as the bitterness sticks to your tongue. While you may not actually be sick, a headache was beginning to bloom between your brows.

So much had happened in the past few days, you almost felt like you’d gotten whiplash. The early days of lounging around the house and chasing pleasure seemed so distant. Feelings tangled things up more each day, unraveling quicker than you can get a hold on them.

It wasn’t just you, either. You saw the way the guys looked at each other, how gentle they were, how thoughtful. It was in the little things. Jungkook’s laundry pile started featuring clothes from the other maknaes; Namjoon and Hoseok always sat so close together, even when there was room on the couch; Yoongi had started giving the others bigger portions when he cooked, even as his stayed the same. And Jin…

You startle when a door opens, glass almost slipping from your hands. It’s the unfilmed room across the stairs. You frown as a tall figure slips out, swamped in a massive pink hoodie that you’d never seen in the house before. A sleeve-covered hand reaches up to rub under the hood, dark hair poking out. Your breath catches. Jin…

He moves across the hall gingerly like his body aches, hand never leaving his face as he grumbles sleepily. For a split second, your mind entertains the thought of sprinting past before he sees you, avoiding the conflict that is no doubt upon you.

But only for a split second. Because the only thing worse than being confronted by him is not seeing him at all. You wait, instead, until he rolls his shoulders back, tipping his face to the ceiling to stretch out his spine. The hood falls back, exposing a serious case of bedhead, tired eyes, and sallow skin. But it’s Jin nonetheless, beautiful despite his apparent exhaustion, and your heart breaks again for being the one to cause this.

He notices you when his head comes back down from the stretch, and were you not in such despair you may have cracked a smile at the way he jumps. “Y/n…” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

Your mouth goes dry. Even if it wasn’t you don’t know what to say, simply bracing yourself for anger.

He doesn’t stiffen his features, however, simply watching you with melancholy eyes. “You look sad,” he says weakly.

Your heart is racing a hundred beats a second at just hearing him speak to you, and it takes you that much time just to process his words, eyes pricking sharply. “I am sad,” you reply honestly, blinking the wetness away. “You look tired,” you whisper in return.

His bottom lip trembles, before flattening tightly. Instead of responding verbally, he just nods.

The two of you sit in that silence for a while. Jin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes unfocused as they slip past you. You think you might be sick with the way your stomach flips.

Finally, you can’t stand the silence. “Are you still mad at-” you begin, but your words die in your throat as you’re enveloped tightly by him, clutching you so close that your chest constricts. The tensed breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a sob, and your arms fly up to hug him back, just as tightly.

There’s nothing more than just a simple hug, but your heart is still full, almost overwhelmed by the cathartic relief of having him close to you again, his chin resting on the crown of your head, his hands rubbing circles on your back, the gentle sway as he rocks you in the hold.

It lasts for an eternity too short, and when he pulls away you feel untethered, already pining for that contact again.

His eyes are swimming, though you see the way he tightens his jaw to hold it back. “I’m devastated,” he admits, “but I miss you too much to ice you out like this. I need time but god, I don’t want space. Can you give me time?”

You’re nodding hastily, sniffing as your nose threatens to run. “Of course, Jin. I’ll be here. I… I think I-”

“Don’t-” he interrupts sharply, sucking in a shaky breath. “Don’t let now be the first time we say it. Later,” he promises.

We. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, electricity thrumming along your nerves. You let that word settle you, repeating it in your head as Jin sends you a sad smile - but a smile nonetheless - and takes his leave, disappearing upstairs.

You decide to take a bath, in the end, letting yourself soak in the thought of “we” a little longer.

--

“So, what, we start barking? Chew on some sticks?”

Taehyung colours violently and Jimin sends Jungkook a sharp glare in rebuke. “Say less,” he scolds the youngest, before reaching up to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, breaking up the curls. “We just ease into it. Taehyung doesn’t use it for humiliation or anything like that, he just likes being taken care of. Isn’t that right, pup?”

Taehyung hums, eyes already fluttering as he leans his head into Jimin’s palm. The three of them had migrated onto Taehyung’s now-made bed after their breakfast after Jungkook once again mentioned wanting to try petplay.

Significantly larger than Jimin, Taehyung has to awkwardly shuffle down the mattress further to rest his head in Jimin’s lap, but Jungkook can immediately see the lines of stress that melt away once he does so. Jimin smooths his hand down to cup the younger’s chin, delicately stroking the soft flesh as if he were patting a sleepy dog.

“You’ll just watch for now,” Jimin instructs Jungkook without removing his gaze from Taehyung, “and if it feels right, you can join in. There are no expectations and no rules, only to respect the process and don’t disrupt Tae’s petspace. Got it?”

Jungkook swallows as Jimin chooses that point to lift his steeled gaze, brows high as he waits for Jungkook to agree. “Got it,” the youngest confirms. He gets comfy, tucking his feet under him and leaning up against the pillows.

“Such a lucky boy,” the dom begins with his voice like melted sugar. “Dogs aren’t meant to be up on the furniture. But you’ve been good lately, so I thought I’d treat you.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed. He shuffles slightly, stretching one leg out until his ankle dangles off the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t audibly respond.

Jimin chuckles fondly through his nose, hand running down to rub up and down Taehyung’s clothed tummy, which is now facing upwards. “Oh, pup,” he coos, “you must be tired after the big walk. How about we rest for a bit, and we can play later?” Instead of waiting for a response, the dom just gasps like he’s forgotten something important. “Oh! Your collar! I must’ve taken it off when I took off the leash. Never mind; Jungkook, dear, could you get me the brush and collar out of the bedside table? Bottom drawer.”

It feels like the very particles in the air shift when Jungkook is ripped away from the observer role and into an active participant. He swallows away the dryness in his throat to little avail and nods, fumbling with the drawer handle and pulling out a barely-used hairbrush and velvet dog collar. “These?” he asks redundantly, nerves settling when Jimin gives him a pleased smile and holds out his hand.

“Alright, little puppy,” Jimin announces, his voice lilting easily back into the candyfloss tone that all owners used with their pets. “Let’s give you a brush before we put your collar back on. I don’t want your coat getting matted.”

Taehyung gives a small, throaty hum and lifts himself laboriously up onto his elbows, tipping his head up to his master. Jimin pats his cheek warmly and calls him a good boy, and Jungkook gets a front row seat to the beautiful sight of a sleepy, lusty Kim Taehyung going pink in the face, a shy smile twitching his lip.

‘Brushing his coat’ is just brushing his hair, but even Jungkook can see that the technique is slightly different. Jimin does it slowly, methodically, line by line from the front to the back, then reaching around to the nape of his neck to give it a good brushing there - Taehyung all but shivers at each swoop of the brush - even folding down each ear when he goes past. Watching it is nothing short of mesmerising, and Jungkook feels his spine tingle, wanting to feel it too.

Was it too soon to join? He could always ask for the brush later, he decided. Though even as he reached that conclusion, the thought was slipping out of his mind sand through fingers, hazier and hazier the more he listened to Jimin’s lull tone and watched his patient movements.

“There we go,” the dom whispers, passing the brush over one last time to settle all the curls in their rightful place, “much better now. Chin up, pup; time for your collar.”

Taehyung’s chin lifts the minutest of degrees. Jimin waits for a moment, but the brown-haired boy looks almost like he’s falling asleep on the spot, swaying slightly as his elbows prop him up.

“Silly me,” Jimin tuts with a smile, reaching out to manually adjust Taehyung how he wants him. “Doggies can’t understand human words, can they?” Like a proud parent, he turns to Jungkook, grin widening as he sees the state the boy is in. “I am trying to teach Tae-tae some commands. Sit, lie down, wait. Suck. He’s getting better.”

With that, the dom grabs the collar off the duvet and fiddles with the buckle, undoing it so that he can wrap it carefully around Taehyung’s neck. The process reminds Jungkook much of what happened when his parents put a collar on his childhood dog: slipping a finger under the material to test how snug it was, shifting it around until the small dangling pendant was to the front, giving it a little tug to ensure the buckle was on right.

At the gentle tug, Taehyung practically topples, going lax with his face down on Jimin’s thigh and snuggling down, breaths even. Jimin doesn’t comment on it, simply humming in acknowledgement and returning to softly stroking his back and shoulders. But he does glance over to Jungkook again, eyes glinting. “Do you wanna come a little closer, hm?”

At the invitation, Jungkook almost trips himself scooting over, wrapping his arms around one of Jimin’s and holding it to his chest. Seeing the tender moment shared between Taehyung and Jimin had made him feel positively touch-starved, desperate to feel some of that sweet attention.

Jimin’s eyes widen in bemusement before twisting his hand in Jungkook’s grip and giving his stomach a little scratch. “Goodness me, little energizer bunny, huh?”

Jungkook whines, recognising that higher-pitched voice. He was being talked to like a pet, and the thought made his insides hot. He presses his face against Jimin’s shoulder, feeling the heat on his skin there too.

“No need to get all shy on me now, bun,” Jimin teases. “I’ve already seen that little friend in your pants. Well, I suppose he’s not that little.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s one, wanting to rock his hips up to feel some friction. He just squirms instead, hoping his need is answered. “Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin sucks in a breath. “Can this bunny speak, hm?”

Jungkook blinks, the furnace inside him cooling for a moment. “Am I not… supposed to?”

“I’m not telling you off, I’m asking,” Jimin explains softly, cocking his head down at the potentially-sleeping Taehyung in his lap. “Tae-tae likes to be non-verbal. It’s just preference. Would you rather keep speaking?”

After a moment of thought, Jungkook nods, then props his chin up, sending Jimin his best puppy eyes. “Minnie, I need you,” he pleads in a small voice, writhing against him again.

Jungkook’s fingers curl when Jimin’s hand dips lower suddenly, grasping his length from over the fabric of his sleep shorts. The pleasure is like a bolt that shocks his whole body, and when Jimin strokes him once, the texture of the fabric increasing the friction, the guttural sound that falls from his lips is more animal than human.

Jimin just smiles placidly, patting the throbbing heat once. “Does it hurt, bun? Want me to make it go away?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook’s breath is shallow with excitement. This feels like new territory, relying fully on Jimin to relieve the ache, too helpless, too stupid to do anything about it himself, just a dumb bunny with a generous owner.

“You’re drooling, bun,” Jimin points out, voice raspy with arousal. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook feels fingers at the elastic band of his shorts before Jimin withdraws. He whines, a pout threatening to form, but the dom just runs his fingers and palm over Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Then, when his hand delves in and grips Jungkook, he’s slick with Jungkook’s own drool, the slide wet and hot and electric.

He moans, but saliva won’t stop gathering in the hollows of his mouth. It’s like it’s impossible to close it at all, every firm, purposeful stroke making it harder to do that basic function.

“Noisy boy,” Jimin scolds, though there’s no venom to his tone. “You might wake the puppy up, bun.”

With a strangled groan, Jungkook’s head flops down, his teeth banging against Jimin’s shoulder. A thought floats across his dazed mind, of pressing his teeth into skin, lovebites to colour the bronze.

But his teeth don’t sink into flesh. Fabric fills his mouth. Jimin’s shirt. His teeth don’t stop, though. On the contrary, he chews on the cotton, letting it muffle the sounds he can’t help but make.

“Oh, good boy,” Jimin praises warmly, his hand speeding up mercilessly to pitch Jungkook over the edge. There’s no foreplay, no kisses or teasing touches. His hard cock is a problem that his master is kind enough to solve, that Minnie-hyung is making go away, and he won’t stop until his bunny has finally-

When Jungkook comes, his whole body feels it like an earthquake. Every muscle jerks, pulses so that his toes curl and his core trembles, the drool soaking the fabric of Jimin’s shirt now until he feels it run down his own neck, blubbering through the waves of it.

Jimin slows down after the first burst of cum, but doesn’t stop, only tightening his grip like he’s milking every last drop out.

Once the tides of pleasure have dipped back down again, Jungkook goes boneless, whimpering until the hand finally leaves his softening, oversensitive cock.

He’s panting, all of his body weight on Jimin to stay upright, and it takes a few moments for his senses to properly return to him, his heart still beating erratically in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Jimin giggles elfishly, before reaching up to tap on Jungkook’s bottom lip with wet fingers. “You made such a mess, little bunny. Clean it up, now.”

Jungkook welcomes the digits, blinking blearily as the bitter tang of his own cum fills his mouth. He sucks Jimin’s fingers clean two at a time, swirling his tongue between them dutifully. It isn’t until he’s done and Jimin is praising him that he restores enough energy to sit up again.

Across from him, Jimin peels the soaking wet sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder, laughing softly in good humour even as his brows furrow at the weird feeling. Before Jungkook can offer up an apology, Jimin is stripping it off entirely, chucking it away and rubbing at his now-bared chest. “Much better,” he muses to himself. After a moment of letting Jungkook clear his head, Jimin turns to him, his dry hand returning to lazily card through Taehyung’s curls. “How was it, Jungkook?”

“Uh,” Jungkook replies eloquently, feeling the way his cock still throbs every few seconds in aftershocks. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jimin states proudly, before sending Jungkook a serious gaze. “We’ll talk later, yeah? When your dick isn’t hanging out.”

Jungkook flushes, scrambles to tuck himself away, and the movement jostles the bed enough that Taehyung groans, craning his neck up with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

The two sitting on the bed go silent. Jimin cocks his head to the side and cups Taehyung’s cheek. “Were you- Tae-tae, did you just have a nap in the middle of the scene?”

Taehyung beams sleepily, eyes still lidded. “Mm.”

“Tae! Are you out of petspace now?”

“Think so.” With a dramatically loud cry, Taehyung reaches an arm up into a deep, arching stretch, rubbing at his eyes once he’s done. “Mm, yeah, definitely. My foot has kinda gone dead too.”

As Taehyung sits up to rub at his foot, pressing his thumbs into the muscle, Jimin’s shoulders sink with a deep pout. “Tae-tae,” he whines again, “you know I like playing with puppy.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replies easily, though it doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest, “I guess I just wanted to destress more than anything. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Jimin’s face softens, his complaints dissolved at Taehyung’s words. Without a verbal reply, he just reaches out, hooks his finger on the neckline of Taehyung’s shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss, humming into it slightly.

The movements, the touches are so natural and intimate that Jungkook feels like he’s intruding. It only lasts a moment before they break apart to go shower, but it’s enough time to sear the sight behind Jungkook’s eyelids. Maybe he’d been allowed to join them in their scenes, even cuddle with them, but he wasn’t a part of that bond that tied Jimin and Taehyung so strongly together. The thought sinks in his stomach, and he decides to skip the shower, getting dressed instead for a long workout downstairs.

--

When you knock on his door, Yoongi is at his desk, a pair of black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He glances up, an eyebrow lifting in mild surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You muffle a smile at his domestic getup - a grey t-shirt hangs off, far too big for him but outlining his chest and strong shoulders nonetheless, and his long black sweatpants all but cover his bare feet, toes tapping the carpet unconsciously as he waits for your reply. “I’ve been informed that today is your day.”

“Ah, checking in to the Fuck Hotel, I see,” he quips casually, slipping his glasses of and shutting the lid of the laptop he was working on. “We do have one vacancy.”

“Is that so?” you say, unable to stop your grin as he stands up from his office chair and rolls his head back like an athlete warming up.

“Comes with a continental breakfast,” he assures, before ducking his head with a sheepish chuckle. “God, hyung is becoming a bad influence on my sense of humour.” With slightly pink cheeks, he stretches out a hand towards you, before jerking it back and freezing, fingers curled and tensed. “Wait. Shit.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“Hm. I just remembered my prompt, is all.” He takes a step back with a thoughtful furrow of his brows, clenching his hands into fists and putting them behind himself. “Dammit, I was meant to think of a game plan but I got distracted sorting out- uh- client emails.”

“Was this a bad time?” you ask with a light laugh, even as you cast a guilty glance towards the laptop. A month in and he was still doing work?

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s just…” Wincing, Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck and takes another step back, gesturing down at himself, and at the messy work desk. “I’m not in sexy mode yet. I look like a stay-at-home dad trying to work out how to order groceries online while my toddler is finally having her 2pm nap.”

You pause before an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “Okay, first of all, I think stay-at-home dads are very sexy, and I happen to think that you are very sexy. Secondly, ‘her?’ Why was that whole analogy so specific?”

Yoongi huffs defensively, petulantly throwing himself down to sit on the bed with his legs splayed wide. “I used to have a life plan, okay? But that’s not relevant now. The point is, I haven’t worked out how to do a good scene. I don’t want to it to be disappointing. Or, god forbid, boring.”

Your frown just deepens. “It doesn’t need to be an elaborate setup, Yoongi. Just fuck me. Touch me, at least. I can’t believe we’re still both wearing all our clothes when I’ve been very explicit about my intentions.”

You don’t miss the wince that flutters across his face. “That’s kinda the issue. Touching you, I mean.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

“I-” Yoongi all but stomps his foot, teeth clenching in frustration. “Of course I fucking want to, but I have to stick to my prompt, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open. “So your prompt is that we can’t even touch each other? Doesn’t exactly sound very appealing for a porn show.”

He clicks his tongue. “You can still touch me,” he corrects with a dry gaze.

Unconvinced, you narrow your eyes. “Isn’t that convenient?” you question rhetorically. “Gonna make me do all the work this week because you haven’t organised it in your planner yet, Doctor Min?”

He glares at your teasing tone. “Excuse me for trying to play the game properly.” You swallow as his eyes run down your body heavily, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “If I could touch you, trust me, I’d have you dripping by now.”

Your thighs tighten, but you force them not to move. The last thing you want him to know is that you’re just about dripping already. “Sounds to me like you’re just lazy.” He doesn’t react, watching you make up your mind. You suck in a breath to hype yourself. “If I walk away right now, you’ll get nothing. Not only will you lose your prompt, but you’ll be stuck with blue balls. But if you give in and fuck me already, then you’ll only lose the prompt.”

“Who says I’ll even have blue balls? I’m perfectly comfortable,” he fires back immediately, tipping his head to the side cockily.

“Oh, please,” you drawl, letting your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge beneath his sweatpants, “you aren’t that big soft. Don’t kid yourself. So do you wanna get off, or not?”

His gaze hardens to stone, jaw flexing. “I’m surprised you think I need you for that. Aside from the fact that there are six other people in this house, I brought a fleshlight from home for a reason.”

Now that is something you hadn’t expected him to say. You freeze from your spot in the doorway, feeling heat pulse between your legs. Your spark of resistance is quickly fading, overtaken by need, so you don’t hesitate in firing back while you can. “If you think your fleshlight is better than me, then that’s your loss. Enjoy the bunkbeds; I’m off to do what you’re too cowardly to.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he snips, one of his hands sneaking under his shirt to rub his lower abdomen, fingers slipping below the hem of his sweats. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Feeling like you’ve lost the argument (and a little too horny to care) you have your final say by slamming it, thumping your feet with every step down the hall to your room.

Once inside, it takes mere seconds to throw yourself onto your bed back-first and shove your hand down your pants. But then, before you even dip into your wetness, a thought strikes you.

Pulling your hand out and making your way to your desk, you use your other hand to clumsily type in your password, and open a browser. It doesn’t take long to navigate to the page with all the paid streams for your own show, and with a slight flush you select Yoongi’s bedroom, impatiently punching in your credit card details.

After an agonising wait, the payment is processed and you’re brought to a private livestreaming site, a single window open in front of you.

The angle itself is strange, making Yoongi’s room look larger than it was, but you’re surprised at just how high quality the video and sound is once you bring it to full screen and slip your headphones in your ears. Yoongi is hunched over his nightstand, and you can actually hear the wooden slide faintly in the background as he opens and closes a drawer, returning to his office chair with a seemingly-transparent fleshlight and a bottle of lube.

Something about watching him through a camera in the corner of his room feels so wrong, especially as he palms impatiently at the tent in his pants, uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount into the opening of the toy. You’d never been much of a voyeur - or, at least, so you thought - but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, blinding slipping your hands down your pants but over your underwear, simply pressing down on your clit to ease some of the crying need.

Oddly, the lube pours down and begins to drip out the other side, creating a dark patch on his clothed thigh. The audio picks up Yoongi cursing, and there’s no further preamble before he’s using one hand to hook down his sweatpants and kick them off to pool on the floor. The motion causes his cock to jerk up onto his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his grey shirt, visible only by a few pixels of darker grey.

He scoots a little down the seat of the chair and hitches a leg up over one of the arms, eyes slipping closed as the hand not holding the dripping fleshlight grips his own cock, thumb pressing at the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans lowly, the sound running through your headphones and straight down between your legs. His brows are furrowed like it’s almost paining him, but he hovers the opening of the fleshlight over his tip as if he’s trying to hold back.

Slowly, he lowers the toy down one inch at a time, until the lube is drooling over his cock. Finally, the transparent toy slips down over his cock and his hips jump off the chair, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair and the fleshlight as he growls and lifts it back off again.

The sight of him intentionally teasing himself is too erotic for you to stay unmoving, and you find yourself burning up, losing the headphones for a moment to shuffle out of your own clothes. You hurry as much as you can, grimacing at your sopping panties, but by the time you’re back in your chair with nothing but a bra and tuning back into the stream, Yoongi’s not even focused on his toy anymore.

It sits propped up on his thigh, with two of his fingers lazily, almost absentmindedly thrusting deeply inside of it to keep it steady as the rest of him swivels in his chair to open his laptop again.

You frown and squint at the tiny screen on the stream. Rows of fuzzy squares stack up, and while you can’t be certain the phallic shapes of some of the miniscule images inside them make you think he was on a sex toy website.

He quickly opens a new tab, however, and your heart begins to beat nervously as a familiar page comes up. One you’d been on just earlier.

With bated breath you wait, hands grasping at the meat of your thighs and clothed breast to hold off on touching between your legs just yet. Yoongi navigates the Bangasm page, going through the same payment process you did.

It isn’t until you’re met with a miniature version of your own room on his screen that you realise what’s happened. And it’s when Yoongi squints and leans in closer, before turning to face the camera directly with a bewildered look, that you know you’ve been caught.

Frozen, you watch the on-screen, Yoongi look back and forth twice, before slowly scooting his chair back on an angle to the table, so that the laptop is in eyeshot even as his body is facing the camera fully.

Your mouth is dry, but the fleshlight he picks up again is wet, so wet that his fingers glisten, almost slipping off the toy entirely. He holds it tightly, transferring it to his dominant hand and teasing the top over his tip, biting hard on his lip.

The squeeze you have on your thigh is almost painful as your core burns, but you’re too stunned still to move, watching him dance the opening of the fleshlight over his cock, never dipping it inside.

With a twitching grin and lusty eyes, he glances towards the laptop. Your whole body feels hot as you glance over your shoulder to the camera in your room, before looking back at the screen. He’s not moving, chest visibly heaving even as he stares patiently at the computer screen.

He’s… waiting for you.

With one strangled breath, you tilt your chair away from the desk, adjusting your own laptop in a similar setup to him. Eyes locked on the stream, terrified you’ll miss a single moment of him indulging himself, you let your fingers uncurl from your inner thigh and trail them down, wasting no time in automatically locating your clit, massaging around the small bud.

Pleasure flows through you like hot water, down to your toes. After holding out for so long, after being so aroused for so long, the simplest touch has your knees weak and your head lolled back against the headrest.

On screen, Yoongi’s grin widens, and he rewards you by lowering the fleshlight, the clear silicone making way for the tip of his cock. He doesn’t stop there like last time, though; instead, he slowly but surely plunges it all the way down until it’s flush with his pelvis. Your eyes fly open when the flushed head pops out the other side, and Yoongi clearly enjoys it too judging by the way he curses and grips it tight, practically panting.

Without really intending, your fingers dip down and slip inside, two already. You barely feel a stretch with how wet you are. Although the feeling of something inside you is nice, you know your fingers just aren’t enough, especially with the angle of you slumped back in your chair.

So, you chance one look back at the screen - Yoongi is using the tip of one finger to spread his precum around the glossed tip of his cock, but his eyes are firmly locked onto you - and walk on shaky legs to your closet, where an unassuming (and so far unused) black silk bag lies amongst your shoes.

The amount of time it takes for you to duck into the bathroom and quickly wash the silicone vibrator you have with soapy water feels like an eternity, and by the time you hurry back it isn’t the toy that’s vibrating.

Frowning, you hesitantly answer the call that’s coming through on your phone from a familiar contact.

Yoongi’s voice immediately fills the room as the pixelated version on the screen rests his phone on the side of his desk, not jerking but twisting the fleshlight in slow arcs around his cock. “Couldn’t get enough of me, hm?”

“Says the one calling me,” you offer back lightly, switching onto speaker mode so that you can settle back in your chair, “enjoying the view?”

“A little too uneventful for me yet, sweetheart,” he teases, and his breathy groan is timed with the Yoongi on the stream lifting the fleshlight up a little and plunging it down again. “How about you put that toy in your pretty little pussy for me. For us.”

You feel your core pulse at the reminder that it wasn’t just Yoongi on the stream. Any number of anonymous strangers could be tuned in right now, seeing you with your legs spread.

The only way to cope is to lean into it instead of shying away. You slide the black silicone toy through your folds to slick it up, sighing with every light pass over your clit. Once it’s as wet as you are, you press the slightly bulbous tip down until it slips inside you, immediately shivering at the feeling.

The toy is small enough that you don’t need any special prep, yet big enough that it was satisfying, and curved just right. It had been your old reliable long before coming on the show, and there’s something strangely familiar and comforting about feeling it fill you out as you push it in deeper.

“Fuck, there we go,” Yoongi praises, and you hear the wet smacking noise of him snapping his hips up into the toy. “I may not be able to touch you, but you’ll still call my name when you cum for me.”

Your toes curl, and you’re no longer able to focus on the stream, letting your eyes fall shut and your ears tune in to his voice alone as you work the toy in and out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time in joining you, and the resulting sounds that fill your room are obscene, him making no effort to muffle the gravelled curses and moans, nor the wet thwack of silicone that gives away his movements.

The noise is somehow even more thrilling than the sight, and the feeling of his eyes on you encourages you to speed your hand up, even reaching down to desperately rub at your clit with the flat of your fingers, shivering at the wave of pleasure that wracks through your body.

It’s not long before you hear Yoongi’s voice turn guttural and the pace of the flesh light pick up frantically.

You wrench your eyes open and gaze blearily at the computer screen just in time to watch the stream of white that spills up through the back end of the fleshlight and over Yoongi’s knuckles. As hot as the image is, you whine at being made to watch this through the pixels instead of in real life, and the thought of being right fucking across from him as he fell apart is enough to make you seize up in your chair, orgasm draining you thoroughly, with not enough force to squirt but dripping on the seat nonetheless.

You take the toy out once pleasure turns to the sharp tweak of oversensitivity and pant, fighting to catch your breath as your feet feel positively numb.

Coming down from your high, you almost forget the running phone call until you hear his voice come through the speaker again. “Have a shower and then come back down to my room. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

The beeping tone leaves you alone in your room, and you loll your head back over the edge of the chair with an exhausted moan, not without a grin playing on your lips. You wouldn’t protest to that.