#<- not really ?? but I did spend a chunk of time on this

[crabussy]

they are very gorgeous to me

[mx-paint]

I think some of y'all have different definitions of what the word "realistic" means...

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

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summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[starry-bi-sky]

FIRST OFF, this inspired me to draw more ras danyal so:

(that last one says 'someone left the (non)local teen cult leader unsupervised. now he has swords :)' for anyone who can't read my chicken scratch handwriting)

i know Ras Danyal isn't TECHNICALLY the LoA leader in his world (since LoA doesn't exist) but 'teen cult leader' felt much snappier and funnier than 'teen cult leader (but not actually)' did. Plus I think it'd be hilarious if one of the heroes saw Danny with swords post-finding out he's a Ras variant and going; 'WHY DOES THE TEENAGE CULT LEADER HAVE SWORDS.'

SECOND OFF: MAN this is so cinematic. Madly in love with it. Like!!! AaaaaAAAA!! I can totally imagine this shot being like, from the start of a movie. I can just imagine the camera panning from a wide environment shot to Danny racing through the streets of the town/village. Maybe if we're feeling bold it could be him hopping from rooftop to rooftop between the close-together buildings. Really fancy cinematic parkour stuff.

It gives us a good shot of the village, which is full of life and vibrant with people and plantlife. It's built into the side of a mountain so Nanda Parbat is pretty secluded from everywhere else, but it's so nice and pretty. Ras Danyal loves visiting Nanda Parbat in the summers, and he was genuinely upset that they missed going one year because of the portal. He has close friends here just as he does back in Amity.

The cinematic shot ends with Danny dropping down from somewhere into a roll, and then popping back up while laughing. He's down at the plaza-area, where the rest of his friends are, and he's slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear.

"There you are, Ras!" His friend Maryam calls, and he jogs over to her and the others. "You're the last one."

"Sorry, I was looking around." Ras Danny says, still smiling and not sounding all that apologetic. "Had to see if anything changed since I was last here."

And you're right, he probably DID say something stupid like that. Slung both his arms around his other two friends Rahim and Ahsan and said with a sly smile, "With everything going on in Amity? I'm planning for a quiet summer here in Nanda." and forgot to knock on wood.

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

[burgojo]

PRIMADONNA. GOJO SATORU / M!READER

summary. the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach – in more than one way.

wc. 9k

tags. smut | dom top reader, sub bottom gojo, husbands gojo/reader, teacher reader. anniversary sex, "sir" for reader + "puppy" for gojo, oral (r. receiving), praise + degradation (gojo receiving), humping, riding, light s/m, bondage (wrists), overstimulation + multiple orgasms (gojo), belly bulge + size kink, crying, off-screen gojo in lingerie

"Satoru."

You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

"If I don't get delayed, I'll be returning at night after my mission. It's a long plane ride back, so don't stay up for me, alright?"

Satoru was miffed, to say the least. How dare they steal away his husband on such short notice? You barely had time to pack a suitcase. And worst of all? It coincided with your anniversary.

For the first time in ten years, he would be spending that day alone. He wanted to be angry – angry at those spineless geezers cooped up in that musty room – but all he could really feel was disappointment. You'd been an anchor for so long that he felt listless without you by his side, throwing the weight of your name behind his whenever he did something he thought was right.

Whatever. At least he woke up to a 'happy anniversary' voice message from you that morning.

"An exponential is a function of the form f of x equals a to the power of x, where a cannot equal one, zero, or anything less than zero. You'll want to note down these eight laws on the board. I'd recommend putting them in a table at the top of a page so you don't have to go flipping for them in exams. I'll go through them one at a time."

Satoru drops the white stick of chalk for a pale blue one, which he then uses to scrawl a line of numbers in a blank space on the left side of the blackboard. "So – a to the x, a to the y equals a to the x plus y. This is a biggie! You'll see it a lot. When bases a are the same and the terms are multiplied, the exponents are added. Added. Don't multiply them."

"Sensei!" Yuji's hand shoots up into the air. "Why aren't they multiplied?"

"Great question!" He glances over the board, then erases a large chunk of old numbers in one fell swoop. Nobara stops writing immediately with an odd expression and Satoru laughs, waving a hand as if to dissipate her troubles. "You can copy off Megumi's notes for that example, Kugisaki. Just leave a space for it."

He continues, "Now, Yuji, we remember that an exponential is multiplying the base by itself a certain number of times, yes? Let's use two raised to the power of three. That's two times two times two. Now, if you have two to the power of four, that's two by two by two by two. Phew, what a mouthful. Are we tracking?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! We'll multiply these terms now. Wait!" He raises a finger and splits the two strings of numbers into two sets of brackets. "Putting these brackets here to separate the terms for clarity... Anyway – because the base number, two, is being multiplied over and over—" He slashes a little multiplication sign between the two brackets. "Ta-da! You've got two multiplied by itself seven times, so the answer is two to the power of seven. Therefore, you can skip this whole process in your written answers and just add the powers! Yay!"

"That's crazy."

"When it clicks, it clicks, right?" Satoru snaps his fingers, and to Yuji's left, Megumi snaps out of staring out of the window. "No slacking, Megumi! I can see you daydreaming over there."

"Kinda hard not to with only three students," Nobara mutters under her breath. At least when she dozes off, it's not with her head turned ninety degrees and propped on a fist. Seriously – it's like Megumi never learnt to nap discreetly at the back of the class. Come to think of it, she's certain he's never hidden earbuds under his hair, either.

"Sorry," he murmurs nonchalantly. "I'm not a maths person."

"Megumi, you're tearing me apart."

He shrugs.

"Since what you're doing is obviously more important than listening to your awesome teacher, would you like to share with the class?" Satoru drawls with a shit-eating grin. He sets the chalk aside, dusting off his hands, and leans over his desk, hands flat and forming a triangle with his thumbs and forefingers. "Is there a girl, Megumi-chan? A boy? Ah, a teenager's first love – I still remember mine as if it were yesterday..."

"Cut it out, you're not that old." Megumi glances outside again. Satoru follows his line of sight, but nothing stands out to him. "There was a guy on campus. Looked like a weirdo."

"Oh, for the love of – do you not remember what a finger to the lips means?"

Behind his blindfold, Satoru's eyes shoot open. It's uncomfortable, but so is his face-splitting smile, so wide it hurts his jaw.

None of that matters. He explodes with joy.

"Baby!" he squeals. He launches himself with the speed of a fastball at the person standing in the doorway. It's a miracle nobody goes crashing through the opposite wall.

"You're back, you're back," Satoru coos, burying his face in your shoulder and squeezing your middle so tightly that your spine pops. "Oh, man, you have no idea how much I missed you!"

You laugh, a little wheezy from having the air knocked out of your lungs, and pat his back. A ring glints on your finger. He presses himself deeper into you and you have to brace to stop yourself from toppling over. You close your eyes and inhale the soft floral scent of his hair, which draws out all the tension in your body. Lord knows you've accumulated a lot of it recently.

"There, there," you hum, gently grasping the back of his neck to peel him off you. For the first time, you get a good look at him. He hangs from the nape of his jacket like a kitten, a big dumb grin on his face. His pale cheeks are flushed, and your heart races a little from his sheer excitement. It's flattering.

What a sweetheart.

"We can talk later," you murmur with a smile, setting him down on flat feet. "Just wanted to stop by to drop off your lunch."

He glances down at the lunchbox-sized insulated bag in your hand. He accepts it gently, cradling it like gold. "My lunch...?"

"Mm, that's right. I hate to imagine how you fared without me." You slip a hand into the pocket of your pants. "I'll cook tonight, okay? Anyway, that's all. Toodle-oo."

"Wait!" Yuji slams his hands against his desk as his chair screeches against the ground. "Did I hear that right? Did sensei call you 'baby'?"

"Yes," you say, and Satoru's heart flutters at the pride in your voice. "You must be Itadori Yuji, and you must be Kugisaki Nobara. Satoru spoke of you often. Nice to finally meet you – I'm Satoru's husband."

Nobara replies in kind with a little bow and a polite greeting. Megumi's the only one still sitting, sheltering his eyes with his hand as if he can hide from the inevitable embarrassment. She turns to Satoru with an accusing glare, her hands on her hips. "No way you scored a guy like that with your personality! What'd you do, huh? Promise him money?"

"He hasn't even introduced himself yet and you're already taking his side?" Satoru whines, both of his arms wrapped around your own.

"I can tell that he's a respectable and dutiful man. You, however..."

"I mean, opposites attract, right?" Yuji offers kindly.

"Yuji! Are you saying I'm not a respectable person?" He huffs. "I'm telling Suguru to work you guys twice as hard tomorrow morning. Ridiculous..."

Nobara jabs an accusing finger at him. "You're ridiculous. Which is why I'm so shocked that anyone with any sense would marry you."

"Thrice as hard."

"Easy," you murmur to Satoru fondly. "But he's right about one thing. I haven't introduced myself properly. My name is YN Gojo-LN. You'll have me as a teacher next year. Call me LN-sensei – helps avoid the confusion."

Satoru tugs on your sleeve with a pout. "C'mon... I like it when you use my name. They're not gonna get confused by it. After all, I am the prettier one."

"Hard disagree, sensei," Nobara says flatly.

You smile as Satoru presses himself further into your side, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry, darling. You're plenty good-looking to me."

"You think so?"

"I know so, my beautiful little lily," you say affectionately, pinching his cheek. He holds your hand to his cheek, leaning into it, and Nobara nearly gags at the dopey expression on Satoru's face and the way his leg kicks up behind him like a schoolgirl with a crush. She glances at Megumi with disbelief written on her face and jabs a thumb over her shoulder. He nods solemnly as you coo over Satoru, your voice light and bouncy like a summer breeze.

You turn your attention back to the three first-years, all looking far more attentive after their break from staring at slanting strings of numbers. "It was lovely to meet you – and good to see you, too, Megumi, I can see you slouching there – but Satoru is only one-out-of-eight exponential laws explained. I'm not about to be the cause of bad grades. Ciao, everyone."

Reluctantly, Satoru unfolds himself from around you, and you're quite surprised. You'd think he'd fight harder to keep—

He seizes your wrist in a steely grip and drags you out into the hall. He shuts the door on his students' exclamations.

Immediately, he collapses into your chest, rather more raw and vulnerable than earlier. You wrap your arms around him and coo into his ear, cupping the back of his neck. He sighs, short and sharp and a little shaky, and his breath puffs against your collarbone.

"I was worried I'd lose you," he whispers, hands gliding all over your body as if to prove to himself that you're all still there, warm and complete and ready to embrace him. "Those damn idiots, taking you from me. Especially at a time like this..."

"Relax, dearie," you hum, and the old nickname makes his lips twitch upwards. "I was your equal for a while. I won't keel over so easily."

"You took on two special grades at once and went in ill-prepared because they couldn't do their damn jobs. How am I supposed to trust them when they can't even count to two?"

"Then trust me," you implore, cupping his cheek. He's always been thin, but you're glad you're back. Maybe he'll be less cranky with some meat in his stomach. "Always said we'd get through this together, didn't we? That includes dealing with the elders. I've got your back, but let's not make problems now – not when we have Yuji to look after."

He sighs and pushes his cheek into your shoulder a little harder, rubbing his face into you like a cat. His hair tickles your cheek. His grip tightens, then loosens. "Ugh. You're crampin' my style. Rebellion suits me."

"Obedience suits you better," you murmur lowly, and Satoru shivers at the timbre of your voice. Your hand slips down to cup his chin, lifting his face to yours. His breath hitches. "Listen to me, Satoru. You know I'm right."

He exhales shakily as you dip your head, lips brushing his. He leans into it, trying to take more, but you turn away. "But—"

"Satoru."

Heat zings up his spine. Your nails dig slightly into his skin and he swallows harshly, burning up under the weight of your gaze. Half condescending and half tender, you rake your stare over him from head to toe. It lasts no longer than a second but Satoru's knees weaken anyway.

"Just don't do anything without me," you whisper, bringing his face closer to yours. You press your lips to his and he fists the front of your shirt tightly, gasping as your free hand glides down his waist to rest on the small of his back. He arches slightly and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

He tastes like sugar and oranges and despite the not-so-sweet flavour of the coffee you had earlier, he devours you as if his life depends on it, tongue twisting with yours. He moans softly at the smoky roasted taste, dark and rich. Even after all these years, he marvels at how perfectly he matches with you – the yin to your yang, the shrike to your thorn. He'd be missing out any other way.

His heartbeat quickens. You can feel it beneath his ribs, his chest pressed to yours, and even through his thick clothes you can feel him yearn for you – the very essence of his bright soul twists and tumbles, reaching for yours. He is the orchid to your oak and just as needy.

Before you forget yourself and get too handsy in the middle of the school hallway, you draw away, tugging your hands back to your sides. Satoru whines softly with the loss of your touch and your lips on his. He lifts his face, lips pursed into a pout as he chases another kiss. You press a finger against his lips with a chuckle.

"Not yet, Satoru. You still haven't promised me."

He pushes your hand away impatiently. "Promise." He puckers up and leans in again.

You click your tongue and grab a fistful of his hair, keeping him at bay the same way you would with an overly-affectionate cat. You lift a brow. "And what are you promising?"

He groans, and you know he's rolling his eyes under his blindfold. "That I'm not gonna make trouble for us. I promise I won't square up against a bunch of geriatrics. Happy, baby? Can I get my kiss, now?"

"Only one more." You dip in, and Satoru hums appreciatively. You open your eyes again with a tiny smile. "There. Now, off you go. You have maths to teach, nerd."

"You're a nerd," he rebuts automatically. "You don't have to leave, y'know. Just sit in the back, like the principal does."

"I'd just be a distraction for you."

"But you'd make me happy. Come on. It's our anniversary."

"The answer's no, Satoru." You smile, tugging his hair gently, and his head feels light. He understands why they call it lovesick. "G'luck, sweetheart."

His bottom lip juts out and he crosses his arms, glancing aside. He ruffles his hair roughly as if to drag himself out of his own thoughts. "Fine... Will I see you later?"

"Mm. I'll take a nap when I get home and then start on dinner. I was thinking something Thai?" You touch his shoulder and he shivers slightly, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. It's endearing how infatuated he is with you. You fix his blindfold, smoothing out the sides. "Get home safely, Satoru."

"Yessir." He darts in one last time, sneaking in one last kiss on the cheek. He grins, playful and flushed, as you grumble something about being an 'enabler'. You lift a hand and begin to turn away.

When you're halfway down the hall, he calls out, "You better make it up to me, hot stuff!"

"You're spoilt enough as it is," you call back, eyes crinkling. "Toodles!"

Satoru hums a little tune under his breath as he steps back into the classroom, sliding the door closed behind him. There's a bounce in his step as he moves towards his desk, hovering over a textbook and flipping forward a few pages to find new equations to throw up on the board.

After a pause, with Satoru's soft humming the only thing filling the room, Nobara finally breaks the silence.

"So, sensei... are you gonna tell us what that was all about?"

He glances up, a clueless smile on his face. "Eh? What was what about?"

She stares, appalled. "Uh, the fact that you're married? To the coolest-looking guy I've seen here? He must really be something if he's got you wrapped around his finger like that..."

Megumi sits up in his seat, picking up his pen and ruler and busying himself with ruling new margins into his blank pages. "He's not much better than Gojo, Kugisaki. Together, they're both total fools."

"How can he be more of a fool than he already is?"

"You never mentioned a partner, Gojo-sensei," Yuji says, having clearly abandoned any notion of learning. His notebook isn't even open anymore. "How'd you meet?"

"I didn't take you for a romantic, Yuji," Satoru coos, though he tosses his piece of chalk onto the blackboard's ledge and dusts off his hands. He circles the desk to sit back against it, clasping his hands with a wide smile. "We met here, actually! He's older than me, and he was the one who gave me a campus tour and showed me my room. He was just as handsome back then as he is now. I liked hanging out with him a lot."

Yuji's eyes are wide with intrigue. "Oh! Were you high-school sweethearts? That's so neat, sensei!"

"In a way," he replies, voice soft with fondness. "At first, it was a political marriage. He has an influential name and a uniquely powerful technique, so our families thought it was a good idea to pair us up so the other clans would be less likely to stand against our decisions. We became good friends, so we grew to be alright with it – we were basically already living in each other's rooms, anyway. Marrying him meant I could eat his curry more often, so I was honestly pretty eager to move in with him after graduating."

"Really? You seemed like the type of person to be bad with spice," Nobara comments, tilting her chair on its back legs. "Guess I was wrong."

Leaning back, Megumi speaks around Yuji's body. "No, he is. LN-san often makes two dishes – one with spice, one without. He started when I was a kid, but he still does it for Gojo."

Nobara clicks her tongue. "What? Seriously – he's way too good for you, sensei! I can't believe this. The idea that someone like you had a boyfriend at my age when I don't... I'm, like, actually upset."

"I mean, I also gained two children shortly after, so maybe you should wait a bit for a boyfriend, Kugisaki," Satoru says thoughtfully, tapping his chin. Megumi's face reddens at the statement and his knuckles turn white around his pen.

"Don't say that," he scoffs. "Your marriage had nothing to do with the two of us!"

Pouting, Satoru wags a finger in his direction. "So rude, Megumi-chan! I'm telling your dad. No curry for you for a month."

He rolls his eyes and his mouth curls. "You're annoying."

Nobara snorts and hides her snickers behind her palm. She leans in Yuji's direction and whispers, "Guess he's got a favourite parent."

He nods in agreement. Clearing his throat, Yuji dutifully raises his hand, looking grave. "Sensei, if you're married, why don't you wear a ring?"

"Hm? I do! Wanna see it? Oh, of course you do, you asked," he says cheerfully. He thrusts a hand down the tall neck of his collar and pulls out a silver chain, off of which hangs a platinum band studded with tiny, glittering diamonds. He beams, turning the pretty little thing this way and that to catch the light. "His is more traditional, 'cause he's a fuddy-duddy, but silver suits my skin tone better and diamonds are a classic."

He unclasps the chain from around his neck, and Yuji and Nobara instantly shoot up out of their chairs to inspect the ring closer. They ooh and ahh over it, discussing the bevels and facets and whatnot. He slips the band onto his left hand and shows it off with a beaming smile, nodding proudly when Nobara remarks how well it really does suit him.

"Why is your face so red, Gojo?"

The abrupt question is Megumi's. Like clockwork, everyone turns to him, then turns to Satoru. In response, he only tilts his head with an oblivious smile pasted on his face – his white hair flops over, like a dog's ears. "Eh?"

Megumi sighs and lowers his gaze, scratching tornadoes aimlessly into the margins of his page. "You're terrible – it was two months, not two years. The separation anxiety is crazy."

"He does seem like the type to be clingy," Nobara whispers to Yuji.

"It's not sepa—he thinks it's cute!" he sputters, lifting his bejewelled ring finger as if it's his middle finger. "Look – he married me for it! Jeez, Megumi, you really know how to make a guy feel bad. And you know what that means."

Megumi's face scrunches. "You're gonna follow him around the house like a lost puppy for the rest of the day."

"Right you are!" says Satoru giddily. "I'm sorta disappointed you don't live with us right now. I could've made it so much worse for you if you and YN went out in public. You'd be begging to learn about exponential and logarithmic functions then."

He turns towards the board and claps his hands, startling all three of his students as the sound echoes through the room. "Speaking of! Rule number two: power x over y with identical base a is equal to a to the x minus y. Back in your seats, boys and girl – I hope everyone's awake now. Let's power through every rule before class ends! Heh – geddit? Power? Because – oh, you're all no fun. I'm funny. Let's continue."

—

With a jingle of keys, Satoru twirls through the front door. "Honey, I'm hooome!"

Your voice floats through the hallway. "In the kitchen!"

He kicks his shoes off and dumps his messenger bag onto the couch. He bounds into the spacious kitchen and slithers up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

With a chuckle, you take half a step back from the open flame of the stove. "Careful. It's hot."

"Not hotter than you." His voice is muffled against your shoulder. "Didja miss me?"

"Only a little bit. You are a handful." You stir the pot, picking shards of bone out of the broth. Satoru salivates. He can already feel the tender meat falling off the bone. "You're home early, baby. Dinner won't be ready for a while."

"Rushed back to see you." He kisses your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of your cologne is heady and woodsy, and he's embarrassed to admit that he's used it on himself when the ache really got to him. "Maybe we can... spend some time together...?"

You laugh, the sound rumbling through your chest, and Satoru smiles automatically. "Eager little thing. You really want to do that now, when I'm obviously very busy?"

"Well, the veggies aren't a pressing concern," he points at the covered bowl, "and the soup's not done. Put it on low and you have both hands free to do things with me."

"And what 'things' would that entail, Satoru?"

"Fun things." He pushes his blindfold up, revealing his startling blue eyes. He looks up at you through his white lashes, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. "Things involving this," he points at his lips, "and this." He points at yours.

Because your hands are damp from dealing with the vegetables, you can't touch him, but you turn and lean in his direction and he drapes his arms over your shoulders. You hum, taking in his beauty like an old-timey knight with his secret lover. "Sounds a bit boring, honestly. We did that earlier. Any other ideas?"

His eyes widen with betrayal. "What—? Fine! This—" his lips "—and this." His hand lowers to the zip of your jeans, brushing over the front. His tongue flickers over his lower lip as he glances down, as if he's imagining it already, and you struggle to keep your composure. His eyes lift to yours. "Yeah?"

You draw in a breath. "Nah. You don't last long enough for that."

"Mou," he whines, brows furrowing, "I can! Just let me show you – y'know, I've been practicing. I've definitely gotten better."

"Whore," you mutter affectionately, slipping out of his arms to wash your hands. You tug your sleeves higher and Satoru sighs dreamily at the sight, cupping his cheek. "You seriously want to do this now? I could burn down the house on accident."

"Yes, I wanna do it now," he huffs, hooking a slender finger beneath his blindfold, as if showing off how long and pretty they are. "The house is insured."

"You – You're ridiculous, baby." You dry your hands and face him properly, gaze flickering over his body. He squirms slightly, fidgeting with his collar. "Hm... Suppose I say yes. What would you do?"

"Ah," he breathes, stepping closer. He places his hands on your chest, pretending to fix your collared shirt, and you rest one on his hip, tugging him in. He flashes you a flustered smile as he bumps into you. "Well, I'd, um – I'd kiss it."

"Mm."

"And I'd... lick the tip, 'nd..." He shakes his head and headbutts your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut with an embarrassed titter. "Babe, don't make me say it! I'll show you, okay? I'll show you how much I missed you. Spoilers: it's a lot."

"Well, when you put it like that..." You dial down the stovetop's heat until the flame is all but gone. Satoru's grin widens. "I'm interested."

He smirks and pecks your cheek, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen. He pushes you down on the couch in the living room, taking a moment to shuck off his jacket and tug his shirt hem out from his beltline. He drapes himself over your lap, long legs bracketing yours, and places his hands on your shoulders.

Naturally, your hands come to rest upon his thighs.

He pauses. Have your hands always looked so large compared to him...? He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. His cock stirs in his tight pants.

You lean back with a soft sigh, stroking his thighs absently. Your touch borders on his ass when it shifts up his hips and his breath hitches. You lift a brow, seemingly unaware of his racing heart. "So? Now what?"

"Shut up," he mumbles, reaching to help pull your t-shirt over your head. "Just admiring my hubby, y'know? Most would be flattered. You're mean for no reason."

"A second ago you were ready to jump my bones." You allow him to toss the shirt on the couch beside you, and his hands run appreciatively down your chest and stomach. "Let's go back to that."

"Yessir," he says breathily. He meant it teasingly, but it comes out with a slight tremor in the middle. His cheeks flush as you grab the front of his shirt and drag him towards you.

He whimpers softly as you press his ass down against your lap, his lips trapped against yours. He rocks his hips. The half-hard bulge in your pants demands his attention, and he moans your name as you pop open his shirt roughly, hands exploring his soft, smooth skin.

"Excited, are we?" you murmur, nibbling the side of his neck. The wet heat of your tongue makes him shiver, nails digging into your shoulders.

"S-Says you," he retorts, gasping softly as your callused fingers find his nipples, cute and pink. He jerks, stomach tensing, and reaches for your belt shakily, undoing it defiantly. "Not f-fair. Fuck, be gentle..."

You shake your head, exhaling softly as Satoru manages to fish you out of your open fly. Your length slaps his wrist. "We can be gentle or we can be done in time for dinner. Your choice."

Twitching as you flick his chest again, he whimpers. "You..."

"I?"

He gulps, blue eyes trained on the thick cock in his hands. He grips the base and twists his fist up and down the shaft, brushing his thumb over the slick slit. You groan softly, switching your attention to the other side of his neck. He tilts his head with a tremulous sigh, allowing you better access to his fair skin.

"I really did miss you, you know," he says quietly, stroking you to full mast. "Your smile, your body next to mine when I wake up... and this cock. Nothing's better than your cock."

With a chuckle, you squeeze his hips, feeling them twitch under your grip. Cute – sensitive. "Yeah? My pretty doll missed my cock?"

"Mhm. Tried other things while you were away." He shuffles off your lap, sliding between your knees with ease. He gazes up at you, one hand on your thigh and one hand on your cock, and licks his lips, glancing away. His cheeks are red. "But nothing can get me off like you can. You always fill me up so good, always treat me right..."

He leans forward, wrapping his pink lips around the head of your cock. His eyes flutter shut and his tongue swirls around your slit – the taste of your precome curls a ball of arousal in his lower belly, and he widens his knees slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn't help.

"Fuck, Satoru," you murmur, combing your fingers through his silver hair. His blindfold acts as a headband for his bangs, and you're afforded a full view of his creased concentrated brows and his wide-blown pupils. He bobs his head, thick lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, and swallows several inches of your cock.

But that's as far as he gets before he gags and pulls back, gasping wetly as his pale chest heaves. Nervously, he glances up at you, only to grow more desperate at the lazy grin on your face.

You prop your cheek on a fist. "What was that about improvement, Satoru? Seems about the same to me."

His frown deepens. "It's not my fault! You're just—"

"Excuses don't befit you."

His jaw snaps shut audibly. He reaches forward, taking your cock in both hands, and spits on it, smearing it down your length. You hum softly as he takes the tip into his hot mouth again, and his tongue flicks against the glans hungrily.

His nails dig into your thigh as he regulates his breathing, slowly bobbing his head down half of your length.

You have to hand it to him – he's gotten quicker at getting to this point. Still, he's shuddering, and he's clearly a mess, eyes glistening and lips slick with saliva. He looks small, shoulders pulled in, and so, so pretty as he chokes down your cock, determined to do it right.

"Oh, Satoru," you purr sympathetically, petting his hair. "Nearly thirty and you still can't suck cock to save your life... what'll I do with you?"

He pulls back with a slick pop, eyes wide and glossy. His voice is hoarse. "N-No, I can! I can, I promise, j-just let me try again—"

"You're my good boy, aren't you?"

The words die in his mouth. Head foggy, he nods, throat bobbing as he stares up at you.

You stroke his cheek, smiling softly as he leans into it and kisses your palm. "Let me fuck your mouth. Maybe your toys are just too small to be of any real help, huh?"

Ashamed, Satoru swallows, picking at his shirt cuffs. He inclines his head a few degrees, barely a nod, but he allows you to gently guide his mouth around your cock once more. He wanted to show you how much he loved you, how you wouldn't have to do all the work anymore, but there was something so addicting about the way you controlled his body that he was a little glad to have failed. His eyes slide closed as you grip the back of his neck and hold back his bangs, guiding your cock down his throat.

He moans softly, his own dick throbbing inside his pants as you hit the back of his throat. He swallows around it dutifully, grasping your thighs for balance as you pull him down on your cock.

"Good boy. That's it. Such a good boy f'me." Your voice is a low murmur, flowing in one ear and out the other. Satoru whines quietly, the vibrations making you groan, and saliva drips down your shaft. You lean back and lift your hips slightly, pushing into his mouth.

He gags slightly but settles quickly, tongue gliding against the velvety veins of your dick. Your grip on him is firm but gentle – if you let go, he'd slump like a ragdoll against your leg, no doubt about it. He rocks his hips pathetically against nothing, whimpering as you fuck his throat, and you take pity – you shift your leg between his knees.

He fists your jeans, knuckles white, and moans as he grinds against your leg, his cock throbbing against his zipper. His whimpers sound broken, choppy, in a way you recognise as gratefulness. Thank you, thank you. Your dick pulses and he swallows, drooling and panting with his lips stretched white around you. He swallows greedily around you, the shape of your cock distending his slender throat.

"It's okay," you hum, brushing the tears from the corner of his eye. "You don't need to do anything. Not when I'm here. You just need to be my pretty puppy, yeah? Let me take care of everything. I got you."

A rough shudder runs through his body. He shoves his cock against your leg. He twitches, hips jerking involuntarily, and you can't help the fondness in your voice when you coo at him.

"Oh, sweetheart..."

Carefully, you pull him off of you, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he pants, eyes clouded and hazy. His grasp on your leg tightens as you lean forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Poor thing. Must be pretty pent up, huh?" You pull him up, and it takes a moment for him to find his balance. You tug his slacks down his hips, but the square something in his back pocket gives you pause. You dip two fingers inside and pull out a black packet.

"Condoms?" You glance up at Satoru, who looks anywhere but at you. "You planned this, didn't you? Dirty puppy."

He wrings his hands, finding his voice. "I-I'm sorry... I just – it's our anniversary, 'n' I thought—"

"You thought you'd be cute," you finish for him, and he nods with a soft pout. You reach in again and pull out another. And another. It's a row of them, separated by perforated tear lines, and his face grows red as you lift a disbelieving brow at them. You let the string of them hang from your fingers like a grocery receipt.

"Satoru... How many of these do you think we need?"

"I don't know! I'd rather be safe than sorry."

You chuckle and lean forward, pressing a kiss against his stomach. He cups the back of your head, slender fingers playing with your hair absently. "You're too cute. Wanna put one on for me?"

"You just like it when I touch you," he mumbles, but accepts the little square. He kicks off his slacks and underwear and takes a seat on your lap, tearing the packet open with his teeth at the same time. His eyes flick up to yours as he slides it down your shaft, his hands warm and pretty wrapped around you. He squeezes – you groan softly – and he whispers, "All done."

"Thank you, baby." You stroke his hips. He giggles in response.

"You can put it in," he murmurs, squeezing your shoulders as he leans forward and aligns your tip with his entrance. "I... Last night..."

"Hm." You watch him rub the tip against his hole – psyching himself up for it, you realise with a smile. "Was that before or after our call?"

His grip tightens. "Ah... After."

"Yeah?" Your smile takes on a dangerous edge and he gulps. "So, when you said you missed me..."

"S-Stop teasing me," he demands, his voice lilting with a whine. His brow furrows and he lowers himself on your cock, gasping as the head breaches his hole. The lube makes the glide easier, but the delicious burn of the stretch has his eyes fluttering and rolling back. The warmth... he's missed this. A toy couldn't have him shaking on his knees on the first thrust. Pain makes tears prick at his eyes. "Ohh, god..."

Satoru braces both hands against your shoulders, his toes curling in his black socks. He whimpers softly as you lean forward, pressing your chests together, in order to ease your cock deeper inside him. He rocks his hips, shallow and jagged, and presses his lips fervently to yours as he drops his hips and takes you all the way down to the base.

Tears prick at his eyes and he moans, long and loose and relieved. Your cock rests perfectly against his prostate, hot and thick, and every minuscule shift of his body has you rubbing deliciously against it. His cock throbs, dusky against his alabaster skin. His stomach flexes.

"Good?" you whisper, hot breath fanning against his throat. He shudders and nods, reaching back and spreading his asscheeks to swallow you deeper. His head falls to your shoulder as he lifts and lowers his hips messily, lips parted to gasp and pant softly.

You take over, hands big and rough on the creamy meat of his ass. There are new calluses on your palms, and a shard of annoyance cuts its way into the pleasured fog of Satoru's mind. Trying to appoint you clan leader through marriage – and therefore safe from the nuisance of arduous missions – had backfired fantastically, and now all those old coots know how much you mean to him.

Like, what was the point of marrying you to each other if you both still had to do the dirty work? Why couldn't he, as the strongest and least likely to complete the paperwork, simply come home to your kisses? You might hate him for making you do all the accounting and logistical work, but at least you'd be safe. He's very good at shoulder massages. The occasional assassin would be like swatting a fly to you.

"Sweetheart," you croon, snapping him out of his stewing displeasure. You grasp his chin in your hand and turn his face to yours, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose. He hums softly. "What's wrong?"

"I want you to be here every day," he whispers, pressing his cheek against yours. "Don't wanna have to make up for lost time like this. Drives me crazy."

"Oh, puppy... I know. But hey," you say, thrusting up into him and making him gasp, "you're hot when you're needy. And I'm all too willing to indulge you."

He clenches down around you. His cock twitches. "Mm, really? We could try using up all those condoms..."

You roll your eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"What does that – ah!"

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as you thrust up roughly into him and drag him down at the same time, his ass slapping your hips. He scrambles to brace himself, his cock dripping a weak spurt of precome on his stomach. His chest heaves, his face flushed and his eyes wide. His eyes are blown with lust, deep ocean-blue, and his lip quivers as you repeat it, fucking up into his soft, eager little hole hungrily.

Satoru pants, breaths rough and uneven, as he tries his best to ride your cock. But with every thrust, you slam against his prostate and knock the thoughts out of his skull. He stutters and moans, trying to repeat himself – because really, what do you mean he's incorrigible? – but you've got a wicked grin on your face that spells nothing but trouble for him.

"W-Wait," he squeaks out, arms trembling as he tries to hold himself up on your chest. "I'll—!"

"Come for me," you grunt, rolling his hips on your cock in a way that has his vision blooming with stars. "Lemme see you, Satoru. Let me see you, puppy."

He lets out a loud, sharp whine as his body jerks and his cock spurts, painting your stomach with thick ropes of white. The flush of his cheeks extends down his neck and chest, prettily pink, and he collapses against your chest, lazily rolling his hips and riding out his high.

Cooing his name softly, you pet his hair, which he melts into like pudding. His hum is like a purr when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. "Good boy... so gorgeous when you come, aren't you? Did so well for me, sweetheart."

You begin to tug his blindfold down, as the rapid flickering of his eyes betrays how overwhelmed he is, but he shakes his head, nudging your hand to instead pull it off.

"No," he whines, raising his bright, flitting eyes to your face. They steady when they focus on your face, and his features soften. "Wanna see you. All of you." He exhales, a little shaky. "You still haven't finished."

"It'll be too much for you. Let's stop here."

He scowls. "How do you know that?"

"I—"

"Yeah, that's right. You don't. I can keep going." He lifts himself up on his knees until just the tip rests inside him, then drops back down. He swallows a whimper. "S-See? M'fine!"

Your brow furrows slightly as you hold him still. "Satoru—"

"Please," he interrupts, eyes wide and pleading. "Baby, please, I can do it. Want you to come, too, okay? I want to – because I love you."

You didn't think sudden love confessions in the middle of sex could be so hot.

A breathless grin makes its way across his lips when you glance away and sigh, your hands tightening on his waist. It's the perfect place to grab, slim and fitting just right against your palms. He places his hand against your stomach between his legs, arching his back ever so slightly.

"Well," you drawl, shifting slightly. His breath hitches as your cock brushes his prostate. "Then maybe you could show me how much you love me."

"You—" He lets out a bitten moan as you move his hips, helping him grind against you. "Baby."

In response, you only offer a smirk, eyes glinting.

He sighs shakily and nods, leaning back and bracing against your knees. The position tightens him up and you groan, head tipping back against the couch backrest. He traces shallow ovals over your lap, his hole fluttering against you with every tug.

"Feeling unsteady, puppy?" you remark, but it's softer than your usual teasing. You trace his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. He whimpers.

"No," he breathes, quickening his pace. His half-hard cock smacks his stomach with every harsh drop of his hips, the reddened tip dripping and slick. "I got it."

It's hard to act as if the sight doesn't affect you. His lean muscles flex with every shift, and as he sucks in a shuddering breath, a bulge pokes his belly. The print of it appears and disappears with each roll of his hips.

"Fuck," you hiss, gliding your hand down and pressing a thumb against it. Satoru twitches and stutters at the sight, letting out a ruined cry when words fail him. His breath grows ragged as he rides you harder, eyes wet with need. The bulge in his tummy moves with him.

His white hair is dark silver at the ends, stuck to his temples. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body, shimmering when it catches the light. With his milky skin, it's as if he's been brushed with crushed pearls.

You reach up and brush a thumb against his bitten lower lip, plush and warm. He parts them and presses his tongue against the pad of your thumb, moaning as you push it in. He grabs your wrist, nails digging into your skin, and lavishes wet kisses upon it. His tongue swirls around your thumb as if it was your cock and he pants hotly, lips pursing ever-so-slightly around it.

Your cock throbs inside him. The beginnings of a smug grin tug at his pillowy lips, and his eyes flash confidently. They falter and roll back into his skull as you bury your cock inside him with a rough thrust – he melts into your touch, his pretty little cock pulsing and dripping precome down his shaft and balls.

"You're so good to me," you chuckle throatily, pushing your thumb deeper into his mouth. He moans sharply. The whiplash between your warm, caressing palm and the violence with which you fuck him makes him downright dizzy. "Maybe I should take long business trips more often."

At that, he lets out a wrecked little sob, shaking his head. He leans deeper into you.

"No?" He shakes his head again, cerulean eyes clouded and unfocussed as you force his hips up and down from tip to base, knocking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh, sweet thing..."

His legs quiver. He's barely holding himself up, his sensitive hole aching with the sharp burn each time you pull out. You press his face into the crook of your neck and he mewls as you tug his arms behind his back, your hands strong and firm. He feels powerless like this, buried in the scent of your sweat and cologne, and all he can do is moan.

He stiffens when something snaps around his wrists. He arches back, trying to spot it. "What—?"

"Sh-shh, puppy. You're too antsy. Gotta learn to take it slow." You smooth out his blindfold, twisted several times around his slim wrists. You glance down at him, your hair tickling his cheek. "Don't you?"

It feels like he's breathing soup. His heart hammers and he clenches around you, knees and feet scrabbling for purchase against the couch without the use of his arms. He whimpers, tugging at the bindings. His fingers flex. "Y-Yes, sir..."

"Good boy."

And god, do you take it slow. He's a mess in minutes, teary-eyed and trembling, as you use him like a toy, lifting and lowering him on your cock, which feels all too big and thick in his swollen, abused hole. He swears he can taste it. He babbles, his sudden orgasm going totally ignored even as he sobs and calls you everything under the sun ranging from his usual pet-names to your title. You ignore him, focussing on keeping your thrusts steady and even.

"Sir," he gasps wetly as his aching cock twitches valiantly. "Sir."

"Yes, puppy?"

His brain is melting out of his ears. Hot tears streak down his flushed cheeks, wetting your shoulder. It's humiliating, being trapped like this on your cock, and he can't help the new ball of arousal swirling low in his belly.

"Too deep..." He lets out a wet whimper as his cock begins to harden again. Oh, stamina. "P-Please – come already..."

"I'm trying pretty hard." You hum, rolling him in your hands like a scientist with their pet project. You sigh as if disappointed. "You're all loose – like a whore."

Choking out a devastated moan, he shuffles on his knees, walls squeezing and swallowing your cock with renewed vigour. "Sir, I'm – 'm not—"

"Please, Satoru. You already admitted to touching yourself while I was away – you couldn't wait just a few weeks for me to come home. If you were good, you would've kept your hands to yourself. You forget who this—" you lift his hips and tap his asshole, making him clench and whine "—belongs to."

Few weeks? Few weeks? Satoru wants to cry. It isn't his fault his love language is physical touch. Going cold turkey for so long was agonising.

"'M sorry," he whispers, eyes squeezing shut as you dance your fingers over his swollen cock. "O-Oh...!"

You huff, shifting on the couch. You hold him up, his delicate hipbones slotted into the V of your thumb and forefinger. "I know you are, but I'll remind you anyway. You belong to me."

You set a punishing pace, fucking up into him and dragging him down to meet your thrusts. His hair bounces and he cries out, arms flexing against the blindfold. His eyes roll back and he moans, open-mouthed, against your neck, broken little half-sobs punched out of his throat.

He can't get a single full word out. Even his cracked, ruined 'fuck, fuck, fuck' is peppered with whines.

Then your hand comes down, hard, on his ass.

His eyes widen. His mouth opens in a silent scream. He comes.

You groan as thin streaks of come splatter your stomach, his cock rutting against you through it. His hips jerk and he starts to sob openly when your pace only quickens, his ass rippling with each thrust. "Fuck, sir," he wails, "y'feel so good...!"

You massage his stinging cheek, whispering sweet nothings in his ear that float him away into a soft cloud of thoughtlessness. It's so easy to give up control to you – so easy to hand himself over. If he has nothing else to give, you will have him.

Even through the fog of pleasure, he remembers how to kiss you. He would know how even if he lost every memory. He moans into it, raspy and wrecked. His toes curl and bliss weighs down his bones as you groan his name and thrust up once, twice, into him, cock throbbing hotly against his soft, gummy walls. Finally, you sink into the couch, holding him close.

He lays there, slumped against you, as you catch your breath together. His eyes flutter shut, the image of your face as you come seared into his mind, and he giggles drunkenly to himself.

You were so good to him even when you were mean.

Gently, you ease his blindfold off his wrists, and he immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders protectively. You're his, and his only. He sits quietly as you clean up to the best of your ability with him on top of you, and he whines softly when you try to set him aside.

"Satoru," you try.

"I'm sore," he retorts, feeling your chest rise and fall with your breaths. His voice is deliciously ragged and raspy. "Fix me."

"No."

"Then I'm staying right here."

"The house will burn down."

"Let it."

Incorrigible. You sigh and lift him just enough to do up your zipper, then lift him in a princess carry and rise to your feet. Satoru purrs and clutches you tighter, rubbing his cheek into your shoulder as you carry him through the house. "Let's find you some new pants, sweetheart."

"M'kay."

"After that, you're on your own," you warn him, stepping sideways through the bedroom door. He uses it as an excuse to tuck his head in the crook of your neck. "I need to check on the soup. I'll call for you when dinner's ready."

"Mm..." He gazes up at you with a sugar-soft look in his eyes. He rubs his hazy eyes as you set him down on the bed to open up his extensive wardrobe. "But I need to set the table..."

"I'll do it. You just take care of clean-up, yeah?"

"Mhm." Satoru tugs the open sides of his button-up shirt closed and fixes the long hem over his milky thighs. He sighs softly, watching you gather his pyjamas with soft blue eyes. "It's really good to have you home, you know. Everything's back to normal."

"Is that right?" Your voice softens and you cross the room, ducking down to Satoru's level. Expectantly, he lifts his face, closing his eyes, and smiles as you brush back his bangs and press your lips to his forehead. "Then you better make sure to spoil me rotten."

He catches your hand before you can pull away. With a teasing, bitten-back grin, he lowers it, and tugs his shirt hem up. He places your hand on his thigh, dragging it higher.

"Like this?" he whispers, coy when he flutters his lashes at you.

Your fingers dig into the soft, sensitive meat of his thigh. He mewls softly, plush pink lips parting.

You tear your hand away, drawing in a sharp breath. "Fuck. Later. Soup first."

Satoru huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back on his palms when you scramble out the door. "Stupid soup," he mumbles to himself petulantly. "Why would he eat anything else when I'm right here? Stupid noodles. Stupid husband."

A voice breaks through the silence from down the hall. "I heard that!"

"Good!" He collects the clothes you'd picked out for him, smoothing his fingers down the soft cotton patterns. "I ain't a liar!"

He mumbles a radio song under his breath as he tosses away the plain black boxer shorts into the wardrobe. A sly smirk flickers across his features as he pulls out a pair of baby-blue panties from a drawer, placed right at the front and tucked into a neat little square. It's a pretty thing, lacey and soft, and it sits nice and high on him, accentuating his slender hips. They make his legs go on for ages.

He tucks it into his stack of clothes with an innocent hum, and then off he goes, prancing into the bathroom with an extra pep in his step. He doesn't lock the door behind him.

Satoru understands that you enjoy taking care of him, pampering him like a princess even when he pulls your hair and takes your toys. You always will. It's a wonderful thing, to be loved so sweetly; no one else could do it better.

He needs to return the favour, he thinks, glancing at his clothes and the little secret they hide. Nothing feels like it could ever measure up to what you do for him, but he can do this, and it's a start. Perhaps it'll get him closer to being your equal.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 13

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You score tickets to a Penguins game for Michael’s birthday — but you have more than one way to celebrate in mind.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I can’t always answer all of your lovely comments or reblogs, but thank you all so much!! I appreciate all the interactions you guys give this series💜

I’m sorry this wasn’t out yesterday! I got a migraine at work and then it just wouldn’t go away all day. It proceeded to stick around for a good chunk of this morning as well lol

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, violence at a hockey game, birthday blowjob (oral, m! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, honey)

not beta read

How you had been able to save enough money to afford the tickets really was beyond you. When Michael picked up your utility bill, you put the money you would have spent and put it into savings. You were then able to buy the tickets for the Penguins vs. Predators game at the PPG Paints Arena after saving for nearly two months.

“So…your birthday is coming up.” You ventured one night, rubbing a thumb into your palm.

He half groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “Don’t remind me.”

“So that’s a no to your gift then?”

His interest piqued, looking back over at you, eyebrow raised. “You got me something?”

You pulled the card out of your bag, “It’s a little early…but you’ll understand why in a moment.”

The card was quaint, with your sprawled handwriting with his name on the front. You hadn’t gotten physical tickets, so the inside of the card was empty, except for the heartfelt little note you had written. Then at the bottom was: you are now two Penguins vs. Predators tickets richer!

Michael read over the note a few more times, before looking back up at you and blinking. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pulled you in for a kiss.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, still holding onto you.

“I wanted to.” You smiled and gave him a quick peck. “Not sure if you want to take Jack, or Jake maybe, but I wanted to give you enough notice in case you needed to take time.”

He scoffed like he was offended, “I’m taking you.”

Your smile grew, “Yeah?”

“Of course I’m gonna take you, sweetheart.” He said, kissing you again. “This was really nice of you, thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry I couldn’t do more. Once I’m a CPA—”

“None of that. This is a great gift and I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

You nodded, taking in his genuine smile.

“I would like you to meet them. Jack and Jake, I mean. And a few other people from the hospital, in a more official manner than showing up for stitches.”

You smiled at him, but anxiety filled your chest at the thought. Jake was his surrogate step-son, and had been in Michael’s life since he was just a kid — you worried over the fact that you were much closer to Jake’s age. You wondered if he was the judgmental sort. And Jack. From everything you had heard about him, he was not likely to sugarcoat anything — if he didn’t like you, you’d know about it.

“I’d like to meet them.” You said, twisting your hands together.

As if sensing your unease, he kissed the side of your head. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to put all those rumors to rest.” You smirked, thinking back to how everyone hovered both times you had been at the hospital.

He chuckled, “All the people who need to know do now.”

Your face heated, thinking that you had done the same.

You swung your legs into his lap and cuddled close to him, “Good, I did too.”

—

The trek to Saturday was a busy one, hardly having time for each other. When Michael was working, you were studying, and when you were working, he was trying to occupy himself with mundane chores. By Wednesday night, he had showed up on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. You had thrown the door open and crashed your lips together, giggling and saying, “I missed you.”

You found a Penguins t-shirt in the back of your closet to wear for the occasion, slipping on a simple pair of jeans and your favorite sneakers.

You arrived at Michael's apartment with coffee and bagels — set to spend the majority of your day there while you waited for gametime. You lounged around and watched shitty tv reruns, and it was a welcomed lazy few hours for the both of you. Stolen kisses that left you wanting more, and soft touches that made you want to throw your plans out the window.

You ate dinner at a bar near the arena, excitement brewing at being to your first hockey game.

“I don’t wanna jinx it, so I’m just going to hope we have an enjoyable game.” You said, sipping your drink.

Michael chuckled, “Cheers to that.”

The arena was not overly packed, but it felt crowded navigating through the halls and to your seats. You had paid for decent seats, in the last row of the first floor, on one corner near the home bench.

Michael kissed you softly, “These are great seats.”

You beamed at him, and intertwined your fingers. He brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

At puck drop, you traded conversation over predictions, and hoots and hollers at your favorite players. You laughed and held onto each other when the other team got too close to scoring. You cheered when the Penguins scored their first goal, standing with your hands in the air. You held your breath every time a fight broke out, squeezing Michael’s hand. And you enjoyed the way he knew the game well enough to make calls before the referee’s did — announcing “icing!” or “offside!” before the whistle blew.

During the first intermission, you went together to get a beer before heading back to your seats. The crowd around you was rowdy, but not uncomfortably so. You were enjoying the atmosphere.

Second period came with a few idiotic calls from the referee’s, but also another point for the Penguins. You cheered loud enough you feared you would lose your voice, and Michael watched you affectionately.

In the second intermission, you wandered off to get cheesy fries while Michael got another beer, and you met back at your seats. You were bouncing on your heels in excitement, though did not dare to utter the W word, in fear of jinxing it.

During the third period, the Penguins scored another goal toward the latter half.

“This has been the best game,” You laughed, munching on a cheese fry.

Michael pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kissed your head.

By the time the buzzer sounded, the Penguins had won in a 3-0 shutout game against the Predators. You gave a relieved laugh, as you had been standing on your feet for the last minute of the game when the Predators had gotten too close. On your way out, you asked a random couple to take your picture.

You added the photo to your favorites on your way out, taking in Michael’s smile, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his other hand in his pocket. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach.

You looked over to him with the widest smile, admiring how handsome he was.

“Something on my face?”

“No,” you said, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Can’t a girl take in the view?”

He grinned softly, making his smile lines crinkle. He brought a hand to cradle your face, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. His eyes flickered between your eyes, and your heart started racing. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, leaning down to kiss you instead.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, wanting to savor it for as long as you could.

When you returned to his apartment, adrenaline filled your senses, suddenly having the urge to get on your knees for him — half desperate to taste him, half addicted to the sounds he made when he was enjoying himself.

“It’s late…you should stay over.” Michael said in his dim living room, the one side table lamp being the only thing illuminating the room.

“I didn’t bring anything.” You said, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I’ve got plenty of things that’ll fit.”

Your smile widened into a grin, heart racing at the thought of wearing his clothes. You pulled him down for a kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth. His tongue entered your mouth and you hummed against him.

Something bubbled in your stomach at the feeling of him getting hard, and your thoughts spiraled downward. You moved a hand to the waist of his jeans, pulling at the button until it unbuttoned. Michael’s breathing hitched, bringing both hands to either side of your head and kissing you fiercely.

As the zipper lowered, so did you, getting onto your knees and looking up at him.

He stared down at you, shoulders moving up and down with his breathing, face half shadowed. Though his brown eyes pooled desire low in your belly.

You pulled down his jeans to his knees, running your hand over his length through his boxers, watching as his eyes flickered closed. When you pulled them down, he opened them again, looking down at you with half concealed desire.

“You don’t have to—” he choked on his words when you grabbed hold of him, your hot breath on his tip.

You wet your lips, “I really really want to.”

He cursed lowly, running a hand through his hair, “Fuck, okay, honey.”

You licked tentatively along the head, and you noticed how his stomach quickly clenched and unclenched. Your smile was hard to hide. You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling along the tip before you descended deeper.

Michael let out a low groan from the back of his throat, head pointing up at the ceiling. HIs hand found the back of your head, not pushing, but simply holding you.

You took him until his cock hit the back of your throat and tears quickly gathered. You set a slow pace, using your hand to pick up the slack closer to his base, unable to take the full thing into your mouth. You moved your other hand to cup his balls and he moaned.

Your pussy pulsed at the sound of it, feeling yourself grow wet. You looked up at him through your lashes, and he was watching you intently, eyebrows drawn in.

“So beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck.”

You hummed around him at his words, and his apartment was filled with the sound of his quiet moans and grunts while you unraveled him. You took him deeply again, trying not to gag, flattening your tongue to apply pressure upwards while you hallowed out your cheeks.

“If you keep that up—fuck—I’m going to come down that pretty throat of yours.” He warned, though his voice sounded wrecked.

You looked up at him and didn’t stop, easily saying that that was exactly what you wanted.

He let out a few pants, one hand going to his neck, while his body tensed. You could feel that he was trying not to thrust into your wanting mouth. You ran a finger over his balls still in your hand and picked up your pace.

Michael came with a low groan, eyes squeezing shut, and you took it all. You swallowed his spend until he was twitching from overstimulation. You let go with a wet pop, which made him jolt. He quickly pulled you up in a kiss.

“Yeah, I need you in my clothes right now.”

You met his eyes, noses touching, and you smirked. “You gonna make me, handsome?”

A sly smile grew as he pulled up his pants, “I can certainly do that.”

He chased you into his room, your laugh echoing off the walls.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

three parts to go + the epilogue😭

[tiramissyoucake]

HIIII!! i js read ur thing ab the different roles w the variants (the bakery one n the idol one) and they were so good!!

i was wondering if u could write the mohawk (OF) one n the shiesty (streamer) mark ones??

love ur writing <33

Heeey thanks! I had a feeling someone would ask, I'm not rlly proud of Shiesty Mark's part here since I didn't know what to do wit it but I hope ya'll like it.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI, this has nsfw on Mohawk's part (shocker!)

CW: masturbation, dildos, nsfw videos

Based on this

Pt. 1 here

Mohawk Invincible:

There always was a certain guilt that gnawed at him whenever he spent money on not safe for work content, though Mark never had an issue shoving aside his conscience, he had an issue shoving aside the discomfort when the content wasn't catered to him enough, did people on OF just forget how to be sexy?

One thing he dislikes for 2 seconds and he scrolls. It turns him off immediately. He spends more time cringing at his phone with his dick in his hand trying to find someone, *anyone* that can scratch that itch just right.

So imagine his pure euphoria when he spots your face, gets through your paywall and sees just how well you cater to him.

God, your angles, the setting and your noises, he has to pace himself and refrain from fisting his cock so quickly and cumming to soon, he wants to savor your videos and pictures.

He has notifications turned on for all your socials, he's the first to pay for your content, the first to comment. Anytime his dick hardens even a little bit he immediately pulls up your page.

Mark sees you take commissions and practically works overtime to make his request happen, a grin tearing through when the payment is accepted and in less than 3 days, a video was already up labelled 'commissions'

This time, he didn't have to get through a paywall because it was sent to him the moment it was finished.

The details were simple: he wanted a personalised boyfriend experience video, you had to use a dildo as a replacement but fuck, you were so good at convincing him it was real when you moaned his name.

He was glad he let you post it, these chumps needed to know who was your best supporter.

"Missed you all day, Mark..." he bit his bottom lip harshly at the whiny tone from the video, watching you fuck yourself to please him gave him such an ego trip. Money well spent.

The way you called out his name repeatedly and so sweetly was enough for him to coat his stomach in white spurts, hissing in pleasure when he realised that he timed his orgasm with yours just right, thank God he tipped you.

. . .

Hearing a cry for help from a desecrated building, a blood-thirsty smile came across Mark's features as he followed the shouts asking for anyone to help. This was his favorite; pose as a helping hero, outstretch a hand to help before killing them shamelessly.

Something about that voice was familiar, like he heard it before. He blamed it on the acoustics of the surrounding rubble and smoke, he found the source, a store toppled over and broken into bits of concrete, he could see a head of hair and one outstretched hand

"Please! Anyone! I'm stuck!!"

"Are you now?" His boots came into your view as you strained to look up, not exactly Invincible himself... "have no fear, citizen." He mocked with a grin, effortlessly removing a large chunk of stone and throwing it God knows where, lifting you out from underneath.

He paused, looking over your physique and expression, the voice was freaky but this was... freakier. Something stirred in him.

"... Oh. Ooooh." He laughed, holding you closely as his eyes raked over you. "Holy shit, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

Perplexed, you tried to separate from him only to be met with an unmoving grip. "You went off the grid in my dimension, y'know? Just. Poof! But damn! No one could really make me cum like you did!" He almost sighed romantically

Your face contorted to a cringe as you tried to shove him away. "What're you talking about?! Let go of me, you pervert!!"

"Oh, you have no clue." He grinned, his hands branching out to grip you wherever, landing on your ass his fingers squeezed and kneaded the flesh as he looked over your shoulder, hissing through his teeth as the memories came flooding back "I could never forget this ass either.."

Your face flushed in embarassment, his grip too tight for you to break free. "Mmh, this is better than that vid I commissioned. I threw so much money at you, baby!" Mark was well aware you didn't know what he was referring to, you weren't the same person but this was definitely the same body. Like you were made from the same mould.

"Let's go somewhere private, I'll show you just how well I know you."

♡

Shiesty Mark:

College was boring, studying was worse. Music did not help him focus and podcasts on topics he cared about just ruined his focus, Mark scoured the Internet for any sources, anything that he could play while absentmindedly focusing.

It was only when he came across a tiktok of yours playing some overly pixilated game that his interest was piqued, nonsensical commentary was everyone's cup of tea nowadays, so, by pure coincidence, he found you were live when he looked for your channel.

You were playing a horror game, Poppy bedtime or whatever, he didn't. The way you reacted to the scares, your cocky attitude when you solved a puzzle, the way you focused on boss fights was charming. It wasn't long before he managed to go through all the slides needed for his quiz and you were still going, vowing to finish the game. A comment wouldn't hurt.

MarkG_: I finished studying for my quiz and ur still playing lol

To his surprise, you noted his comment through the handful of viewers. "You finished studying? Oh, good luck on the quiz! I'm actually happy this chapter is longer, The last one was so short!"

Maybe a few more comments wouldn't hurt, soon enough he was a regular who commented game suggestions or simple friendly jabs, he never really crossed a line with you given you started as a distraction and he insisted you still were.

You played the games he recommended, greeted him when he made his presence known, his heart pounded in his chest every time you did because it meant you were keeping him in mind during these long streams, not those other losers, but him.

Someone did cross a line at some point, a self-proclaimed and entitled 'fan', putting your safety in danger and ultimately causing you to apologise and go offline for a while for your safety. That time was painfully quiet, other streamers were too boring or too loud, he understood your need to put some distance between you and entitled fans but fuck, he was tired of watching old vods.

It didn't really matter, being Invincible soon swallowed up so much of his time he didn't check back to see you when you returned.

. . .

Another pathetic squirming hero, another embarrassing defeat. Mark held the 'hero's wrist with a bored expression behind the loose face covering as he crushed the hero's wrist. "Seriously? You guys are lame, y'know there's like 20 of us?"

He didn't wait for a response as he lifted and launched them into whatever structure was in view, grinning at the impact as the hero crashed through a building and succumbed to the debris. "C'mon! Is nobody in this shithole worth it?!" He almost shrieked, waiting for a beat to see if anyone would try to refute him, the destruction can wait.

A rock flew through the air and decked him in the back of his head, it didn't hurt but it pissed him off, eyebrows furrowing and turning to look.

You stood with an arm outstretched, holding a metal pipe from where he was sure was the destroyed city, you looked terrified. "... this some kinda joke?"

You lifted the pipe, if you'll die you'll go out fighting like hell, no man impersonates your close friend without you beating the shit out of him. "What?! Hotshot alien too scared to take on ONE human?!"

He noted your features, you looked different without a camera at one fixed angle. Realisation came to him, you were that cute streamer he followed back in his world.

"No shit, of course you'd be here." He came closer, asfalt and dirt crunching under his boots as you readjusted your grip. "Back off!"

"Of fucking course, because why not? Let's make it more of a pain in my ass! Give me someone I don't wanna kill in this stupid town!" His rambling unnerved you, but you stood your ground. The moment he lifted a hand to grab you, your arms reacted and swung as hard as you could, the pipe connecting with his head. Nothing.

Mark stayed quiet, the resounding echo of the pipe connecting with his skull disappearing as his hand clutched it and tore it from your hands, bending it in his grip like it was some pretzel and throwing it aside. "Got it outta your system?"

"Fuck you!" You spat out immediately, you were more hostile here, that's for sure.

"Maybe let's get to know each other first." He grinned behind the cloak-like covering. "Don't struggle."

You gasped as he bent down and easily threw you over his shoulder, your fists immediately beating his back. "Let go of me! I'll kill you!" You were so cute.

"Sure, I'd love to see you try to wrestle me down, hun." He chuckled, glancing around the ruined town. "Hold on tight, I fucked this place up too good."

He'll find a little corner to be able to talk to you properly, he hadn't heard your voice in so long, he almost felt guilty taking pleasure in your screaming as you held onto him while he soared through the sky.

"We'll get real close and personal this time, alright?"

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Just had another Jimmy thought...

If Curly had a daughter he would definitely introduce Jimmy as an uncle of sorts... Cutting it short once shes of age Uncle Jimmy about to get a whole lot creepier.

First he pulls you on his lap while He and your dad Curly are watching football or something, and you feel something but you dont say anything... but your dad needed to run to the store to grab some more beer. -Cupcake anon

Your own age.

Uncle! Jimmy x Curly's Daughter! Reader.

warnings: age gap(reader is an adult),toxic relationship themes, jimmy is a major creep, non-consensual touching. curly is an oblivious single father.

a/n; cupcake anon, you're a fucking genius. love you for sharing this prompt with me,hope I was able to do it justice!

It wasn't fun being a well respected captain's daughter. Especially after your mom left, your dad would leave for shipments for months on end,and you had to spend a good chunk of your childhood with nannies rather than your parents.

But that was when he came along,Jimmy... Or Jim,as your dad would call him. He was your dad's closest friend since childhood,and now he was gonna be... Living with the two of you? Your dad said that it was due to the shortage of leases on the market currently,but you know damn well it was because that jimmy person was just a broke guy.

"hey,so you're the daughter I keep hearing my friend talk about,huh?".

"uh yeah,my name is y/n".

"y/n huh? well that's a pretty name for a pretty little girl".

you did think it was strange as to how,Jimmy... or well,uncle jimmy as your dad advised you to call him, was so Frank and open minded with you,but you realised that's just how men in his situation were. Open-minded,and careless.

Uncle jimmy... was an interesting man to say the least,you hadn't really had the luck of having any fun 'relatives' for that matter so you thought this was the best as it was gonna get. Jimmy would offer you cigarettes. Something that your father had clearly mentioned in front of him was off limits for you.

"C'mon aren't you a big girl now? some rules are meant to be broken y'know?

"but dad would kill me if he ever found out..."

"it's alright,it will be our little secret".

All in all you started warming up to him,you thought that hey,this guy is already down on his luck,and he's also so fun to be around! wouldn't hurt to be friendly with him.

It didn't matter how unnecessarily long his hugs were,or how suffocating they were. he would always hug you so tight that you had to physically wriggle your way out of his grasp. on some occasions you could've sworn you heard him say something under his breath.

It didn't matter how he would stare at you for long periods of time if the two of you were in the same room,you thought maybe it's just a middle aged man thing

It didn't matter how during road trips,he would sit in the backseat beside you instead of sitting beside his best friend in the front. How somehow his hands would always find it's way to be on your thigh.

He was a fun guy after all! He lets you drink,smoke,and sneak out. Do all the things which your dad would have crucified you for.

Seeing both of you so close would have your dad asking you—

"wow you sure are having fun with uncle jimmy,huh? you guys seem to be close".

"yeah he's so cool! it's super fun to be around him".

"fun huh? Well im hoping it's a good kind of fun,honey".

But curly shouldn't be worried! His best friend was just taking care of his daughter... Right? He wouldn't do anything,wrong... Right? That much faith curly should have in his best friend... Should he not?

Your dad and uncle had a habit of watching football games during weekend nights,and you decided to join them one such night.

While watching the game,jimmy suddenly turned to you,and said.

'oi y/n, c'mere and sit" as he motioned towards his lap,he turned towards curly and said. "For old times sake,eh? You remember how I used to carry ya around? I'm feelin nostalgic".

Curly was already feeling tipsy from the 3rd pint of beer he was chugging,so he just laughter and said "haha,you guys are so adorable!".

Albeit,a strange request,you decided to do as your uncle asked anyway,and you went to him and plopped on his lap. No matter his lanky figure,he was still strong enough to carry your weight. So he had no problem in adjusting himself to have you sir on his lap while still getting a comfortable view of the ongoing game.

everybody was focusing on the game,but you,your focus was on something else entirely,all the while you were sitting on his lap, you could feel Jimmy's hot breath on your shoulder,how his left hand was rested at your side,firmly placing a grip, you could feel his heart beating, and you don't know what got over you,but you decided to do something risky, somthing vulgar which you hadn't even properly processed in your mind.

You grinded against him just a little,and that was enough to get his heart beating 10 times faster,you could practically feel his breath hitch,and him letting out the quietest groan. And you felt something hard between you legs,you realised that you had just gotten him rock hard. you felt accomplished for some reason. But that's when your dad decided to drop off the bomb.

"wait,fuck we're out of beer,jimmy look after y/n while I make a quick trip to the store to get few more".

"you got it boss".

You knew that it was wraps the moment your dad walked out the front door and closed it behind him. You blinked and suddenly you were pinned down onto the sofa, your uncle had both your hands pressed firmly above your head,he stared at you like a wild animal on the prowl, hunting its prey.

"damn,I didn't know that you were so dirty, grinding against me like that,you know how 'fuckin hard it was for me to keep from moaning?,you deserve to get punished for it don't you think?".

• you intently stared him,not knowing what to do,excited yet scared of what he was going to do next.

And then without a warning,he smashed his lips against yours,into a rough, messy, hungry kiss. he tasted like liquor with a hint of cigarettes,the cheap brand which he smokes all the time. His tongue was wildly exploring every inch of your mouth, he felt like an animal in heat.

then in between the kiss he said, "you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this,kid".

you already knew that this was going to be quick as your dad would be back from the store in no time,but you also knew,that this was the beginning of something,very long, something very vulgar. and even though it might be wrong,you felt eager,you felt excited. you were looking forward to whatever was going to happen next.

[ayyy-pee]

Request cowboy Suguru asking reader out but she doesn’t date cowboys at all. She hates them but then she gives him a chance

hi lovely!!! thank you so much for this request! IT WAS FUNNNN!!! i'm really loving the cowboy au lately so i was SUPER excited to get something out! it's fluffy and sweet and Suguru is so down bad for reader! hope you like it! <3

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Pairing: Sheriff!Suguru Geto x Bartender!Female Reader

Genre: Western/Cowboy AU

Story Warning: fluff and trust issues and Suguru being down bad for reader. what else is new?

Artist Credit: @aransmind

“You again? I already told you no the last time you brought your tail in here.”

You wipe along the countertop of the saloon bar, trying to clean up the mess left behind by beers and shots of whiskey purchased throughout the day. It’s been a long one, and you’re ready to lock up and head home. It’s just a matter of getting this place cleaned up. This bartop is old, the stains still lingering and apparently unremovable. Just like this damn patron who just can’t seem to leave you the hell alone. 

Just like this damn patron who has slowly been worming his way under your skin, despite your best efforts to resist.

Pink lips pout from the other side of the bar, and all you can do is chuckle, shaking your head.

“I haven’t even said a thing!” A man whines. You place his normal drink in front of him, smiling when he dramatically sighs contently after he takes a sip.

You’re back to cleaning up, arranging your glasses. “I already know what’s comin’. Please, no begging today. ”

A soft laugh falls from the man’s lips as he speaks. “I ain’t a beggin’ man, ___. You gotta know that, but you make a beggar outta me every time I come in here and see ya.”

Another chuckle bubbles from your chest as you stare down the man leaning his elbow on your squeaky clean counter now. You smack his arm off with your towel, quickly swiping at the spot left behind. “You’ll just have to keep beggin’ because I said nooooo,” you sing. “And that’s not changin’.”

“But–”

“Sheriff Suguru,” you sigh, no actual annoyance in your tone, because how could you be annoyed when he stares up at you with those pretty eyes of his you’ve gotten used to seeing every day for the last few months? “You’ve been comin’ in here for how long now? Askin’ me the same question and gettin’ the same answer. Don’t you ever know when to quit?”

At this, the Sheriff takes his hat off, placing it on the bar before shooting you what you assume he thinks is his most charming smile. It doesn’t work.

“Now, Miss ___, do you think if I knew when to give up, I woulda made Sheriff?” He combs his fingers through his silky long hair that somehow never seems to hold even a speck of dirt in it, despite you both residing in the dry and dusty desert.

He’s as pretty as the first day he came in.

------

The day Suguru became Sheriff, his buddies brought him into your saloon to celebrate, ordering a shot for damn near everybody in town. Who wouldn’t want to come celebrate the new Sheriff in town? Anybody who was anybody would be there! You were just lucky that the party was happening in your bar, excited to make a good chunk of change for the night.

Did you really want to spend your entire night catering to a bunch of cowboys? Absolutely not. You’re not particularly a fan, but again, the money will make it worth it.

But it’s been almost an hour past close, you’re standing behind the bartop as the deputies are still rowdy and drinking. You don’t mind much, but you are tired and ready to go. Even the idea of making more money doesn’t feel appealing when you’re ready to just crawl into your bath and try not to fall asleep.

“Aren’t you pretty?” Suguru had slurred from across the bar, in the same seat that would soon become his regular spot. “When do ya get off work, Miss…?”

You give him your name, polite but to the point. “And soon as y’all get outta my bar,” you quip, which makes Suguru laugh.

He leans forward, close enough so you could hear him over the noise of his deputies drunkenly singing behind him. “I’ll tell ‘em all to go home right now.”

It’s an offer that’s tempting, but you don’t want to rain on their parade no matter how tired you are. The money will be good, and you need it. So you roll your eyes at playfully, as you ask teasingly. “Won’t you be lonely without all your friends?”

Your cheekiness only makes Suguru grin wider. “Yeah,” he answers quickly. “Probably will be.” He rubs his chin, closing his eyes and pulling his brows together as if he’s in deep thought. “But maybeeee,” he drags the word out. “I won’t be so lonely if a pretty lady like yourself comes home with me.”

You mimic Suguru’s earlier position, closing your eyes and rubbing your chin as you think really hard about his offer. You let the suggestion hang between the two of you, and Suguru takes this time to let his eyes take you in.

Beautiful. Smart, he thinks. Quick on your feet. Makes one hell of a drink, one of the best he’s had. Yeah, he wants you. This town is full of pretty women. He’s not without options. And while he’s already had his fill of some of them, it’s you who’s caught his eye in a way they haven’t. 

He waits for you to give him an answer. But you don’t. Not by any fault of your own. It’s because one of his deputies – Satoru – is now leaning over the bar and giving you his best flirtatious smile now that he’s caught your attention. It’s left Suguru sitting on the sidelines to watch your interaction. It looks like Satoru is getting more out of you than he is.

You’re smiling, laughing as you pour him some water, because he doesn’t drink. But minutes later, you’re still chatting with his colleague, leaned over and a little too close for his liking. You’re supposed to be talking to him, entertaining him. He’s the Sheriff now! Wayyyy more important than some damn bottom of the barrel deputy!

Okay, that’s the liquor talking. But still. He wants to be who you’re focused on.

“Hey, Miss!” Suguru calls, grabbing your attention for a brief moment. “Just waitin’ for your answer.”

He sees the way you seem to barely remember that you were speaking with him before, nodding before you lean your elbow on the bar and yell, loud enough for all to hear, “NO.”

And it…makes Suguru’s heart beat faster, makes his lips curl in a smile that he has to hide behind his whiskey glass. 

Yeah, he likes you. He thinks he’ll come by more often.

------

Months later, and this man hasn’t let up. He’s always been friendly, too friendly in your opinion. That long hair, those pretty eyes and even prettier smile are deadlier than the gun hanging in his holster. He’s a smooth talker, which you’re sure helped him move up the ranks of the town deputies. But you’ve always been resistant to his charms. Or at least, tried to be. 

Sheriff Suguru is extremely attractive, pleasant to talk to when he isn’t trying to ask you on a date, and once again, too friendly. Especially with the women in town. From what you’ve heard, he’s been leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake since he arrived. Which is exactly why you’re not interested in going out on a date with him, no matter how charming and funny you find him to be. You’ll be damned if you end up being another name on his long list of conquests. 

Besides, you’ve dated a few cowboys in your day and they’re all the same; big egos, big mouths and big fuckin’ pains in your ass. And most times not a big enough dick to back all that up. Every one of those relationships were a waste of your time and you’re not interested in wasting any more of it on yet another cowboy.

“Just one date,” Suguru begins his regular spiel. "Lemme take you out somewhere. Promise it’ll be worth it,” Suguru tells you, and you scoff. He sounds just like the rest of them.

“Doubt it.”

“You won’t let me take you out, just one time, Miss?”

“Sheriff, I’ve seen ya ‘round town. You take a lot of ladies out,” you note, watching his eyes widen just slightly. “Why not just ask one of them?”

And it’s true. You’ve seen Suguru in the town square chatting it up with any woman whose direction he looks in. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the town. Kind, handsome, a damn good shot and a damn good Sheriff. Any woman worth their salt wants him. If he were in any other occupation, you’d maybe make an exception. But he’s not. He’s a cowboy.

You don’t date cowboys.

At this Suguru stands, holding a hand up, which he waves a little frantically between you. “Now hold on! I run into a lotta ladies in town. Don’t mean I’m takin’ ‘em out anywhere.” His face is serious now, lips pressed together in a hard line. “I know I got quite a reputation, Miss ___. I ain’t stupid,” Suguru mutters. “I hear the ramblins ‘round town. Not all of ‘em are a lie,” he says honestly. And you’re just about to speak up when he cuts you off. “But, not all of ‘em are true, either.”

You swipe at a spot on the bar, the same stain you know will never come out of the wood. You don’t look at him, you don’t want to look at him. Because you hear sincerity in his tone, and that scares you. It shatters this image you’ve built up of him in your mind of this playboy Sheriff who’s good for nothing but a quick fuck at the brothel. Makes you want to give in because maybe he really isn’t like all the rest.

You don’t know any other cowboys who would be as committed as he seems to be to trying to woo you. Day after day, weeks after weeks, months after months of rejection from you. And yet, he still shows up. He still asks. He still tells you that he’ll treat you right. That he’ll take care of you. Is it really that crazy to think that he’s different?

Giggles coming from the other side of the saloon burst the little bubble you’re in with the Sheriff and your eyes dart to the source. A table of four women, sitting in the back of the saloon and whispering what you’re sure are filthy things as they stare at the back of Suguru’s head. He doesn’t look, eyes glued to you and the way you’re still moving that damned towel over that godforsaken stain that you and him both know ain’t goin’ anywhere.

“I don’t date cowboys, Sheriff,” you mutter weakly. “They don’t take nothin’ serious, and I don’t got time for the heartache.”

Suguru sighs, taking his seat again. “Can’t you see I’m serious about you? I’ve been comin’ here for so long tryin’ to show you I ain’t playin’ any games here, Miss ___.”

‘That don’t change my answer.’ Is what you want to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

You both let the silence hang between you. He lets you get back to work, slowly sipping his drink while you finish tending the bar. But his eyes are still on you, watching how you began gently nibbling on your lip ever since Suguru told you again that he’s really not joking when it comes to you, like you’re lost in thought over his words. 

“Pardon me, Sheriff?” A soft voice calls to Suguru at the bar.

Your back is turned, but your ears perk up when you hear the Sheriff greet someone back, a woman. The conversation is short, her asking him questions that you can’t really hear. There are laughs from her, chuckles from Suguru and then of course, the lady asking him what he’s doing later tonight. The implication is clear, and you roll your eyes, because you almost gave into yet another cowboy and set yourself up for heartbreak.

But Suguru groans, awkwardly running his fingers through his locks as he tells the woman that he’s got plans with someone he’s been waiting to see for a long time.

“Family?” She asks, the disappointment clear in her voice. He laughs, shaking his head.

“No. Well, hope I’m not bein’ too forward, but maybe one day. If she ever lets me in, I think I’ll be able to convince her.”

“Oh!” The woman squeaks, not expecting that. And neither were you, because you freeze halfway through putting a bottle of whiskey back on the shelves behind the bar.

“Special lady then,” the woman mumbles.

“Very.”

She dismisses herself shortly after. And as the noise dies down, and the saloon empties out, you hear the telltale signs of the Sheriff getting ready to go, always the last customer. He sits his hat back atop his head, fishing out his money and leaving it on the bar for you. You meet his gaze, and he gives you a smile. Even with yet another rejection under his belt, he doesn’t seem angry or bitter. There’s no resentment behind his eyes. He harbors no negative feelings towards you. His smile is genuine and kind, like it’s always been every time you shut him down.

“Have a good night, Miss ___. Get home safe,” he says, spinning on his heel.

The quiet jingling of his boot spurs fills the air, and to you, at least in your head, it almost symbolizes alarm bells ringing. And you call out to him, grabbing his attention.

“Sheriff,” you place the towel down, coming out from behind the bar to stand face to face with the man you’ve only ever stood at least four feet away from. This close distance feels more intimate than any other time you’ve been around each other, and your heart pounds loudly in your ears as you ask, “Mind walkin’ me home?”

[arkadijxpancakes]

Yes. The Weasleys had too many kids. An analysis. (Part 2 of 2)

So, where were we? Right. The Weasleys have so many kids that it fucks with their family dynamic and with the mental health of everyone involved. Last time, we looked at Molly and Arthur during the war. We ended in 1981, which means that all kids are born, now. Molly is still nursing. (It’s common to nurse kids up to two or three years, while slowly weaning them, so I assume that this is what Molly does.) She’s finally done with becoming pregnant every other year, however. And it’s about time, because her workload is bigger, than any single person can handle. And while it will decrease over time, it will stay enormous for the next couple of years.

1982 – Bill (who will be 12 at the end of the year) starts Hogwarts. It’s his first lick of freedom. There is no babysitting-duty at Hogwarts. All he has to do is stay out of trouble and earn good grades. Other than that, he is free to do what he wants. He will be the only Weasley-sibling in Hogwarts for two years. Because of this, his parents probably have enough money in reserve to buy him a full Hogwarts-kit without resorting to second-hand-stuff too much. (He might get second-hand books, but his robes and wand are probably new.)

At home, life is still hard for Molly. She has one less kid to take care of, but the kids who are still in her care are a handful. She still needs to teach Charlie. Percy got 6 over the summer and is a little nerd, so she is likely teaching him, too. Fred and George are still chaos incarnate. (And they are just getting started, really.)

Bill’s duties (chores around the home and watching his younger brothers) get passed down to Charlie. Percy might try his hand on this, too, because he is still in direct competition with the twins and Mum gives him attention when he helps her.

The war is over and the Weasleys start to feel the effects of this. As Death Eaters are captured and sentenced, the Wizarding World starts to feel safe, again. The stress eases off (but Molly is probably still grieving.) 

Arthur’s work schedule slowly goes back to more normal levels, allowing him to spend more time at home. However, he missed out on a big chunk of his children’s childhood. It’s also hard to return to his role as a parent, because at this point, the roles of the family are pretty much established: Molly is in charge and does most of the work. Some of the easier chores are passed down to her kids (first Bill, now Charlie, later Percy). This includes watching over his younger brothers while Molly takes care of her toddlers. It’s kind of hard for him to integrate himself into this dynamic. (Just imagine him doing the laundry or the dishes – it’s very likely that he has a different way for doing this, which could easily disrupt Molly’s workflow or simply just annoy her.) 

I think he will mostly stick to the stuff he did when Bill and Charlie were little. So he’s taking his kids out for trips on the weekends. But this is difficult, too, because it’s not Bill and Charlie anymore, but Charlie, Percy, Fred and George. Their dynamic is entirely different, and it’s hard to keep an eye on all of them, while also satisfying their needs equally. (Especially because Percy, Fred and George start to clash.) As a result, the trips are probably not as frequent as they once were.

It’s also possible that Arthur picks up his Muggle-hobby at this point. (Picking up this hobby causes him to spend at least some evenings in his shed, tinkering with Muggle-stuff instead of helping his wife. I imagine him to fade into the background a little bit, while he leaves the household and child-rearing to his wife.)

1984 – Charlie starts Hogwarts.

There are now two Weasley-Siblings at Hogwarts, but things are still pretty chill for them. It’s still just Bill and Charlie, after all. Bill is probably considered trustworthy enough by his teachers to receive a time-turner, so he can take all electives Hogwarts has to offer. (I do wonder how much Molly’s expectations are playing into this. She clearly expects her children to do well at Hogwarts, both in terms of grades and behavior. At this point, he is either a massive nerd like Hermione, trying to perform well to fulfill his mother’s expectations, or both. He is also setting a standard for his siblings here, whether this is on his own accord or because of pressure he receives from Molly.)

At home, Percy (now 8) takes over Charlie’s duties. He tries to control Fred and George. It’s likely that he fails miserably. They are just too close age-wise for this to work. 

Fred and George are 6 now and start to play rough. Last year, Fred turned Ron’s teddy bear into a giant spider (which probably caused Ron to develop arachnophobia). Next year, they will try to talk Ron into making an Unbreakable Vow with them. So keeping an eye on them is getting harder, not easier.

At this point in time, Scabbers exceeds the life span of his species. Rats can get up to two or three years old. (And Rowling knows this. This information is included in book 3, when Ron takes Scabbers to the pet store to have the witch there check on him.) This is Scabbers third year with the Weasleys, so his time is up. No one seems to notice, though. I don’t blame Percy (or the other kids) for this, but Molly and Arthur should notice that they don’t have to replace a rat or have a talk about how Scabbers is happier in the great rat heaven. They don’t and I wonder why. My suggestions are: a) They are either not paying any attention to Percy and his pet (which would suck) or b) Scabbers is turning into Peter and uses a wand (his own or Molly’s) to confund them as needed (which would suck even more).

1987 – Percy starts Hogwarts.

At the end of the 1986/87 school year, Bill (who is a prefect now) takes his OWL in all 12 courses Hogwarts has to offer. It’s possible he returns his time turner after this or keeps it until his graduation to deal with his NEWT-workload. He now starts his sixth year. Charlie is in his fourth year and is already on the Quidditch team. Molly is very, very proud of both of them.

Percy is a wee first year and doesn’t have to watch out for any younger siblings for once. He can focus on learning instead. He is probably the first boy in the family to end up with hand-me-down robes, as he has a similar build as Bill and Bill has probably outgrown his first set.

Scabbers is six, now. So he has lived twice as long as a normal rat would. Still, no one has caught up to the fact that he is awfully old for a rat. It’s very likely that he accompanies Percy to Hogwarts. (It should be noted that Hogwarts only allows cats, owls and toads as pets, so Percy probably got a permission to bring a rat instead. However, no one at the school notices Scabber’s age either.)

Life at home is still chaotic. Fred and George are 10, Ron is 8 and Ginny is 7. Molly is probably teaching all of them. Her workload is slowly going down to a more manageable level, but keeping the twins in check is still a challenge.

She probably doesn’t expect Fred and George to do chores and watch over their siblings. (At least not in the same way she expected from her older kids.) Mostly, because she can’t trust them to do it. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, that.) Additionally, Ron simply has no authority over them, so that’s not an option either.

1989 – Fred and George start Hogwarts.

In his seventh year, Bill was made Head Boy. By now, he took his NEWTs and left school. He probably returns home for a little while, before he takes the first chance he gets to fuck off to Egypt and play with cursed tombs. (We should probably talk about English wizards, Egyptian treasures and colonialism here, but that’s a completely different can of worms.)

Charlie took his OWL and is now in his sixth year. He’s still on the Quidditch team and should be Quidditch Captain by now. He’s also a prefect. So between them, they got all the big achievements Hogwarts has to offer: Prefect (both of them), Head Boy (Bill) and Quidditch Captain (Charlie). Bill also got 12 OWL, which is an achievement on its own. Molly will measure her other children against this later.

Speaking of Molly: While her home life is going to relax a lot this year, her expectations are still around. She is still expecting her kids to do well in school. Considering that Fred and George are now at Hogwarts, the old demand “Watch over your younger siblings!” is back and in full swing. I can’t see Charlie doing it – he has his head full of dragons and Quidditch and lived five blissful years in Hogwarts without the need to look after anyone all that much. Sure, Percy was at school, but he has already learned to look after himself. I don’t think Charlie will start with this now. Not unless the twins interfere with his prefect- or Quidditch-duties or are completely out of line.

Percy is a different story, however. He is in his third year and still taking after Bill. Just like Bill he takes all electives, so it is likely that he also gets a time turner for this. At this point, Percy has ingrained the idea that he needs to perform exceptionally well at school and Bill set an incredible high bar to reach, but he is willing to do just that. He also spent a lot more time at home dealing with the twins. Molly’s expectations for him to be a good boy and to look after his younger brothers will now put pressure on him again. He will probably try to control their chaotic behavior, but they are 11 now, and they will listen to him even less than before.

For Fred and George, this is heaven. They finally escaped the watchful eyes of their mother and have a whole new world to explore. So many secret passageways and even more victims to play pranks on. Percy is annoying, but they can play pranks on him, too. They will soon steal the Marauder’s Map from Filch’s office, which will open up even more possibilities. It’s great. 10/10, no notes.

Life at home is finally manageable. It’s just Molly, Ron and Ginny (and also Arthur and his Muggle-stuff). This is probably a nice time for Ron, because there are no older siblings around to steal his limelight. However, at this point he has the family dynamic internalized and his self-esteem is pretty low overall.

1991 – Ron starts Hogwarts.

By now, Charlie has left Hogwarts. It is unlikely that he actually finished his education, however. When Harry becomes a member of the Gryffindor team in Philosopher’s Stone, Fred says: “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant.” Had Charlie finished his education, he would have left in summer 1991. The quote is from autumn 1991. In this case, the quote would make no sense, because there were no matches for Gryffindor to lose between Charlie leaving and Harry becoming Gryffindor’s new seeker. So he must have left before then, probably sometime in his sixth or seventh year, after his seventeenth birthday.

It’s important to note that we don’t read about any fights over this. I can’t imagine Molly being happy with this, but he must have had her permission. (Otherwise we would know about it. Molly can’t shut up about the failures of the twins, she would not shut up about Charlie’s failures either.)

Percy is in his fifth year and a prefect. By now he is the career-driven rules lawyer we meet in canon. He will end this school year by taking all 12 OWL – just like Bill. (When Ron is made prefect in OotP, Molly makes sure to tell everyone that he is now a prefect, just like his older brothers, and she seems very comfortable doing so. I assume, Percy heard his fair share of this, when he was made prefect.)

The twins are in their third year and members of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. By now, they have earned themselves a reputation as pranksters.

Ron is the sixth Weasley-kid to enter Hogwarts. While his older siblings might have gotten some second-hand stuff, everything he owns was basically handed down to him: Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old pet rat. To be clear: none of those things make much sense to hand down (or at least not to Ron).

Bill’s old robes should have gone to Percy after Bill left Hogwarts. They should be of a similar height, while Ron (as an eleven-year-old) should be somewhat smaller. Instead of handling it that way, Percy got new robes as a reward and Bill’s robes were handed down to Ron. This is clear favoritism on Molly’s part. It’s no surprise that Ron (who already feels overlooked by his parents) feels upset about it.

Giving him Charlie’s old wand makes even less sense. We know, that the wand chooses its wizard. Charlie’s wand did not choose Ron, so it would not perform as well for him. In addition, in book 1 the wand is described as follows: “He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.”

That thing is basically falling apart. That was either a lot of wear and tear during Charlie’s time at Hogwarts (considering the fact that we have not heard anything about this with other wands, this is unlikely) or the wand was already a hand-me-down when Charlie got it. In either case, giving Ron a wand that has its core more or less poking out, doesn’t sound very safe. I wonder why Arthur and Molly decided to do this. Did they expect Ron to have a great learning experience with a damaged wand? Did they want Ron to use the wand until it eventually did break, saving them another year or two before they had to buy a new one? (And yes, they would indeed need to buy him a new one in his third year, but they had no way of knowing that. Unless there are prophecies for that kind of shit. And even then. The fuck?)

Money is tight, of course. But is it really that tight? They could afford to get Percy an owl, after all. And buying a wand for their son is an expense they've had 11 years to plan. I understand getting second-hand robes and cauldrons, as they see a lot of wear and tear. But this should not apply to a wand in the same way. This is just really, really odd.

And then there is the elephant – and with elephant I mean rat – in the room: Scabbers. Firstly, that rat should be dead for at least seven years by now. No one seems to notice. No one cares. What the fuck.

Secondly, why is Percy giving his pet to Ron? There just isn’t a great explanation for this. Scabbers has been his pet for ten years. TEN. Percy should be attached to his pet like glue. After all, he has Scabbers since he can remember. Why is he willing to part with his rat? The only reasons I can think of:

1) He does it because Molly asks him to. She is clearly playing favorites, here. Not only does he get new robes when he becomes prefect, but he also receives his very own owl as a gift. It’s possible that this owl comes with strings attached, and Percy is required to give Scabbers to Ron to get the owl. Which would be a pretty fucked up situation for every child involved and should’ve been handled differently.

2) Percy wants to get rid of Scabbers. He doesn’t know about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret, of course (otherwise he would’ve reported this). But it is possible that he feels, on a subconscious level, that something about Scabbers is off. Not in a dangerous way (again, he would’ve reported this), just in an unpleasant way. (This would still be odd. Especially when we consider that no one noticed Scabbers age.)

3) Scabbers has decided that it’s time to jump ship. Percy just turned fifteen this year. He is old enough to grow suspicious of his seemingly immortal rat. It’s possible that he cozied up to Ron to manipulate both boys into making the switch. Or he turned into Peter and confunded some Weasleys. Who knows. He’s still a Death Eater and mass murderer on the run, after all.

1992 – Ginny starts Hogwarts.

The flock has left the nest. Molly’s work is mostly over. It’s just her and Arthur who stay at the burrow. She still takes care of the household, but the responsibility for her kids rest on other people’s shoulders, now. There is nothing left to do, except knitting, sending care packages, worrying about her kids careers and hexing the occasional howler. Molly could get a job now or pick up a hobby or two. I mean, she does read Gilderoy Lockhart’s shitty books. She is a fan of his, after all. But she doesn’t seem to enter any community over this (no fan club, no reading circle, no nothing. It’s just her). And there are no other hobbies outside of that. 

Apropos community: We don’t really see her having a community. She is a pretty important side character, but the books never mention that she has friends or other contacts outside her family. It seems like she is focusing on her kids and only on her kids.

Which would explain her meddling. Because Molly meddles a lot, when it comes to her kids and their futures. She keeps putting pressure on Percy to look after his younger siblings – this will expand to Harry after she gets to know him. Percy (still a good boy) does as she wishes. It’s not healthy, neither for him nor for his relationship with his siblings (who are mostly annoyed by him), but Molly either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. In the future, she will be very cross with Hermione after reading Rita Skeeters articles about her. She will also be upset about the twins' career choice and Bill's choice of girlfriend…

And yeah, that’s basically it. At this point, the family dynamic is firmly established and ingrained in her children’s heads. Percy is already set up to explode in the near future. Being Molly’s Golden Child is neither good nor healthy, especially considering all the pressure that comes along with it. His relationship with his siblings isn’t all that great, either.

Fun fact: We don’t know if anyone ever told him about Scabbers’ Peter-shaped secret. If it did happen, it was probably pretty traumatic. That shit-show was his pet for ten fucking years and he handed it down to his younger brother. That’s nightmare fuel, even if Peter never hurt any of them.

The twins have firmly established themselves as troublemakers. At least some of their “jokes” really aren’t funny and border on cruel, neglectful and/or harmful. (Remember the Unbreakable Vow? Yeah, still not funny. In 1993, they also tried to lock Percy in a pyramid. Yes, I don’t think they wanted to hurt him, not really, but that thing was still a cursed tomb. Things could have gone wrong, and at that point they were old enough to know better. In their last year they tested their joke-sweets on younger students who were neither adequately informed nor old enough to consent for something like this. Yes, they tested the sweets on themselves first, but something could still have gone wrong because of allergies and all that stuff. And after they left Hogwarts and started their joke shop, they do sell love potions to students, complete with options to smuggle that shit into school. Additionally, instead of going bad/losing their potency, those love potions get stronger with age. This alone is a horror story waiting to happen.)

Ron is affected, too. His self-esteem is pretty low when he starts Hogwarts and it will stay that way throughout the series. This will inform a lot of his decisions (especially the bad ones) in the future. 

We don’t know much about how all of this affected Bill, Charlie and Ginny. Bill and Charlie just aren’t as involved in the narrative, and Ginny stays kind of… bland and love interest-ish… throughout the story.

So… yeah?

Am I saying that the Weasleys did not love their kids? No, of course not. Especially Molly shows her love regularly. (Her love is more like a water hose than a watering can, however. Very intense and focussed on a single spot at a time, instead of reaching all her kids equally.)

What I am saying is that the Weasleys, as a family, are pretty dysfunctional. Many factors are playing into this – Molly’s and Arthur’s dynamic as a couple and as parents, the number of their kids, the war, etc. It’s impacting all of them negatively. Molly is stressed out, Arthur is out of touch and some of their kids lose their trust (either in their parents, in their siblings or in themselves.) It also makes their love feel conditional. The twins feel this whenever Molly is comparing them with their older (more well-behaved) brothers. Percy feels this when he comes home with that promotion and is demoted from Golden Child to family-traitor within a heartbeat. Ron has internalized it and desperately seeks attention and affection elsewhere.

They still love each other, but it’s a difficult position to be in for most of them.

And the worst thing: I don’t think Rowling notices any of this. She did not intend the family to be as dysfunctional as it is. She keeps portraying the Weasleys as this great, loving family who took Harry in when he needed it the most. And of course they did – but that’s not all there is to it. There are so many issues that go unresolved in the books. Molly never learns to back off. The responsibility for the conflict between Arthur and Percy is placed entirely on Percy, despite Arthur being at fault, too. The twins never really learn that a prank can go too far. Ron doesn’t really solve his self-esteem-issues. Rowling does start to give him some character development regarding his self-esteem-issues multiple times, but he always seems to revert back over the course of the summer holidays. 

The family really deserved more effort to go into the writing.

Note: This analysis is not meant to say that stay-at-home parents are bad or that Molly should have gotten a job while having seven little kids at home. What I am criticizing is the way we treat care work. Because it is work, and a lot of work. A stay-at-home parent is often on call 24/7. A stay-at-home parent never really gets to take a break, never can take a day off, and never just can leave their work for another day. But they do deserve breaks and days off, just like any person with a day job. And that is where their partners and the rest of their families come in.

And this is the other thing I wanted to criticize here: The way we glorify living as a nuclear family. It’s said that you need a village to raise a kid and I do think this is true. Having more people involved in child-rearing (be it relatives, neighbors or professionals like teachers) is a boon. Families had access to this for millennia. Raising your kids with the help of your family and your village was normal, up until very recently. And it’s a shame that the Weasleys seemingly had no help like this. And yes, I do see the fault with Rowling, who wrote them that way. She basically took the concept of the nuclear families of the 1980s and 1990s and slapped it onto the family, without any world building at all.

(Please also note, that I consider stay-at-home parents to be different from tradwives. When I use the term “tradwife”, I am specifically referring to stay-at-home mothers who do not just take care of their household and their kids, but who also commit themselves to having as many kids as possible and who tend to take on other duties (like homeschooling) as well. The most common examples of this are probably families who belong to fundamentalist Christian churches or cults.)

[messrmoonyy]

- Give me my sin again

Arthur Morgan x Female reader

Request- " if Arthur has a secret lover that he tells no one about and he goes to see her when he can after jobs maybe.shes so kind and devout and good that he thinks he doesn't deserve her. But he be besotted with her obsessed to worship the ground she walks on. Arthur not believing in anything but finding this good woman and wanting to be good for her but maybe knowing he can't

A/N- this is mostly a kind of dive into Arthur's head I like it idk. I also paired this with a request I had about bathing Arthur. It kinda fits. Anyway this is a lil shorter than I normally write but life had been lifing lately Imao. And this got me back into writing something for the first time in a lil bit so! Do enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | some religious imagery, a small chunk of smut right near the end (oral, R receiving) { wc- 3.4k}

Masterlist | AO3

Arthur was not a good man . He feared he never had been. Not really. No matter how many people could try convince him otherwise. He wasn’t. He was bad. He did bad things. A good man didn’t murder, rob, manipulate.

He was no saint. So incredibly far from it.

And yet with you? Well… he felt he could be.

You with your delicate hands that soothed his bruised and battered skin, your voice like that of an angel on his shoulder that spoke to him with an airy tenderness that he did not deserve.

He was not a holy man. And yet for you he would renounce all sin and drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness and retribution. The only deity worth worshipping in his eyes. His slice of heaven always waiting to chase the darkness from his mind. If just for a few hours.

He was drawn to you like there was something mystical in your words, hypnotising him, controlling him, luring him in with nothing but a smile. He would find himself stumbling his way to your door, just to drop down at your feet and beg. Beg for you to erase his sins and show him grace, Allow him the privilege of being in your presence for a while. Because in that awful, terrible world he’d found himself in… nothing felt right but you.

And so there he was again. At your door. Standing there in the rain as he waited for you to answer. His knuckles bruised on the wood in the night, praying you’d be awake, two rabbits slung over his shoulder. As if they could be excuse enough to spend more time with you.

That he had brought you supplies. And that of course he wouldn’t mind skinning them for you. No it really wasn’t a bother.

Though deep down he knew he didn’t need an excuse. That you would always welcome him in with open arms and at times had even begged him not to leave again. But he always felt like he needed the excuse… maybe more to convince himself of something rather than you.

He knocked again. Hoping, praying you were still awake.

And you were. As if you’d been waiting. Maybe you had. But probably not. It has been weeks. 3. 4? He wasn’t sure. But weeks . Weeks that had felt like some kind of condemnation for his sins, being punished by having to stay away. Dutch in one ear, Strauss in the other. A gaggle of others behind him.

Like some guard dog sent out to attack. Kill. Rob. Threaten. And he was tired. Exhausted. He’d no chance to slip away, no chance to sneak his way to your cabin.

But he was there now.

And so were you.

“ Arthur” you looked ethereal. Stood there in the doorway, backlit by the lamp in the room behind you. You didn’t sound surprised to see him. More relieved than anything.

He knew he worried you. Knew you must be sick with it when he went away for weeks on end, no sign he was alive other than another article on the front of the paper about Dutch and the gang robbing something or other.

He walked in as you stepped aside, standing in the warmth of your small home. He’d arranged it for you some time back. Some place to keep you safe.

“ I missed you “ you said, your arms wrapping around his rain soaked torso. Your head resting against his chest, breathing out like you had just received your first gasp of air after being held underwater for too long.

“ I missed you too “ he murmured, his free arm wrapping around you. Strong. Secure. Steady. You were grounding, dragging him out of a haze he had been stuck in to coax him back to reality “ brought you these “ he said, his voice low. Gruff even. He felt like he couldn’t raise his voice in there. That if he did the illusion would shatter and he’d wake up in his tent. All of it some cruel dream to taunt him.

“ thank you “ you said, your voice soft “ I’ll skin them later “ that made Arthur smile, a chuckle escaping his lips. The first in 4 weeks.

“ darlin’ I’ve seen the way you skin game. I ain’t lettin’ you anywhere near ‘em you’ll butcher the damn things “ his voice was gentle with his teasing, but it was true. He’d once left you to it, letting you skin the game he’d brought you. Only to return to what looked like a massacre had taken place on your kitchen table “ I’ll do it “

You laughed a little yourself and nodded

“ yeah I… I ain’t the best huh “ he dropped the rabbits on the table and then turned back to you, he needed to be close to you again.

“ I really did miss ya “ he murmured, reaching out to tuck his fingers under your chin so you’d look up at him “ sorry I ain’t been around much “

He looked down at you, just looking. Admiring. You were so beautiful . So unbelievably gorgeous that it made his heart ache. So beautiful that even death would hesitate to pluck you up into his waiting arms. Because to remove you from the earth would be too vicious even for him, to devoid the planet of such beauty would be low even by his standards.

“ where y’been? “ you asked softly, leaning into his touch “ doin’ bad things again? “

“ real bad things sweetheart “ he murmured.

You never really asked him for more details. Never went delving into what dark and desperate things he found himself doing for Dutch. You'd push from time to time. But never asked anything too damning. You knew he was bad. Never asked him to confess his sins to you, you just let them lie. Let him forget them for a while whilst he was with you.

“ that mess in Valentine… was that you? “ you asked “ read about it in the papers. Claiming it was Van Der Linde boys. And I figured… that usually means you “ Arthur sighed, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as you looked up at him.

He didn’t deserve the way you gazed at him. The way you admired him. The way you peeled back each layer of terribleness to see the good hidden deep underneath.

“ yeah “ he didn’t attempt to lie. What was the need? You knew anyway “ Strauss took a bullet. Old bastards still breathin’ though unfortunately “ he murmured and stepped away from you. He felt tetchy. Needed to busy his hands.

You seemed to gather the point. That that was enough for now. That you didn’t need to know the who’s, the when’s, the why’s. He’d told you the vague outline. Skimmed the tale. And that was enough.

“ well… you gonna sort them rabbits f’me? I’ll cook you up somethin’ nice “ Arthur gave a small smile at your willingness to let his vague stories stay exactly that. To know he did bad things, but not wishing to know exactly what those things were.

And so you both fell into an almost domestic scene. The comfortable quiet that could settle around two people doing their own thing, two people just happy to be in each others company. Two people comfortable together.

He skinned the game as you pottered about doing something or other in the kitchen around him. It felt nice. A scene he could almost see himself having permanently.

Maybe somewhere back out west. Some little cabin or ranch, just you and him. And some sheep or chickens or… something. That damn rancher life Dutch had been harping on about for so long… but just you two.

A ring on your finger. A family. Domesticity that he never truly realised he’d craved.

But that was all some hopeless dream wasn’t it.

So he’d savour those moments for now. The quiet bliss. The escape from everything back at camp. His quiet comfortable time with you.

He finished the game, washing off his hands and placed himself behind you, arms around your waist and a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Those moments were his. His true escape and joy. When he could feel vulnerable. Affectionate.

You were the only true receiver of his affections. You brought it out of him. A constant deep desire within him to want to hold you. Kiss you. Love you. Something he usually tried to keep buried.

It was a tender scene. His chin propped on your shoulder, his arms around you. You often joked that it baffled you how this man that was so tender with you, so caring. So… soft. Was wanted dead or alive in multiple states.

His true moments of retribution came when he was with you like that. When he could hold you and be gentle. Pour out all his emotions and feelings via his actions.

Including the times when he was able to press you into your mattress. Your bed, his saving grace, his chance to truly worship every inch of you. And worship he did. Hands determined and insistent on your soft skin, mapping out your curves and edges to commit them to memory. Lips burning as they trailed your body to commit each inch to his brain.

The way your hands gripped at him, your fingernails piercing his skin and keeping him grounded. Reminding him it was all real and he was sane. And the sounds you made more beautiful than any angel, whispering his name in his ear.

He always made sure to worship every part of you. Kissing in the most uncommon of places. His lips brushing your hip bone. The inside of your wrist. Each and every divet of your spine. Making sure you knew he cared. That he appreciated every second he had of you. That you weren’t some hurried little triste that he kept hidden away until he felt an itch needed to be scratched. That this side of things wasn’t a necessity. But simply just a way to prove his points.

He made sure you knew you were his everything. The one thing keeping him holding on to his morality, his one tether to the right side of things.

Afterwards he would lay there with you. Your body’s intwined and your fingers stroking through his hair. And he’d wonder when he’d get to see you again. When he’d be able to return to your arms. Missing you before he’d even left

And he desired it now.

It wasn’t even an inherently lust fuelled desire. But a desire to simply be close. To hold. To touch. To feel. To be touched in a way of care and to touch in a way that showed love not violence. To prove he could touch with love. That not everything he did needed to be violent.

So he turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands. And kissed you. Firm. But not rushed. Purposeful. His hands moving and pulling gently at your hips to hold you flush against him. Some silent request for more.

But you held your hands firmly to his chest as he kissed you, like you could read his mind.

“ ain’t lettin’ you into my bed like this “ you said with a slight sternness to your tone that made him smile “ you look like you went swimmin’ in the swamps “ he chuckled at your words and nodded.

“ and I thought you enjoyed a rugged man “ he teased, his voice low and thick. He always spoke like he needed to be quiet with you. Like inside those four walls of your cabin if he spoke any louder he’d shatter the facade and you’d vanish.

“ rugged. Not swampy “ you teased with a smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek “ I’ll draw you a bath “

He watched you slip from his grasp, disappearing to arrange it. Simply because you wanted to. You didn’t have to. You weren’t the type to be some slave of a wife to a man that demanded everything of you. And he was not the type to be that kind of husband.

You simply just cared. Had too much care and kindness in your heart.

When it was ready you called him through. The whole thing still as quiet and calm as it had been since he’d stepped through your door.

The contrast always shocked him.

“ c’mon. Whilst it’s hot sugar “ you said softly, grabbing gently at his jacket from behind to help him shed it.

Being naked in front of you wasn’t always some lust filled moment. It was… natural. Intimate in ways different from those fuelled by sex. Vulnerable. Completely bare and unarmed. A way no one but you got to see him. A way he was certain he could never really trust anyone as much as you.

“need some time alone or ya want a hand? “ you asked softly, perching on the side of the tub. It was a little small. Or maybe he was a little big. Probably both.

He didn’t need your help not at all. But he’d take every single second he could have with you. Each tick of the clock was precious.

“ like my own personal bath girl ain’t ya darlin? “ he said with a smirk which made you smile, but roll your eyes.

“ I don’t think I’m as complimentary “ you said softly, dipping a cloth into the water to wash away the dirt and dust that came from sleeping outdoors and riding on horseback all day “ god the state of ya Arthur “ you sighed, gently washing over bruises and cuts.

You were used to that though. Arthur’s body had been littered in scars and bruises as long as he could remember.

“ ain’t nothin serious “ he said and it just made you sigh.

Your touch was so gentle against his battered skin. As if washing away all the bad he’d done in the 4 weeks between seeing you. As if he would step out of that tub and out of your door a new man, that he’d be restored to new from your gentleness alone. He could pretend at least.

“ need t’eat more “ you murmured softly, your fingers trailing down his side “ gettin’ skinny “ it felt nice to hear concern. For someone to worry about him. For someone to notice “ I do worry bout ya Arthur “ you said quietly as if reading his mind “ more so lately “

He sighed and nodded

“ I know my darlin’. I know “

“ ain’t never been this bad “

“ I know ” he glanced up at you as you ran soap suds through his hair, your fingers soft and gentle on the knots.

“ cant help feelin’ like… like one day you just ain’t gonna come back here “ he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He knew that this was how it was. That he worried you. That he caused you so much stress and anxiety “ I knew the deal when we first met but… Arthur what the hell happened back in Blackwater? “

His jaw involuntarily tensed at the mention of Blackwater. Because Arthur didn’t really know what had happened. He’d heard different accounts. Dutch said one thing. John another. The papers something else.

All he did know, was deep down even without the evidence to prove the fact, it had something to do with Micah. Micah and his impulsive tendencies

“ darlin’ “ he sighed again “ I ain’t even sure. I weren’t there you know I weren’t “ he hung his head a little and closed his eyes for a moment “ whatever it was it was bad. And Dutch… he’s got all these plans. Ranching or god damn mangoes in Tahiti I don’t know look- “ he reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it softly “ whatever that mess was, I gotta help them pick up the pieces. Y’know I do “

“ yeah. I know “ you said quietly

“ but once they got enough money, they can go off and have their South Pacific dreams… and I’ll be free to go where I like. Right back here. T’you “ he didn’t quite believe it himself. And it felt cruel to say it when he truly thought about it. But some part of him felt that if he spoke it out loud, maybe it could happen.

But then again. Maybe not.

You didn’t seem convinced. Not at all. That look in your eyes that seemed filled with sadness and longing. Longing for a life he couldn’t give you. Not yet.

“ sounds like a real nice dream “ you said quietly, standing up to grab him a towel to dry off

“ it is darlin. It is. And you keep dreamin’ it cause I will make it happen. I swear it to ya I will “ he wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped out of the tub, placing his hands on your shoulders “ I will darlin “

You gave him a gentle smile and reached up to brush the backs of your fingers across his cheek, nodding softly

“ I’ll keep dreamin “

As was the usual he ended up in your bed again, desperate to prove his point and show you his true devotion. Purging his sins with his head between your thighs.

His fingers softly traced along your folds, spreading them gently. He groaned as he felt you quiver and twitch under his touch, the feeling and sound making him more and more insatiable. More desperate to please. His thumb ran up and pressed against your clit, rubbing firmly, almost possessively like he was trying to mark the territory as his. Watching your reactions as you squirmed below him, heavenly sounds escaping your mouth.

“ so good Arthur “

Your mewling and whining was like music to his ears, he could listen to it all day. Hearing you moan out your praises only made his tongue move faster, his efforts to bring you to climax increasing. His hands gripping your thighs, using his free hand to push your hips down gently.

It was never about him in those moments. Didn’t care for getting any kind of release himself. He just cared about you. As if doing something so selfless would free him of his vengeful, selfish ways from the last few weeks.

He circled your clit, giving you the attention you needed and wanted from him, making up for his absence with every swipe of his tongue, listening to the pretty moans you made. His tongue swiped across you again and again, licking a strip over your sensitive skin just wanting to touch you everywhere.

Your soft moans and writhing movements were enough to drive him crazy, his hands gripping tightly at your thighs.

“ m’so… Arthur I- “ you spoke brokenly, your hand patting around softly before grabbing onto his “ Arthur “ your soft whimper of his name made him groan hungrily, his fingers instantly lacing with yours

“ right here darlin. Ain’t goin no where “

He hummed softly against you, feeling your muscles tighten under his tongue. He pressed his tongue flat against you, giving a long, slow lick. He was addicted to the taste, he just wanted more of you. Like he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get close enough. He groaned softly again, the vibrations of the sound clearly doing you wonders.

He could feel your walls beginning to clench around his tongue as he thrust it inside of you,your hand squeezing down on his and you softly mewled his name over and over . And a few more flicks of his tongue was enough, your back arching from your bed with a high pitched whine. Your thighs clamping around his head making him moan against you, not stopping in his ministrations. Fervently licking and lapping until you went slack, gently pushing at his head.

“ oh Jesus “ you whispered with a soft, breathy laugh “ I don’t know how you’re so good at that “ he smirked softly and crawled back over your body, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“ you give me enough practice “ he murmured with a smile, tilting your head so that he could kiss you.

“ did you really mean what you said earlier?” You asked quietly as he pulled back, your fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead “ that dream. We’ll really have that some day? “

He looked down at you. So hopeful. So desperate to love and to be loved. By him. He wanted to give you the world. To hand you anything and everything you wanted and needed on a silver platter before you could even ask for it.

Deep down he wished he could. A small, tiny part of him hoping that one day he really could fulfil that desire. Be… normal. A rancher or a farm hand. You, his wife. A kid.

But a louder, stronger part of him told him he couldn’t. That he’d never really escape. That something would always be in the way. Something would always stop him.

But looking down at you, that loving hopeful look. He couldn’t tell you that.

“ yeah. Yeah darlin’ we will “

[sxfterhearts]

tainted

DAY 3: phonesex/sexting/foreplay/dystopia with choi jiung

🕸 genre/pairings: dystopia!au - lower working class, dom!jiung x upper class, sub!reader

🕸 warnings: smut nsfw (mdni) | phone sex, mutual guided masturbation, slight degradation and corruption kink (consensual), name calling, praise, forbidden relationship

🕸 word count: 2,567 words

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ☠︎︎ ༻⋆。 °⛧

“This is gonna be the last time, I swear.”

“You said that the last time we did this.” 

“Well… I just can’t help myself, especially not when you look like that. C’mon, take it off for me, sweetheart.” Jiung coaxed in a seductively low register, a smirk working its way onto his pretty face. His greedy eyes were glued to his phone screen, following your every move from behind his wispy black bangs. 

What can he say? He really couldn’t help himself. Phone in one hand, the other inching towards his crotch, the urge to rub himself in search of sweet, sweet relief was too strong to fight off. So he didn’t – Jiung simply gave in to the temptation, diving head first into his desire for you.

The past hour had been pure torture. Not only was he absolutely swamped at work with unrealistic deadlines, but he also had to force himself to stay awake for the weekly government broadcast at the assembly hall. Jiung didn’t understand why they made it compulsory viewing every Friday – the content was repeated every week: stay within your factions, don’t interact with outsiders and abide by the curfew. For all he cared, the drawling voice could’ve been speaking in an entirely different language and he wouldn’t even have noticed. 

Not when you were the sole centre of his attention; the only thought that preoccupied his mind.

It was forbidden – whatever this thing you had going on between the two of you, anyway. Neither of you had a clue what this was. Being from different factions meant the odds were never in your favour. From birth, no, from the moment you were conceived in your mothers’ wombs, you and Jiung lived completely different lives. You were from the upper class, and he was from the working class – the lowest rung of society’s ladder; the scum of the earth. You had all the riches and gold, and always dressed in pristine whites. You were the epitome of poise and purity. Jiung was always tainted in shades of dirt, murky browns and dusty greens. Everywhere he went, he carried the earthy stench of the forest, a byproduct of spending endless days chopping wood and farming land for the government – the very government your family helped to form.

He was beneath you, metaphorically and physically. Right now, you locked yourself in an abandoned bedroom, one of the many in your father’s mansion, far away from prying eyes and curious ears. Being the daughter of a high-ranking government official came in handy, especially for raunchy phone sex escapades with the most irresistible boy you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The first time you made eye contact with Jiung was when he came to deliver wood for the fireplace in your father’s study. You felt an electric spark then – both of you did. The air was thick and heavy with tension. And let’s just say you definitely felt an unmistakable wetness pool at your nether regions from watching him lift and chop big chunks of wood like they were weightless. It made you wonder how he would manhandle you in bed too…

You threw the phone onto the four poster bed before launching yourself at the mattress, obscuring the phone camera with a view of your chest that had Jiung salivating from the other end of the line. “Do you think they’ll know?” You mused, spreading yourself out and getting comfortable.

Jiung scoffed. Of course you were stalling – you were an upper class girl with all the time in the world to enjoy life’s simplest pleasures. Him, a humble forest boy, did not have the same privileges. As they always say, time is money. And right now, while he’d love to entertain your musings, he really had to get back to work soon. The forest had to be cleared and the trees were not going to chop themselves.

Plus, he was starting to get impatient. That’s what spending one whole hour eye fucking each other across the hall did to him, he supposed – him, a mere nobody amongst the crowd, and you, standing on the assembly stage, looking down at the commoners like the charming, law-abiding bureaucrat you were raised to be. Oh, if only people knew what went on behind the (smoke)screens. “I doubt it. These phones are ancient, none of the current systems will know how to break the encryption. But we’ll never know for sure – they’re always watching, Y/N.”

You hummed in response, lips curling into a devious smile. You liked that thought. “Then let’s give them a show.”

“That’s what we always do, baby. Now hurry, I’ve waited long enough.”

“What’s the magic word, Jiung?”

Blood rushed towards his cock at the way your saccharine voice wrapped around the syllables of his name. He imagined the same lips, oh so pink and kissable, wrapping around something else of his instead. “Quick, we don’t have time! You always do this, I need to go soon.”

“Always so impatient.” You tsked in feigned disapproval, but deep down, you liked it. You liked how Jiung couldn’t get enough of you, how he needed you so desperately, like a burning desire within him that could never be satiated. Even after ending every video call with a promise to never watch each other cum ever again, he always came running back to you, begging to watch you touch yourself. To him, nothing could beat watching you get off on him and his voice.

“Your shirt, Y/N.” Jiung insisted, voice firm and hard. Almost as firm and hard as his thick cock, straining against the confines of his dirt-stained work pants. 

Your pussy pulsed in response, leaking helplessly at his harsh command. After all, as the darling daughter of the most respected upper class family, you were raised to obey orders. You were always a good girl, and always eager to please. You propped the phone up against the pillow and got on your knees for Jiung, ensuring that your upper half was within the frame. With a sultry grin, you dragged your hands up your body, shivering when your fingers came into contact with your stiff nipples.

“Y/N,” He warned dangerously, but you liked playing games. His words fell on deaf ears as you kept playing with yourself, maintaining the slow pace. “Why would you even forget your bra? You like that everyone can see your nipples, huh? Is that it? Slut.”

“Yes, Jiung. I’m your slut.” You moaned, fingers pinching your buds through the thin fabric of your collared button-down. You were a good girl, but you loved bending the rules every now and then, with and for Jiung. And Jiung loved that he tainted you, the girl who embodied innocence and purity. He loved that he stained your whiteness with his dirtiness, like how he dreamed of painting your soft, supple skin with his hot cum.

Jiung cursed under his breath, and you heard him fumbling on the other end of the line. He scrambled to get his bottoms off and sighed in relief when his heavy cock was released. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Touch yourself for me.”

A dark, twisted part of you loved being spoken to in that way. The tension that built up from having to stand still in front of everyone while Jiung undressed you with his eyes got you all worked up. Now, it already felt like a release to take off your clothes and shed the persona you were forced to put on for the rest of the world. Because you knew when Jiung called you like this, you were reduced to nothing more than his girl; his slut. 

So you did as you were told and spread your legs on either side of the phone. You wore a maxi skirt that went all the way to your ankles to remain modest, but you couldn’t imagine what others would say if they saw you exposing your skin, let alone flashing your wet panties to Jiung, of all people, on the other side of the call. 

“Shit, you’re soaking, Y/N. So wet and we haven’t even got started…” Jiung mumbled, head spinning at the wet spot on your lacy white panties. His finger thumbed over an identical stain on his boxers, teasing himself as he spread the precum around his tip.

“It’s because you always look at me like that…” You whined, hands itching to touch your centre. But you knew better than that; you knew to wait for his instructions.

“Like what?” He smirked cockily. 

“Like you want to eat me up.”

“So what if I do? Hmm?” He hummed in response. “You know I’d do anything to eat your sweet pussy, my love.”

You moaned desperately, body heating up at his choice of words. “Jiung…”

“My sweet girl… Go ahead, touch yourself over your panties.”

You obeyed, lips parting in a sigh as your fingers came in contact with your centre. You placed pressure against your hole and felt yourself clench around nothing. Oh, you would give anything and everything to have his calloused fingers inside your gummy walls instead. But alas, it would never happen.

So you settled with this instead. Having his addictive voice guide you to completion over the phone was better than not having him at all. “Push your panties aside for me, yes, that’s it. Put a finger in.” Jiung instructed. He released a breathy moan when his fingers wrapped around his length and began stroking himself.

Your middle finger slipped inside your entrance easily given how soaked you were. It was a relief – small, but a relief nonetheless. You pumped your fingers in and out, maintaining a steady pace. From the corner of your eye, you could make out Jiung’s handsome face contorting in pleasure as he stroked his cock, matching your pace.

“How does it feel? Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, always a sucker for your strained voice and soft whispers.

“Good…” You trailed off, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “Ah, but I wish it was your fingers inside…” You whined.

Jiung grunted in reply to your whiny cries, increasing his pace. “So do I, baby. Been thinking about stuffing your tight pussy with my fingers all day. I’d get you all stretched and ready for my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You cried desperately.

“I know you would, my little slut. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but look at you now. What do you think they’d say? Put another finger in for me, go on.”

You obliged willingly, breath hitching at the feeling of being stretched further. Jiung was hypnotised, his eager eyes glued to the phone screen to watch your walls stretch and accommodate an additional finger. He couldn’t help but imagine replacing your fingers with his throbbing length and thrusting deep inside, over and over and over again until you both reached your climaxes. He loved tainting you; loved ruining the perfect image that the world sees of you.

“Jiung…” Your soft voice pulled him out of his trance. “Wanna see you, please…”

He knew exactly what you were asking for. He lifted up his shirt and angled the phone upwards, giving you the most delectable view of his thick girth and the numerous tattoos littered on his skin. You watched, transfixed, core pulsating as he stroked his cock hurriedly, harsh pants leaving his parted lips.

“How’s the view?” Jiung questioned with a handsome smirk on his face. 

You hummed in approval. “You’re so hot, Jiung.” 

“Right back at you, sweetheart. One more finger, c’mon. You know you can do it.”

Your lips fell apart in choked moans when you added the third finger. It could barely fit. You felt so full.

“God, you’re taking them so well. Doing so good, baby. Are you close?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed at the wet sounds your cunt made as you pumped your fingers in and out. 

“Me too. Rub your clit, yes… Good girl, just like that.”

“Jiung! Jiung, I’m close, Jiung…” Your mind was flooded with thoughts of Jiung and Jiung only, as you chanted his name repeatedly like a sacred prayer. You were so close, rubbing quickly to chase your release. 

“Yes, Y/N, so good, you’re doing so well for me.” Jiung moaned, mirroring your actions. He was running his mouth and babbling at this point. “Want to cum in your tight pussy and fill you up. I’ll stuff you full of my cum, put your panties back on and make you keep it inside… The world needs to know who you belong to.”

“You, Jiung! I belong to you, only you!”

“Fuck!” He swore, not expecting you to say something like this. It was so intimate – you took him completely by surprise. It was like a switch flipped inside him. The next thing he knew, his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and he was cumming messily all over himself. 

Watching his cum leak out in hot spurts made your walls clench tightly on your fingers. The image of him reaching his climax threw you over the edge, pleasure coursing deliciously through your veins as you reached your sweet release. 

It was intense this time, more intense than any of the previous calls. Even though you weren’t in the same room, you could feel the air had shifted. 

You both took a moment to compose yourself, to steady your breaths and heartbeats. But just as you were about to break the silence, you heard footsteps approaching the room.

“Damn it, I have to go.” You stared at him, panicked, yet your expression was uncertain and conflicted, like you were experiencing a whole range of emotions in a matter of seconds. 

Jiung was staring so intently at you, waiting for you to say goodbye and end the call. But why did he feel so reluctant this time? 

“I –” He started.

But you cut him off. “Sorry. See you, Jiung.”

You ended the call. For a few seconds, you just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing yourself to imagine what life would be like if you could be with him in person, and not just through a phone screen. 

And then you realised that today was Friday, and the maids were out looking for you to get you ready and all dolled up for dinner at the government house. Instead of returning the phone to its usual resting place under the pillow, you pocketed it for a change. You weren’t too sure why, but your gut was telling you it was the right thing to do.

You ended the call. For a long time, Jiung just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing himself to imagine what life would be like if he could call you his, and not just through a phone screen. His lower body and tattoos were still covered in cum, and he curses into the darkness when he realises…

“I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered, his words drifting off into the endless void between the two of you.

[7:49pm] jiung: sent a photo.

[7:51pm] jiung: can’t stop thinking about you

[7:51pm] jiung: i need you so bad, please y/n…

[7:51pm] y/n: me too, i want you inside me

[7:51pm] y/n: you can use the maid’s entrance. i’ll sneak out of this dinner, meet me in 20

[treefish815]

I've talked about this a lot on other sites, but as a queer man and OG fan of Kingdom Come Deliverance, I really want to talk about the canonisation of Hansry in KCD2 and just how healing it was for me as someone who escaped through this game and the ship hard as a young teenager.

Look, I just need to put out into the world how much it meant/means to me, and I think of all places, Tumblr will probably appreciate it the most. I also just kinda want to write it for myself because I've never written ALL of this out and it's something I've been thinking about for nearly 2 months now, so it's a little long, which is why it's under the cut.

So, I've been playing KCD pretty much since it released, which was when I was about 12. Living in a conservative area as an effeminate, sensitive, very obviously and loudly queer little boy, at around the age of 11 or 12 I reached a point in growing up when I think the people around me realised it wasn't just a weird little kid phase, and that I really was a faggot, and, as I'm sure you could guess, I suffered a significant amount of bullying over the next 3 years.

But, as silly as I feel saying this, KCD was an escape from that for me. I was miserable in my own life, so, between the ages of 12-15, I threw hundreds of hours into KCD1 dedicating myself to Henry's life instead. And I think there 2 big reasons why I latched onto that game in particular over others- the world was so immersive and beautiful that it was easy to get lost in it, and Henry and Hans's relationship. (It's also just a great game- but there are dozens of great games that I played in that time that never quite captivated me in the same way).

Putting aside the fact I had a fat crush on Hans, his and Henry's relationship was something I always looked forward to watching the development of every playthrough, and I would often spend a good chunk of my playthrough not actually advancing the main quest to instead make up (usually very angsty) little scenarios where their relationship evolved into something more. I'd follow Hans around Rattay and pretend he and Henry were secretly in love but could never show it, lest they be beaten and ostracised, or have conversations to myself while sitting with Theresa where I would imply that Henry had to be with her for his own safety or to distract himself from Hans, that type of thing. Considering I never thought to write KCD fanfiction until this year, I would've had a LOT of material if I'd started then, but I digress.

My point is that Hansry was something that, in a way, I think I used to cope with the homophobia I was facing. They were characters who lived in a time where they could never openly love each other, Henry was a character who could stand up for a queer monk who was being ostracised in the monastery when no one else would, Hans was a character who put on an act of arrogance and "I don't give a fuck" that we can see in more serious end-game moments isn't 100% true to his personality much as I did at a younger age to pretend what was happening to me didn't bother me, and I just... connected so strongly with them.

I've been waiting for KCD2 for 7 years. In those 7 years, I always wistfully hoped for there to be a possible Hansry path to go down, but never in a million years did I think it would ever actually happen. I'd been to KCD Twitter. I'd been to KCD YouTube. I knew the anti-woke and by extension mildly homophobic section of the fandom was far larger than I'd have liked it to be, so as much as I yearned, I knew in the bottom of my heart that Hansry would forever just be a silly little daydream of mine.

But, that brings me to 2025. I'm nearly 19, I've been living in arguably the most progressive and queer-friendly city in my entire country for 3 years, I'm openly queer and haven't heard a negative thing about it since I left my hometown, I'm happier than I've ever been and have almost no anxiety in my day to day life, and I cried for a good few hours when I watched the Hansry romance scene for the first time.

I'd seen a spoiler that Hans was the main male love interest a few days earlier, and that had WORRIED me. I thought either 1. it would be a drunk fuck that was played entirely for laughs and that ultimately meant nothing or 2. it would be a tragic story that no matter what you did, could only end badly as an attempt to uphold historical accuracy (which... could be done well, but I thought it would probably be hard for me to play through and could spark its own form of homophobia in the fandom wherein people specifically had that outcome happen to stick it to the gays, or whatever. I'd seen someone on Steam complaining that Hans was the male LI because it meant he couldn't kill him and "protect Henry from the potential of sinning" and it really stuck with me.)

Holy hell was I wrong. Daniel Vavra, you may be kind of a cunt on Twitter, but I will sit back and let you cook from now on before I make a judgement.

I cannot tell you what an incredible feeling it was to see those two characters, who I escaped through and who I adored with my whole heart not only both canonically be bisexual, just like me, but also actually have a loving, and intimate romance scene (seeing the intimate naked making out when I'd been so afraid of a drunk, no strings attached fuck was such a strange feeling of relief) after 7 years of desperately wanting that even while knowing there was no way Warhorse would ever go through with it considering their target audience. That alone would have made my year, even if they did have an unavoidable tragic ending no matter how hard Henry tried to salvage it.

But there was another thing about their romance that really really stood out to me, and that was so unbelievably healing. Their romance is generally... quite happy. They never experience homophobia first hand. They never go through the whole "it's a sin... we should stop seeing each other..." rigmarole. They're never found out and outed to the wrong people who try to tear them apart.

Sure, Hans is engaged to a woman against his will, but as a noble, that was always a strong possibility regardless of whether the person who truly has his heart is a blacksmith's son or a butcher's daughter. And it's never even a suggestion that his marriage would end his and Henry's relationship- Hans's angsting over the marriage comes more from the fact it's out of his control and will give him less freedoms than he currently has. And yes, their story is filled to the brim with angsty moments, and so much death or near death, but that's completely separate to their love story- they suffer just as much if they're best friends as they do if they're lovers. The queerness is not the angst, the war they happen to be living through the beginnings of is the angst.

Henry and Hans are two men, in love in a time when they could never openly be together, in a time when most people around them would object to them being happy together and living true to themselves, and yet they have a happy love story anyway. And, as silly as it sounds, I don't care, I'm going to say it anyway- that positive portrayal of their love felt like telling my 12 year old self that everything would be okay, and he wasn't doomed to be miserable for the rest of his life. Because if those characters he identified so strongly with could be happy in their queerness when living in arguably worse circumstances to be queer, why couldn't he? As much as I processed the trauma of the bullying I was going through through angsty plotlines involving Henry and Hans, and as much as I'm an angst lover period, that... that healed me. It was like hugging my younger self.

As much as KCD is just a game and Hansry is just a gay ship, it's always been something that means so much to me, and this silly little video game romance made me realise just how far I've come and how different things are for me, while simultaneously comforting that past version of myself who still lives deep inside me somewhere. I feel him less now than I did in January 2025, and that's insane.

"No one asked for this!" the snowflake conservatives cried on the steam discussion boards in their 1 star reviews of a game they boycotted and never bought. The 12 year old boy who processed and coped with traumatic homophobic experiences through those characters did.

Representation does matter, and always will.

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (12/?)

Sorry for the wait!! I’ve just been tired recently and words are still not wording :,) On my day off I was agonising over how to write a snapshot and ended up writing something entirely different, so I guess it worked out in the end…?? I will take things into my own grubby little hands and kick that plot muscle into gear… Thank you all for your kind comments in the meantime <3

Direct continuation of part (9/?). Bit more of fixing Starscream up after his failed attempt to assassinate Megatron.

———

“Megatron thinks I’m dead,” Starscream says bluntly. On seeing your wince, he quickly adds, “Which I’m not.”

He’s still weak; it’s the first time he’s come online in days, after all - days which you’d spent elbow deep in energon, coolant blurring your vision as you fought for his spark. You can’t be blamed for being worried. There’s light in his optics and colour in his plates, but the welds and dried energon don’t do much by way of helping you forget just how close he was to dying. The uncharacteristically limp way he’s slumped against a rock doesn’t really help your nerves, either.

Your fingers curl into fists as you fight to hide the tremor in your servos. He doesn’t need this right now, not when he needs to prioritise his recovery - both for his sake and yours. Attempting to calm yourself, you glance around the cave - enough energon to keep you going for a while without having to ration it. Thank Primus you’d decided to spend idle time digging it out. Even in its raw form, Cybertronians could consume it safely - they just didn’t prefer to. Processed energon went down way smoother, and didn’t have that strange, unfiltered taste that came from the impurities in its solid form. That was one thing you’d discovered about Starscream - he absolutely hated the taste.

To the extent that, just a joor ago, you’d started to grow sick of cajoling him into ingesting more to aid his sluggish systems - but it was only when panic began to colour your frustration that you decided enough was enough. You hadn’t just spent three sleepless cycles putting him back together only for him to reject the fuel he needed because it “tasted horrendous”. Which was how you found yourself on his lap in an effort to pin him down, batting his servos away - even injured, you hadn’t expected him to put up such a fight. The cave quickly filled with his screeching over your shouts that it would be good for him, as you tried to shove a chunk of energon into his intake.

It was probably down to the weakness of his recovering frame that he’d finally accepted the chunk of energon with a sound of disgust - even more disgusting due to its lukewarm temperature, by virtue of being clasped in your servo for too long (entirely his fault). That, and the pleading look in your optics. Ordinarily, he’d have long overpowered you. But even if he won over you in size and strength, you’d still have your ultimate weapon - what did the Terrans call it again? Thundercracker had excitedly informed you of the term after a solar cycle of bingeing his Terran movies - puppy dog optics? Whatever it was, it worked without fail on Starscream. You grimly foresee yourself using this tactic a lot in order to keep him properly fuelled.

In any case, the slight tremor of your frame doesn’t escape his notice. He wordlessly reaches a servo out to you, and you gratefully clasp it in your smaller ones. Big. Warm. Alive. Grounding you enough to turn your processor back to the matter at hand - Megatron’s presumption that Starscream was out of the picture.

Honestly, this felt to you like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. You’d rather take your chances as a neutral than go crawling back to the Decepticons, but you’re not sure if Starscream feels the same. Ambition was what gave him purpose. No matter his position, always thinking about how to improve, how to gain more. You watch his faceplate carefully, grip tightening inadvertently on his servo. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem as angry as you’d thought he’d be.

“The only regrettable thing is that we’d lose access to quite a few valuable resources,” Starscream mutters, more to himself than to you. He can make things work, though. He’s no stranger to fighting for survival, scouting for resources, hiding away, going days without energon. You, though, require further consideration. You won’t offline, not if he has anything to say about it. It doesn’t please him to put you in such a position, though - it’s no life for a young seeker. Still, war is war. He reluctantly concedes that its better than putting you squarely back into Megatron’s line of fire. Starscream scowls. Strategy didn’t necessitate manoeuvring around his own feelings before; his own emotions would only hold him back.

…But with you in the picture, he can’t find it in himself to mind.

He glances at you then, only to see that you’re looking timidly at him with a question clear in your optics.

“We’re… not going back?” You ask, hesitantly. Had you read him wrongly?

His optics narrow for a second, caught off guard by your question.

“…Do you want to go back?”

“No,” You say quickly.

“I thought so,” He snorts, groaning as he tries to shift himself upright, a jut of rock digging uncomfortably into his wing. You rush to help him and even now, it’s a surprise that he lets you. “Why would you ask that, then?”

“I just thought you might have… unfinished business? Like… being leader of the Decepticons, or something…?”

He’d mentioned it often, during his rants in the privacy of your shared habsuite. “If I were leader,” he’d growl, “I would…”

As leader, he’d proceed to talk your audial off about what policy he’d implement instead of Megatron’s existing one. You’d listened halfheartedly, not as invested in power as he was - but his ideas did make sense.

He’s still staring at you, as if just realising that your interpretation of events had been wholly different from his.

“You…”

He groans again. You’re too young for politics. Was it a good thing that he’d managed to keep you out of it? The brutal struggle for power, all the underhanded scheming, living with a target on your back? Or should he have told you earlier about the power dynamics at play in the Decepticon high command?

Well, either way, it’s too late for that now. What gets him, though, is that you clearly hadn’t understood the rationale behind his obsessive grab for power.

“The more power I have,” Starscream says tiredly, “the safer you are. I hope you at least know the position I held within the Decepticon ranks?”

“I know that,” You mutter sullenly. So maybe you’d misread the situation, but it wasn’t like you knew nothing about him. Did he really think you cared so little? “You’re Second-in-Command.”

Starscream sniffs, momentarily placated. “Ex-second-in-command now, I suppose,” He mutters to himself, turning his optics to the ceiling. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

You roll your optics at that. He does have a flair for the dramatic. Sure, you couldn’t hope to understand going from leader of the Cybertronian High Guard to Second-in-Command of a civil war faction to… whatever this was, now. In your eyes, though, he’d always been your commander, and he always would be. Perhaps that was why you didn’t feel as shaken as you thought you’d be. You suppose that not everybody could be lucky enough to have a constant to rely on.

“So,” Your esteemed commander presses on, “Who is the only bot who ranks above me?”

Surely not a trick question. “Megatron.”

“Exactly. And who just beat you to a pulp a few solar cycles ago?”

You stare sulkily at the cave floor. “…Megatron.”

“Who, then,” Starscream pushes on, despite the uncharacteristic patience in his voice, - “would I have to outrank to ensure that nobody beats you up?”

“Mega… Oh.”

Starscream tips his helm back, studying the energon crystals that twinkle on the roof of the cave as you have your mini existential crisis beside him.

“Megatron has gone too far,” He says tiredly. “Of course I want more power. So much more can be accomplished with power. But… I’m not sure I agree with what Megatron’s doing anymore.” Not after seeing what he did to you, is what goes unsaid. “Does leadership matter if it’s over a cause I no longer believe in?”

He blinks, shifts distractedly in place as if he suddenly has an idea. “Or maybe, I could start my own faction… then, I’d naturally be leader of it, and…”

And I can keep you safe, is the second thing that goes unsaid.

“…You need to rest,” You eventually say. Anything to intervene before he gets too lost in his processor. Your own processor spins with the weight of his confession, but you can’t have him burning out now because he’s thinking too hard in his current state.

You also don’t want to think about the implications of him nearly dying just for your sake.

He does seem quite woozy, anyway. “Recharge,” You murmur. “No one’s looking for us, right? And even if they are, I’ll be keeping watch.”

His optics slide to yours. Not entirely sharp as they normally would be, but he’s there. You know he’s heard you.

After a nanoklik, he nods, and you help him into a more comfortable position.

Unfortunately, it’s another few days before he surfaces again. His frame is wracked with fever as the nanites do their work. Primus must hate you, because you spend another few nights without recharge to ensure that he doesn’t overheat and fry his own circuits in the process. As if his condition wasn’t spark-wrenching enough, he has a habit of babbling incoherently at random times - “Who is Genvo?” You whisper to him, as you manually try to cool his frame down - but all that comes in response is a soft, agonized moan. Your designation comes up a lot, too. “I’m here,” You say desperately. “Sir, can you hear me?” Cupping his heated faceplate with shaky servos as you try to get through to him, but your voice falls on deaf audials.

You’re finally granted a glimpse of hope when on the third day, exhaustion compounds your panic and twists it into a holler of his designation right into his faceplate.

“Starscream!” You shout, trying to keep your voice steady. No such luck with your servos, though, which tremble as you cup his helm. “You can’t leave me, not like this, in the middle of some stupid cave on a planet ten thousand hics from Cybertron!”

Miraculously, his optics snap open. Glassy, but staring straight at you. His intake moves, but no sound comes out. You know you don’t have much time to make your appeal, but you know exactly what you want from him.

“Come back,” You plead. He stares at you for a klik more, those glassy optics boring into yours like he's staring straight into your spark. Even though his optics shutter straight after, you somehow feel like he had received your message - and sure enough, after another exhausting night of watching over him, he blinks online the following morning as if nothing had ever happened.

Even though you’d shared a habsuite for so long, you feel like you’ve never actually watched him wake up. He was usually long gone no matter how early you blinked online, so it’s a novel sight for your bleary optics as his systems come online - minuscule twitches of his faceplate, steam hissing from his vents.

His optics cycle open, focusing on the ceiling for a klik before darting over to you, as if he’d known where you were even before coming online.

"Cadet?" Starscream says, his vocalizer rough.

He makes an attempt to get up, but it’s sabotaged by the weight of your frame as you throw yourself at him, your relief surpassed only by exhaustion.

“Finally,” You mutter. You’re incredibly deprived of recharge, and tiredness has completely nerfed your inhibitions. Your small servos roam frantically over his frame, as if making sure he’s whole, making sure he’s really here. Starscream quietly allows you to confirm that he’s alright, optics tracking every shred of emotion that crosses your faceplate. His plates are a normal temperature, welds holding shut, wings responsive. Optics bright and alert, colour back to his plates. You allow yourself to ex-vent with relief. At last, satisfied by the fact that he’s actually, fully healed, a hysterical laugh escapes your vocaliser, a sharp sound layered in static as you finally collapse onto his chassis. “No one’s looking for us,” You inform him cheerfully, before he can say anything. “I’m going to recharge before my processor explodes and fragging kills us both.”

Before he can reprimand you for unseemly language, you’re out like a light.

Starscream blinks, taking in the sight of you sprawled half on top of him, optics shuttered and a klik away from drooling on his chassis.

Your plates are dulled with dried energon - his, most likely. At least, he hoped it was - better his than yours.

Starscream takes stock of his systems, finding that he was more or less functioning at optimum capacity.

He shakes his helm in disbelief, a raspy chuckle escaping his vocaliser.

You deserved this recharge. That, and so much more.

Perhaps he needn’t be so worried about your capacity for survival, after all. But for now, Starscream carefully gathers you close, watching tenderly as you ex-vent and nestle closer, making yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm, against his frame.

Nothing’s going to disturb your well-earned recharge if he has anything to say about it. Everything that comes after can wait - because for once, time is on your side.

Previous / Next

Rock form (rock candy lol) energon to me basically has that “tonic water” negative taste. Lol

[katsu28]

can I request “tucking a strand of hair behind your partner's ear” with remus lupin? maybe him and shy!reader’s very first kiss?

thank you for requesting <3 so sorry it's taken me such a hefty chunk of time to get this written, hope you like it!

remus lupin x shy!reader, 2.7k

You were never really sure how to act around Remus. You were comfortable around him, of course. But it was hard for you to figure it out because you liked him. You liked him so much it scared you a little bit, because you’d never fancied anyone as much as you did him. 

He was kind and funny and smart, loyal to a fault and protective over those he cared for. And sure, sometimes he could be a bit grumpy and rough around the edges, but that was what made him Remus. 

Remus, who enjoyed your personal space as much as you did, it seemed, with the way he was always close to you. 

Whether it was his long fingers intertwined with yours as you made your way through town, or one of his arms over your shoulders to whisper a snarky remark reserved only for your ears about how the overly dramatic story Sirius was in the middle of telling was a boldfaced lie the long haired boy had concocted to impress one of Lily’s mates whilst you were out with everyone. 

Remus, who bought you flowers because they were pretty and thought you would like them even though the pollen sent him into sneezing fits that required him to sit across the room from them at all times. 

You said you’d rather him not get them at all if his allergies were that bad, but he always shook his head instantly, claiming that sneezing and sniffling was nothing compared to how brightly you beamed when you spotted the bundle in his hand. 

Remus, who wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was perfect for you. 

You still hadn’t quite grasped the concept that he liked you the same way yet. It seemed like a dream that you never dared question because you didn’t want to wake up from it. Who would want to wake up from the bliss that was being the one person Remus fancied? 

Maybe that’s why you hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to kiss him yet. There were a few times you’d come close, forgetting everything and letting his lips get within an inch of your own before chickening out and turning away at the last second. You were worried he’d find your reasoning for it silly. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him. You really wanted to, but your inner voice won out every time, that stupid little voice in the back of your mind telling you he’d surely lose interest in you once he figured out you had no idea how to kiss someone. He’d know you’d never kissed anyone immediately, and he’d come to his senses and move along when he still could. 

Part of you thought Remus was far too fond of you to be that harsh, but there was no beating that voice in your head. You didn’t want to jeopardize the good thing you had going with him. 

He never questioned why you always seemed to pull away from him at the last minute. If anything he took it in stride, shifting his focus to anything else so you wouldn’t feel like you were putting him out. 

You should’ve known his curiosity and even his frustration would come to head at some point. One day, he’d try again and finally voice his confusion. 

You’d fallen asleep in his lap on this quite nice spring afternoon, after spending the morning out on a walk in one of the nearby gardens, not on purpose but rather a result of the warmth emanating from his body and the worn sofa you’d both collapsed on upon returning to your flat. 

Truly, you didn’t know you’d drifted asleep until Remus coughed. It was quiet, but loud enough to stir you from your slumber, blinking awake slowly until you realized your cheek was pressed against his thigh. 

Stifling a rather large yawn, you shifted onto your back, stretching your limbs out until your joints popped and your vision cleared. When it did, you zeroed in on Remus above you, waiting for you to notice him. 

“You snore a little bit, did you know that?” He said coolly, cocking his head. 

You pushed his head away from you playfully, fighting the grin threatening to overtake your lips at the sight of him peering down at you. “You were watching me sleep?” 

“Very hard to read when I’ve got a foghorn in my lap.” He tutted, but the sticky sweet smile gracing his handsome face told you he was anything but annoyed. 

His scar stretched when he smiled like that, the jagged white marring his face rounding out the apple of his cheek as it raised. Remus tended to be self conscious about it, but less so when your fingers came up to trace along it. Not intended to bring attention to it in any way, but to reinforce that it wasn't something that deterred you from him. He felt better about it after. 

“Sorry.” You said sheepishly. In your scramble to an upright position, you completely missed the way Remus deflated as you moved away. “Good book?” 

“Fine, I suppose. Good sleep?” 

“Fine, I suppose.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

“Cheeky.” 

“Been spending too much time with you.” 

“Is that it?” He huffed out an amused chuckle, letting his hand fall onto your knee. You didn’t dare react, fighting the urge to allow your leg to bounce even when Remus’ fingers began to circle lightly. “What else about me is rubbing off on you?” 

“Dunno. What do you think?” 

“What do I think? I think…you don’t need any of my bad habits mucking you up, because you’re perfect the way you are.” Remus murmured. You averted your gaze from his, avoiding the softness in his expression in favor of focusing hard on a loose thread from your sock. He was being nice, like he always was, and you didn’t know how to react, like you always did. “Though an overthinker, maybe. Don’t dwell on it too long, love, you’ll only end up hurting yourself.” 

“I don’t overthink.” You protested rather meekly, pouting. Remus made a disbelieving sound in response, lilting and a little bit teasing, but soft and fond nonetheless. He reached out, bumping his knuckles against your chin affectionately, letting his fingers travel a little further to push the hair away from your face. 

Your skin felt like it was on fire when he brushed against your ear, even more so when his hand came back to settle at the curve of your jaw, thumb sweeping along the apple of your cheek tenderly. Almost too tenderly, with the way he was looking at you too.

Part of you wanted to steer the conversation in another direction, but you managed to push the feeling aside, wanting to see maybe, just maybe, if he moved to kiss you this time, you wouldn’t shy away. 

Remus moved slowly like he didn’t want to spook you, getting closer and closer still. 

Five inches. Four, three, two—no, you couldn’t do it. You shifted abruptly, teetering back on your palms under the guise of losing your balance. 

Remus frowned, blinking slowly. His hand dropped from where it had been against your cheek, falling against his knee almost dejectedly. “Do you not like me?” 

“Of course I like you,” You insisted. Obviously he wouldn’t believe you. Even you wouldn’t have believed you. Not at all to your surprise, he looked thoroughly unconvinced, so you tried again. “I do.” 

“Right.” He said. His brows drew together in the middle, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Right, you say that, but every time I get close to you, or I try to kiss you, or god forbid I try to pay you a compliment, you always pull away. I haven’t said anything before, because I figured you’d clue me in when you were ready, but you haven’t.” 

“Rem…” You sighed, drawing your knees towards your chest. His shoulders lifted up by his ears, dropping into a resigned shrug as he searched your face for any semblance of an explanation. 

“Is it me? Am I misreading this whole thing? I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening.” He was frustrated, you could tell. Frustrated, confused, maybe even a little disappointed, and with good reason. “I know you don’t like opening up, but it’s me, love. You can talk to me, right?” 

You twisted your lips to the side, suddenly feeling all kinds of embarrassed. Remus thought you didn’t like him because of the way you acted around him. You wouldn’t lose him because of what you were doing; you’d more likely lose him because of what you weren’t doing. 

Things needed to change, now, and you were the only one who could change them.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Remus.” 

“Does anyone really know what they’re doing?” 

“No I mean, like, I’ve never been in a relationship before. I don’t know what to do around you, how to act. So I just…” 

“Shut down?” He offered, not malicious in any way, but understanding. Remus was always just that. Understanding. You nodded wordlessly. “That’s the thing about relationships. There’s no single right way to be in one. You’ve just got to figure out what works best for the both of you. We need to figure things out, but we can’t do that if we don’t communicate.” 

You sighed, letting your chin dip towards your chest. “I’m sorry, Remus.” 

“Oh, you.” He said fondly, maybe even a little bit sadly. “You’ve not got anything to be sorry about at all. Now we know where to start.” His palm skated over your knee, up, up, up until he was met with soft skin against the rougher pads of his fingers. Goosebumps raised at his touch and he smiled softly again, not-so-secretly pleased he could elicit that kind of reaction from you. “You’re doing fine, love. Thank you for telling me.” 

“There’s something else too. Why I haven’t let you kiss me yet.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You mumbled, voice muffled by the sleeve of your jumper. 

He squinted at you, leaning in closer, as if somehow heard you wrong. “Come again?” 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You repeated, as loud as you could muster. “I was afraid you’d leave me when you found out. That you’d think it was weird and off putting and you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

Remus blinked at you, long and slow. It sure was something to process, you knew that.

It’s not like you were expecting him to understand or come to terms with your reasons right away. You’d been battling with these thoughts every time you were with him, even more when you weren’t. This was brand new information for him. 

What you definitely weren’t expecting him to do was snort. Your nose wrinkled in immediate offense, even more so he cracked a smile. 

“You really thought I’d leave you because you’ve never kissed anyone?” 

You scowled, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment as you folded your arms over your chest stiffly. “Well now that you’re the one saying it out loud, it sounds stupid.” 

“It is!” 

“Don’t be mean, Remus!!” You huffed. You angled yourself away from him to stare angrily out the window, brows furrowed tightly, shoulders hunched.

Before you could brood too much, his large hands spun you right back around to face him again. He wasn’t smiling at you the way he was before, but you could still see the leftover twinkle in his eyes and it definitely didn’t make you feel better. 

“You’re being silly, love. You really thought I’d leave you because you haven’t kissed anyone before?” He repeated, ducking to catch your gaze with your every attempt to avoid his. You turned away from him, he chased after you, like some weird game of cat and mouse. 

Eventually you grew tired of it and you looked him square in the eye, jaw set. “Yes I did, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped saying it like that.” The corners of Remus’ mouth quirked up into a tiny smile. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Lupin.” 

“Oh, now we’re on a last name basis?” He replied, brows raised in amusement. “I’m not going to laugh at you. I think you’re being ridiculous, but I like it.” 

“Ridiculous is even worse than silly!” You spluttered, losing your nerve from before at the risk of sounding whiny. You’d stomp your foot to bring your point across even more, but that seemed a little too dramatic for the situation. Settling for a deep frown, you scowled at your boyfriend, moving to rise off the couch. 

“No, wait—I’m sorry, I’ll be serious now, I promise.” He insisted, holding his hands up palm out in front of him. “No more poking fun, you have my word.” 

“Fine.” 

“Look, I don’t care that you’ve never snogged anyone before. In fact, that’s good news for me—means you won’t be able to tell if I’m absolutely shit at it.” 

“I thought you were being serious now.” You grumbled. 

“I am! I am. Y/N, I…” Remus hesitated, raking a hand back through his hair. “I’ve never felt the way I do for you with anyone else before. And I haven’t really, erm, been with a lot of people, so this, with you, it's special to me.”

“Me too.” 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry if it feels like I’m going too fast, or pushing you into something you’re not comfortable with. You can always tell me to fuck off and I’ll understand.” 

“It doesn’t.” You said quickly, shaking your head. Still, he looked skeptical, bordering on guilty. “You don’t. You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. It’s actually the opposite. I…I feel more like myself when I’m around you. You make me feel safe, Remus. To be who I am, to say what I want. I just—I’m still trying to figure out what that means, and sometimes it makes me unsure of myself.” 

You weren’t even sure where all the words were coming from, but as soon as they left your mouth you knew they were true. 

“I know the feeling.” He murmured, letting you take his hand in yours. His thumb rubbed along your knuckles absentmindedly. “For what it’s worth, I reckon you’re bloody great. And I’m glad you feel safe with me. That you feel like you can be yourself. Means I’ve done something right.” 

“You’ve done everything right, Remus. I’m the one who can’t get over myself and be who you deserve.” 

“Hey, hey, stop that.” He chided, giving a firm shake of his head. “You’re already everything I deserve and more.” 

“You’re too sweet to me.” You frowned, leaning into him. His arm swept across your back, fingers curling around your shoulder to bring you even closer, a swift move punctuated with a kiss to the top of your head. You angled yourself so you were looking up at him, ready to gauge his reaction to your next question. “Can you…kiss me now?”

Remus’ brows flew high. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can wait, I promise. I—” 

“Will you shut up and kiss me, Remus?” 

Remus lifted your chin with two fingers, rich coffee eyes searching your own for any ounce of hesitation and coming up empty, before closing the gap between you swiftly, but not rushed. Firm, but not aggressive. He kissed you much like the way he acted around you.

Even though you were more or less just following his lead, kissing Remus came to you easier than you thought it would. His hand slid up to the back of your neck. Yours bunched into the front of his jumper like you’d done it before, subconsciously tugging him closer until he’d backed you up against the opposite armrest of the couch, one arm braced on either side of you to hold himself up. 

His body blanketed yours, lips leading to the edge of something more before he pulled away. He studied you again, reveling in the dazed look in your eyes as you both caught your breath. “How was that for your first kiss?” 

“Mm, good,” You hummed, still a bit taken aback (in the best possible way). 

“Top marks?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Alright if I go for extra credit?” 

“Please.” 

Now that you’d finally managed to kiss Remus, you didn’t want to stop. You honestly didn’t think he’d mind if you never stopped. You certainly wouldn’t.

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