#If people like it I’ll do a part 2 for this one! :3

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 17

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16

Eddie’s back to school on Tuesday, black eye turning a mottled sort of green, lip scabbed over. From where he’s hemmed in by Robin and Chrissy, Steve watches Eddie catch a glimpse of him and bolt the other way.

Jeff sighs, lets go of his hold on Chrissy’s arm, and says, “sorry, Steve. I’m just gonna—” and then he points toward Eddie and follows after him without another word.

Steve’s gut clenches with guilt. He’d put that look on Eddie’s face, had caused the rift in his and Jeff’s friendship, had split the forming group up with his ridiculous crush. But Chrissy and Robin are still here, standing by his side.

“Are he and Jeff okay?” Steve asks, biting his lip as he glances at Chrissy.

“I think so,” she says, looking after her boyfriend. “They talked on the phone, but Jeff didn’t tell me what about.”

“Forget about them,” Robin replies, reaching out to take his hand even as it makes everyone around them stare. “Come on, Stevie, or we’ll be late to Ms. Clickity Clack’s class.”

Steve passes the rest of the day in a daze, the spot at his side a revolving cast of Chrissy, Robin, and Jeff, like they’d all talked behind his back and decided he couldn’t be trusted with being alone right now. Steve can’t blame them because as soon as he’s left unattended in his big empty house, he gets out his notebook and pen, and begins to write.

   Eddie —

   I’m sorry I never got to read your last letter, but it wasn’t for me anyways. Maybe none of them were, not really. And I’m sorry about that, even sorrier about how your pretty face got caught in the ceasefire. I’m just full of sorries I’m to scared to tell to your face—from the way you ran when you saw me in the hallway this morning, maybe you wouldn’t want me to anyway.

   You’ve always been the brave one, so you must really want to not see me, huh? I hope you and Jeff are friends again. I’m sorry about that too, I’m the one who asked him not to tell you. I was afraid, but that’s no excuse.

   I don’t know how to stop wanting to right write to you. I can’t turn off the part of me that still wants to know everything about you. There’s a whole in my heart, and I keep trying to find people to fill it, but I can never be in love with someone who loves me back. You know?

   I’m sorry, Eddie. Maybe someday, I’ll get to say it to your face.

   Sorry,

   Steve

He closes the notebook on the damning words and shoves it into his nightstand so he doesn’t have to look at it. Sleep doesn’t come—the house is too quiet. He grabs the phone off his dresser and calls the only other person he knows whose parents trust them enough to have a phone in their bedroom.

“H’lo?” Robin mutters sleepily after finally picking up the phone six rings later.

She sounds tired—Steve’s sorry he woke her. “I wrote another letter,” he says.

That seems to perk her up instantly, as she hisses down the line, “Steven James Harrington.”

“Not my name, Robin Steven Bobbington,” he replies, talking right over her shrieked “well, that’s not mine!” to continue, “I’m not going to send it.”

“You better not,” she replies, and Steve can hear some rustling on her end, like she’s settling back down into her bed. He wishes, suddenly, that he was in there with her, clutching her hand as they fall asleep side by side. Instead, he lays down on his own bed and concentrates on the noises coming down the line.

“Is it stupid that I miss him?” he asks.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Robin!”

She laughs, a quiet sleepy chuckle that warms him straight through. “I’m just saying! He’s been treating you like shit, Stevie.”

Steve sighs, burrowing down under his comforter and taking the phone with him. “He was different in the letters,” he whispers, like someone in his empty house might hear him otherwise. “Sweeter, you know?”

Robin sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There’s enough sorries to go around for all of them, apparently. They’re quiet for a while, Robin’s breathing keeping him company in his big, lonely bed with his big, lonely thoughts.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

He’s been saying it a lot lately, throwing the words around like they’ll connect this time and get him something real. And they had, with Chrissy, with Robin, hell, even with Jeff. Just, not with Eddie. Maybe someday, he’ll learn to be okay with that.

“Love you, too, Dingus,” Robin replies, like it’s easy.

He falls asleep that night to the sound of Robin’s quiet snoring.

***

Eddie thinks about it—obsessively, compulsively. He dreams about it, jerks off about it, fucking cries about it. He reads the letters, again, and again, and again, wishing desperately that he still had that first one. At school, he checks his locker obsessively, compulsively, hoping there’s another note in his locker—there never is.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Gareth asks, an elbow into Eddie’s side.

“Ow, ribs!” Eddie cries, curling away from him and into Doug at their usual lunch table.

“Sorry!” Gareth replies, leaning away from him and raising his hands up like that’ll somehow prove he’s harmless.

Jeff snorts around his sandwich, “gotta be careful, Gare-bear. He’s precious cargo now.”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes as the rest of Hellfire laugh around him.

“No, but seriously, dude,” Gareth asks, this time without the thrown elbow. “What’s up with you?”

Eddie looks across the cafeteria at Steve and Chrissy’s usual spots, still empty the way they have been for weeks. He worries, sometimes, that they’re not eating, and it’s his fault.

Hopefully, they’re just packing lunches from home and eating somewhere else (he’s been too afraid to check).

“Can’t tell you buddy,” Eddie replies, still looking at the empty spot like that’ll somehow make the duo appear. “I promised.”

Gareth, clearly having followed his line of sight, leans closer and asks in an unsubtle whisper, “but it’s about you know what?”

Doug sits on, oblivious, but Jeff snorts again and asks, “okay, you didn’t tell me jack shit, but you told the freshman?”

“Sophomore, jackass!” Gareth cries, before seeming to realize the implications of Jeff’s sentence. “You told Jeff?”

“I knew before you did,” Jeff says smugly, and Eddie’s starting to get pissed off about that again.

“How!”

“Jeff, dearest?” Eddie grits out. “Do you want me to punch you in the face?”

That shuts the table up catastrophically. But in the end, Jeff sighs and says, “I’m coming over after school,” and the rest of lunch is spent fielding Gareth’s indignant questions.

True to his word, Jeff climbs into Eddie’s passenger seat at the end of the day. Eddie doesn’t take them to the trailer, he just drives around, taking back roads round and round, restlessness making his fingers twitch in the gear shift.

Jeff’s the one who breaks the silence, in the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, making Eddie flinch at the sudden noise. “Steve just seemed so scared, and Chrissy was crying so—”

“He was scared?” Eddie interrupts, stuck on the thought. He’d known that, before, but now that Eddie’s afraid, too, it hits like a punch to the chest.

“Of course he was,” Eddie replies to his own question. Suddenly unable to focus, Eddie pulls over to the side of the road. “I’m scared, too.”

Jeff sucks in a breath; Eddie doesn’t look away from his own knees.

“Yeah?”

Eddie bites his lip, knowing that Jeff will be able to read between the lines. “Yeah.” His eyes are watering, and Eddie swipes at them, embarrassed. “And I know we’re supposed to be talking about us, but I just—”

“No, hey,” Jeff replies. Eddie hears the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling, and the rustle of him shifting in his seat, and suddenly, Jeff’s hand is clasping Eddie’s shoulder, shaking him around just a little. “You’re my best friend—we’re fine, dude.”

Eddie swipes at his eyes again, “I think I want to ask him out, but what if I’m wrong?” Eddie asks, tracking Jeff’s expression out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, voice deadpan. “You find out he likes you and suddenly he’s not just a jock anymore?”

Eddie looks down at his own knees, bracing for a hit he knows will never come. But, Eddie’s always been good at hurting himself, so he thinks about that yellow nail polish again, the enraptured look in Steve’s eyes during every D&D session, the way he’d glued himself to Robin Buckley, band nerd supreme’s side in recent weeks. The way he’d look at Eddie like he wasn’t the king of the freaks, like he was worth something.

“He was never just a jock,” Eddie murmurs. “I just never let myself think about it.”

Jeff mmmhmms him and Eddie knows him well enough to hear the doubt beneath the agreement.

“I was afraid, okay?” Eddie laments, scrunching his eyes closed tight until that makes his bruised eye ache too much. “You wouldn’t get it.”

At that, Jeff scoffs, and before Eddie can start up another tirade, he replies, “right, the black guy dating a white girl in Po-dunk, Indiana has no idea how scary it can be to make a move on the person you like.”

Okay, fair.

“You know what could happen if the wrong person finds out?” Jeff continues. “I’ll be lucky if they let me get out of town alive.”

“Okay, okay! I get it, sorry!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up in defeat. And Jeff, being the asshole he is, just laughs at his discomfort. “How’s that going anyway?”

“With Chrissy?” Jeff asks, continuing when Eddie nods. “She’s great, man. I really, really like her.”

He’s smiling all goofy and in love. Eddie waits for the jealousy to hit; it never comes. Even as he’d flirted with her, there’d always been a disconnect for him between the letters and the girl. He knows why, now.

“I’m happy for you.”

Jeff aims that same goofy smile at him and punches his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

Eddie wants to feel that way about someone. He wants to think of them and smile like he just can’t help himself. And with Steve Harrington of all people, maybe he can.

“If I ask Steve out, do you think he’ll still say yes?”

“Oh, for sure,” Jeff replies without hesitation before he turns to Eddie and eyes him up and down. “But are you sure you want to?”

Eddie bites back the defensive retort rising on his tongue, and grits out, “what do you mean?”

Jeff sighs and leans back in his chair. Eddie waits, three seconds from snapping as he stews in Jeff’s silence, hands clenched so hard against the steering wheel that it feels like one of his nails might pop clean off. 

“Jeff–”

“No one’s ever liked you before!” Jeff cries, and it hits Eddie like a punch to the sternum. “And maybe it’s not fair of me to ask but, are you sure you even really like him?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his mind a record skipping against a bent needle. “What do you–”

“Eddie, man,” Jeff sighs, swiveling his head to finally look Eddie directly in the eyes. “Do you like Steve Harrington, or do you just like that he likes you?”

He drops the wheel, hands almost numb as he shakes them out, no longer able to meet Jeff’s eye. 

How would anyone ever know that for sure? How can he know the origin of a feeling when it’s been there, simmering in the background of his brain, just waiting for him to wake up? How can he separate the feeling for a person and the person’s feeling for them?

That’s like asking him to unbraid his hair, let it fall back together, and still be able to tell which strands made up each component of the braid–it can’t be done.

But, “Gareth said I was obsessed with him,” Eddie replies, barely above a whisper. “Like, before I knew he wrote the letters?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, but it’s just like Steve said–it sounds different when he doesn’t think it’s funny. “And, he was right, you know? I was flirting with Chrissy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”

Eddie runs a shaking hand through his hair and buries his face into his hands with a shudder. “He’s just–he’s Steve Harrington, right? Everyone knows everything about him, but then he just changes the script!” Eddie’s smiling now, manic, animated. “And I wanted to know everything.”

Eddie drops his hands to look over at Jeff, meeting his eyes once more. Jeff looks patient, ready, hopeful in a way he hadn’t before, so Eddie keeps talking.

“Like, Chrissy was flirting with you and he didn’t even seem to care, and the yellow nail polish, and he came to Hellfire, Jeff. Steve Harrington came and watched us play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I know,” Jeff replies, grinning now, pearly whites all on full display. 

“And when he came to band practice, he was just like, watching me, and I sort of wanted to die, but in a good way, you know?”

Jeff decidedly does not look like he knows, but he’s still grinning across at Eddie like he’s proud of him. Eddie’s kind of proud, too, that he’s managing to say all of this aloud. It feels somehow new and a long time coming at the same time. 

“Okay, you can ask him out,” Jeff says, turning forward in his seat and buckling his seatbelt once more. 

Eddie laughs. “Oh, because I needed your blessing?”

“Yeah,” Jeff replies, grinning as he turns back to Eddie, looking him up and down like he’s a slab of meat Jeff’s checking for its quality. “Maybe wait until you’re healed up, though. You look like one of those cardboard box kittens that I keep seeing on the news.”

“Shut up!” Eddie squawks, but he’s smiling, helplessly, hopefully.

Eddie Munson with a chance at love, who would’ve thought?

[ham1lton]

SIMPLE !

pairings: jude bellingham x lewis hamilton’s assistant!reader

summary: after your first few dates with jude, everything seems to be going smoothly. however, there’s just one problem: your boss seems to hate your new boyfriend.

warnings: judeyn being dumbasses.

author’s note: part of my dream girl universe. for best enjoyment, read after the first instalment. assistant2 also makes her first official appearance!!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

📍 berlin, germany.

tagged: judebellingham

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, jobebellingham and 2,837,918 others.

yourinstagram: the photos he takes of me vs the one i take of him. i think you all can see the better photographer.

view all 1,108,928 comments

user1: LOVE seeing hot people date each other.

-> user11: i love seeing two hot people be BESTIES.

user2: JUDE IS TAKEN ???!!!! NOOOOOOO

-> user3: babe… you didn’t have a chance at all. like please be serious.

-> user13: thank god they aren’t actually dating tho.

user4: my gf <3

-> judebellingham: who even are you.

-> user4: we can share <3 i can keep her satisfied thru the weekend u have the weekdays king.

jobebellingham: love this yn. he looks so depressed and ugly.

-> judebellingham: U JEALOUS ASF 😹

-> jobebellingham: yn i’ll paypal you £50 rn if you post more ugly pictures. which is all his pictures really.

-> yourinstagram: challenge accepted 🫡

lewishamilton: you look good yn!

-> user5: and what about jude??

-> lewishamilton: what about him?

-> user6: NOT YN’S HUSBAND HAVIN BEEF W/ HER BFF 😭

user7: lip combo?!!??

-> yourinstagram: i’m not a gatekeeper. it’s on my tiktok!! my most recent one <3

user8: you did my king so dirty with that one pic…. LMFAO DO IT AGAIN

-> yourinstagram: 🫡🫡

user10: their friendship is so cute!!

user12: yn is moving up in the world!!! from bts delulu to besties with JUDE BELLINGHAM

-> yourinstagram: blocking you! 😃

-> user12: you can block me but you can’t erase ‘hobisbabymama’

-> yourinstagram: HELLO?2&/9£/

user9: WHERE IS LANDO?!

-> user10: she blocked his main and his ten other side accounts because she’s secretly in love with him and wants to leave loser jude for him.

-> user9: hi lando 😁

user10: no roscoe pic?

-> yourinstagram: sorry babe :(( he’s at home with his dad and i’m on holiday. assistant2 has some highlights of him on her page!! <3

judebellingham: why do i look so depressed

-> yourinstagram: idk <3 want to get ice cream?

-> judebellingham: .. yeah

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

title: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, i don’t really post on here, but i’m at my wit’s end and need advice. i (j, m21) have been dating my girlfriend (y, f24) for a couple of months now, and it’s been brilliant. she’s smart, funny, beautiful, and honestly the kindest person i’ve ever met. here’s the catch: her boss (l, m39), who also happens to be an insanely famous athlete and very wealthy, clearly hates me.

y works as his personal assistant, and from what she’s told me, l has always been good to her. she’s known him for years, and he’s helped her out a lot in her career. she always says he’s like family, but ever since she introduced me to him, he’s been awful.

it started small, like him calling me “mate” in that condescending way that makes you feel about two feet tall. but last week, i went to pick y up from work, and he gave me this look—you know the type, the kind that says, “you’re not good enough to breathe the same air as her.” i tried to play it off, but it’s eating at me.

another time, we ran into him at a café, and he made this offhand comment about how “footballers aren’t known for their brains.” y tried to laugh it off, but i felt like an absolute idiot.

then there was the incident with the tickets. y mentioned she’d been offered two box seats for a big match, courtesy of l, and we were both so excited to go. but when she told him i was going with her, he suddenly “remembered” he’d promised them to someone else. i know it sounds paranoid, but it feels deliberate.

to make matters worse, y thinks i’m overreacting. she says l is just protective of her because they work closely together, but i can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. she brushes off his weird behaviour, but come on—this is the same man who asked her to taste-test a box of chocolate truffles because he couldn’t decide which to order for himself. (weird, right?)

it’s not just the comments, though. y told me l doesn’t usually care who his staff date, but she mentioned he’s suddenly started asking loads of questions about me, like whether i’ve been in trouble before or if i’m serious about her. it’s like he’s looking for a reason to disapprove. y thinks he’s being protective, but i swear he just doesn’t like me. here’s the problem: i’m pretty sure he hates me. actually, scratch that—i know he hates me.

i’m spiralling here. what if l starts sabotaging our relationship? y says she’s not going anywhere, but i can’t shake the feeling he’s got some weird power over her. am i just being insecure, or is there something seriously wrong here? what do i do?

top comments:

soggy_pigeon: nah, this is classic alpha behaviour. he’s marking his territory. he probably sees her as more than just an assistant, if you know what i mean. tread carefully.

fluffybananas: footballers aren’t known for their brains. maybe he has a point.

spicy_gravy: dude, he’s probably jealous you’ve got abs and a girl who loves you. chill.

randomuser_123: sounds like you’re dating your boss’s work spouse.

tofu_throwaway: i think l’s just jealous because y spends more time with you now. he’s like a toddler upset that someone’s playing with his favourite toy.

ladybantheboys: ok but what if it’s the opposite? like, what if l approves of you but is being mean on purpose to test if you’re good enough for her?

football4ever: j, mate, you’re overthinking. l’s just a famous bloke who doesn’t want to lose his assistant to some random guy. show him you’re not random. take him out for a pint or something.

memequeen420: this reminds me of when i had a cat and got a new dog. the cat hated the dog at first but now they’re best friends. just give it time.

plshelpme1998: have you tried googling “how to win over your girlfriend’s boss”? there’s bound to be a wikiHow.

bananabreadbae: mate, if he wanted her, he’d have made a move by now. maybe he just doesn’t like footballers. not everyone does, you know.

user2847: honestly, the truffle thing makes me think he’s the weird one. does he do this with everyone or just y? if it’s just her, he’s probably got some weird older-brother complex going on.

ultimategoblin69: maybe he wants to adopt you. famous people do weird shit like that.

yogurtbutter: ok but what if you’re the problem? maybe you’re just a bit annoying and he senses it. famous people have great instincts.

iamnotanon: have you considered sabotaging him back? like, nothing serious, but maybe show up in a better suit than him one day. alpha vibes only.

opinionatedowl: this is a power thing. l’s rich and famous, and he’s used to being in charge. stand your ground, but don’t disrespect him. he’s probably testing you.

thecheeseman: it sounds like a bad rom-com where l secretly approves of you but can’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated. if i were you, i’d play the long game.

spicywaterlover: wait… what if l is secretly in love with y and you’re the obstacle? plot twist.

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edit: wow, ok. this has been a ride. thanks for all the comments, even the wild ones. i think i’ll try the “pint” suggestion, but i draw the line at sabotage. will update if anything changes (or if i get adopted).

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liked by messyassuser, lando11priv and 1,938,882 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: football star jude bellingham seen cuddling and being affectionate with his new girl! she has been identified as yn yln, she is the personal assistant of f1 icon lewis hamilton. they were spotted outside a restaurant in las vegas after the grand prix all boo’d up! according to sources, they were all loved up at the after party. they ‘didn’t leave each other’s space’. what do we think about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: who tf even is she

-> user2: a baddie. she’s seriously so funny and sweet. you guys should see her tiktok or insta pages. jude is punching above his weight.

user3: oh!

user4: HOTTIES!!!

user5: why they doing the most in public???

-> user6: they’re in love? girl lmao.

-> user7: she’s his beard or he’s hers. idk yet. i need to consult the stars.

-> user8: ^ me when i’m off my meds.

user9: am i the only one who thinks they’re cute? good for them!!

user10: um i think she’d be happier with lando.

-> user11: lando please how are you still making new accounts.

-> user10: i’m totally not the handsome and gorgeous lando. i’m actually… pando. hi.

user12: my gf and my bf are dating??? i’m gonna be sick.

-> user13: they got two hands.

user14: they’re rlly dating???

-> user15: no bitch. they’re just coworkers 🙄

-> user14: oh! thank you :D

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UPDATE: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, it’s j again. thanks for the advice on my last post—it was a mix of helpful, hilarious, and… well, a bit unsettling. but it gave me the push i needed to talk to l. here’s what happened:

i decided to man up and ask him out for a pint to clear the air. i figured it was the most normal thing to do. well, turns out l’s teetotal (thanks, y, for not warning me properly). when i suggested a pint, he just looked at me for a second and went, “i don’t drink, mate,” in that calm, terrifying way he has. i panicked, said something about tea, and left feeling like an absolute idiot.

but two days later, he called y at work and told her to invite me round to his place for tea. TEA. this man lives in a house that looks like it’s straight out of a Bond film, so you can imagine how intimidating it was to rock up with a packet of biscuits like some budget offering.

long story short, we had tea, and he cleared the air. he admitted he’d been giving me a hard time because he wanted to make sure i was serious about y. he said she’s like family to him (didn’t say “work spouse,” thank god), and he needed to know i’d treat her right. honestly, it was a bit awkward, but also kind of sweet.

so yeah, we’re good now. he even said he’d save me a seat for the next big race. i don’t know if that was a peace offering or a power move, but i’ll take it.

thanks for the push, reddit. you lot are mad, but in a good way. most of the time.

comments:

ladybantheboys: told you he was testing you! this is literally every rom-com ever. next step: you accidentally bond over an inside joke, and he becomes your biggest fan.

bananabreadbae: this is so british it hurts. “sorry i was mean, let’s have tea.” mate, at least you passed the test!

football4ever: called it! blokes like him just want to make sure you’re solid. now you’re in his good books, you’re set for life. congrats, mate.

memequeen420: so… what kind of biscuits did you bring? was it something boring like digestives, or did you go all out with hobnobs? we NEED to know.

randomuser_123: this is like when my dog hated my boyfriend at first but then they bonded over cheese. sometimes it just takes time.

tofu_throwaway: glad it worked out, but honestly, i’m still a bit scared of l. even through your post, he sounds like he could crush a man with a single stare.

iamnotanon: congrats on passing the test. now don’t mess it up, or i guarantee he’ll make you disappear. rich people have connections.

ultimategoblin69: you went to his house?! are you sure it wasn’t a trap? like, did he subtly scan your fingerprints for future blackmail material?

plshelpme1998: like, this whole thing is giving weirdly protective father vibes. good luck, mate.

user2847: what does his house smell like? no, seriously. i feel like rich people’s houses have that “old money” smell, like leather and expensive wood polish. was it intimidating?

(deleted): send feet pics.

opinionatedowl: so… when’s the wedding? i’m assuming l will walk her down the aisle now that you’ve been knighted into his inner circle.

thecheeseman: this is the most British solution ever. “i made you feel terrible, but here, have some earl grey, and now we’re mates.” glad it worked out though!

memequeen420 (again): STILL no answer on the biscuits. j, you’re avoiding the REAL questions here. were they branded or store-brand? did he eat one? this is important.

weirdcookieperson: did he sniff you when you walked in? like, does he have a heightened sense of smell? rich people are weird, man.

alphamale_uk: mate, you handled this all wrong. never apologise, never offer tea, and NEVER back down to another alpha. you should’ve walked in, sat in his chair, and asserted dominance. that’s how you gain respect. next time, bring steak, not biscuits. real men bond over meat, not tea.

j (op): l’s vegan, mate. bringing a steak would’ve been like waving a red flag at a bull. also, this isn’t Planet of the Apes, it’s just tea. chill.

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j (op): wow, i forgot how weird reddit is. for the record: branded hobnobs. because i’m not a monster. no sniffing, no fingertip scanning and i’ll get someone to update you if i go missing. cheers for the laughs.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @23victoria @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[damiansgoodgirll]

don’t break my heart 8 i can’t wait 💕💕

I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG…part 9 is already in the making!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.

rhea ripley x reader (platonic) / damian priest x reader (platonic) / drew mcintyre x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️this chapter contains topics like fear of abandonment, negative thoughts, loneliness, panic attacks, fear of rejection, paranoid reader, anxiety, angst in general‼️

DON’T BREAK MY HEART - PART 8

it was bad blood weekend and you were a nervous wreck. you didn’t know why but you had a sixth sense, feeling that it was going to be bad. in your mind you saw rhea and damian losing. you saw drew and punk destroying each other and you were terrified because you couldn’t do anything to prevent all of that. it was just your imagination - you told yourself - but as the days passed, your feelings got worse and in less than two hours from the start of the show, you were completely terrified.

adam forbid you to go and help rhea, meaning that she was alone out there. you knew she didn’t need your help to win a match, especially against liv morgan, but you never knew what the judgment day was up to.

you saw how drew trained himself this week, you knew he was ready for the match, but having him, alone, in a cell with punk, was scaring you. he told you multiple times that no matter the outcome, he would make punk see hell, and by now, you knew that drew was serious. he didn’t care about winning or losing, he wanted this to be a revenge on punk, for costing him the world title.

as you were all backstage, you could feel the tension. drew tried to stay calm, especially seeing how agitated you were, but truth was, he wasn’t calm either. he was ready for that match.

the hell in a cell match was going to be the first one, probably the most anticipated match of the night.

“be careful out there okay?” you whispered as he finished getting ready.

“i will, i promise” he tried to reassure you but you didn’t really believe him.

chuckling, you looked up at him “you won’t, i know you…i already see blood and tears so please, don’t be the one i see bleeding in my imagination” you tried to be sarcastic but deep down you know that there was a huge possibility of drew coming back with blood and deep cuts.

“well, then you have a large imagination” he joked “i can’t promise you that but i promise you that i’ll be careful okay?” he smiled down, trying to reassure you as best as he could.

rhea and damian were both getting ready for their matches so they weren’t watching punk and drew completely destroying each other, meaning you were left alone in your little changing room watching the show on the tv screen in front of you.

drew wasn’t careful. you saw blood during the first fifteen minutes of the match. both men were heavily bleeding. you wished they stopped at the tables and chairs but they both went too far. you could hear the crowd cheering but there was an heavy tension backstage, as if this wasn’t supposed to happen.

of course you knew there was going to be blood and a lot of brutality but for a minute you thought that it was too much. thirty minutes into the match and both men had no intention of stopping. more blood, more violence, more gore. you quickly left your changing room and walked around backstage, you had no intention of finishing that match.

you tried, but seeing drew like that was too much for you.

“girl where are you going?” you heard jey’s voice calling you when he saw you wandering around with nowhere to go “come here!” he gently smiled and pulled you into a bigger locker room. him and few people of the crew were watching the match.

“oh god…” you whispered seeing how badly injured was drew. you saw the big jump he took on the metal stairs and how hard he hit his back. you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to get that image out of your head - he broke his back - you thought - it’s over for him. you didn’t care who was going to win, you just wanted the match to be over. luckily a few minutes later, punk finished his moves on drew, making him the winner of the match.

you could see that neither of the men were able to stand properly. punk fell on his knees and drew was still trying to catch his breath inside of the ring. it was an hell of a match but it was too much for you. you just wanted to get to drew and hug him, comfort him.

you excused yourself from jey and the rest of the crew and sprinted out towards the entrance but security stopped you, telling you that drew needed to be medicated first.

your mind was racing. rhea was getting ready for her match. damian was getting ready for his match. drew was being medicated somewhere in the backstage and you were standing there alone with your thoughts as people kept working around you. you felt small, too small.

you didn’t care - you needed to know how drew was doing so you walked towards the medical area and when you saw him getting his wounds cleaned, your stomach turned on you.

drew saw you and he weakly smiled at you, aiming for you to come in.

you didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know what to say. but the sight of blood made you sick so you tried to look anywhere in the room expect him.

“y/n…” his rough voice called you.

“hey…” you walked a little closer till you sat down next to him “you promised me that you would have been careful” you joked, making him slightly chuckle.

“i’m here, alive…that’s a promise” he smiled, looking at you.

“you got everyone worried…you got me so fucking worried, drew i thought i lost you” you didn’t mean to sound so weak, you didn’t mean to let everyone in the room know about your relationship but you couldn’t help your emotions.

“hey…i’m okay, i’m here…just some cuts but i’m okay, i promise you” drew reassured you to keep you calm but deep down he knew he failed. he wanted to show you he was capable of doing it but he failed and he was ashamed of himself. he knew that you would have never judged him but that wasn’t what his mind was telling him “hey y/n…do you mind if i rest a little bit? i feel like i just need to close my eyes” he wanted - needed - your comfort but he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

you were taken aback from his demand but you knew that you couldn’t say no to him. after what he just been through, he needed to rest, he needed time for himself “absolutely…let me know if you need anything okay?” he smiled softly kissing your cheek before letting you go.

feeling a little down you hoped to meet either damian or rhea backstage but none of them was anywhere to be found.

damian was next and he was about to enter the ring so you sat backstage and watched the match with a little anxiety as he was going to face finn. after everything he put you through you knew that all you wanted to see was damian destroying finn but the judgment day was going to interfere and he was there all alone. anxiously you watched the match and couldn’t help your happiness the moment he won. even if the judgment day tried to help finn, they all failed miserably and you couldn’t help but laugh.

as time passed you waited for rhea’s match. she trained so hard for this moment and you knew that she was more than ready to fight back. she had this match, she had this moment and no one was going to take it away from her, especially liv. she didn’t have dom’s help and she was there all alone. you knew rhea was going to win. she had to win. it was such an easy match for her, plus seeing dom in that cage made you laugh - he had what was coming for him.

so what did go wrong?

no one expected to see raquel back. she wasn’t in the script, she wasn’t in the plan.

rhea won by disqualification but liv still held the title, she still held the crown and no matter how good rhea was, she knew it would have been hard to get her title back.

you stayed there, watching as liv and raquel along with dom celebrated over rhea’s lost and your heart broke for her even more. she didn’t deserve all of that.

wondering what to do, you let rhea have some time for herself before you could join her in her changing room.

around fifteen minutes passed and you couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to see her, to comfort her and to let her know that she did amazing no matter the outcome. seeing the two most important people of your life losing on the same day made your heart sank.

slowly approaching her changing room, you softly knocked on her door and stepped in when she said so.

but she probably wasn’t expecting to see you because her nose scrunched a little too much for your liking.

“rhea…you were so great out there, you had the match in your hands…” she didn’t even let you finish.

“yeah but i lost. again, once again i don’t have my title, so who cares if i was the best one out there? listen, i need time alone” she was clearly upset and you couldn’t blame her.

“rhea…” you whispered. it pained you seeing her talking so low of herself.

“i don’t wanna talk” she spat back.

“rhea…”

“no! i don’t wanna talk! i don’t wanna talk or see you!” - oh, she was mad but with you?

“rhea what?” you weren’t used of her screaming at you, you weren’t used of fighting with her.

“i lost! i fucking lost against that liv morgan and where were you? i needed you, but you weren’t there?” she waited a few seconds before start screaming at you again “where the fuck were you!” this version of rhea scared you.

“rhea you knew i couldn’t! the management said…”

“i don’t give a shit about what they said! i needed you and you weren’t there! i’m always here for you and for one time where i needed your support, you weren’t there! fuck!” she knew better than to scream at you, knowing she would have triggered some memories of your past but anger was taking the best of her and she didn’t care about you or anyone at the moment.

“rhea i’m sorry…” tears in your eyes.

“i don’t care! now go, i need to stay alone!” she said turning her back on you.

you slowly walked away, letting all of your tears fall down.

you needed to talk with someone, anyone yet drew was probably sleeping and damian wasn’t answering his phone, too busy celebrating his victory.

you were alone - again.

liv was right. finn was right. you would ended up being alone. rhea was going to leave and it was just a matter of time.

you needed to leave the arena as soon as possible.

you felt like the space around you was suffocating you. the air was thick and you struggled breathing. what was going on?

walking fast through the corridors, you took a deep breath when you saw one of the emergency exit and the big orange door right in front of you. quickly pushing the door open, you took a deep breath when you felt the cold air hitting your face, you were free - you thought.

but your chest was still heavy and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

you took your phone out of your pocket and quickly called damian, hoping he was going to answer this time. “come on damian…please, please…” but you were met again with his voice recording saying to leave a message if needed. where was he?

you needed to go back to the hotel as soon as possible but with no rental of your own was pretty hard. wiping your tears away and calling an uber, you tried to act as everything was normal even if you were slowly dying inside. everything was so wrong and the worst part is that you couldn’t do anything about it.

as if the night wasn’t already ruined, the uber driver was a fan. you didnt mind talking with fans - you could talk about wrestling all day long - but your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment and all you could focus on was the fact that once again you were alone. you tried to be polite but all you wanted was to get away from that small space and breathe fresh air again. as you got out, you couldn’t help the tears falling down your cheeks. you felt pathetic, crying over nothing. the words liv and finn said to you echoing in your head - how you would ending up being alone - and the things was you started to believe them.

why were you being so paranoid? drew was sleeping, the match took a big tool on him but that didn’t mean he hated you or he didn’t want to see you. damian was celebrating his victory somewhere with his family, friends and probably some models too. but if you were family too, why didn’t he invite you? and rhea was mad. you still couldn’t point out if she was mad because she lost the match and needed someone to blame or if she genuinely was mad at you for not interacting with her during the game. she knew you couldn’t. she knew that if you intervened, both of you would have gotten in big trouble with the management, risking up to month fine without wrestling. did she really wanted that?

your mind was spinning and you tried to reach your bedroom as fast as you could.

in the meantime, damian was at the arena, he didn’t leave, he stayed there the whole time finishing up some interviews and even if he wanted to go out and drink something with his family, he was tore down and all of his body ached - he couldn’t wait to go back to bed.

“…thank you so much damian” jackie thanked him once he finished his interview, leaving him there in his changing room.

taking a deep breath, he took his phone out of his pocket and grew immediately worried when he saw all of your missed calls.

he tried to call back but your phone went immediately on silent mode, as if it was turned off.

weird - he thought - you never turned your phone off.

walking to find rhea, she was nowhere to be found. he knew she was a hothead and he knew that she probably wanted to stay alone.

his only option was drew and he prayed the man was still in the arena. someone from the staff told him that drew was still in the medical bay so he walked over there, asking from time to time if anyone had seen you.

knocking on drew’s door, the scottish man let him in.

“damian…” drew definitely wasn’t expecting him. he was hoping it was you.

“how are you man?” damian genuinely concerned about drew’s condition after the rough match he had in the cage with punk.

drew chuckled a little before letting his real thoughts out “i’m glad to be alive you know? i wasn’t expecting this much violence but it was one hell of a match, i felt better to be honest” he joked “i’ll be okay, thanks…”

“listen man, have you seen y/n? she called me a few times earlier and i couldn’t answer but when i tried to call her back it goes straight to her voicemail…” damian directly asked drew.

drew knew you never turned your phone off so he was taken aback from damian’s words “i saw her once the match was over, she came here and we talked a little bit…then i asked her if…well, i asked her if she could leave, i wanted to sleep a little…”

“and…?”

“and she left. she probably wasn’t expecting my request” drew took a deep breath “i just needed some time alone you know? i haven’t seen her since then, but i checked my phone a few minutes ago and she hasn’t called me. have you tried rhea?”

damian shook his head “rhea is nowhere to be found. she needs time to cool off after her match, i don’t think she saw y/n…i just feel like it’s weird, she has called me five times and now her phone is like dead…” worried look painted his face.

drew stood up immediately from the couch he was sitting and checked damian’s phone as he tried to call you once again.

“dead line…” damian whispered.

where were you?

back at the hotel, you quickly paced around the room, trying to focus on something, anything that could have helped you relax and yet nothing was working.

your hands began shaking and while you reached for your phone, you saw that it died while you were walking to the hotel. looking for a charger, you threw your suitcase upside down and when you found it, you plugged it into the wall and rapidly waiting for your phone to turn on.

“come on…” you whispered. you didn’t know what you were actually waiting for. damian wasn’t going to answer anyway and drew said he needed time for himself, leaving you with no options at all.

as your phone turned on, you saw the missed calls from both damian and drew and a shaky breath left your lips.

you didn’t even have time to call one of the boys back that an incoming call from drew appeared on your home screen.

taking a deep breath you answered his call.

“y/n?” drew asked the moment you answered.

“drew…” your voice shaking. what were you crying for? he answered and yet you couldn’t find peace.

“y/n, what’s going on? baby, why are you crying?” drew’s heart broke when he heard your soft sobs from the phone.

“i…i don’t know, i don’t know what’s going on…drew i, i can’t breathe…i don’t know what to do…” clearly panicking again, drew needed to know exactly where you were.

“y/n where are you? i’m coming to get you” he was worried and his heart was racing.

“what? no, no drew you need to rest, i…you stay there and-…”

“cut the bullshit y/n, where are you?” he hated being so severe with you but he needed to know what was going on and if you were in any type of danger.

“at the hotel…my room” was all that you were able to say before drew spoke again.

“we are coming to get you…” he said before cutting the call off.

was he really coming for you? were you really so pathetic that you needed him? did you wake him up just because you were acting stupid again?

your mind couldn’t stop those horrible thoughts and all you wanted to do was disappear, pretend like you never existed - maybe everyone life would be better without you.

what if rhea had a better teammate? what if that teammate would have broken the rules for her? what if you are the reason the judgment day broke up? were they really so tired of you? what if drew had a girlfriend who was normal and not acting crazy like you did?

you tried to breath as drew taught you but you couldn’t. and the idea of drew seeing you like this again was killing you. you made so much progress and now you felt like you fucked everything up.

you were sat on the floor, your back on the edge of the bed as you tried to calm yourself down when you heard the hotel room door opening.

a very bruised drew sat on the floor with you, right in front of you while damian stood behind, clearly worried about you.

“y/n…baby, what’s wrong?” drew’s voice was soft. the moment he met your eyes, he knew something wrong had happened.

“i’m sorry…i’m so sorry i shouldn’t have called, damian you don’t have to be here…you should be out celebrating your victory and-…”

but damian wasn’t agreeing with you “the hell? hermosa, what’s going on? i’m sorry i didn’t answer before but i’m here now, we are both here…”

“yes that’s the problem! you shouldn’t be dealing with me! you have a life and worse problems than to stay here with me!” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling “i told you drew, my head is a fucking mess, i don’t deserve you, i don’t deserve any of you…all i do is complain and fucking up, i’m just a burden to everyone and”

“what the heck are you talking about darling…look at me” his big calloused hands gently lifted your face “look at me love” while his thumb was wiping your tears away “i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, i wish i knew but i don’t…” he spoke softly to you “you’re not a burden, listen to me, you’re not a burden. don’t listen to what those voices in your head are saying, listen to me…you’re everything to me, i love you so much and it’s okay to cry, to feel lost, but i’m here, your family is here and we aren’t leaving you…” he really hoped that you could listen to him.

opening his arms for you, he gently let you lay your head on his shoulder. his hands stroking your back as if he wanted to calm you down, knowing how much you craved for physical touch.

drew and damian knew that you needed help and they were both right there for you. they knew you were strong and yet so fragile. they knew the toxic environment you came from, they knew that you feared of being left behind, alone. they knew that somehow, no matter how much love they showed to you, you still felt alone. and they knew that you get easily overwhelmed by the smallest things. people screaming, making too much noise or breaking things - that would wake terrible memories.

“yet she did…” you whispered, closing your eyes because the idea of your mind playing flashbacks of what happened with rhea earlier was enough to send you on the edge.

“who?” damian asked.

“rhea…she left, and it’s all on me” tears couldn’t stop falling from your eyes.

damian and drew exchanged a worried look. you two were practically inseparable.

what did rhea do?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Get Lost

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get caught in the corn maze after dark but you don’t think those footsteps belong to someone trying to help you find your way out.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: this is the fifth and final of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Jaden points across the dash, receiving a swat from Alexandria as she tries not to veer. 

“Hey,” she cries out, “don’t do that. I can’t see over your ugly sweater.” 

“Oh, whatever, Lex,” he snips, “I was just trying to show you that.” He points again, this time without blocking her view, “you see that sign ahead?” 

“Sure, I see it,” she leans over the wheel as your nail taps across your phone screen. You huff. You wish they’d stop arguing for one moment. “A maze?” 

“A corn maze. Doesn’t that sound fun? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid.” 

“Of course, you haven’t,” you scoff and let your phone hang carelessly in your hand. “We’ve all seen that movie with the evil kids. Who wants to go running through a field?” 

“I do,” Ashton says, “better than driving around looking for those shoes that don’t exist.” 

His girlfriend, Samira, laughs and leans into him. You blow a raspberry. 

“It’s all the way out in the middle of nowhere,” you sneer. 

“Well, Mrs. Xanny, you never want to do anything so your vote counts for nothing,” Jaden retorts. 

“Excuse me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m up for it,” Ashton raises his hand. 

“Me too,” Samira mimics him. 

“Me three,” Jaden declares. “So looks like you two are outvoted.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter and Alexandria sighs. 

“Fine, but nobody better leave me behind. I’m not getting lost because of you idiots,” she growls. 

“Don’t worry, Lexi, I’ll hold your wittle hand,” Jaden teases. 

The others laugh and you go back to your phone. You’re more interested in the new heels at your favourite boutique than some dirty and scarecrows. Alexandria steers on as she continues to snap at Jaden to stop distracting her. Her driving is a lot scarier than anything that might be hiding in the maze. 

You swipe and tap and tune out the world around you, especially the two lovebirds exchanging not so subtle touches beside you. Jaden had to insist on sitting in the front. Finally, the car rolls, the axle jostled by the lumpy ground, and you look up at the gray sky. You hate daylight savings. 

When the wheels are still, you’re reluctant to get out. You could offer to watch the car until they get back. It’s cold and you don’t feel like slogging through soil and seed. 

“Hey, Lex,” you begin. 

“If I’m going, you’re going,” she snips as she undoes her seatbelt. 

You curl your lip and make a face at her back. The others are already out of the car. Jaden’s bouncing eagerly, Ashton’s staring at the gate to the maze, and Samira is draped off her boyfriend’s arm. They probably just want to find a dark corner so they can makeout. They are so high school. 

“Fifteen bucks?” You read the sign above the table, “blech. I could put that towards my hair appointment tomorrow.” 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jaden snorts. 

“Don’t act like you don’t have the money,” Samira jeers. 

You call these people ‘friends’ lightly. You all just kind of stick together out of familiarity. Most people you’ve met aren’t much better so why risk downgrading. 

You take a step and feel your tall heel sink into the mud. Ew. 

“Oh, my boots,” you whine as you lift your sole, the muck dripping off of it. 

“Wash em after,” Ashton says. 

“These are Louis’,” you snarl. 

“And you have at least three identical pairs at home. Lighten up,” he barks back. 

You cross your arms and seal your lips with a wry smile. You’re not arguing with him. He’s been a jerk ever since you turned him down at his sister’s twenty-fifth. You suppose it was his birthday two, them being twins and all. Not that he looks very much like Alexandria. 

You trod after the four others, trying not to step too deep in the mud. You growl at the ground. You know what’s not dirty, a salon or a store. 

“Nice boots,” a deep voice rolls over you as you join the queue for tickets.  

You lift your head and look over at the man nearby. He steps up next to you as you eye his bristly upper lip. It’s a look, not a good one. 

“Brave girl going in alone,” he comments. 

You frown, “I’m not,” you step closer to your friends and they chatter. 

“Oh, coulda fooled me,” he remarks as he reaches into his jacket. “So, those Louis boots... those are last year’s...” 

“How would you know?” 

He shows the lining of his jacket. Also Louis. He pokes his fingers into the interior pocket and slides out a pack of gum. He pushes out a piece and pops it in his mouth. He tucks the pack back into his pocket and drops his hands to his hip. 

“So,” he chews the gum loudly. “You’re not really dressed for a maze.” 

“And you are?” You scowl, looking him up and down. He copies your posture and does the same to you. 

“I’m not here for the maze, baby girl,” he winks and snaps the gum. “But you have fun.” 

He turns and struts away before you can respond. Your lips open in confusion. What could he mean? You blink and shut your mouth, stepping up between Alexandria and Ashton. 

“So, how long are we going to have to stand around?” You ask. 

🌾

You hold your phone up in irritation. Your bars are totally gone. Great. This maze thing is so fucking boring. What are you supposed to do now? 

You sniff and shake your head. You sigh and put your phone in your jacket pocket, keeping your hand in the fleecy insert as the chill creeps up your leggings. You guess you’ll have to help or whatever. 

“Alex--” you look ahead then back, and side to side. Your heart leaps and you rush forward as fast as you can on your six-inch heels, “Alexandria? Ashton?” You look around the next corner and the opposite way along the other pathway. “Samira?” 

You spin again, your ankles tangling together. You blink as the tall corner adds to the dimness setting over the horizon. You gulp as your heart pounds in your throat. You slip your phone free once more and turn on the flashlight. 

You aim it ahead and listen for voices. You don’t hear much past the dense wall of stalks. As you brush a bit too close, you cry out and back away from the hanging husk. You shake of the crawling sensation and turn back and forth again. You lost your sense of direction. 

You look up at the sky. The clouds are thick, you can see neither moon or sun. You stop and pull your phone closer. You bring up your maps but it’s just a blank screen. Still no signal. 

Fuck it. Just walk, you’ll find the way. 

You shine the light ahead of you, your heels sinking into the mulch of footsteps, husks, and stones. You walk unevenly over the soft ground. You mumble obscenities as your arches start to bemoan the height. If you had known about this special excursion, you could’ve worn your Uggs. 

There’s a scuff, a strange echo of your own steps. You stop but it keeps going. You squint and twirl around, the light glinting off the corner and slicing through shadows. “Hello?” You call out. 

The footsteps continue but no one answers. You can’t tell if they’re ahead of you or behind you. Or to the left. Or right. You sway back and forth. This is getting weird. 

You take a breath and set your feet. You nearly trip as your heels dig in once more. You grunt and pull them out. You’re about to just scream for help. 

A sudden rumble makes you squeal. What the hell was that? You twist around and it happens again. It’s laughter? Someone’s laughing at you? 

You look at the tall stalks of corn, searching between the tight rows. 

“Alright, not very funny. Ashton....” you holler. 

The laughter gets louder. 

“Jaden,” you hiss. 

The laughter stops. 

“I really am not amused, okay? I want out. I never even wanted to do this stupid thing--” 

“Those boys are long gone, sweet peach,” the voice drawls around you like the wind, “I’m all man.” 

“Where are you? Who are you?” You ask. 

“I’m right behind you, baby, and I’m your knight in shining armour,” he purrs. 

You gasp and turn around. You beam the flashlight of the phone in the man’s face. You only get a glimpse of that short brown mustache before the cell is knocked from your grasp. 

“What are you tryna do? Blind me?” He snarls as your phone disappears between the corn. 

“What-- What do you want?” You step back, dragging your heels from the mud. 

“I wanna help, baby,” he slithers. “You seem lost.” 

You blink at him. He’s a dark silhouette against the greyness trapped in the maze. You bristle and look over at the corn. 

“Sure, I’ll just grab my phone, thanks--” 

“Ah, ah,” he comes up to meet you, blocking you with his arm. “I don’t work for free, honey pot.” 

“Fine, then go away,” you spit. 

“Woah, ho, you haven’t even asked what I want in return, sweetie,” he brings his other hand up to touch your cheek and you flinch away. 

“You’re not getting it, dude,” you back up. 

“Just a little suck. Hell, you give the little guy a nice kiss and I won’t even make you finish the job--” 

“Ew, no way,” you smack his hand down as he reaches for you again. “Fuck off--” 

He’s quick. He grabs you by your jaw and snarls as he looms over you, “for such a pretty mouth it sure is fucking filthy. Won’t matter what I put in it--” 

“Hey,” you grunt and writhe in his grasp, twisting your hands around his thick forearms, “get off--” 

“I’m trying, trust me--” 

You ram your knee up and feel the crunch in his pants. He wheezes and lets you go. You shove him and stagger backwards. You look at the corn one last time. Your phone is somewhere in there. 

As he cradles his crotch and snarls, the urgency of the moment slaps you across the face. Fuck your phone. You need to get away from this creep. 

Thank god you got insurance on your cell plan. You turn and lift your knees. You land on your toes, keeping your heels off the ground as much as you can. You’re not going very fast and you know you look ridiculous but you don’t care. You want to go home. 

You pump your arms as you breath hitches. You hear groans and another set of steps, just like before. You get to a corner and turn before you crash through the corn. You heave as you race away, ankles threatening to bend. At what point do you just ditch the Louis’ and mourn them with your phone. 

You cough and slow down. Shit. You’re in terrible shape. You look over your shoulder, your breath foggy in the plummeting temperature. You don’t see him. You don’t hear him either. Good. 

You turn-- 

“Boo!” The man startles you so you shriek. 

You stagger back as he cackles and you hurl yourself forward. Your feet catch as your heels stab the ground and you stumble with your arms flailing away from him. Your shallow breaths thunder around you as you charge through the maze only to find yourself trapped at a dead end. 

You stop and waver, lungs filled with fire. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You stomp with each internal proclamation. 

“Look, sugar tits, you can keep running and I’ll keep chasing,” the man struts up behind you as you spin to face him. “But it all ends the same way.” He sets his feet wide and cracks his knuckles. “And since you bruised my left nut,” he snarls, “you can kiss that better first.” 

“Uh, like why are you doing this?” You ask. 

He chortles, “like because I can.”  

You snarl and cross your arms, “you’re a loser. And you’re old. Like, can’t you find someone your own age to creep on?” 

He laughs louder but there’s not much humour in it. He stalks closer and your defiance glimmers, just a little. You don’t know where he gets off. Does he really think he can just tell you what to do? 

“So, I knew you were gonna be a handful,” he grabs you by the neck and you wince. You slap his wrist and he tuts, bringing his other hand up to grope your chest, “in more ways than one.” 

“Hey, fuck--” you grit out. “Hey!” 

“Look, sweetie, it’s a simple transaction. I pull my pants down, you keep those teeth to yourself, and be real nice to me,” he glares down at you. “The way you crushed my balls, you’re lucky I don’t make you lick my boots.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You growl. 

“Oh, a lot,” he smirks. “Now, those boots must kill your feet so...” he jerks you roughly, “on your knees.” 

Your eyes tinge just a little but you won’t cry. Not because of him. You gnash your teeth and grimace at him as he peels his hand away. 

“You got one thing going for you, baby, and that’s that pretty face. I can change that, trust me,” he warns. You swallow avert your eyes. He chuckles again, “god, I love that pout.” 

You bat your lash and fight to keep the litany of insults inside. You caterpillar faced fuck. You viagra powered moron. You overgrown frat boy. 

“The next time you open your mouth, it better be to gobble my cock,” he sneers, “so don’t even say it.” 

You look at him again. You set your eyes and your jaw. You step closer and he lifts his chin just slightly as he stares you down. 

You grab his belt and he twitches. You unbuckle it and whip the ends aside. You pop the button open and yank the zipper apart. He watches you, his eyebrow tweaking. You push his fly wide and roll your eyes as you feel his naked pelvis beneath your fingertips. Of course, this weirdo is hanging loose. 

You reach under his pants and angle his hard dick through the teeth of the zipper. You stroke him up and down with a dry, tight grip. He hisses and shifts his weight. 

“Careful, like sandpaper,” he rasps. 

You tut and look down. You huff. You move one foot back and bend your leg. You put one knee to the ground then the other. You make a face as you come level to his tip. Ugh. 

“Don’t look so fucking enticed,” he barks. You roll your eyes again and he swats your head. “Keep doing that and your eyes are getting stuck.” 

Old. Man. 

You pump him again and slowly, inch by inch, lean in. 

“Ah, I said kiss the left one first, then you can get to the main dish,” he puts his hand on his hip. 

You swallow and push down a tide of disgust. You lift him and lean your head to the side. You crane around and pucker, pressing your lips to his left ball. He twitches and groan. 

“Damn, those lips are soft. Do the other one.” 

With bile brewing in your stomach, you obey. You pull back and put his tip to your lips. You narrow your gaze at his pelvis and spread your mouth around him. You wet his swollen head then work your way down his length. He might be a desperate loser but he’s not small. 

You bob up and down as you take more and more of him. He curls his fingers into his hip as his other hand goes to the back of your head. He urges you on and you bat his hand with yours. You push back against him and flick your eyes up. 

“You are a stubborn one,” he rebukes. 

Your lips meet your hand and you pump him emphatically with both, popping off his tip so he whimpers. He clutches a wad of your hair as his eyes gleam desperately. 

“I kissed it better,” you wipe your mouth, “you show me the way out, and you might just finish, old man.” 

He stares down at you. Agitation and amusement battle across his expression. He takes a breath and lets it out. 

“One last kiss and I’ll get you out,” he says, “And then you’ll get me off.” 

The cold air swirls around you and the darkness floods through the corn. You squeeze him slightly and put a sloppy kiss on his tip with a loud muah. You let go and tickle along his length. You grab onto his arm and pull yourself to your feet. 

“I want out. Now.” 

“Alright, princess,” he snickers. “Don’t you worry, I got a throne you can sit on when we’re home free.” 

[blissfullyecho]

Hey echo!! I’ve been following you for a while on my old tumblr account and even bought your book and toolkit which has been a game changer! Was wondering if you have some tips on looksmaxxing for black women- I do agree that looking the prettiest does get you far in life. Also where can I preorder your book? Thank you for the advice you post- I love how you keep it real! I used to be one of the girls that believed in manifestation, affirmations and subs, but you brought me back to reality!

Looksmaxxing Tips

Source: I’m from Miami and currently live in LA.

Disclaimer: I already know I’ll get cancelled for this but this is for the girls who get it.

Hey! Aw you don’t have to be anon 🤍 thank you so much for your support!! Like truly that was very nice and I’m happy you’re still around after my hiatus. First things first, this post is going to get me in trouble but… I’ll do it lol. Remember that time I was cancelled for saying we should be shaving our underarms?

YOUR BODY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR FACE

You know it’s true. You know when you look like you take care of yourself, people treat you better. Yes, you NEED to make sure you’re at a healthy weight. Your face can be absolutely busted, but if you have a nice body, you get a pass. I’m half Hispanic, and my background and your background tends to get on the heavier side pretty quickly. There is so many scientific research about how we develop Type 2 Diabetes quicker and we’re globally at a higher weight. So this is the part when I’m gonna get cancelled: you have to be fit. You have to be in shape. You have to have muscle. You have to be tight and toned.

———- WORKOUTS I RECOMMEND

1. Pilates $$-$$$

2. Barre $$-$$$

3. Running/Sprinting/Walking/Stairmaster $-$$

4. Kickboxing $-$$

5. Solid Core, Barry’s, SoulCycle, Pelaton, etc. $$-$$$

6. Growing Anna Nas (YouTube. For some reason I can’t link YouTube links) $0

7. Pamela Rief (YouTube) $0

8. MadFit (Youtube) $0

——— MY DIET TIPS

1. I eat whatever I want, but I eat so in moderation. It’s so important that you don’t deprive yourself because this should be a lifestyle. I get lunch portions, kids meals, the smallest size of unhealthy foods (like I would get a small fry for example), etc. Ben & Jerry’s has the really tiny ice cream cups that I’ll get if I want something sweet. But food known to cause weight gain, I’ll still eat them but I won’t have normal portions of it because normal portions of those kinds of foods are literally 1,000+ calories.

2. I’m against drinking my calories unless it’s a meal replacement (like a smoothie)

3. I practice intermittent fasting. I’ve done 18:6, 16:8, 20:4, and 23:1. They are all great. I think it’s healthy to give your body a rest from eating throughout the day to allow it to digest. I eat from 12pm-6pm some days, but some days if I’m going out to dinner, I push it back to maybe 4pm-10pm. So many benefits to this, do your research.

4. I don’t eat carbs for dinner. Carbs are essential for energy. Why do I need energy at night? Protein, healthy fats, and veggies is what I stick to. I limit carbs to my smoothie and lunch. But my main dish is never a carb; I like fat and protein as my main dish with a SIDE of carbs like rice or a side pasta dish.

I don’t recommend Ozempic or other alternatives! You’ll get the Ariana Grande sunken in face and look absolutely insane. That’s the side effect that scares me the most, and it usually happens later on after being on Ozempic for it to take affect. I want to keep my face plump.

DON’T TOUCH YOUR FACE SURGICALLY

I’m always a fan of a good rhinoplasty, but make sure you come to LA for one. NYC has really good doctors too. Never, EVER get your surgeries done in Miami. Business is so shady in Miami that I don’t trust it. I’m not telling you to get a nose job— I’m saying that’s the only procedure I’m actually for and not against.

I used to get Botox and I stopped. The problem with Botox is that is prevents muscle movement, which will develop muscle atrophy. Meaning, your face muscles will lose shape and strength sooner than normal, and your face will start to sag. My credentials is that I have a nursing degree and I dated a plastic surgeon over the last year.

I’m sure you don’t need lip filler, but a little (like half a syringe) to make your lips go out further is a GAME CHANGER. Just make sure you dissolve filler each time you decide you want a touch-up.

Another trend is buccal fat removal— I don’t know WHY people are wanting the snatched face because it makes you look so horse-like and old. I’m only talking to those who don’t naturally have a snatched face. There’s a difference between looking puffy, and having face fat. Face fat is good, it keeps you looking youthful! So don’t get that done.

Stay away from all other fillers.

COME TO LA FOR BODY PLASTIC SURGERY

I’m the biggest advocate for breast augmentations. I got my boobs done because I wanted them to look more perfect. You just have to make sure you go to a good doctor. Don’t be cheap with it. But getting your boobs done just elevates your look but don’t get crazy. A perky C cup is fine, even a perfect D cup is fine. Get the boobies up and perky. Push-ups and other chest workouts are good to start doing but they’re not going to be total game-changers. If you like your boobs, great. But if you want that perfect body inside and outside of clothes, get the girls up. Give them some volume.

If you have extra flab or skin, go for the non surgical procedures!! I got Morpheus8 done on my inner thighs because I had a bit of loose skin from weight loss (it was like 50lb weight loss and I lost it fast) and my thighs are sucked in and cute now). But it depends on what they have but go to a medical spa ran by a plastic surgeon. Don’t go to the commercial med spas or anything.

Body Gua-Sha is really good to do as well to help shape you up a little. I do this after every morning shower.

GET A SPRAY TAN

Yes, you should get a spray tan. I know you don’t need one, but your skin tone would pop so much more if you got one and they hide so many imperfections on your skin. Everyone looks better tan— everyone. It’s giving summer vibes all year round and I’m here for it. My black friends get spray tans and I’ve seen the difference in real time. Skin just looks so much healthier and younger with a spray tan. But it has to be a spray tan, it has to be a little artificial to look good lol. I know people swear the sun is the best but when I go out in the sun, I turn grey!!!! I turn such a weird color but because I fake tan, I keep my golden color without looking moldy lol. It’s giving that SpongeBob episode when he had the suds. Try it once and tell me how it goes lol. I swear you’ll be obsessed. I actually want you to message me and lmk.

MAKEUP, LASH EXTENSIONS, MICROBLADING

Your lashes should be undetectable. Classic natural set with a wispy and individual mix ONLY. Lashes should only be used for a thicker lash line, NOT for length. If you get strip lashes, make sure they’re natural and WISPY. The more natural and effortless the better. You also look younger and classier too. I’m a fan of a natural looking micro blade, but keep your brows natural. Don’t fan them out or fluff them, but don’t have IG brows. You want to fool people into thinking you’re just naturally like this. Obviously when you go out, do the brows or lashes, but on a normal Wednesday 2pm, it’s not necessary. Makeup should always be glowing. Matte makes you look like a grandma. A subtle glow in the cheeks or nose just gives healthy. Matte gives chalky.

HAIR

Keep it SAFE with hair. Natural color, natural length, healthy hair. How you style it is up to you but make sure it goes with your face shape. Hair that’s too long can be too much and hair that’s too short can make you look a little older. I don’t know if you wear your natural hair or if you install, but if you install keep it at an appropriate length. Think VS model. If your hair is natural and you wear it out, scratch everything I just said :) but keep colors natural and your hair healthy!

—-

I’m running out of space to type, but I’ll say this. Your BEST template is a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Not the new ones lol that show was embarrassing. I’m talking about the OG VS. That’s if you want to be universally stunning. Everyone will turn heads at a VS Angel. You want to give classy, but you also want to give youthful and sexy. Look at paparazzi photos of them being off-duty. Gain style and look inspiration off of them. They got CANCELLED for not being inclusive and it hurt feelings. Now they aren’t making nearly as much money before and the brand is tainted because a few insecure women decided to be all emotional. See what happens when you listen to insecure toads?

I didn’t want this post to be something you can find on the internet because there’s so much about this on the internet, but I gave you some opinions based off things I see that I agree/don’t agree with.

🖤🍸Make sure to check out my book called The Luxe Girl’s Playbook to Life for a fresh perspective on reinventing yourself for 2025. You’ll receive immediate access after purchase.

[caustinen]

Callum's LV campaign is sooo #hollywood au coded!

I know Gale is too shy but arghghgh can you imagine them in a brand campaign? Or Vogue photoshoot? Dayum.

oh oh oh how i’ve missed this au, thank you for this!!!! since i already headcanoned gale would feel to awkward posing i’ll let everyone decide for themselves if this is au of an au or did john manage to talk him into it after they did their private photoshoot 🤭

we’re trying another social media au today!! idk if it works in this format but i hope you enjoy <3

@_vogue_

EXCLUSIVE: ”He keeps me wanting to be better, as a human and as an actor” — Be the first two see new exclusive pictures of John Egan and husband Gale Cleven-Egan posing for this month’s #VOGUE cover shoot in brand new Louis Vuitton! ❤️‍🔥

Comments

@_hollyB34: sigh since vogue didn’t bother with alt texts i’ve got you covered (but we expect more from you @_vogue_ get your shit together)

photo 1: john leaning at a wall in white coat facing the camera, gale is on his right as if walking away but they’re holding hands

photo 2: picture taken from the side, gale leaning against the wall with right hand on the elbow of the left one and looking away from the camera, john has his right hand on the wall next to his head and he’s staring down at him kind of towering over him crowding him into the wall

photo 3: close up of their hands holding the same louis vuitton bag, john’s fingers looking much bigger than gale’s delicate hand, two of john’s fingers streches to cover gale’s

photo 4: standing side by side, john’s arm around gale’s shoulders and gale is holding that hand with one of his and the other is wrapped around john’s middle, they’re looking at each other.

photo 5: close-up of just their faces, gale is holding the back of his hand to his lips and covering laughing, john is staring at him with the worst case of heart eyes you’ve ever seen, he’s also smirking

photo 6: john staring at the camera, hands on gale’s waist, gale’s back is facing the camera and he’s leaned into john’s torso, cheek resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his middle. Keep reading…

@_clegan4ever: did i die. is this heaven.

@_rosiecheeks: if someone told me a year ago clegan would actually drop this kind of blessing upon us i would’ve laughed them out ALAS HERE WE ARE HOW ARE WE FEELING

@_egansgrl: why does that bag photo look POSESSIVE it’s literally just hands asdf like chill man ain’t no one taking him away from you

@_adamadam: it’s literally insane how the two most attractive people in the world found each other??? and actually seem like a good match???

@—keirak77: no offense to egan but damn his hubby should be a model fr

@_€urovizion: gale would literally tower over me HOW DOES HE LOOK SO TINY NEXT TO HIM john do be built like a brick house

@_cleganists: i want to cry the fact that they’re willing to share this with us despite of everything they’ve been through with the media over the years :((((

@_buckholic: THANK HEAVENS THANK YOU GOD FOR MAKING THESE TWO MEN

@_ourbaby82: john is serving so hard i’m amazed the camera didn’t just melt

@_CLEGANUPDATES: #clegan has been trending worldwide for 6 hours

@_marymecurtb: so much to unpack here but like the sexiest part of this is literally the way they look at each other. like how are you together for like a decade and still be this down bad for each other omg

@_misscleven: i wouldn’t mind being squished in the middle of this sandwitch

@_johnegans: oh damn that gale cleven-egan truly is the finest piece of ass i ever saw on a cover of a magazine that john egan is one lucky bastard

@_CLEGANUPDATES: ASDFHAFAHAJAVAJSK JOHN LMAO

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

”John?” ”Yes, dear?”

John doesn’t look up from his phone from where he’s half laying across their bed waiting for Gale to be ready. They’re seeing Sabrina for her LA show tonight, and Gale has helped him with the glitter on his face before disappearig back to the bathroom to get ready himself.

Gale’s tone is filled with suspicion but not accusing — yet. ”Do you happen to know why John Brady has called me 12 times?” John makes an exaggerated ”thinking face”, and he can practically feel Gale squint his eyes at him. ”…No idea. You’ve been friends with him longer, your guess is better than mine!” Gale looks at him for a moment more before talking again.

”Mm-hm. Somehow I get the feeling he’s calling not as my friend but as your publicist.”

John finally looks up and he can’t help but let his face fall into a smirk as he sees Gale assessing at him with his eyes. He gets up from the bed and walks up to his husband who’s still following him with his eyes. ”Who knows? Probably phoning to congratulate us on a beautiful photoshoot.”

He delights in the blush on Gale’s cheeks, visible even underneath the glitter hearts. He looks adorable, and delicious, and John can’t wait to see his current favorite popstar but he also can’t wait to get back home with his hubby and try whatever position she suggests during Juno with him.

”Oh yeah, that came out today…” Gale mutters and looks down, and while the blush truly is so cute, John knows they need to get going soon. He tilts Gale’s face back up by his chin and pecks on his lips gently.

”They love it. They love you.” He considers it for a moment, getting lost in Gale’s eyes, before smirking again dropping his hand to squeeze his ass. ”I think I even recall someone calling you the hottest piece of ass they’ve ever seen on the comments.”

Gale rolls his eyes. ”That’s not what I- Nevermind.” He sighs and pushes John away but his husband can tell the blush is a pleased one now. One day he will make him believe how beautiful he is and he won’t need these constant reminders (John’s gonna keep giving them anyway, of course).

”Should we get going then?” He asks casually, and Gale has just had time to nod when his phone starts ringing again. He checks the ID and frowns. ”It’s Brady again. I’ll get this and then we can go.”

Bucky responds with a seemingly careless uhm but grimances as he turns to face the other way. He’s just made it to the door when the scandalized yell of JOHN CLARENCE EGAN fills the air.

”I’ll wait at the car sweetheart!” he yelps back and starts running. He even makes it down two sets of staris before Gale manages to tackle him down.

[jmkjournalblog]

"Soulmates" Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing:Wednesday Addams x FemVampire! Reader

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes

Warnings: None

Y/n POV

The flashing lights and clamor of the Harvesting Festival surrounded us, each noise and vivid display feeling almost surreal compared to the shadowed stone walls of Nevermore.

After we left the mirror maze, I found myself walking alongside Enid and Yoko. Enid was practically vibrating with excitement as she flitted between booths, desperately trying to convince us to ride a garish-looking Ferris wheel or taste-test the vendors' multicolored sweets. I played along, amused at the sight of her hopping from stall to stall, though I couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that something was off.

Yoko walked at a more measured pace beside me, her crimson-tinted sunglasses casting a strange glow as the neon lights caught their reflection. She seemed content to keep a casual distance, her attention darting around with an almost predatory interest in the people around us.

“Do you always look this unimpressed?” I teased, bumping her shoulder lightly as we meandered past a ring-toss game.

She tilted her head, lips quirking. “Only when I’m surrounded by chaos. Nevermore’s a circus on good days. This? This is just… another layer.”

Enid popped up between us, holding a pair of steaming caramel apples. “Come on, you two! It’s not all bad. Y/n, you haven’t even smiled once.”

“I’ve smiled plenty,” I shot back, taking the apple from her and pretending to inspect it as if it might bite first. “It’s just hard to tell when I’m surrounded by so many vampires and rainbows.”

“Rude,” Enid huffed, though her playful glare didn’t last. She spotted another attraction—this one involving some kind of spinning ride—and bounded away, already calling out for us to follow. I chuckled under my breath and exchanged a glance with Yoko.

“I’m surprised you tolerate the glitter bomb,” she said, amusement coloring her words.

“It’s a strange dynamic,” I admitted, my tone light. “Maybe I have a weakness for contrasts.”

Before Yoko could respond, my attention was drawn away. Across the expanse of booths, weaving between carnival-goers with a dark, purposeful gait, was Wednesday. I watched her as she moved—silent, alone, eyes fixed on the edges of the forest beyond the fairgrounds. My senses, ever attuned, sharpened.

“Y/n?” Yoko’s voice brought me back, but my eyes remained on the retreating figure of Wednesday. She had nearly reached the shadows of the woods, the darkness swallowing her small frame. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t good.

“Go on with Enid,” I said quietly, handing Yoko the apple I hadn’t bitten into. She raised an eyebrow, sensing my sudden shift in mood.

“Is this a hero thing, or...?” she asked, a trace of humor lacing her voice.

“It’s a me thing.” I offered her a thin smile and began walking away. “I’ll catch up later.”

Without waiting for a response, I moved toward the path that Wednesday had taken, the noise of the carnival fading behind me with each step.

The darkness of the forest greeted me like an old companion. Trees loomed high, their branches twisting and knotting together to block out much of the festival's light. The carnival sounds became a muffled murmur, as if I'd crossed a boundary into a world that shouldn’t coexist with the one of clowns, rides, and caramel apples.

Wednesday's figure flitted ahead, her black silhouette blending into the night. I kept my distance, careful to match her quiet footfalls. Whatever drew her into the forest had her moving like she was chasing—or being chased. It was unlike her to be so transparent, but it was also clear she was driven by something more than mere intrigue.

She glanced over her shoulder once, and I quickly stepped behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. My heartbeat sped up, adrenaline prickling beneath my skin. If she saw me following, she’d either ignore me or take it as a challenge. Either way, I wasn’t ready to let her out of my sight—not with whatever ominous weight hung over this moment.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush pulled my attention. It was only then that I noticed how still the forest had become. No chirping insects. No night birds. Just silence.

Wednesday picked up her pace, slipping deeper into the woods. I cursed under my breath and quickened my own steps. Branches snagged at my clothes, and the cool air bit at my exposed skin. I focused on her movements, the sharp lines of her shoulders and the determined tilt of her head.

She came to an abrupt stop. In front of her, Rowan stood, eyes wide with a manic edge. I squinted, recognizing the anxious boy from school. His body seemed taut, ready to spring—like prey cornered by a predator. But Wednesday was not the predator here.

The wind shifted, and I caught their words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Rowan hissed, his voice trembling with both fear and anger. He held a piece of paper clenched in his hand, but even from where I stood, I could see it was no ordinary scrap.

“Prophecies are meant to be broken,” Wednesday countered, her tone as cold as winter’s edge. “I’d think you, of all people, would know that.”

I took a step closer, every sense alert. I couldn’t yet see what drove Rowan’s desperation, but his power crackled in the air, and he was looking at Wednesday like she was his doom.

He raised a hand, and suddenly, she was pinned against a tree by some unseen force. The breath caught in my throat as I watched her struggle, her pale face set in a mask of grim determination.

“This isn’t about you, Wednesday,” Rowan said, sounding almost apologetic, though his eyes betrayed no mercy. “This is about saving us all.”

With that, he raised the crumpled paper high. “My mother saw it. You will destroy us.”

The wind howled around them. I edged closer, my instincts screaming at me to intervene, but before I could make a move, something crashed through the trees behind Rowan—a blur of snarling fury. The beast. It was large, hulking, and covered in coarse fur. I had heard rumors about such creatures, but seeing it was different—a nightmare given form.

In an instant, it was upon Rowan. He screamed, a chilling, guttural sound, as claws tore into him. Blood sprayed across the forest floor. I barely had time to react; Wednesday was freed from her telekinetic restraints and dropped to the ground, rolling away from the carnage.

The beast’s wild eyes locked with mine for a split second. It paused, as if recognizing me, before it bolted into the darkness, leaving only destruction in its wake. Rowan lay motionless, and the air was thick with metallic scent and dread.

I stepped forward, breathless, as Wednesday pushed herself up, her eyes colder than I’d ever seen them. She glanced at Rowan’s body, then at me. Her gaze was unreadable, but beneath it, I sensed a torrent of emotion she would never let surface. Anger, confusion, maybe even fear.

“You followed me,” she said, her voice low but pointed.

“You shouldn’t have gone alone,” I replied, matching her cool tone despite the whirlwind inside me.

She didn’t thank me, of course. That wasn’t Wednesday’s way. Instead, she turned her attention to the torn piece of prophecy clutched in Rowan’s lifeless grip, pulling it free with grim determination.

Third person POV -next day-

Wednesday’s eyes never betray emotion, but this morning they burn with cold determination. Rowan’s reappearance after the brutal encounter in the woods is not just unsettling—it’s infuriating. She stalks the stone halls of Nevermore with unyielding purpose, her boots striking against the floor like war drums. Y/n follows at a calculated distance, her steps silent but presence unmistakable.

“Would it kill you to make less noise?” Y/n drawls when Wednesday pauses by a Gothic archway to scan the students shuffling past. “People will think you’re trying too hard.”

“Like you?” Wednesday’s retort is venomous, but her eyes remain fixed on the hallway leading to Rowan’s dorm.

Y/n smirks, leaning against the cold stone with predatory grace. “You’re wasting your time with this alone act, Addams. You want answers. I can help you find them.”

“No.” Wednesday turns to face Y/n fully, her expression as cutting as a blade. “You want an excuse to meddle. There’s a difference.”

Y/n tilts her head, amusement playing in her dark eyes. “Touché.” She takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a low, provocative whisper. “But I’ll meddle whether you want me to or not. I find it thrilling to keep you… on edge.”

Before Wednesday can respond, the sound of muffled voices draws her attention. They slip into the shadows near Rowan’s dormitory, where Xavier’s unmistakable voice can be heard. The boy is arguing with Bianca in the hallway, their tones heated.

Wednesday’s hand darts out, signaling Y/n to stay quiet. Y/n raises an eyebrow but obeys, watching intently as Wednesday edges closer. When the door opens, Wednesday moves like a shadow, slipping inside while Y/n remains as a lookout. Wednesday’s gaze flits across the cluttered space until it settles on a notebook with an unmistakable emblem—a purple book symbol, just like the page Rowan had shown her.

A creak behind her makes her whip around, daggers practically shooting from her eyes. Y/n stands in the doorway now, her expression serious for once. “You have seconds, Addams. Move.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightens, but she slips the notebook into her satchel. Y/n steps back just in time. Xavier and Bianca’s footsteps echo in the hallway. The girls forced to hide under Rowan’s bed, their bodies forced close together. There’s barely an inch between them.

“If they find us,” Y/n murmurs, her breath hot against Wednesday’s ear, “I’ll say you dragged me in here. You do have a thing for secluded spaces.”

Wednesday’s pulse quickens, but she refuses to look away. “I’ve killed for less.”

“Make me believe it,” Y/n dares, eyes darkening.

The door creaked open, silencing their exchange. Heavy footsteps and the sound of voices filled the room as Xavier and Bianca entered mid-argument.

“Your little stunt at the Poe Cup doesn’t impress me, Bianca,” Xavier said, his tone edged with frustration.

Bianca scoffed, her voice laced with condescension. “Of course it doesn’t. You’re too busy sulking to appreciate greatness.”

“This isn’t greatness; it’s cheating,” Xavier snapped. “Every year, you sabotage the course so no one else can even finish. You think that’s something to be proud of?”

Beneath the bed, Wednesday stiffened. Her mind churned with the implications of Xavier’s words. She turned her head slightly toward Y/n, who raised an eyebrow, intrigued but silent.

“Sabotage?” Bianca’s laugh was a dagger, cold and deliberate. “I prefer to call it… ensuring my rightful place. If the others can’t keep up, that’s their problem, not mine.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Xavier said, the disgust in his voice palpable.

“No, Xavier, I’m practical,” Bianca replied sharply. “Unlike you, I don’t rely on pity points or half-baked efforts. If you want to win, you do whatever it takes. That’s survival. That’s power.”

Y/n’s lips quirked into a faint smirk as she glanced at Wednesday, her voice barely audible. “Sounds like your kind of girl.”

Wednesday shot her a murderous glare, silently willing her to remain quiet.

Xavier let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re impossible, Bianca. This whole school is just a game to you, isn’t it?”

“Correction,” Bianca said, her tone as sharp as a blade. “It’s a game I always win. And this year will be no different.”

The tension in the room hung heavy as Xavier let out another sigh and turned toward the door.

As the door shut behind them, the silence in the room was deafening.

Y/n shifted slightly, her lips brushing against Wednesday’s ear again. “Cheating to stay on top. She’s more interesting than I thought.”

“Enough,” Wednesday hissed, crawling out from under the bed. She stood and brushed herself off, her mind already calculating the next move.

Y/n followed leisurely, a grin tugging at her lips. “You’re thinking of a way to humiliate her, aren’t you?”

[i-like-forcefem]

Your crush’s pool party is coming up! But darn it you don’t have any swimming trunks!

You mentioned how you don’t have anything to wear and your crush mentioned how she’s always wanted to go bikini shopping with you

Wow!!! You can get your trunks and maybe see her in her bikini ahead of time!

So she takes you to a specialised bikini store and tells you to pick out something you like!

You’re over the moon! Getting to pick something she wears! You immediately start your search!

Though way she looks is a bit unsettling, it’s not bad, more like like she’s surprised for you to be excited about this… but what boy wouldn’t be?

It’s probably nothing, back to the search: She loves cute stuff, so you do your best and search out the cutest bikini in the store!

After a lot of debating you return with a bright pink bikini full of frills, the look of delight on her face made all the hard work worth it!

“Awwwww! Did you pick that because you know how much I love cute stuff? That’s so so sweet of you! I’m sure it will look absolutely gorgeous on you!”

She grabbed my wrists and pulled me along to the changing rooms, giggling as we slipped in together and shut the door

[deus-ex-mona]

my five surviving braincells when something remotely good happens:

[bootleg-nessie]

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.�� He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 6: Dry Hump- James Potter

Summary: James Potter was your best friend, and he was unequivocally in love with Lily Evans. However, he has one secret he trusts only with you: he’s never kissed anyone.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, inexperienced James & experienced Reader, friends with benefits vibes, kissing/making out, dry humping, cumming in pants, teasing, nearly caught

Part 2 // Part 3

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

James Potter was your best friend. He had many best friends, including the other Marauders and fellow Gryffindors, but he was YOUR best friend and had been since the first year at Hogwarts. James was the one person you always ran to and shared all happy memories with; if you needed cheering up, he’d be the only one who could pull a smile to your lips. It had always been just the two of you until he became infatuated with Lily Evans.

It had been years of hearing about how wonderful Lily was, which you knew anyway as she was your friend. Finally, you convinced her to say yes to one date with James, even though she did wait until everyone was finishing their time at Hogwarts and about to graduate. He’d waited long enough, and you were thrilled to see him getting his dream date.

This was until he casually announced one day, “I’ve never kissed anyone”.

He’d mumbled it to himself under his breath. James had gone from pure exhilarated joy to fear and doubt at the weight he’d put on his shoulders for having to be the perfect date for Lily. You’d taken him to the Shrieking Shack to try and get away from everyone else so that James could blow off some steam, but all he’d done so far was sulk in his armchair and stare into the fire whilst waiting for Sirius and Remus to join after their lesson.

Then, out of the blue, he admitted his secret that he had yet to kiss anyone. A frown dawns on you as you turn away from the book in your hand to inspect the messy-haired Marauder next to you visually. “What?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty as if he was telling the truth, “How have you never kissed anyone before?” Your mind raced to all of the parties in the Gryffindor tower where most people, including yourself, had made out with others, but now that you thought about it, you’d never seen James lip-locked with anyone else.

It was James’ turn to frown as he looked at you blankly, “When would I have had time? I’ve just wanted to be with Lily, and she’s always said no when I’ve asked before. Anyway, I don’t see why you’re saying it in that tone; it’s not like you’ve been kissing loads of people”. You give James a tight-lipped smile to show that he was, in fact, very wrong with that statement. His eyes widen as he realises the truth, “Wait, you have? Since when?”

“James, how can you be shocked? I’ve kissed plenty of people before, especially during those parties with the fire whiskey that Sirius always steals for us. You wander off with the Marauders or fawn over Lily, and what am I supposed to do? Stand on my own? Absolutely not, I go and find some fun”.

Your best friend’s mouth drops open in shock. Still, he quickly covers it up by looking away grumpily, “Great, so I’m the only person in our year who hasn’t kissed anyone, and now, I’m going to take Lily out, and she’s going to refuse to see me again because I don’t know what I’m doing, we’re going to finish school, and I’ll never see her again, and I’ll die alone!”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top rant, shutting the book with a loud snap and facing him completely whilst still in your chair. “James, you need to chill out a bit; I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do you really think Lily’s been going around snogging loads of boys? I’m sure she’s just as inexperienced as you”.

James’ shoulders dropped in relief as he turned back towards you with hope in his hazel eyes, “Do you think so?”

Your face immediately gave it away that you’d been lying as you sighed, “Ok, I might have seen her making out with a Ravenclaw a year ago, but still, I wouldn’t worry about it! You’ll be excellent! You’re James Potter, the Gryffindor King, a founding Marauder and Gryffindor Seeker. You can sure as hell make out with Lily Evans correctly”.

The pretty Marauder smiled thankfully at your dramatic declaration, “That’s true, thanks, Sweetheart”. Relaxing back into your seat, the book returned to your hand, assuming the conversation was officially over. However, only a moment later, James is whining pathetically, “But what if I’m not good? What if I hurt her or lick her wrong or-”.

“Lick? Why are you licking her, James? I thought we were on about kissing?”

“We are! But you know, people use tongues and-”

“James, I don’t know what you want me to say; if you’re that petrified with kissing, why don’t we practice a little so you can stop freaking out”. It took you a couple of long seconds before the offer you’d just given him genuinely dawned on you. You weren’t sure why you had said it, expecting him to say no but wishing for him to calm down and thinking this was the only option.

James’ head snapped towards you, giving his full attention as he asked, “Wait, you’d do that?” He pushed himself up off the chair's arms, and his eyes were wide and hopeful again.

Lowering the book, you spoke slowly, “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s just a kiss, and at least we’re friends, so no feelings have to be involved”.

“Yeah, that's a good point! Okay, right, so, um, how do we do this? Do I come over to you, or do we stand?”

Sighing at James, you stood abruptly, dropping the book and strutting to him with arms swinging. The marauder sits up suddenly, taking his feet off the stool he had been resting on as he stares up at you with wide eyes that you can see the whites of his eyes beneath his glasses. “What are you doing?” He questions uncertainly as you straddle his lap without a word, your knees resting on either side of his toned thighs, your fingers slipping around his neck and interlocking at the base of his skull.

“I’m going to kiss you, James. Is that alright with you?” You didn’t mean to sound sassy as you asked with a single raised questioning eyebrow, but you also needed to make sure that he was happy for this to continue.

Those two wide hazel eyes stared at your lips, licking his own to moisten as he slowly nodded, “Uh yeah, just tell me what to do.” A pang of sympathy rushed through your chest at seeing James becoming nervous, which was not usually a sight that you had to see as he was usually such a confident, happy person. You would have spent some time to explain that it was normal to be nervous during your first kiss, but you didn’t want to allow any more time for him to freak out, so loosening your intern locked fingers, you moved them to cup each of her freshly shaved cheeks and pressed your lips delicately against his. You wanted it to be quick enough that he didn’t even have time to tense, even though he did proceed to lock up as you moved back to assess his reaction.

“See, it’s not so scary. You’re supposed to enjoy this, James”. Thankfully, as your face lowered once more, he forced himself to take a steadying breath and relax the tension in his muscles as your lips caressed his.

They were softer than you’d anticipated, plump and smooth like a pillow and instantly, your eyes and his close. However, James surprised you by moving his first. His hand lifted and rested on your hip so gently that you hardly felt it until he gave your body a little squeeze to test the waters of how much he could get into the moment. So you rewarded him by pressing your face harder against his, lips beginning to move and rubbing against each other on instinct.

James even amazed himself with how naturally and quickly he could make out with you. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, nose pressing into his cheek so that you could smell his skin that had remnants of his aftershave, which was always spicy and woodsy. As the air became necessary, you pulled back enough to take deep, greedy breaths, now noticing he was doing the same thing but looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“So what did you think-”

James didn’t allow your sentence to finish as his other hand cupped along your jaw, pulling your face closer again until the two of you kissed with much more heat with the movements. His mouth opened wider to match how yours was moving against his; your heartbeat quickened as you leaned further into his tall, warm body, melting into his touch and kiss.

Then you wanted to take a risk and licked his bottom lip, which you were ultimately greeted with a praising deep groan of satisfaction that vibrated James’ entire chest and sent tingles straight to your core.

Ok, wow, you thought as James attempted and succeeded with his own lick back against your tongue; you were definitely getting turned on by this. As if he was reading your mind, James pressed harder on your hips, willing you to move down, which you did, your skirt pushing up on your thighs so that when you sat on his crotch, your panty-covered pussy was flush against the material of his trousers.

As one, the two of you pulled away from each other. Mainly because you were now sitting on his very hard erection and also because he knew you could feel his evidence of being aroused. You both stare at each other with wide, unblinking eyes, lips slightly swollen and the taste of his spit still on your tongue.

However, you didn’t want to stop and awkwardly sit back in your seat, and he wasn’t rushing to push you off, either. You were horny, and so was he. Yes, James Potter was your best friend, but that didn’t have to matter; you just wanted him to enjoy the moment and show that it wasn’t as scary as he thought.

Enough time passed, and if he didn’t want to continue, he would have said something by now, so you took the opportunity to lean back in, your thumb attempting to soothe him, stroking across his cheek in timid circles. As your mouths reconnected, your hips ground down on his crotch. You were hoping that he knew enough about anatomy to tell that the warmth from your pussy was a sign of arousal, wanting him to know you were just as turned on as he was.

You do it a few more times, rubbing back and forth with increasing pressure until James makes a pained noise that has you stopping altogether and checking in on him.

He’s looking everywhere but at you, as he apologises, “Sorry, it’s just these trousers are tight and rubbing me painfully”.

“You could just take them off”, you say once again, not thinking before you speak. James looks at you with dramatically wide eyes as he, too, realised what you’d just said. Quickly, you clarified, “I’m not saying that to have sex or anything; I just mean, we could kinda carry on doing what we are doing, but if your trousers are hurting, then just in your boxers”.

You’re surprised by his automatic response of a nod, yes, his arousal blocking all thoughts of Lily as he begins to undo his belt easily. Rising onto your knees to give him room, he pushed the offending material until his thighs were bare and his plaid boxers were on display, barely containing his length. Not wanting him to feel exposed, you lowered yourself once more, and both groaned at the contact, yours at a higher pitch as you could feel the entire outline of his cock against your cunt.

James was bigger than you’d thought and was currently pointing down his left thigh, so you angled your hips in this direction. Tilting your hips forward slightly, your clit grazed along his shaft, causing a hitch in your breath as it caused pleasure to pool in your abdomen, moisture slickening your hole with each movement.

You’re breathing just as heavily as he is, lips still moving against each other, exploring, tasting, needing more. You were kind of proud of him when he moved his face down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses and causing more pleasure to pulse through you. You were half tempted to rise onto your knees again to show him the evidence of your arousal that had soaked through your panties and onto his boxers, but you didn’t want it to stop.

As your fingers delved into his messy black hair to hold his face closer, he thrust his hips up against yours to add to his stimulation. He was still apprehensive, so he didn’t push too hard, but he rocked back and forth until his tip was pressed against your clothed folds. The muscular thighs beneath yours tensed with each thrust, the muscles defined from all his years of playing quidditch.

His hands remained in place, one on the opposite side of your jaw to where his mouth still kissed, and the other hand helped to move your hips back and forth in time with his own ruts. You’d never actually gotten off like this with anyone before. Usually, underwear would be removed at this point, and more direct contact could occur, but it was still exciting to have some barriers between you. The lace of your underwear was quite rough against your most sensitive area, especially your engorged throbbing clit. You were sure to be sore afterwards, especially with the amount of pressure you were rubbing against each other; with each passing second, the need to find completion made you both desperate.

As his lips found yours again, his tongue began to delve and explore the hollow of your mouth, along your palate and even over your teeth; your pussy began to clench, fire blooming in your core with the impending release.

Pulling back, your fingers moved to rest on his shoulders to hold on tighter as you quickly moaned, “Please don’t stop; I’m going to cum”.

James moaned huskily, out of breath, but both of his hands were now on your hips, moving both his hips and yours faster to find his orgasm. Resting your forehead on his, you both shared the same area, still tasting the other in your mouths, sweat beginning to coat your faces. You were sure you could feel his own wet patch against your arse cheek from where precum was dribbling from his tip and staining his underwear. 

“Ah, fuck- James!” your head tilts back as you finally orgasm, thighs shaking and pussy fluttering around nothing. However, just as you were beginning to come down from your pleasurable high, James suddenly grabbed you painfully, both arms wrapping around your waist as he sat up further on the chair, nearly knocking you off of him if it wasn't for his grip around your midsection. Reassuringly your arms wrapped around his shoulders as his face nuzzled into your chest, his body shivering as thick spurts of cum soaked his boxers.

His moans were like music to your ears and sounded slightly pathetic, making you cling to him more, attempting to run your fingers through his hair to calm the crazy style, but to no avail. Your pussy felt like it was on fire due to the rough stimulation and the untouched orgasm, but it felt so good you savoured the sensation for a few minutes whilst trying to catch your breath.

“There you go, Potter. Not only have you kissed a girl for the first time, but you’ve also made her cum”.

James laughs, loosening his grip slightly to look up at you, but then you both hear the worst noise imaginable: voices from a few floors below, especially those of Sirius and Remus. You scrambled to your feet, straightening your clothes and sitting back in your chair, picking up the book and opening it to a random page as James pulled up his trousers, both of you ignoring the bodily juices completely.

James just about had his feet back on the footstool before Sirius and Remus walked in, but both immediately halted and looked between you and James. It was Sirius who spoke first, eyes squinting in accusation, “Why do you both look so guilty right now? What did you do?”

[solxamber]

Could you do adeuce & the overblot gang (separately) trying one of those period cramp simulators like in those videos?

Overblot Gang + Adeuce + Rollo trying period simulators!

part 2 with vice housewardens + Kalim

I found the idea funny and added Rollo for funsies, I hope you don't mind <3

Adeuce

Ace, being the daredevil he is, straps on the period cramp simulator first with a cocky grin. “How bad can it be?” he says, glancing at you like this is no big deal.

The moment you turn it on, though, his face transforms. “W-What the—” he gasps, doubling over like someone just punched him in the gut. “Okay, okay, this is—AHHH, NOPE, TURN IT OFF!” He’s flailing now, hands waving in panic as he tries to yank the device off, hopping around like a fish out of water.

Deuce, meanwhile, watches with wide eyes, realizing it’s his turn next. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Nah, nah, Deuce, you gotta try it,” Ace wheezes between pained groans. “It’s character building!”

Deuce, ever the trooper, reluctantly puts it on. At first, he’s stoic. “I can handle this. It’s just a simulation—OH MY SEVENS!” He crumples into a chair, gripping his stomach as though his life depends on it, tears actually forming in his eyes. “HOW DO PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS?!”

Ace, still recovering on the floor, gives him a thumbs up. “We’re never… talking back to anyone going through this… ever again.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle approaches the simulator with the same seriousness he applies to everything else. “This is for educational purposes,” he declares, strapping it on confidently. “I’ll endure it to better understand—”

The moment it starts, his face turns a deep crimson—not from anger, but from sheer pain. His knees buckle, and he grips the nearest chair for dear life, a strained gasp escaping his lips. “T-This can’t be real,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “This is…an injustice to all rules of nature!”

By level three, he’s gasping for air, holding onto the table as if it’s his only lifeline. “TURN IT OFF! THIS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL!”

You switch it off, and Riddle stands there, disheveled and panting, brushing his hair back. “We shall… never speak of this again,” he declares, with his pride barely intact.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona sits back with a smug grin as you offer him the simulator. “Tch, weaklings. I’ve dealt with worse.” he says, lounging lazily as he straps it on. His confidence is off the charts—until you turn it on.

His ears immediately flatten, his eyes go wide, and his whole body tenses up. “The hell is this?!” he growls, clutching his stomach with one hand while the other grips the couch.

By level two, he’s sweating and lowkey whimpering. “Turn it off, turn it off right now.” His tail is thrashing, and there’s no trace of his former bravado. “Whoever made this… is a sadist.”

When you finally switch it off, he glares at you, still slumped on the couch, breathing heavily. “If you tell anyone about this, herbivore, I swear…”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul, ever the schemer, thinks he’s prepared for anything. “This is merely an experiment,” he says, carefully adjusting his glasses as he straps the simulator on. “I’ll be able to handle it with ease.”

As soon as it starts, though, his confident smirk falters. His back stiffens, and he clutches the arms of his chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Th-This is...more than I anticipated,” he gasps, his face pale as he tries to remain composed.

By the time you hit level three, Azul’s glasses are askew, and he’s gripping the edge of his desk like his life depends on it. “MAKE IT STOP! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! HALF-PRICE AT MONSTRO LOUNGE, JUST TURN IT OFF!”

Jamil Viper

Jamil raises an eyebrow at the challenge but doesn’t say no. “This is nothing,” he mumbles, strapping the device on like it’s a task on his daily to-do list. You turn it on, and for a few seconds, he seems unfazed. His poker face is strong.

But as the intensity increases, you see his eye twitch. Then, he’s hunched over, muttering a stream of complaints under his breath, his face contorted in a rare expression of suffering. “This… this is inhuman,” he grits out, shaking his head. “I could’ve been cooking, cleaning, or literally anything else.”

At level four, he’s pressing a hand against his stomach, sweating bullets. “How do people get anything done like this? Who’s responsible for this?!”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil, in true Vil fashion, approaches the whole thing with poise. “I can handle this,” he says, strapping the simulator on like it’s a designer belt. “How painful could it really—”

The second the simulator starts, his perfect posture falters, and he sits down immediately, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh. My. Sevens. This is—”

By level three, he’s doubled over, one hand gripping his stomach and the other clutching his chest dramatically. “This is unbearable! This pain would ruin anyone’s complexion!”

His voice is full of horror as he waves a trembling hand. “Turn it off before it does permanent damage!”

Idia Shroud

Idia’s hair is already flickering with anxiety the moment you suggest he try the simulator. “Y-You’re joking, right? No way!” But you convince him, and he reluctantly straps it on “I’m going to die, I just know it.”

When you turn it on, his reaction is immediate. His hair flares bright neon pink, and he lets out the most dramatic yelp you’ve ever heard. “OH NO, THIS IS IT! THIS IS HOW I GO!” He’s rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach like he’s in the final boss battle of his life.

By level four, he’s practically pleading. “I surrender! I’m done! Game over! JUST TURN IT OFF!” His hair is flashing so brightly it could power a small city.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approaches the simulator with a curious expression. “A device that mimics pain? Fascinating.” He straps it on with a regal air, as if this is just another strange mortal custom he’s willing to experience.

The moment it starts, though, he pauses. His eyes widen slightly, and he places a hand over his stomach. “This… is quite intense,” he admits, his voice calm but strained.

As the levels increase, his stoic expression falters, and he’s soon gripping the edge of the nearest surface. “Is this…what humans endure regularly?” he asks in disbelief. By the time it reaches full strength, he’s staring at you in awe. “You must be incredibly strong to endure this.”

The storm outside, coincidentally, seems to match his inner turmoil.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo looks at the period cramp simulator with his usual air of disdain. "I fail to see the point of this exercise," he says, folding his arms. But with a raised eyebrow from you, he sighs and reluctantly agrees. “Fine. If only to demonstrate that I can endure whatever nonsense you find amusing.”

He straps it on, looking every bit like he’s about to endure a great trial of fortitude. "Proceed," he says, as if commanding an army.

At level one, Rollo barely flinches. He keeps his usual stoic expression. "Is that all?" he asks, voice flat. But as you increase the intensity, his composure begins to crack. By level three, he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His jaw tightens, but he's still maintaining his dignity—barely.

"Interesting... sensation," he mutters between clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice steady.

By level four, the calm façade is gone. Rollo’s knuckles are white from gripping the arms of the chair, and his expression is a mix of panic and fury. "This... device is an affront to decency!" he hisses, his face reddening. "Surely no one can focus through such—"

You take it up one more notch.

"TURN IT OFF THIS INSTANT!" Rollo practically yells, his voice cracking as he doubles over, utterly betrayed by his own pride. His normally regal posture is completely gone, replaced by a man clinging to survival.

When you finally switch off the simulator, he’s left panting and disheveled, glaring at you like you’ve committed a personal offense. "That... was barbaric," he wheezes, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll never question your complaints again. That was… inhumane.” He straightens his robes and avoids eye contact, the flush in his cheeks refusing to fade.

"Honestly," he mutters, still flustered, "what vile invention is this world coming to?"

Masterlist

[benevolentbones]

beach day | spencer reid x fem!reader

part 2

warnings: swearing, massage? flustered spencer

word count: 1.2k

summary: you and penelope decide to take the team to the beach :)

a/n: thank you sm to everyone who follows me and supports my silly little fanfics!! getting to everyone’s requests soon!! comment if you’d like to be added to my taglist <3

“you want to what?” hotch asked, his dark brows furrowing.

“we should have a beach day! it would be so much fun- you can bring jack.” penelope mused excitedly, her arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both tried to get more people on board.

it was initially your idea, to invite a few members of the team to go to the beach as the summer heat was eating you alive, it was penelope’s idea to invite everyone. and y’know the more the merrier.

“so will you come?” you asked, a sparkle glinting in your eyes.

“i don’t swim, so i wouldn’t be able to mind jack in the water.” he mumbled, reshuffling the case files on his desk, thinking of his five year old son.

“that’s okay- y/n is a trained life guard, she can look after him in the water.” penelope seemed to have an answer for every one of hotch’s excuses.

he then realised that the two of you weren’t taking no for an answer. he let out a small sigh before meeting your eyes.

“you promise you’ll watch him?” he asked, like you haven’t been babysitting jack for two years at this stage.

“pinky.” you smiled, extending your pinky finger for hotch, who reluctantly locked his finger with yours. he knew how serious you took pinky promises.

“alright then.”

garcia let out an excited yelp, dragging you out of hotch’s office and on to convince the last few members of the team.

so far you had got jj, emily and hotch.

“three down two to go.” you grinned at penelope, her blonde hair bouncing as she dragged you towards spencer’s desk.

derek was standing against reid’s desk, his hands gripping the edge of the table as they were both deep in conversation.

you had thought to wait until they were finished talking before you interrupted them, but penelope had other ideas. she came to a halt, her arm locked with yours.

“how do you fellas say about a beach day this weekend?” she asked, a cheshire like grin on her maroon stained lips.

derek’s attention shifted from the younger male to the two women who stood before them.

“a beach day? a chance to see you ladies splashing about? count me in.” morgan grinned, before turning his attention back to spencer.

“what do you say, pretty boy?”

spencer’s face turned sour, it was needless to say he didn’t really enjoy the beach. he hated hot weather, the texture of suncream and then the dreaded sand.

“um…” he began “i think i’m okay, thank you for the invite though.”

“oh c’mon reid, everyone else is going!” penelope beamed, determined to have everyone go.

“i don’t know- i don’t really like the beach guys…” he trailed off.

“you get to see y/n in a swimsuit.” derek added.

you furrowed your brows slapping morgan’s arm in a playful manner.

“i mean you will!” he laughed, shielding himself from your attack with a case file.

“fine, i’ll go- but not for that reason.” a blush exploded onto spencer’s pale features.

“yes! i’m going to start planning!” penelope couldn’t contain her excitement as she whisked your flustered self away.

“oh it’s totally for that reason.” derek bumped his elbow into spencer’s ribs lightly.

“s-shut up man.”

~

saturday rolled around and the team were on their way to the beach, it was a bit of a road trip to the nearest beach but you weren’t complaining. the sun was out, the heat causing wisps of your hair to stick to your neck. you couldn’t wait to get into the water.

once everyone arrived, penelope scanned the beach for the perfect spot and then began ushering everyone over, making morgan and hotch carry the umbrellas and coolers from the van you took.

you followed in suit, holding onto jack’s small hand to guide him over while his dad did all the heavy lifting. once you had reached the perfect spot you began to lay your towel down as derek positioned the beach umbrella.

everyone began laying out their respective towels and beach chairs, spencer plopping his chair under the umbrella beside you. you gave him a sweet smile before you dug through your bag for the suncream.

“alright mister, suncream time and then uncle derek will make sandcastles with you okay?” you announced, getting jack to sit in front of you.

“hey i didn’t sign up for that-“ morgan began earning a glare from both you and hotch who was mounting a wind barrier to his left.

“-yeah i mean, yay sandcastles!”

once you applied the suncream to jack, he ran off to derek, dragging the man down the beach, bucket and shovel in his tiny grasp. you turned to spencer who was already halfway through a book he had brought for some ‘light reading.’

he was wearing a pair of dark purple board shorts, paired with a white short sleeve shirt that was loosely buttoned up, and damn did he look good.

“your turn spence.” you smiled, taking the book from his grasp.

“i- yeah i already put some on before hand.” he muttered, attempting to take the book back from you.

you rolled your eyes playfully. “well i’ll top you up later- would you do me?”

“do you?” spencer’s voice cracked slightly, a small blush beginning to spread to his cheeks. his mind threatening to wander.

“mhm would you put suncream on my back, i can’t reach.”

“oh right- yeah come here.” he adjusted his seated position.

you stood up, dusting any sand that clung to your skin. you quickly slipped off your white sundress that you used as your beach coverup, revealing a black two piece.

spencer gulped nervously, as you passed him the bottle of suncream. his eyes traced your form, the two piece accentuating your already, in his opinion, attractive figure.

he didn’t really comprehend why he was so nervous, he had seen peoples bodies before, other women at the beach and such. but he had never seen this much of you.

he began applying the lotion, ignoring the heat rising through his body. this felt like a fever dream to him.

honestly you could’ve asked one of the girls to help apply the suncream, as they were already helping out each other, but truthfully you craved spencer’s touch.

his lightly calloused hands massaged your form, trembling down to the small of your back which made your face heat up.

spencer’s hands brushed up your waist, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, his touch soft as he worked in the suncream.

you never wanted this to end, his hands moving up to your shoulders nearing the nape of your neck, and then..

“a- all done.” he stuttered out, handing you back the bottle. you took it back, your fingers brushing against his as you passed his book back to him.

“thanks spence.” you flushed, quickly putting it back in the beach bag to avoid his intense gaze.

“up for a swim garcia?” you turned to the woman to your left, her blonde hair in two braids and her body adorned with the cutest pink frilly two piece.

she shot you a grin before grabbing onto your arm and dragging you off to the water.

“yeah i bet you needed to cool off after all of that, damn girl.” she whispered causing you to become even more flustered.

“oh you’re down bad.” emily laughed at spencer as soon as you were out of earshot.

“as if i didn’t already know that.” spencer sighed, slumping back into his chair.

he was in for a long day…

taglist: @0108s22m

[ellecdc]

hi! i absolutely love your works, particularly your poly!marauders(w/lily). i think you write them so beautifully and harmoniously that you can't help but fall in love with them.

i wanna compliment you on your recent two-parter about remus and the whole revealing the werewolf thing. the angst to fluff had me on the edge of my seat. thank you for writing such a piece! 🤍

i hope its not too much to ask but in part 1, there's a brief mention of sirius receiving letters from i can assume is his family that lily confiscates and the group tends to love on him a bit more. let's say reader isn't in the loop about sirius' family life and she feels a bit sad that she can't comfort sirius like the rest can, and in general feels lost because it's another thing she isn't 'let in on'. i was wondering if you could write a little something on that? maybe some misunderstandings with a fluffy ending?

i hope this is something you're ok w writing 🥹 if not, its ok! still wish u the best always!

this is so sweet - thank you! & thanks for your request - hope you like it!!

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

poly!marauders + lily x fem!reader who find's her own way to comfort Sirius - 2.1k

CW: brief mention of Sirius' childhood, allusions to anxiety, our shy Hufflepuff reader, hurt comfort, Sirius-centric

There was this saying that you never really understood before.

Love makes you do crazy things. 

And while the definition of crazy may be up for debate, you’re quite sure it could be understood as acting completely out of character.

So here you were, acting completely out of character; voluntarily marching towards a secluded end of the library where three Slytherin’s were sitting that you had - up until this point - managed to avoid completely. 

But you couldn’t, wouldn’t, avoid them any longer; not now, not for Sirius. 

The dust settled relatively well after the news of Remus’ lycanthropy had been shared with you; the five of you seemed to find a sort of freedom in not having to hide from one another anymore. Remus could be himself, the other’s could love him appropriately, and you could too. 

But another one of those black envelopes with  a green wax seal showed up at breakfast yesterday, and the group delved into their usual hide-the-envelope-and-coddle-Sirius practice. 

Lily took the envelope and disposed of it, James and Sirius had a floo call with the Potter’s, and Remus’ mum and dad sent baked goods from Wales via owl. 

You had since gathered that these letters were coming from his parents, or at the very least from someone in the Black family; you had also gathered that the contents of the letter’s were hurtful or upsetting to Sirius. And even though he never got to read them, a heavy cloud seemed to form and follow the young ex-heir around. 

And your heart felt heavy; not because they were keeping anything from you, per se, but rather because they seemed to have a routine that didn’t include you.

And while you didn’t want to encroach in spaces that you weren’t necessarily invited in, you couldn’t help but feel like you should be doing more. 

Lily, James, and Remus all had something they could offer Sirius; they all had some way that they could support him. 

You didn’t.

And it wasn’t for a lack of trying on your part, but rather that no one seemed particularly inclined to burden you with any negativity. 

“Don’t worry about me, babydoll; this is standard Black stuff. I’ll be just fine.” Sirius had said when you asked if he was okay; his usual salacious smile significantly dimmed as it seemingly took the majority of his effort in his response. 

The others hadn’t been much help either; Remus and James effectively telling you that you were too sweet to have to worry about such horrid people, and Lily trying to assure you that they had it under control and not to worry - Sirius would be okay. 

And that was all well and good, but it wasn’t enough for you - it was about sodding time you started pulling your weight in this relationship.

So - with nothing more than the teeniest bit of courage you were sure you pilfered from your four Gryffindors and perhaps a healthy dose of delusion - you forced your feet to take you in the direction of the only person in the entire castle you thought might possibly be able to help you. 

“My, my, my; to what do we owe the absolute pleasure, little Puffle?” Barty Crouch Junior mocked as you paused at their table; Evan Rosier and Regulus Black picking their heads up to look at you incredulously and bemusedly respectful. 

“Did ya get lost there, L/N? Need me to find you one of your Gryffindor’s?” Evan taunted, earning him what looked like a kick in the shin from Regulus, though you couldn’t be certain on account of the table impeding your view.

“Erm…I-I was sort of wondering if I could speak with you, Regulus?” You managed to murmur awkwardly.

The three Slytherin’s seemed to have a silent conversation as they shared glances before Barty shrugged and Evan rolled his eyes; both standing and leaving the two of you some privacy. 

Regulus watched as you cast a hasty muffliato around the table - another trick you’d picked up from the Gryffindor’s - and as you helped yourself to a seat with your boyfriend’s younger brother. 

“Is Sirius okay?” Regulus asked quickly, his voice no more than an urgent whisper as he looked at you imploringly.

His intensity caught you off guard; you were so certain getting anything out of the notoriously stand-offish Slytherin would be next to impossible, but he had beat you to the conversation and seemed to be just as worried about his brother as you were. 

You remembered then why you liked Slytherin’s so much; you often found a kindred spirit in them, for one thing that a Slytherin valued most was a sense of loyalty.

Well, didn’t you have enough loyalty to use to your advantage. 

You wondered rather belatedly if you had overstepped. It was admittedly too late to ask yourself this now; standing outside of the boys’ dorm with a package in your hand.

What’s done is done. You had a one-track mind, and that was to help Sirius.

With this, you raised your hand and gently knocked on the door.

It had been James to open the door; his jaw tense until he saw you, which seemed to cause his face to melt into an awkward expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Hi angel.” He greeted apologetically. “You okay?”

You were confused by his greeting, and his question, and the fact that he hadn’t moved out of the way of the door to invite you in as he usually did.

“I’m fine.” You responded quickly, trying to look behind him. “What’s wrong?”

James made a sound of discomfort in the back of his throat as he looked over his shoulder, still not moving to allow you entry. 

“Listen, sweetheart; I’m not sure now is a great time…”

“It’s Sirius, is it?” You asked quickly. His responding grimace proving your suspicions. “I need to see him.”

“Sweets, maybe you could come back la-”

But later wasn’t good enough, you see. You had a one-track mind, and that was to help Sirius.

So, in the name of love making you do crazy things and still acting completely out of character for you, you shoved your way past James’ hip, bending under his arm to allow yourself your own entrance to the boys’ dormitory. 

Lily sat at the end of Sirius’ bed where she had one hand resting on his ankle; her thumb stroking back-and-forth over his achilles tendon.

Remus sat against the headboard with Sirius in his arms; his lips pressed against his hair as he murmured sweet nothings to him.

And as you stepped closer, you could see an indent where James had been sitting, opposite of Lily likely serving the same support as your red-headed girlfriend.

“Siri?” You asked quietly, causing him to stiffen significantly before sitting up and feigning nonchalance.

“Hi doll.” He croaked then, wiping angrily at the tear tracks on his face and pasting on a smile. “Didn’t mean for you to see me like this. What’s up?”

You hated the faux blase act he was putting on for your sake, but you reminded yourself why you were here.

To help.

“I have something for you.” You offered quietly, procuring the parchment wrapped package and holding it out for him. 

“Awe.” He chuckled wetly with a sniffle. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t take all the credit for it.” You replied, watching him pause in the process of opening to look at you in confusion.

“Open it.” You encouraged.

He finished ripping the parchment from the box before lifting the lid.

You felt your heart stop as the lid fell unceremoniously from his hands and a small gasp left his lips at the sight of the small, stuffed black cat sitting inside.

You’d spent the afternoon learning about the tail of two toys; Splash the cat and Padfoot the dog. The only toys the two young Black family boys were given came from their Uncle Alphard in the form of a plush cat and a plush dog; both with black fur as a nod to the family name and the boys’ hair colour. 

Even though Uncle Alphard had given the dog to Sirius and the cat to Regulus, the boys often traded, depending on their current circumstances. 

You learned that when Sirius went to Hogwarts, he had left with the cat. 

When he returned home after having been sorted into the wrong house, Regulus had given him the dog.

And when Regulus joined Sirius at Hogwarts only to be ripped from his brother - possibly for good - after being sorted into Slytherin, he pilfered the dog from Sirius and left him with the cat.

They never discussed those plush toys again.

And when Sirius fled Grimmauld place one horrible night in June between fifth and sixth year, he left with nothing but his wand, the clothes on his back, and his school trunk.

Left behind was poor Splash the cat.

Regulus - fearing his mother would go on a warpath and completely destroy everything in Sirius’ room - quickly grabbed the cat and had kept it hidden in his school trunk ever since.

Until today. Until now.

Now, he left Splash with you; trusting that you would return him to his person, the one who needed him the most.

“How…” Sirius whispered as he quietly pulled the plush toy from the box; hands painfully gentle as if the toy would simply turn to ash should he jostle it. “Where did you get this?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re asking.” You tried to joke in an attempt to keep the moment light. Sirius simply turned his disbelieving gaze from the toy to you.

“You spoke with him?”

Suddenly, your fears that you had completely overstepped came flooding back; a nervous sort of nausea settling deep within your stomach that threatened to make this awkward moment horribly worse.

“I…I did- I didn’t say anything, of course! Because there was nothing to say, because I don’t actually know anything, which is fine too! I just…I couldn’t…well, you see, I just had to do something, you know? I couldn’t just-”

Your ramblings were (thankfully) cut off when the air nearly completely left your lungs as Sirius attached himself to your middle; his arms winding tightly around your body where they met in the middle of your back. You could feel the impression of Splash against your back from where he was still in Sirius’ grasp.

“I’m sorry if I upset you - I know it wasn’t my place, but-”

“You’re incredible.” Sirius whispered then. “I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”

“You’re not mad?” You whispered back, causing Sirius to pull away from you, only far enough to be able to look into your eyes with ill-hidden admiration. 

“My sweet shy girl; approaching Slytherin’s for me.” He murmured, causing Remus and Lily to snort and James to gawk.

“You did what!?” 

“You do know that a quarter of our school is made up of Slytherin’s, right?” You asked James then; Sirius pulling you back into his chest when you dared to remove your gaze from him.

“That’s entirely too many Slytherin’s, my girl.” James muttered, though he relented in his admonishment of you for your crime of daring to speak to your classmates in order to sit beside your other two lovers. 

“I can’t believe he gave this to you.” Sirius whispered; holding the cat up behind your back so he could examine it over your shoulder.

“He didn’t give it to me, Sirius.” You whispered back as you pulled away from him so you could look into his eyes. “You have a lot of people in your corner; more than you know.” 

His eyes seemed to well again, though he didn’t look nearly as heartbroken as he did when you first walked in, so you counted that as a win. 

“What did I do to deserve you, hm?” He asked then before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You’re sure you could have counted at least seventeen ways in which Sirius Black deserved the nicest things you had to offer, but right now you were more focused on the feel of his lips against yours.

If love made you do crazy things, and those crazy things brought you to this; this being Sirius moulding himself to you as if he hoped he could make a home for himself inside of your soul, then you would happily spend the rest of you life mad as one could be.

You hadn’t fixed anything, not by a longshot; but you had helped, even if only just a little.

His lips tasted of salt and perhaps some sadness, but also of hope.

And for now, that was enough.