#and made it out like it was my fault when i made clear i begged and told the receptionist i spoke to to book said appt

[inotaku-talkz]

she put my name with yellow hearts

Your shadowy memory lures me in, I will never live you down.

SPOILERS AHEAD!!

taglist: @meadowfics, @countyourfreckleslikestars

Reader’s plaryer number is 57, mostly proofread

Red was always your least favorite color. It was the color of rotten meat and spilt blood. You gulp down the urge to throw up your breakfast.

You feel Dae-ho’s eyes on you as you walk to the red side. His blue vest stood out in the sea of green.

You never liked blue either, it was the color of the vast, dark ocean where your darkest fears exist and play.

Now, Yellow.

Yellow was your favorite color.Yellow reminded you of sunflowers and the warm rays of sunshine.

You were given a box, a ‘gift’ they called it. They explained the rules.

Red has to kill one blue team member to advance to the next game.

And Blue has to hide and wait it out or find the exit.

When you were told that you could switch sides if the other player consented.

You kept your haze on Dae-ho as he went from red player to red player trying to switch colors to be with you.

You make your way over to Dae-ho, but you watched as he marched towards Gi-hun. He grabbed his vest, screaming at him.

You quickly grabbed his arm, trying to separate him and Gi-hun. “Dae-ho, stop! It’s not worth it! Think about us!”

He doesn’t stop until a guard points a gun to his back.

“Dae-ho, switch with me.” You beg him to. So that way Gi-hun won’t hunt him down, so he’s safe.

“No. I won’t switch with you. Someone will just hunt you down instead.” He’s cupping your face and pulling you in, lips crashing together. Very reluctantly pulling away slowly.

“First, secure your spot then come and find me.”

You nod as Dae-ho is forced to take a spot in line and walk out to the arena.

2 minutes.

“Mr. Seong…”

“Please don’t kill him…it wasn’t his fault. His attack—“

“It is his fault, [Name].”

”But Mr. Seong—“

Then the announcement came.

“Red team members, please make your way to the arena.” You watched as Gi-hun stood and made his slow stalk to the arena, to your Dae-ho.

“Fuck.” Your tears brim your lash line after every step you take.

“Stop! I have a son! He’s only 8, he loves dried squid and choco pies!” The woman you’re chasing babbles to no end.

You bust through open, unlocked doors and weave through bloodied bodies to reach her. You chase her into a corner and she’s fumbling with a key that won’t fit.

As you slowly step forward, she’s lashing out. A knife.

She must have pick it off the ground by a dead red player.

She’s swinging at you uncontrollably, with no clear goal in mind. She’s just trying to keep you back.

You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground. You manage to sit up and straddle her before a hand grabs at your hair and you’re pulled back.

As you’re dragged back, you see player 333 swiftly stab and stab at your target.

You’re left in silence as your only chance was taken from you.

You can barely hear the antagonistic comments of player 124. You barely register the retreating footsteps.

You start to stand up when you hear it. A cough.

The woman wasn’t dead, she managed to survive 333’s assault.

You crawled towards her, she’s mumbling to herself.

“He loves…dried squid and c-choco pies…”

Her gaze is nearly gone when you held the blade just over her heart.

“He’s only—“

‘Player 077 eliminated, player 057 pass.’

Five minutes. Five minutes to find him.

You hear the sounds of struggle, you quickly make your way over at the sound of his voice, his struggle.

“Mr. Seong! Please!” You bag and cry, scrambling to reach them.

Sobbing.

You hear unbroken, unfiltered sobbing. Rounding the corner to the sick, sight before you.

Gi-hun crying against a wall, guilt and shame written, dancing in his eyes.

and next?

Dae-ho on the ground, unmoving.

You’re at his side in seconds. “Dae-ho, I’m here now…come on let’s get out of here.”

Nothing.

“Why are you ignoring me? Come on, we have to move!”

Slowly, you put your head on his chest.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“No…no, no, no! No!”

Your Dae-ho isn’t dead! He can’t be!

“Mr. Seong where is Dae-ho? He…this isn’t him…”

He looks up at you. You study Dae-ho’s face, then you notice bruising on the neck.

“You!” Your punch connects to Gi-hun’s jaw. “You! You fucking killed him!”

Blow after blow, insult after insult.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite! The rebellion was your idea! Mr. Jung-bae is dead because of you! You should have listened when he tried to tell you about Mr. Young-il!”

He’s done fighting, he knows killing Dae-ho wasn’t going to change anything. He ended another man’s life, just to protect himself from the truth.

“They’re all dead because of you!”

You grab at your knife, aiming for him square in the heart.

A shot knocks the knife out of your grasp as guards fill the space.

They bring a coffin and you throw yourself over Dae-ho, screaming at any guard who stepped too close.

“No, he’s not dead! He’s alive, he promised!”

You’re thrashing and wriggle as the guards pry you and the cold body of Kang Dae-ho apart.

You keep screaming and crying, praying that it was a lookalike.

Just how Gi-hun stared at Dae-ho, you stared right back.

The same burning pit of hatred, you gave it back to Gi-hun ten-fold. You managed to get the guards to let you keep Dae-ho’s jacket.

The jacket reeks of blood and sweat, but his scent is stronger.

But soon the scent will fade with time.

It was lights out. The granny talking to him had already left.

You sit right in front of him.

“It’s all your fault.” Your voice was soft, but harsh.

“Mr. Jung-bae, and everyone else who followed you because you want to play hero.”

“Is it fun? Playing hero?”

His eyes snapped towards yours, he’s familiar with those words.

“Hit a soft spot? Good.”

“Everywhere you go, death follows. Like it did three years ago, when you first played the game.”

He’s covering his ears now, breath heavy and quick.

“You deserve to be dragged down to the deepest pit of hell.”

“I can’t wait to watch from heaven, earth even hell. Where even they decide to put me.”

The lights come on and you’re sitting up.

“He lied… he was never a mar—“

“Shut up!” You kick his chest.

“You even mock him now! Dae-ho would never lie like that! He’s a true man, honest and noble! He’s my man!”

You just kept kicking him in the face. You didn’t stop even when the guards pry you away.

The guards lead you up to the game room, keeping distance between you and Gi-hun.

You keep your gaze forward, looking back if you see Gi-hun you might just kill him.

The announcements state the rules of the game.

Jump across, make it in time. Don’t look dow—

Fuck.

You looked down, didn’t you?

You saw green everywhere, covered in orange, white and…

yellow.

yellow flowers. Your favorite color.

You look up at the track, it seems thinner now.

The game already started. Players discuss and agrue who should go first. Player 125 breaks through the crowd and tossed the necklace that Player 124 is so attached to.

Player 124 unfortunately stops as he reaches his necklace and he’s tripped.

‘Player 124 eliminated.’

By the time the game ended, you were moving on autopilot. Slumped against the giant plastic shoes of the boy doll, you watched as Jun-hee stepped off the edge.

“Another to die by you, another life destroyed.” You whisper as you start walking towards the exit.

Seong Gi-hun.

he is not a man, he is a monster. He destroyed the only thing that brought you meaning, brought you longing.

Love.

You love Kang Dae-ho.

“[Name].”

That’s…

“[Name], please come with me.”

Dae-ho called to you. You peer over slightly, Kang Dae-ho is waving you down.

Your man is waving you down.

Your man is in a sea of your favorite color waiting for you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.” He’s holding out his arms for you. You’re overwhelmed and overrun by emotions.

A hand on your shoulder stops you. You look back and meet the broken eyes of Gi-hun.

“Don’t. He’s waiting for me…” Your voice is small, fragile, and delicate. He slowly steps back, cradling the baby of 222.

You held the jacket with the fading scent close to you as you lean backward.

For a few seconds of you being in the air, you closed your eyes.

When you open, he’s holding you. Cradling you like a newly wedded bride. He smiles wordlessly, just begins to walk away towards that beautiful light your grandfather talked about.

You glance back to the spot where dae-ho caught you. There’s a body there, she’s got another player’s jacket on.

“Don’t look back.” Dae-ho pulls your attention back to him.

To you, you got your happy ending. To others, you were a girl who collapsed under the stress of a dead lover.

They see your body. It’s all broken and blood spilling from your body.

You’re in peace now. Along side your man.

‘Player 057, eliminated.’

[izzy-b-hands]

My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.

[berrryparfait]

❝ i don't look good in this dress... ❞ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

♥︎ featuring: sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: you don't think this dress looks good on you... he begs to differ. 「i really don't see what you're seeing, babe.」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: fluff, shopping date, reader tries on a dress that hugs her curves and doesn't like how it looks, mentions of weight loss, insecurity, reassurance, he's whipped and worships the ground you walk on

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: lipstick – charlie puth

✧ a/n: requested work that i rushed to complete because i wanted all of u to know that u are GORGEOUS. do us all a favor and wear that dress girl ♡(>ᴗ•)

Nothing makes you happier than a shopping date with the love of your life. The way he’d been so eager to plan this day—to put a smile on your pretty face as if your happiness were his own… Well, it is.

You’d made preparations of your own, too. You had a rough idea of what you wanted to try on, and you’re determined not to leave empty-handed today. All that’s left is to slip into the dresses you’ve picked.

But when you finally zip this one up, it’s… not what you’d hoped for. And deep down, part of you knows—it’s not the dress’s fault.

“Babe, I don’t look good in this dress…”

Sylus lounges on the fitting room couch, one arm stretched out on top of the backrest. He’s been sitting here this whole time, thoroughly enjoying the view each time you emerge from behind the curtains.

He’s cleared out the store today for you to shop “in peace,” so it’s just you, him, and two store assistants in the room.

He frowns at your words, raking his piercing eyes up and down the length of your body once more. A disbelieving smirk curls his lips as he drawls, “Don’t be ridiculous, sweetie. You look ravishing in this dress—in fact, I’ll have them ring it up for us right now—”

“I-I don’t think I want this one, babe…” You sigh as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, the dress cinching your body in all the wrong places. It just looks…unflattering.

Sylus waves the assistants away and studies your expression once more, realization dawning. He’s always thought you pulled off everything you’ve ever worn—to him, this dress is no different. But he knows about your insecurities…

“…I’ve made my opinion clear, Kitten, but you can’t seem to get it in that head of yours that you are unreasonably beautiful.”

You smile at his words, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. You’ve heard him compliment your looks a thousand times now, but insecurities aren’t so easily vanquished. They start and end with… well, you. No one else can touch them.

“I love you for that, Sy—but it’s not that simple. I’ve lived with these thoughts my whole life.”

His arrogant stance softens, and though the sureness in his voice remains. To him, your beauty is fact—an indisputable one.

“I don’t mean to undermine what you’ve been through. I only mean to highlight my perspective.” He stands up and twirls you around like you’re dandelions waltzing through a ballroom of wind, his hands memorizing every curve, every dip of your body. “If you could only see yourself the way I do… I’d squander the world for just another glimpse.”

Zayne leans against a wall, your leather purse in hand. He waits patiently while you try on each piece of clothing, occasionally pulling out his phone to skim through articles on cardiothoracic surgery training in Japan.

You step out of the fitting room wearing a form-fitting black dress, unsure what to think of it. It feels a little tight around your hips, and though you’ve been eager to try it on for days, you can’t help but feel disappointed. You glance at your reflection in the mirror and fight the urge to retreat into the fitting room before anyone else sees you.

Zayne catches the panic in your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“It’s just… This dress makes me look chubbier, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It accentuates your curves, which is hardly something to be upset about. You look beautiful—as always.”

His words warm you, but the tightness in your chest remains, your insecurities gripping your ribcage like a clawed hand. “I should lose some weight…” you mutter.

His brows knit together as he steps closer, concern softening his features. “Don’t sacrifice your health and wellbeing for the sake of meeting society’s so-called 'beauty standards. They’re unrealistic, fabricated, and frankly, unattainable. Your natural body is perfect just the way it is, and I mean that." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "This dress is gorgeous because you’re wearing it.”

He cups your cheek in his palm, and you smile up at him. Sensitive, adoring Zayne. While it’ll take more than an ultra-romantic speech to quiet the voice inside your head, his reassurance soothes the ache you’ve carried for years.

What once was a scar is now a patch of healing tissue—thanks in part to Zayne’s unwavering affirmations, and in part to your own efforts to love and accept yourself.

A group of girls are parading their outfits a few booths down from yours, giggling and squealing as they pose for photos. They’re stunning—slim and toned in all the right places, with flawless skin and sculpted jawlines.

You glance down at the dress you’re wearing, and it feels like a punch to the gut. How can you ever compete with girls like that? How do you look next to them? A nauseating wave of envy and self-doubt crashes over you, and your eyes instinctively seek out Rafayel for reassurance.

He’s staring at you with wide, hazy eyes, lips slightly parted as his gaze roams over your body. You blush, self-conscious, crossing your arms over your torso.

He jolts back to reality, the misty look on his face evaporating. “What was that for? I was enjoying the view.”

“You don’t have to lie, you know. This dress isn’t for me…”

He shakes his head, clearly baffled, and closes the distance between you in two strides. A half-smirk pulls at his lips as he says, “You’re kidding me, right? You look fuckin’ hot.” His hands trail down your thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Can we get this one? Please?” he murmurs into your ear.

You gently push him away. “...Nah. It’s unflattering on me.”

Rafayel scoffs, but there’s a surprising tenderness in his eyes when he says, “Listen, babe, you’re the most drop-dead gorgeous woman on earth, and the fact that you can’t see that? It genuinely breaks my heart. Tragic, really—”

You smack his arm and chuckle, the heaviness in your chest already starting to lift. Bless Rafayel and his ability to pull you from the depths of your own mind. Turning back to the mirror, you glance at your reflection again and think… It does make your ass look amazing. “…Maybe I will get it.”

“That’s my girl.” His grin turns wicked. “I can’t wait to take it off you…”

Xavier is dozing off on the couch, his head drooping and his eyelids fluttering. It’s an adorable sight—one that nearly distracts you from the reflection in the dressing room mirror.

Your hands smooth over the fabric of the blue cocktail dress, its fit on your body…disappointing. This isn’t how it looked on the mannequin, you think, heat blooming in your cheeks. All at once, your insecurities come crashing down, suffocating you with reminders that you’re “less than”, that you’ll never feel truly comfortable in your own skin—

“I like that dress. You look good.”

You spin around to see Xavier now sitting upright, his gaze fixed on your back. “You think so?”

He nods, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But then again, everything looks good on you. It’s you.”

You bite your lip, hesitant to turn around. “You don’t think it makes me look… I don’t know…bigger?”

“Uhh…?” He frowns, confused. “What do you mean? Turn around. I want to see it.”

Slowly, you turn to face him, baring the gentle curve of your breasts and the mound of your tummy. You avert your gaze, fidgeting under the weight of his stare.

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it?” your voice wavers, your heart freezing as the blood drains from your face.

He shakes his head rapidly and shifts in his seat. “N-No, it’s not that… I just— I—” He quickly folds his arms over his lap, and you understand immediately.

A laugh escapes your lips.

He glares at you. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry! You’ve just really boosted my confidence today, that’s all,” you say between giggles. Suddenly, the mirror doesn’t seem so cruel. If this turns him on just by looking at it…

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hot. We get it…” he mutters, still throwing you dirty looks on the car ride home.

You spin around in the yellow sundress, the fabric hugging your curves and accentuating your hips. It looked different when the model wore it online…

Caleb is gawking at you from outside the fitting booth, arms crossed over his chest. “That dress looks so sexy on you, Pips. Let me get it for you—”

“Wait! I, uh… I don’t know how I feel about it…” You try not to betray your emotions, shoving the knot of insecurity down your throat. You’ve always struggled with body image, but you don’t want to worry Caleb by bringing it up.

Or worse—put those ideas into his head.

He steps forward, placing his hands gently on your waist as he takes in the way the fabric cascades down your legs, how it emphasizes your soft curves and full breasts. The very sight of you in it steals the breath from his lungs.

“Is this about your body?” he asks carefully, clearly afraid of striking a nerve.

You look down at your feet and shift uneasily, the nagging feeling intensifying beneath the weight of his gaze.

Caleb leans in and tilts your face up to meet his. “...Hey. I’ve traveled the world, and you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, okay?” His thumbs stroke your cheeks with the softness of a summer breeze. “Why else would I be dating you—your personality?”

You glare at him, fighting to suppress a smile.

He wraps you in his arms before you can argue, and you melt into his embrace, allowing yourself—for once—to believe him.

You’re strong, funny, determined, and kind; and let’s not forget the fact that you pulled Caleb, the hottest pilot in any airport and the only man who sees you for exactly who you are.

“You’re the eighth wonder of the world, babe. Inside and out.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[bunni-v1]

wellll since you are taking requests! Can I request Sylus, Caleb, and Zayne with a fem reader who's playful and loves to tease them in public but when their having sex, she's all shy and that?? <33 (I haven't requested something in such a long time, I forgot how this works 😭😭)

Don't Hide~

Pt. 2

🍓Baby, you fucking know you can. My little MC is exactly like this, so thank you soooo much for allowing me to write her vicariously through this ask. I have sooo much fun with brat taming, you have no idea, I should write it wayyyyy more. Anyway, I really tried not to let my favoritism for Caleb show here, but he still has more than the other two. Sue me, I love my man.

TW: Intense eye contact in Caleb's; Brat taming; cat ears mentioned but not relevant in Sylus' part; Sylus is crazy big; teasing; softcore otherwise; editing/grammar errors (i am one college student)

Info: Sylus, Zayne, Caleb x Reader (Separate); NSFW

Word Count(s): Zayne (1.2k); Sylus (1.2k); Caleb (1.5k)

MDNI

ZAYNE

You loved to just push, didn't you? It was an annoyingly charming part of you, one that Zayne just adored in most situations. Playful poking and prodding was part of your daily routine, something he expected and honestly needed from you. If you weren't causing some kind of problem for him, you weren't doing well. He would rather you annoy him than see you sad and quiet.

Still, you really could get under his skin when you tried. Bonuses of knowing each other so well, he guessed. Even framing it like a positive was hard when you were trying your very best to get him to react.

Having your arms wrapped around him was a more than welcome experience in most cases. He loved it when you were so openly affectionate in public; it made him feel better about how badly he wanted to hold you, too. What he was not a fan of was the way your sneaky little hands seemed to be creeping lower and lower down his back. It was cute, at first. Easily mistaken as a comforting gesture when your fingers drew themselves back up after dipping just a little lower.

Yet, they didn't stop dipping a little lower. Each stroke got longer, went further down his back, until your fingers were dancing along the hem of his pants. If that weren't bad enough, you were doing it in front of a colleague of yours. Tara, you'd excitedly introduced. Chirping along happily together like two birds of a feather, like you weren't pushing your luck with each passing second. You knew that, though, didn't you?

He shoots you the subtlest look when your hand hovers over his behind, a warning. One, you do not heed, clamping your hand down and pinching his cheek with a Cheshire grin. And he squeaks, despite expecting it, the feeling still takes him off guard. Your grin only widens, especially when Tara blinks in surprise.

"Are you okay, Mr. Li?" She asks, befuddled at how such a stoic man could make such a noise.

He clears his throat, glancing at you, less subtly, "Fine. We should be going, though."

"Aww," you and Tara pout at the same time, though yours is far less genuine than hers.

"Well, it was nice to see you. Have fun with the rest of your day!" She waves, skipping away, oblivious to the tension between you.

Zayne lets out a deep and heavy breath, annoyance leaving him all at once. His eyes zero in on your smirking face, expression even despite the intent clouding his green eyes. He tugs your hand away, wrapping it around his waist in a firm grip so you don't do the same thing again.

"You can't behave for a second, can you?" He sighs.

Another self-satisfied smirk, "It's not my fault you have such a cute butt! It's just begging me to grab it."

He hums, pulling you along with him without another word. He can feel the excitement rolling off you in waves, practically leaping and bounding at his side to get home. How obnoxiously adorable. Your ability to manipulate him into giving you what you want was admirable; he'll give you that. Besides, it's not as though he'd be the one feeling embarrassed by the end of the night, so he'd let you have your little victories.

--

He'd had you on your knees before the front door could even fully close. Shaky hands struggling with his belt, fumbling futilely a few times before finally wriggling it out enough to unzip his pants and slide his member out. It bobs uselessly in front of your mouth, begging for some semblance of friction. Naturally, as if magnetically attracted, you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

A firm hand stops you before you can, making your face scrunch up in confusion, fluttering up to his. The intensity in his eyes is enough to burn you up from the inside, heated and full of intent. You look away quickly, trying to ignore the heat searing beneath your skin. He doesn't allow you to run, gripping your chin and bringing your eyes back to him.

"Use your hands," He commands, "and look at me. Understood."

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. Not good enough.

"Words."

You swallow, "Yes, Zayne."

The grip on your chin softens, stroking the skin there as if apologizing for the roughness, "Good."

Your shaky hands come up, spitting on them for lubricant, then carefully wrap around his cock. Gentle, easy, practiced. You know what he likes, slow and easy. You watch the way your hands glide along his shaft, smiling when the sticky pre-cum coats your fingers. So pretty.

He clears his throat, and you correct your mistake like you've been Pavloved. Looking up at his flushed face, chest heaving, and body, eyes watching your every move. Nervousness tends to build up in your chest when he looks at you like that. No walls or hidden meaning, just sheer desire. You want to hide away from it, but you know he won't let you. All you can do is swallow the ever-growing lump in your throat and let your face burn hotter and hotter.

You watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate some of the need between your legs. It's useless, as expected, and only serves to make you feel more pathetic. You don't stop, though, obediently tugging his member at an even pace. His breath grows more shaky with each stroke, mouth slightly ajar and puffing the hot air out unevenly. Much prettier.

His fingers trace along your chin, down the sensitive column of your neck, and back up again. Mirroring your movements from earlier, giving you a taste of your own medicine. It makes you shy away a little, flinching back when they dip between your collarbones. He spreads them out as he comes back up, pausing in the center of your throat and giving the smallest press, prompting you to swallow against them. He shudders when you do, having to use the door to keep himself upright.

He was close, so close. It made you want to speed up, but you don't. Not unless he tells you to.

"Are you sorry?" He suddenly asks, low and gravely, like it was hard to get out in the first place.

You bite your lip, shrinking into yourself as you mumble, "'m sorry..."

"Clearly," he commands, "or else I'll make you stop right now."

You jolt, shaking your head adamantly, "I-I'm sorry. I am! I promise, please?"

He scoffs a laugh, "Brat... open your mouth, now."

You comply, sticking your tongue out, and within a few moments, he's spurting out onto it. You lap up his release obediently, never breaking eye contact, no matter how much it drives you insane. The hand on your chin comes up to pet your hair, a silent praise for your good work.

"Did you learn your lesson?" He asks lowly, scratching your scalp gently.

You nod, proud to please. It's cute. Really cute. But he's not quite satisfied. With a low hum, he helps you off your knees, nudging you through the house on a straight path to the bedroom.

"Why don't we test that theory, then?" He whispers, a promise that you were in for a long night of behavioral correction.

SYLUS

Sylus was a tease at heart, always pushing your buttons and getting on your nerves with little to no effort at all. He'd admitted to you on more than one occasion that he found your feisty reactions positively adorable. You were his little kitten, after all, what kind of man would he be if he didn't get you swatting your claws at him?

However, teasing him was a difficult endeavor. One that you'd become an expert in. See, you couldn't just whisper sweet nothings into his ear or draw your hands along him sensually. He didn't react to that; he found it more funny than alluring. Calling you needy, which you weren't. No, if you wanted to get something out of him you had to be smarter than just sheer sex appeal.

You had to be cute.

Not so cute that you came off as childish and stupid, he would catch on to things too fast and ruin your fun. Just cute enough that it would get his heart racing, make him pause, and take a second to admire you. When he did that, you knew you got what you wanted.

Which is why you were walking hand in hand with him now, swinging your arm just slightly between your bodies. You were in some expensive shopping district, looking around for something to wear for a mission you were assigned to. He'd insisted on buying you a dress when you'd mentioned it offhand. Who were you to deny him the privilege of seeing you spin around in glittering dresses like a teenager picking out a prom dress?

You'd gotten a bit... off track, though. Purposefully, of course, not that he needed to know that. Excitedly bounding from shop window to shop window, gazing in at the silly souvenirs and cute little stuffed animals like a kid on Christmas. Sylus allowed you to tug him around, a soft smile on his face as you rambled about how cute that little teddy bear is, then in the same breath refused to let him buy it for you.

You stopped short when you came across a little standee outside of a costume shop, laughing at its contents. Cat ears of various types hung on the little turnstile, the perfect killer. You bounded up to it, scanning across the different types before plucking two off the rack. You turn back to Sylus then, a giddy smile as you show him your little treasure, lifting it up with pride.

He leans down without another word, letting you set the white pair on his head. His eyes softening when you clap your hands. You know you've got him right where you want him. You just needed the finishing blow. You set the second pair on your head, pointing your chin to the sky like a proud lion.

He smirks at the sight, petting your head like he would a regular cat, "Aren't you cute?"

You bite your lip, going in for the throat, "Now I really am your kitten, huh?"

He pauses, visibly processing your words and realizing just what you were up to. A scoff tumbles out of his mouth, eyes rolling from the sheer idiocy. He'd fallen for your cutesy little antics, again, just like he always did. Steady fingers grip your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes settled on him.

"I wasn't aware she was so prone to misbehavior. Tell me, are you looking for punishment, kitten?" He purrs lowly.

Mission successful, "I'dunno what you mean, Sy..."

--

Riding Sylus always felt impossible thanks to his incredible size. You always managed to fit it, but it was more than just a little fight. This is what you asked for, though. Your little cry for attention earlier rewarded with a brand new pair of cat ears, and Sylus’ lazy smirk as you struggled to adjust to him.

Your hands weakly kneaded at his chest, trying to ground yourself from the intensity of the stretch. He merely watched you, red eyes drawing across your figure slow and steady, pleased to have you on display for him. His calloused hands rested at your waist, thumbing over the skin there in approval as you settled down.

It was impossible to hide from him like this, making the burning sensation across your body all the more apparent. You just couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the way he seemed to drink you in, savoring you with every sense at his disposal. You were sure he had a secret sixth one made just to relish in your humiliation. Yet, he does not say a word to shame you or make you feel less than. Just watches and appreciates you as you are.

Somehow, that was worse than degradation, melting your mind to a mushy pile of nervousness.

Still, you’d practically begged for this, and as always Sylus had given it to you as you wished. You wouldn’t want to disappoint both of you, so you took a deep breath and began rolling your hips. Slow little circles at first. Unsure, but gradually building as you grew more comfortable in your place on top of him.

Each movement set your nerves alight, sending shocks of pleasure across each inch of your skin. The heat building in your core, spanning across every nook and cranny of your body, wrapping you in a blanket of warm pleasure. Sylus seems to track it with his eyes, drawing up from the sensual roll of your hips, to the way your muscles tense, across your bouncing tits, and landing on your scrunched up little face.

You could practically hear him purring — no, he was purring. A low grumble shaking his chest, traveling through your trembling fingertips and sending the signals directly to the heat between your legs. To be admired so much was just too much for you to handle right now.

You lean over him, tucking your face into his shoulder. It’s a weak attempt to hide at best, not that you’d be able to hide no matter what you did, but you make it all too easy for him to pull you up with a gentleness that seemed too loving for the moment. All too Sylus as he eased your pouting visage back into his line of sight.

“Running away already?” He coos, fingers massaging your neck as if placating you.

You’re far too embarrassed to argue with him, so you just nod, “It’s too much.”

He hums, mocking thought as he takes in your weak excuses. You’re far too cute for him to know what to do with, but he would figure it out, “Do you need my help, kitten?”

In the second of clarity you have, you debate telling him no. Yet, he twitches inside of you when you open your eyes to take in his all consuming stare, and the thought evaporates from your mind. You do need his help, very badly. You’ll probably burn alive between the scorching pleasure and his fiery gaze without him there to placate the flames.

You give him a weak little teary eyed nod, and he eases your face back into his shoulder. He was always so accommodating with you, so gentle and loving that it made your stomach tie into knots. Only forgetting the feeling when he helped to work you along his length, humming sweet words of praise into your ears, letting you hide away from him all you wanted. That’s what you wanted after all, right?

CALEB

Teasing Caleb was an art form that only you had mastered. You would think that after knowing someone for so long, it would be easy to rile them up. Yet, Caleb was the most controlled man you had ever met when it came to handling your light-hearted jabs. Part of it was thanks to how well he knew you, but the other part was simply because he was good at ignoring his own feelings. He could push and push and push them down to the depths of his mind until they were practically non-existent, and your teasing was no different.

The most you'd get for your efforts was a smirk, maybe a ruffle of your hair as he scolds you, and if you were really annoying, he would chase you around the house and tickle you for your crimes. Rarely was it anything more intense than that.

Rarely. Not never.

There was one way to get Caleb hot and bothered enough to do something, and that was your favorite game of all time: Look, don't touch. It was fun to see just how far you could get, doing all his favorite things with an air of innocence, just to see how long it would take to get him to crack.

Your personal favorite method of torture was to find a shirt of his - dirty, preferably - slide it on and walk around the house with nothing but it and a lacy pair of red panties. (His favorite, judging from how often they go missing from the laundry.) It's a long game you have to play, because winning against Caleb's disciplined ability to pretend was always a long game. Luckily, you were just about the one weakness in his mental fortitude.

You start in the morning before he leaves for work, or else it won't work. If he's at home all day, he'll just take care of it without thought. You walk out of the room, and his eyes catch on your legs. They rake over the exposed skin like trying to burn it into his memory, as if he hadn't done that a million times before. Then, like clockwork, he realizes what he's doing and tries to look anywhere but you as you waltz around. Knowing he has a responsibility that he can't skimp on, even for you, keeps him stiff and robotic as you kiss him goodbye.

Then, step two kicks in: text him frequently. Keeping yourself at the forefront of his mind (which you always are, mind you) and letting him know you're thinking of him makes him squirm in a way that's unbefitting of a soldier. He can't stop himself from thinking about your legs, the way his shirt rested against your body, and what was beneath it. Waiting, begging him to get a peek as you stretched your arms over your head. His eye twitches when you send him yet another suspiciously worded text - never incriminating, but always implicative.

Then, when his shift is nearly over, when you spent your whole day playing coy, you reach the final phase of your plan. You send pictures. Nothing explicit. That would ruin the fun of it all. Just cute, mundane tasks. A downward angle of you cooking dinner, reading a book on his bed, or maybe just a picture of a movie you're watching with your bare legs in view. All visual reminders of what he left at home, all reminders of why he needs to get back now.

--

Normally, Caleb prefers you to tell him what you like in bed. He's soft, attentive, a little sloppy, but entirely obsessed with your pleasure. It's not as though he's neglecting that part of himself, quite the opposite, actually. You were the one who had made it abundantly clear that you wanted- needed him to put you in your place. He knows your little games, he knows you like no other person on the planet - in the galaxy, hell, the entire universe.

So, of course, he knew you wanted him to fold you in half and show you what happens to misbehaving, teasing little pipsqueaks like yourself for all your efforts. Who was he to deny you of what you'd been begging for all day? Wouldn't that make him a bad Caleb? It almost means that the way he makes you look at him, knowing full well that the eye contact sends you into a flurry of embarrassment. He's just so... intense, in every sense of the word, especially when he's having sex with you.

One leg bent up to your head, the other wrapped around his waist, and two strong arms boxing your head had you surrounded. Chest to chest, buried to the hilt, there was no escaping the little prison of pleasure Caleb had built for you. Your reward equaled your punishment, and you wished you could complain, but you knew your voice would catch in your throat and Caleb would tease you for it. You had no choice but to sit there and look up at him, hoping he'd be a little nicer than you were to him today.

His eyes are hot as they trace along the planes of your face, eating up the sight like his last meal on earth. The subtle shift in his expression as you squeeze around him, feeling the intensity of his gaze far more deeply than you'd ever admit out loud. His eyebrows twitch up in surprise, before a lazy smirk crawls over his face, leaning down to kiss along the apple of your cheek to the shell of your ear.

"Y'know," He starts in a low drawl, sending your head spinning, "If you want me to take care of you, you can just ask."

You shake your head, though there isn't a real purpose for it. You're just a little too flustered to think right when he's got you like this. His dominance really is something all-consuming, and it reminds you why you don't tease him like this often. You would be a dead man if you had to put up with his relentlessness every time you had sex.

"No?" He asks, as if he's confused, but the condescension in his voice gives him away.

He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing against your walls just enough to get you to tremble a little. Then, all at once, he pulls himself out to the tip and pushes his way back inside in a fluid motion, "You don't want me to do that? Then tell me what you need, won't you?"

You whimper, tossing your arms on your face like that might help you here. Nearly forgetting how easily he overpowers you in your hazy headspace until he seamlessly pulls your hands over your head, interlacing your fingers as if they belonged together.

"No, no, no. None of that, you gotta look at me, 'kay?" He hums so sickeningly sweet it makes you want to swing at him.

A whine tears through your throat, tossing your head to the side to bury into his arm. Defiant and bratty to the end, as always. He huffs out a laugh that's all too affectionate for how annoying he was being, then chases your face with his own. You feel the warm press of his sweat-slicked forehead against yours, heated breath fanning over your face. You don't budge, not even when he nudges your nose with his own as encouragement.

He's reaching the end of his limited patience; you can feel it in the way his fingers tremble around your wrists. He could hold back all day when you weren't physically near him, but he was inside you for god's sake. Any man - well trained soldier or not - would collapse under the extreme pressure of a nice warm pussy. Your nice warm pussy was simply one of the greatest weaknesses he had, second only to your oh so pretty eyes he was being deprived of right now.

"Pips," He whines, voice uncharacteristically squeaky, "Lemme see your pretty eyes, yeah?"

You curl your hands into tight fists, trying and failing to fight him off one last time. A little voice in your mind reminds you of how mean you were to him today. Listen to his voice, he needs you just as bad as you need him. It's okay to give in, Caleb will take care of everything, it whispers so sweetly. You can't refuse its logic, not when it seems so totally right as he twitches inside you again.

You slowly peel your eyes open, nearly jumping at the way he's staring so intently at you. Brows worried, lip caught between his teeth, and pretty purple eyes darting across your face. You expect some kind of comment from him, some words of praise or thanks, but all you get is his hips pulling back and slamming back into you. It gets your toes curling instantaneously, a moan ripping from your vocal cords in surprise.

You shouldn't be, though. This is what you wanted. Caleb was just giving it to you. He would always give it to you.

[daryltwdixon]

summary: You didn’t expect to spend your birthday catching your boyfriend cheating in your own bed. You definitely didn’t expect to end the night on your knees for someone else while on the path for revenge. || nsfw (?) MDNI 18+, m!receiving oral, blowjobs, Joel smokes cigs, cheating (not w Joel/reader), annoying ex bf, age gap (15yr gap mentioned but not specified), no outbreak, reader is drinking age, revenge, based off a song but not gonna mention cause singer is a trumper boooooo || a/n: good morning I woke up with the need to blow joel miller like his life depended on it. had this in my docs for a few weeks and decided to finish it up with some goooood ol' smut. enjoy!

Tyler was easy on the eyes. He came from a rich family, always looked put together and had a job at his daddy’s company, but truly… that was about it. He wasn’t clever, or thoughtful, or even remotely romantic or slick. If he had tried to cheat, he didn’t have the brain cells to pull it off. But you weren’t stupid. The scrunchie under your pillow wasn’t yours and the way he started turning his phone screen down whenever you were together wasn’t subtle. You saw it coming.

But you held your tongue, waiting. You gave him rope, a chance to prove that you were wrong.

And then, on your birthday—your fucking birthday!—you walked into your apartment after a long shift, already picturing the glass of wine and that nice dinner he promised he'd made a reservation for. You were halfway to slipping off your shoes when you heard the moaning.

High-pitched, theatric as hell, and coming from your bedroom.

Oh, Tyler!

Yes, Tyler!

It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood frozen for a second, your hand on the wall. It felt like something inside you cracked. And then the heat came boiling with rage filling your chest, crawling down your arms.

You crossed the room, your steps marching and purposeful, heart hammering behind your ribs. You didn’t even knock as you slammed open the door.

There she was: naked and sitting square in your bed, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like it was a trampoline. She turned at the sound, and her face went pale. Tyler’s too. Like a couple of deer in headlights.

You didn’t flinch. There were no tears.

You looked her dead in the eye and said, calm and flat, “His dick’s not even that good.”

They scrambled, tripping over each other like some half-assed comedy sketch. You just watched, arms crossed, unmoved. Tyler, once she was gone, spent the next hour groveling. Begging, bargaining, spinning his bullshit into excuses—something about how he thought you didn’t care, how you didn’t love him enough, how it was your fault. You let him talk himself in circles until he started getting angry, like his pathetic little tantrum might undo what you’d seen with your own two eyes.

You waited until he shut up, then threw his duffel bag at his chest and said, loud and clear, “Get the fuck out.”

Which brings you to now.

You knew exactly where he’d be on a Friday night. It was with the same group of knuckle-dragging football bros, drinking cheap beer and hollering at whatever game was on. You pulled into the gravel lot and spotted his car instantly. That brand-new black Jetta gleamed under the parking lights like it was proud of itself. Rims all shiny and new, fresh wax job and leather interior. 

You parked a few spaces down and killed the engine. For a second, you just sat there, breathing, fingers curled tight around your steering wheel. Your pulse thudded hot behind your ears.

Then you looked around. The sidewalk was empty, the lot full of cars but no one to be seen. And the nice thing about dive bars was they didn’t give a damn about security, so no cameras that you could see.

Good.

You stepped out, walked up to the Jetta, and just stood there for a moment. The night was quiet, but all you could hear was the roar of your blood in your ears.

 What a stupid fucking idiot. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant for him or you were talking to yourself. Tyler was a dumbass, no question, but you knew what he was before all this. You’d seen the signs, but you ignored them, made excuses for his sorry ass. So what did that make you? 

Still, you shook your head. No. That wasn’t on you.

Any decent person wouldn’t cheat on the girl who stuck by him for five damn years. The one who pulled him through college, helped him look for internships, edited every shitty cover letter he ever wrote before he'd given up and begged his own dad for a job. And not to mention, the girl who gave the best head he’d probably ever get in his sad little life.

Your grip tightened.

You flipped your keys in your palm, pressed one between your fingers, and brought it to the shiny sleek passenger door. You dug it into the steel, and began dragging it nice and slow and deep, carving a line into the shiny paint.

The screech of metal on metal made your jaw clench, but you didn’t stop. Because it was so fucking satisfying too. You moved to the driver’s side, dragging it around to the front, then the other side. One long, continuous line until his car looked like it had been attacked by a wild animal with a grudge.

Maybe that’s what you were, afterall.

You stepped back and admired your work before turning back to your car for the next step.

Next came the knife—his pocket knife. The one he gave you last Christmas because he "forgot to buy a real present in time." You took it from your bag and knelt beside the driver’s side tire and made a clean slash, the hiss of air escaping was music to your ears.

You did all four, each one a little more satisfying than the last. By the time you were done, the car sat sagging on those dumb, overpriced rims, looking completely defeated.

And then you reached for the bat.

A Louisville Slugger. Wood, not aluminum. Shiny and classic. You’d kept it waxed and clean since high school softball. You gripped it with both hands and stepped up to the front of the car, lining up your swing.

Your body tensed, knees bent, and you drew it back.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Your heart kicked up in panic as you spun, bat raised and ready, in case one of Tyler’s meathead friends had stumbled outside to play hero.

But it wasn’t any of them. It wasn’t anyone you recognized at all.

A man stood just beyond the glow of the bar’s neon sign, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as he exhaled smoke into the night. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a beard to match. The light above him flickered, buzzing with moths, casting a yellow wash over his face.

You didn’t lower the bat completely, but your grip relaxed just a little.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He shook his head slowly, taking another drag. “Nope. I’m good.” He tipped the cigarette with two fingers and gave you a look. “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your back on him, raising the bat again. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

He let out a low whistle. “Now you’re just makin’ me feel bad for the guy.”

You huffed a dry laugh. “He had another girl in our bed just hours ago, wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

That shut him up for half a beat. Then he gave a soft laugh behind you. “Shit. Sorry about that. Sounds like a real winner.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“I believe you.” He nodded toward the car. “Still wouldn’t do that.”

You swallowed, throat dry, peering back at him, eyes dragging from his dirty boots up to the dark glint in his eye, “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You could explain away the scratches. The slashed tires, maybe. But bashed in headlights?” He shook his head. “Harder to blame that on a wild animal.”

He dropped the cigarette, pinched it out beneath his boot.

“And for the record,” he added, blowing out the last plume of smoke, “I’ve never cheated. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I wasn’t,” you said, a little too fast.

Silence stretched between you as you felt all the adrenaline, anger, and fire draining from your blood. Your shoulders dropped, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in your chest. Your fingers loosened, the bat slipping from your grip and hitting the ground with a dull thud. You covered your face with your hands, trying to hold back the sting in your throat.

The crunch of footsteps moved toward you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but close. He didn’t touch you, just stood nearby, hovering. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shook your head, swiped your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m good. I just… I shouldn’t have come here.”

He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Come inside.”

You blinked at him, confused. “He’s in there with his idiot friends.”

“Yeah,” he said. Then he looked at you again, steadier this time. “All the more reason.”

You stared at him. “Are you saying I should…?”

He didn’t finish the thought for you, he didn’t grin or wink or push it. All he did was give a small shrug.

And now that he was closer, you noticed just how big he was. Broad in the shoulders, tall enough to cast a shadow over you even in the low light. He smelled like pine and something woodsy, warm and clean even with the leftover tang of cigarette smell. The scent clung to the cool night air as the breeze passed between you.

You looked up at him, and he met your eyes without flinching. Even in the low light, they held a thousand colors—green and gold and deep, earthy brown, all muddled together in a warm, unreadable hazel.

“I’ll buy your first round,” he said, voice softer now. “If you change your mind.”

Then he turned and walked back toward the bar with that same calm, heavy gait.

The inside of the bar was dim and loud, but not packed. Neon lights flickered above the bar shelves, a pool table clacked somewhere in the back, and country music played just low enough not to drown out conversation. You sat on a high stool, elbows on the bartop, a fresh drink in hand. Joel, you’d learned his name, was next to you, close enough that you couldn’t move an inch without brushing up against him. His legs were spread wide, thighs solid beneath his worn jeans, your knees between his, both turned toward each other in a natural way of things.

There were enough people that you at least were well hidden from Tyler and his friends who packed into a booth at the far end by the jukebox.

And you were two drinks in, starting your third, warm enough to finally feel loose.

“He wore loafers with no socks,” you said, scoffing into your drink. “Like, on purpose. He said it made him ‘look sophisticated’. I told him he looked like a youth pastor.”

Joel gave a low chuckle, eyes fixed on the beer bottle in his hand, but his smile curved deeper when you kept going.

“He couldn’t cook, couldn’t fix anything, couldn’t win an argument without quoting Andrew Tate. I swear to God, if I had to hear about ‘high-value men’ one more time—”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered as his lips met the rim of his drink, shaking his head.

“Yeah, real winner.” You echo his earlier quip, tipping your drink back, then nudged his inner thigh with your knee. “But the real tragedy is he’s never gonna find another girl who gives head like I do.”

Joel choked. Like, spluttering his sip of beer kind of choking.

You watched with satisfaction as he coughed mid sip, nearly slamming his beer down on the bar as he wiped his mouth, eyes wide.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard, still catching his breath. “Warn a guy first.”

You tried not to grin, but it was impossible. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

“You can’t just…say shit like that outta nowhere,” he said, still recovering, voice lower now, rougher. He looked over at you, eyes flicking to your mouth, then down to your legs before dragging back up again. “Damn near killed me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You walked up on me with a bat in my hand, remember? I’m not exactly the ‘ease into it’ type.”

Joel laughed, a quiet sound that curled low in his chest. He leaned toward you more fully now, his thighs pressed warm against yours. His eyes twinkled in the dim bar light as his grin settled across his face. He was handsome. Not polished or pretty, but rugged and built like a man who worked with his hands. Masculine in a way that felt rare now, like he was made of dirt and calluses and something heavier. You couldn’t tell exactly how old he was, but he had to be at least fifteen years your senior. And somehow that didn’t bother you. Not one bit.

You were leaning in too, your fingers wrapped around your glass, the condensation slipping over your knuckles as your blood warmed beneath his gaze. The space between you buzzed.

But then, remembering yourself, you looked away and sat back a little more.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said, voice a little softer now.

Joel’s smile faded into something more curious. “For what?”

“For... this. For making it so my birthday didn’t totally suck.”

His brows furrowed, the smile wiping from his face entirely. He was just opening his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the sound of your name beside you.

You turned, and standing there, in all his fuckboy glory, was your ex. 

You rolled your eyes as you set your sight on him, turning away as soon as you could. Joel’s knees still bracketed yours, still facing you, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you.

“The hell do you want, Tyler?” you asked, voice flat.

You didn’t look to see the expression on his face, and you wondered what the slow cogs in his brain were thinking as he looked between you and the man in the barstool across from you.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asked, voice pinched and high with something that sounded suspiciously like jealousy.

You took a slow sip of your drink, thinking through how you wanted to go about this. 

You could feel Tyler standing there, stewing, his presence irritating as the whine of a mosquito. Joel didn’t move, didn’t even look his way. He just kept sipping his beer, calm as anything, one hand still resting on your leg.

Tyler finally broke.

“So what—what is this?” His voice was tight, defensive. “You cheating on me now?”

You turned, purposely slow, and looked at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Then you laughed. Not a chuckle, a full, disbelieving bark that caught the attention of the bartender and a few people down the bar.

“Cheating on you?” you repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? We’re broken up, you asshole.”

Tyler blinked, thrown off by your tone. “We didn’t break up.”

“Yes,” you said, voice clipped. “We did. You just weren’t listening when I kicked your ass out of the apartment and told you never to speak to me again. You remember? When I came home from work to the sound of you fucking some girl in our bed?”

His face twitched, jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” you snapped. “You couldn’t even give me one night for my birthday.”

Tyler looked confused, like the words hadn’t registered.

“I was gonna take you somewhere nice,” he said, voice rising as he gestured between you and Joel. “I figured you just needed to cool off. We were gonna go out tomorrow.”

You stared at him open-mouthed. “Tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I had a whole thing planned.”

“Tyler,” you said, voice flat with exasperation, “my birthday is today.”

He blinked again. It took a second, but then he winced.

You gave a soft, bemused laugh, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe the universe had really let you waste five years of your life on this man.

And then, beside you, Joel started laughing.

Not a big, loud laugh like yours, but just a low, quiet one. A little huff that grew into a full chuckle, deep in his chest. He shook his head, sipping his drink casually.

Tyler’s head whipped toward him.

“The fuck’s so funny?”

Joel didn’t look at him right away. He tipped his beer toward his mouth again, finished the rest in a few slow gulps, then set the bottle down on the bar with a soft clink.

“Just amazed she lasted five years,” he said as if reading your mind and finally glancing over his shoulder. “You make dumb look like a full-time job.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Joel didn’t so much as blink.

Tyler bristled, standing up straighter. “You don’t even know her.”

Joel shifted beside you, his legs brushing yours as he twisted on the stool, planting one boot firm on the floor. He didn’t look at Tyler, hardly even acknowledged him. Like the kid wasn’t worth the breath it would take to answer.

“Know enough,” he said easily.

Tyler scoffed, puffing his chest like he could make himself bigger. “She’s not some prize, you know. She’s a fucking slut.”

The word hung there for a second. Long enough to feel the floor shift under you.

Joel went still.

Completely still.

His hand left your knee.

He stood and looked down at your ex.

And for the first time, Tyler actually looked nervous.

Joel stepped forward, close enough that Tyler had to tilt his head back just slightly to look him in the eye. Joel didn’t yell, didn’t shove. He didn’t need to.

He just looked at him hard and cold and steady.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, kid.” he said, not blinking, not smiling. “You’re gonna turn around and walk back to your little friends, and you’re gonna keep walking and count yourself lucky, because if you stick around long enough to say one more word to her, you and I are gonna have a different kind of conversation. One that ends with you choking on your teeth.”

Tyler didn’t move at first. He just stood there like he thought he might still be able to win whatever stupid pissing contest was playing in his head.

But Joel didn’t look away. He barely blinked, barely even moved.

And something in Tyler finally folded.

He scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and backed away. His footsteps were loud against the sticky floor as he turned and stalked over to the other end of the room.

You let out a slow breath, heart pounding harder than you’d expected.

Joel turned back to you, his eyes softer now.

“You alright?”

You nodded. Your voice wasn’t quite ready yet.

He sat back down beside you, the warmth of his presence sliding back into place. His legs bracketed yours again, your knees brushing his upper thighs.

“Didn’t mean to make a scene,” he added, picking up his empty bottle and signaling the bartender for another.

You looked over at him, studying the curve of his jaw, the easy set of his shoulders, the slow breath he took like nothing had just happened.

“That was…oddly really hot.” you said, almost before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow, but his grin tugged wide.

“That right?”

You blushed crimson, feeling the warmth of blood rush to your cheeks, “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, soft and pleased, and when the next drink landed in front of him, he slid it your way instead.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Looking back, you couldn’t exactly say how it happened. 

You remembered following Joel outside for a smoke, the air cooling your flushed, feverish skin. You shared the little white stick between you, the cigarette passing hand to hand, his fingers rough and warm every time they brushed yours. That simple touch felt electric.

You knew it was you who leaned in first. You were the one who grabbed his shirt, pushed him back against the siding, your fingers going straight for the thick hair at the base of his neck.

He smelled so damn good. Beneath the cigarette smoke and cheap beer was something deeper—pine, woodsmoke, a trace of sweat and musk that made your stomach twist with heat. He seemed so masculine and wild and grounding all at once.

His arms wrapped around you fast. One slid down to your lower back, the other tossing the cigarette aside without a second thought before wrapping a fist through your hair. He kissed you back just as hard, tongue sweeping into your mouth, like he’d been waiting all night for you to get the courage.

From there, it all moved very quickly. 

Because now Joel was looking down at you on your knees, the shadows of the side alley carving deep lines across his face. His voice came low and rough, barely more than a breath.

“What was it you said before, huh?” he said as his hand touched your hair, fingers curling around your ear as he tucked some of it back, “About givin’ the best head that prick ever had?”

You looked up at him with a slow, wicked smile, your palms dragging up his legs. You squeezed the thick muscle of his thighs, fingers digging into denim. Your heart thudded with anticipation, your mouth already watering as he cupped your cheek in one hand, thumb brushing your skin.

The other hand went to his belt.

The sound of the buckle unfastening made your breath hitch. The sharp metal clink, the slow drag of the zipper felt like a dare.

Joel’s hand dropped, wrapping around yours. He pulled your fingers from his thigh and placed them right over the hard bulge in his jeans, pressing your palm down slowly.

“Go on then,” he murmured, voice like asphalt, steady despite the heat you could feel radiating off of him. “Show me.”

You lifted your hands to the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the band of his briefs, just far enough to free him.

His cock sprang up in your face, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening for you. It slapped lightly against his stomach, curved upward with a heavy weight before falling back into your eye line—aching, proud, and impossibly hard.

You swallowed.

He was thick from base to tip, the head swollen and flushed a deeper shade of pink, a bead of slick gathering at the slit and catching the low light. His cock twitched once as you stared, greedy for touch, for heat, for your mouth.

You wet your lips with a slow sweep of your tongue, your hand lifting as if drawn there by instinct. Joel hissed softly when your fingers wrapped around him. He was warm, so warm, the weight of him heavy in your palm. The dark, coarse hair at his base tickled your skin as you pressed your hand flush to him, steadying him as your grip tightened.

You glanced up, eyes meeting his.

He was so beautiful like this. Pants half down, jaw tight, hair mussed from your hands, chest rising with a slow, shaky breath. 

And in that moment, you made a decision. You were going to ruin him.

You were going to make him come in your mouth.

His expression told you he already felt it coming. His brows drawn, lips parted, eyes so dark they barely looked human. There was pride in that stare, but something else too. Need, barely held together, a tension you were about to unravel. He knew you’d ruin him too.

Your mouth opened slowly. Your breath stopping as you leaned in, the scent of him thick and heady, musk and skin and arousal coiling low in your gut.

You leaned in and ran your tongue along the slit at the tip of his cock, catching the bead of precum as it touched your tongue. He moaned breathlessly, and the sound went straight to your head, turning your thoughts to static.

You flattened your tongue along the underside, dragging it along the ridge where head met shaft. Then you pressed slow, wet kisses to the bulbous head, your lips soft, your breath warm. You licked and suckled, easing into a rhythm, teasing until his hips gave the slightest jerk.

Joel groaned, his breath hissing through bared teeth as he looked down at you. His gaze was heavy, unblinking, fixed on the sight of you between his legs.

And then, casually, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another cigarette.

You blinked, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He just grinned, the cigarette resting between his lips as he cupped the lighter and struck the flame. His eyes never left you, even as he took the first drag, the orange tip flaring in the dark.

You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t laughing. Something about it made your blood run hotter.

You sank down and took him fully into your mouth, lips sealing around the thick heat of him, your tongue flattening to feel every vein and ridge as he slid deeper. He let out a quiet curse under his breath, and his head dropped back against the brick behind him as he exhaled smoke into the night air.

You hated to admit it, but there was something so hot—so unfairly, stupidly hot—about watching him smoke while you blew him.

"You got the prettiest lips, baby," he groaned, "Look so good around my cock."

You pulled back slowly, letting your lips glide over him with just enough pressure to make his stomach flex as you moaned at his praise. Your hand wrapped around the base, slick with your spit, and you stroked him, watching his abdomen tighten with each pass of your warm slick palm.

Then you took him deeper this time, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue traced the underside, catching every pulse of blood in his veins. Your jaw ached almost immediately from the sheer stretch of him, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it to ache, to feel it for days after.

Joel groaned, quiet at first, like he was trying to keep it in. But the longer you worked him, the less restraint he seemed to have. His hips rolled slightly, not enough to choke you, just enough to meet your rhythm. You could hear the drag of his breath between his teeth, the low rumble in his throat as he let out a breathy curse. His free hand slid into your hair, just holding, his fingers curling loosely at your scalp.

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves. The glow of the cigarette tip pulsed with each drag, the smoke curling upward and disappearing into the night as he watched you again.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base as you bobbed slowly, building a rhythm he could sink into. Every time you pulled back, your tongue dragged along his length, warm and wet and unforgiving. You twisted your wrist when your hand met your mouth, just like you knew drove a man insane.

You could feel the tension in his thighs now, in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hand, in the little shudders that ran through him each time you went a little deeper. His groans were getting rougher. Louder.

You pulled back for a second, just long enough to kiss along his shaft, your mouth slick and open, tongue dragging up the side before you sucked his head in again, swirling your tongue in slow, teasing circles.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word barely audible, his voice rough as gravel, "Gonna let me come in your mouth? That what you want?"

You looked up at him, nodding as best you could as you licked at his cock again with eyes wide and doe-like. His head tilted back, lips parted around the cigarette, brows drawn tight. His hand tightened slightly in your hair, and you took that as agreement.

You smiled, slow and smug, and ducked your head again.

This time, you didn’t stop. You let him hit the back of your throat again and again, worked your hand in tandem, made every pull of your mouth feel deliberate. The kind of rhythm that unraveled men. You moaned around him, lost in it too.

You felt him start to shake.

"Oh god, oh god," he chanted.

His thighs were trembling now, the muscles locked tight. His hand fisted in your hair, not to stop you or guide you, but to hold on for dear life.

And when he came, he swore. Loud, rough, his body curling forward over you like the force of it knocked the wind out of him, cigarette burning forgotten on the ground. You hadn’t even noticed when he dropped it.

His cock pulsed in your mouth as thick ropes of his come painted your throat, and you took it all, salty and thick but somehow not entirely unpleasant. You were surprised how easy it was to swallow every drop.

You didn’t move right away. Just rested there, mouth soft around him, lips still closed as he twitched once, twice, breath dragging heavy from his chest. When you finally pulled off, slow and careful, your chin was slick, your mouth swollen, your throat sore in the best way imaginable.

Joel stared down at you, completely undone. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then looked up at him, breathless.

“Told ya,” you said with a sly smile, voice a little hoarse but playful.

He let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle, then leaned back against the wall, head tilted up toward the sky, needing a second to recover before remembering how to speak.

You stood slowly, wiping your hands on your thighs before reaching into your bag for your lip gloss. The little click of the cap echoed in the quiet alley as you twisted it open and ran the wand over your mouth, smoothing it back to its glossy sheen. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the nearby window: hair wild, lips swollen, eyes a little too bright, and gave a small, satisfied smirk.

Joel hadn’t moved. He was still leaning against the wall, pants zipped back up, cigarette now completely gone, the filter crushed under the heel of his boot. His chest was still rising and falling like he hadn’t quite gotten a full breath back yet.

“Well,” you said as you tucked the gloss away and gave your jacket a tug into place, “thanks for the fun, Joel. I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the mouth of the alley, but his voice stopped you before you could take more than two steps.

“Now where do you think you’re goin’?”

You glanced back over your shoulder, brow lifted. “You seem tired, old man. Didn’t think you’d make it to round two is all.”

Joel pushed off the wall with a slow roll of his shoulders, his mouth twitching into something between a grin and a challenge. He stepped toward you, his boots crunching quietly in the gravel.

“You live far from here?” he asked, voice low again, steady and curious like he already knew what answer he wanted.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, lips twitching. “Why?”

Joel stopped just to the side of you, looming close enough that you could smell the last trace of smoke on his breath, the salt of his skin. His hand reached up to push your hair behind your shoulder, and he dipped his head, speaking just beside your neck.

“Because I’d much rather fuck the birthday girl in a bed than in some dirty alley,” he murmured. “Somewhere I can really take my time.”

The goosebumps hit instantly, your lips parting as the space between your legs pulsed with fresh heat.

“Ten minutes,” you managed. “Give or take.”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, but his hand moved to rest at your waist.

He looked down at you for a beat, then gave a small shake of his head. “You’ve been drinkin'.”

“So have you.”

“Neither of us should be drivin',” he said, voice still soft but firmer now, threading just enough authority through the warmth. “I’ll call a cab.”

You let out a slow breath, a half smile playing at your lips. “Being responsible is such a buzzkill.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers skimming your side, tracing the curve of your hip, his hand up under your jacket, “but I’d rather make through the night so I can live to hear what you sound like with my cock in you, pretty girl.”

That shut you up.

[florestalio]

JEALOUSY [L.HS] — drabble

warnings — (1.2k words) noncon/dubcon, step-cest, jealousy, shower sex, clit pinching, semi public (?) sex, brief mention of filming but no actual filming, brief cum eating, allusions to/brief oral (f!rec) let me know if i missed any!

it was wrong. it was terribly, terribly wrong. but heeseung couldn't stop himself. he couldn't stop himself before, how could he possibly have even a tiny semblance of self control now?

it wasn't even completely his fault. you were at fault too. why were you always wearing such skimpy clothes around him?

it didn't even stop there. you went ahead and had the audacity to go out on a date with one of the lame guys from your uni, coming back home to brag about it, to him of all people. of course you had it coming for you.

there was no way you didn't expect him to come and find you later, right? especially not when you were taking a bath, when both of your parents were home?

why were you even trying to scream? weren't you aware that he was going to slap his hand over your mouth immediately if you tried? that he would slam the bathroom door shut, locking it? so what if he took his hand off your mouth? didn't you know that your own bathroom was soundproof? were you that much of an oblivious baby?

why were you even trying to resist him? trying to stop him from turning you around, your hands on the glass partition, that was separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom? why were you trying to beg him to stop? did you seriously think he was going to listen to you?

“h-heeseung, please—don’t do this, please—i’m your sister, ple–”

“shut the fuck up. you're not my fucking sister, we are not fucking related. stop trying to deter me from claiming what is rightfully mine, because if you haven't already realised, i am not going to stop until your voice is hoarse from screaming my name.”

if that wasn't clear enough, then he had no idea what else would make you finally understand that you were his, and that he was doing nothing wrong. he was simply laying his claim on his property.

at least that's what he thought, as he ignored your cries to stop, and how this was apparently ‘morally inappropriate’ or whatever the fuck kind of bullshit you were spewing. he could barely hear you anyways, not over the running shower, and the sound of his zipper, as he pulled it down.

he barely even cared about any kind of foreplay—you lost that privilege the moment you went out with another guy—grabbing your ass tightly, pushing his throbbing cock into you. the loud cry from you fell on deaf ears, as he marveled at the way your pussy sucked him in like a glove. it was like it was made to take his cock, and just his alone.

pushing down on your back, he forced you to arch yourself further, pushing your ass up. gripping your ass cheeks tightly, he spread them, giving him a view of both of your holes. he pulled out almost completely, before pushing right back in, burying himself to the hilt. your breath caught in your throat, the muscle almost closing up. this—this was your brother—step-brother, yes, but brother nonetheless. this wasn't supposed to feel good. especially since he was taking you without consent. but… there was no denying that the way his cock throbbed inside you made flames of heat lick your lower stomach, your walls clamping around his length, squeezing him.

heeseung wasn't stupid. he could tell your initial resistance was melting away, and he wasn't going to make you change your mind. not anytime soon. not that you could change your mind, given how he was starting to pound into you, every moan you let out and every slurping noise from your cunt too loud, too real to ignore.

“hng—fuck, heeseung! s-slow down, fuck fuck fuck–!” it was hard for you to keep up with his almost animalistic pace, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust, your sinful activities fogging up the glass partition.

he ignored you, of course. did you actually expect him to listen to you? it's not like you actually wanted him to listen to you. it was just the dumb part of your brain babbling utter nonsense. isn't that so?

at least that's what heeseung thought, as his hand sneaked down to your clit, pinching it, before rubbing it furiously. your moans gradually increased in volume sounding like pure sin to his ears. god, he wished he had recorded all of it, your moans embedded in his brain forever. but that's fine, this wasn't going to be the last time he fucks you. no, absolutely not. not after he finally got to experience the exquisite feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock, clenching down on him so fucking hard.

lifting your hips slightly, heeseung angled his thrusts to hit your sweet spot, driving into it with every thrust. as he battered that spongy spot in your walls with his cock, making sure you could see stars, he gave one last flick to your hardened bundle of nerves, making the spring in your stomach finally uncoil. you came—hard—all over his cock, pulsing around it, drenching his length in your juices.

heeseung kept pounding into you through your orgasm, groaning at the sight of the white ring forming at his base. he pinched your clit again, harder this time, drawing your orgasm. with a cry of pleasure bordering that of pain, you clamped down harder on his length, your legs shaking. the way your cunt squeezed him tightly was enough for him to bury himself to the hilt inside your pussy. with a groan, he flooded your inner walls with his cum, painting your insides white. warm ropes of cum kept bursting out of his tip, as he kept shallowly thrusting in and out of you, riding out his orgasm.

after what felt like ages, he finally stopped cumming, pulling his softening cock out of you. your legs were shaking uncontrollably, the glass partition completely fogged up. but he didn't care. not when he had such a wonderfully sinful sight in front of him.

he grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading them slowly, watching his cum drip down your hole, onto the wet floor below, mixing with the water. this was his girl, dripping with his cum down her legs. the sight was enough for his flaccid cock to twitch back to life. but first, he needed to clean up his pretty girl.

which was why—to your absolute horror—he sank down to his knees, already licking a stripe up your slit, collecting the mixture of his and your cum on his tongue. he mixed it with his spit, rolling the mixture around in his mouth, before spitting right back on your hole. you flinched at the feeling, but barely had time to react in any other way, before his entire mouth was on your dripping pussy, sucking the cum out of you like his life depended on it.

well—who knew pretending to not be utterly bitchless would finally encourage your step brother to stop acting like he’s holier-than-thou, and make a move on you?

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ8 MINUTES OF CUTE MOMENTS * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Chris and Y/N being in love.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The fans of the triplets simply adored Y/N and Chris together, and that wasn't news. The number of comments and likes doubled whenever the girl appeared with her boyfriend in a random picture in a photo dump on Instagram or when her voice sounded in the background of a video.

But what they loved most was when a cute moment of the two of them together was captured during a video on the Sturniolo channel or in a fraction of seconds on Y/N's TikTok, and they made this clear by making thousands of compilations of these little moments, long enough to even post on YouTube.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

8 minutes of cute moments between Chris Sturniolo and his girlfriend, Y/N.

1st minute:

The triplets and Y/N were walking down the sidewalk near the arena in Boston, where they played hockey with Nate.

Nick was recording himself with his phone, talking about how he had almost slipped on the ice several times, when Chris and Y/N's voices sounded, interrupting him. He focused the front camera on the two behind him, surreptitiously recording them.

"... But baby, it wasn't my fault." Y/N complained, her lips forming a pout as her eyes focused on the floor.

"Babe, I asked you to record the game, right?" Chris asked, an amused smile on his face.

They walked side by side, the girl's right arm around her boyfriend's slightly sweaty waist, while Chris's left arm rested on Y/N's shoulders, his fingers caressing her left bicep lightly.

"Yes, and I recorded it!" Her voice came out high-pitched.

"Okay, and how many times did I make a goal?" The boy asked again, raising his right eyebrow.

"Three." Y/N replied in an obvious tone, raising her eyes to look into the blue ones she loved so much. "You kissed me every time you did it." She smiles proudly.

"Yes, and how many of those three did you record?"

"None." She looked down again, her pout deepening. "But-"

Chris threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the night, interrupting his girlfriend's defense.

He leaned down slightly, sealing his lips over Y/N's head, an amused smile still on his face. Oh, how he loved his girlfriend.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2nd minute:

The triplets were filming the video "A night at the North Pole with Larray and Nai!". The camera was positioned in a strategic point so that the lens captured all the camping items around the room, as well as the brothers and the two guests.

Y/N was in her shared room with Chris, already dressed in her - his - pajamas and with her skincare done, ready for bed. But sleep never came.

She knew she had trouble sleeping without Chris after her body got used to the boy's presence pressed against hers every night for 5 years, so her mind didn't seem to give in, begging for the warmth that Chris's larger body provided.

After a few long minutes of turning from side to side, Y/N gave up trying. Sleep was taking over her, and she was feeling more and more stressed for not being able to go into dream land, so she decided to just go to her boyfriend.

Y/N rose from the bed, their duvet wrapped around her body like a cape. Her hands reached for the handle of the white door, closing it behind her and climbing the stairs in slow, silent steps caused by the fluffy socks that covered her feet.

Larray was the first to notice her - sitting facing the top of the stairs. He smiled, amused by his friend's condition; her eyes slightly closed from sleep, her hair high in a messy bun, and her hands gripping the edges of the duvet tightly.

Not many seconds passed, and Y/N's figure was finally caught by the camera, the girl having entered the frame.

"Hey, zombie girl." Nick joked when he noticed her, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

Y/N completely ignored him, walking towards her boyfriend from behind the triplets, not wanting to step on the food that was on the floor between the five of them.

Chris's face automatically lit up when he noticed her after hearing his brother, a big smile taking over as his eyes sparkled. He opened his arms, already waiting for his girlfriend's next move.

The girl smiled lazily back, planting her feet on the floor on either side of her boyfriend's hips, before lowering herself with Chris's help, sitting on his lap.

The brunette quickly wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her torso covered by the fluffy duvet. He hugged her tightly, laying his head in the crook of her neck and exhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo momentarily, before resting his chin on her shoulder, being able to see everything in front of him.

"Sleep, pretty girl."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3rd minute:

Chris was playing Fortnite live on Twitch. His camera was on and focused on his upper body. His head was covered by the hood of his hoodie, pressed against his ears by the headphone, from where muffled sounds from the video game were coming out.

Within 30 minutes of streaming, Y/N's figure shyly appeared behind Chris. Her hands held a tray with some snacks and an already opened can of Pepsi.

She walked towards her boyfriend, curving her spine slightly forward so that her face came into his field of vision, alerting him to her presence.

The boy's blue eyes widened in excitement almost instantly, a smile stretching across his face as his right hand worked on pausing the game, using the soles of his feet against the floor to turn his body towards her.

"Hi bubba, I just came to drop off some snacks for you. It's been a while since you had dinner, I thought you could be hungry." Y/N counted in a low tone, momentarily forgetting that Chris's headphones were of the highest quality, meaning it caught her every word.

The couple didn't notice the chaos in the chat, too focused on each other.

Chris bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop his smile from growing any wider, taking the tray from Y/N's hands and placing it on the free space on his computer desk.

He lifted his chin slightly in the air so that he brought his lips closer to hers, sealing them in a quick kiss, his eyes shining with intense love.

"Thank you, babe." Chris thanked in an equally low tone, adjusting himself in his chair again, ready to go back to playing.

Y/N smiled, caressing his shoulder lightly before turning to leave the room.

"I love you." The brunette shouted quickly before his girlfriend could close the door, receiving an "I love you more" in return.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4th minute:

The triplets and Y/N were at an Italian restaurant, having decided to go out to dinner together that day.

Y/N was talking to Matt about one of the random facts that the boy knew and blurted out of nowhere, the two deeply involved in the conversation.

The dishes had just been delivered by the waiter, who placed them respectively in front of the person who ordered, leaving shortly afterward.

Chris quickly pulled Y/N's plate towards himself, grabbing his own knife and fork and cutting the sirloin steak into small pieces and separating them from the pasta, knowing how much his girl hated cutting meat and how she always ate too quickly.

What he didn't notice was that Nick took out his phone the moment he started the gesture, closely recording his brother cutting his girlfriend's food, practicing the act of service.

After finishing, Chris lightly pushed the plate in front of his girl, turning around to start eating his own.

The girl smiled shyly, turning to Chris momentarily, sealing her lips over his cheek before murmuring a "thank you, babe" against his skin, turning her attention back to Matt.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

5th minute:

The triplets were in their car, recording another car video. Y/N was their special guest, sitting in the backseat next to Chris, who chose to sit there just to be close to his girlfriend.

Y/N had just taken a bite of the pepperoni pizza that Nick took from the trunk, finishing chewing quickly so she could bring her point of view on something Nick was saying, gesturing with her right hand while her left held the piece carefully.

Chris watched her closely, his eyes fixed on her side profile as he listened, nodding his head.

Something the fandom loved was how Y/N was the only person Chris didn't interrupt all the time, showing himself completely interested in hearing anything his girl was saying, regardless of whether it made sense or not.

At one point, the boy lowered his eyes, stretching his right arm and taking one of the napkins that was on the car console, bringing it to Y/N's mouth, lightly wiping the corner of her lip that was dirty with sauce, but without interrupting her.

Chris folded the napkin, leaving it on his lap, knowing he would have to use it again soon.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

6th minute:

"Look, boys, learn from Chris how to treat a girl right." Nick whispered from behind his phone.

He was standing behind the kitchen table, holding his cell in his right hand, the rear camera focused on the living room couch, where Y/N was.

The girl was lying on her side, her knees bent so that her thighs touched her chest. Her back was facing the room, while her face was lightly pressed against the back of the couch. A Fresh Love sweatshirt set covered her body, keeping her warm.

Small sighs escaped her half-open mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids, showing how deep her sleep was.

Chris, who was sitting with her feet on his lap seconds ago, was now standing in front of the couch, curving his spine down so that he could reach his girlfriend, slowly passing his arms under her neck and bent knees, pulling her up.

On instinct, Y/N raised her left arm, surrounding Chris's neck and laying her head on his chest, waking up for just a few seconds, caressing his covered skin with the tip of her nose.

"Shh, sleep baby. I'm right here." Chris murmured in a low tone, sealing her forehead lightly, stopping his movements as he watched her close her eyes again, falling back to sleep.

Chris moved slowly, hugging Y/N's body against his as he walked towards the stairs, not noticing Nick recording them from afar.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

7th minute:

Y/N was sitting on the puff in front of her makeshift dressing table. Her phone was resting on it horizontally while her front camera recorded herself.

She was talking about the new trend in the fashion world, having as a hobby making videos for TikTok about fashion and makeup. While the girl explained in detail, her hands worked on doing her nighttime skincare, gesturing, and changing products alternately.

Chris's figure appeared behind her a few seconds after she started it, his hands holding Y/N's hairbrush. He was already ready to sleep, his eyes half closed with sleep and his hair slightly messy.

A habit created by the couple was that, while Y/N did her skincare before bed, Chris would carefully comb her hair, having always had a great love for her locks.

The boy approached his girlfriend, smiling quickly at the camera before stopping behind Y/N. His free hand parted her hair so he could comb it without hurting her or leaving any part behind.

Chris raised his hand with the hairbrush, starting to do it gently, untangling the knots created throughout the day and aligning the strands.

His eyes met Y/N's from time to time through the mirror, a small smile resting on his lips, adorning his passionate features.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

8th minute:

It was the Versus Tour; Matt, Chris, and Nick were playing the last round of Giant Jenga when Chris spotted a fan with a sign held up.

"Wait, before we continue, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?" The brunette interrupted the group, holding his microphone with his right hand and pointing at the crowd with his left one, receiving absurdly loud screams in response.

Matt shrugged, looking at Nick, who nodded, making a go-ahead gesture with his hands.

"Hi! Can I read your sign?" Chris turned back to the audience, pointing to a specific girl. The girl's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock at being noticed by her idol, taking a few seconds to finally nod her head repeatedly. "Your sign says, "I'm only here for Y/N"-"

Loud screams interrupted Chris, fans going wild at the mention of his girlfriend's name. The brunette took the microphone away from his mouth, laughing in disbelief and looking at a specific area on the right side of the stage.

A fan, who was in the audience and recording the moment, focused the rear camera of her phone on the place where Chris looked, being able to capture the figure of Y/N, who was laughing loudly and clapping her hands in amusement, shaking her head.

"Well, I can't judge you. Everywhere I am, I only go for Y/N, too." Chris muttered into his microphone again, laughing as he received even louder screams in response.

His eyes met his girlfriend's, throwing an air kiss and an "I love you" with just a movement of his lips, before turning his attention back to the game.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Extra minute:

The triplets and Y/N were at their house with Nate and Madi. Everyone was in the living room, talking about random topics while a movie played on the television at low volume, serving as ambient sound. Some board games were scattered on the floor, next to unopened or already eaten snacks.

Chris was sitting on a puff in front of the big windows while Y/N was on his lap. She had her legs thrown to one side while her torso was on the other, sitting sideways on Chris's thighs with her right shoulder resting on his chest.

Chris's arms encircled her body, his right one holding her waist while his left one caressed her thighs lightly.

The girl was talking about a situation she witnessed between a group of third-party friends, always keeping her boyfriend updated on the gossip.

What they didn't know was that Madi was recording their cute moment.

As Y/N spoke, Chris looked into her eyes intently, his gaze so full of love that Madi thought she could see hearts in the place of his pupils.

The brunette nodded from time to time, making it clear that he had his attention on her and understood everything she was saying, an almost imperceptible smile resting on the corner of his lips.

The two seemed to be surrounded by a bubble created just for them, the entire outside world completely forgotten.

That was their dynamic, and the triplets fandom loved it.

© vanteguccir

[ramp-it-up]

Celebrate

Summary: Bucky gives you a gift for your birthday. But he gets the reward.

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

A/N: Definitely on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! This is my bit of birthday self indulgence and may be based on real gift requests ;0. Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm, and Claim, but can be read alone! I'm so down bad for these two. This has no Thunderbolts* spoilers.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Dom!Bucky, but also Subby!Bucky, so switch! Bucky? Back/butt rugs, fingering f receiving oral, raw p in v, breeding kink, SIZE KINK, multiple orgasms, woman on top, orgasm denial, overstimulation, praise kink. begging, female masturbation, The L word!, tiny bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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You and Bucky had a rhythm now: every other weekend.

One trip to DC, one to Brooklyn. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. This weekend was your birthday. And you wanted out of the city.

So you took the train south, and by the time you reached his townhouse, the air smelled like lemon, butter, and something just slightly burnt, because Bucky insisted on cooking and refused help.

It still tasted amazing, because he made it with something neither of you had named yet.

Love.

He leaned in the doorway, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, wearing that smug little smirk like he knew he’d already won the night. You were curled on his couch in nothing but his t-shirt, a glass of wine balanced on your thigh, and the last bite of cake melting on your tongue.

“Good birthday?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, then stretched just enough to make your point clear, your shirt, his t-shirt, riding up on your thighs a little as you groaned softly. 

“Mmm. Almost perfect.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and sauntered over, hand bracing the back of the couch, body heat curling around you.

“Almost? Baby, I cooked for you. I let you win at cards. I didn’t even complain when you dragged me through that bookstore for forty-five minutes.”

You smirked, tilting your head to look up at him. 

“And I appreciate all of that. But…”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “But?”

You set your wine down, pouting up at him just enough to play.

“I was thinking... maybe a back rub?”

He snorted. “You mean a butt rub.”

“I meant what I said.” Your tone was innocent. Your smile wasn’t. “It’s not my fault if your hands wander.”

He leaned down until his lips were brushing your temple, his voice a gravel-soft murmur.

“Sweetheart, when it’s your birthday, my hands are yours to do whatever you want with.”

His mouth found the side of your neck before you could come up with something clever to say, slow kisses trailing heat down your skin. You shivered, arching into him.

“C’mon,” he murmured, already lifting you in his arms. 

“Let me spoil you a little more.”

In the bedroom, he knelt behind you on the bed, thighs straddling yours, big hands working into your lower back beneath the hem of his shirt. His touch was slow at first, thumbs tracing your spine, palms kneading your lower back. But when your hips rolled back into him just a little too deliberately, he groaned.

“This what you had in mind, baby?” he asked, breath catching as you arched again, teasing. His hands slid lower, over the curve of your hips, then further, until he was massaging your ass like he owned it, and come to think of it, maybe he did.

You hummed. 

“Exactly what I wanted.”

His thumbs pressed into the base of your spine, but the heat in his touch betrayed him. 

He wasn't thinking about knots or tension anymore. He was thinking about the way your skin warmed under his palms. The way your hips tilted back to meet him. The little sound you made when he kneaded the underside of your butt.

“You really gonna pretend you just wanted a massage, Baby?” he murmured, mouth grazing your ear now. 

“That all you were after?”

You tilted your head to the side, giving him access, knowing exactly what that would do to him. 

“Didn’t say how I wanted it to end.”

His fingers glided from your lower back, over your beautiful ass, roving intimately. He massaged your thighs, dipping between them to rub your soft pussy through your panties, teasing.

"Turn over, Charm." His voice was a rasp. "Let me see my girl." 

Bucky flipped you gently onto your back, blue eyes dark now, his pupils blown as he looked down at you. The shirt had ridden high, and he pushed it higher, his knuckles dragging against your soft skin.  He ran his fingers over your nipples, tugging at them softly before he cupped your breasts, drawing every shiver from you.

"Open your legs." 

He ran his hands along your thighs and pulled you towards the edge of the bed. 

“I want to see that pretty pussy.”

He took his time, kissing down your torso, eyes never leaving yours until he had to close them, groaning as his mouth found the place just below your belly button, where you always shuddered for him.

“You smell so delicious,” he muttered, voice wrecked, like he was already unraveling. “You know what that does to me?”

You arched up in response, and he didn't wait. He hooked your panties down with a practiced kind of urgency, but still kissed every inch he uncovered. 

Every part of you felt claimed before he’d even touched you where you needed him most.

And when his mouth finally settled between your thighs, when his tongue licked a long, slow stripe and his hands held your hips down, your breath caught so hard it was a sob.

“Oh my god, Bucky!”

“Say it again,” he rasped, voice muffled, his mouth relentless. “Louder. I want the neighbors to know whose birthday it is.”

You were already shaking. He was too good at this, too practiced at making you fall apart for him. It was his favorite way to give. 

Not diamonds. Not champagne. Just you, undone.

Your fingers laced through his hair, pulling. He groaned into you and doubled down, like he needed it just as bad. Like this was his gift, too.

You came hard, trembling under him, his name a broken prayer on your lips. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down, just licked and sucked until you were shaking under his mouth, coming so hard it almost hurt.

Then he slid up your body, grinning. He only stopped to kiss you again, mouth slick, eyes wild, cock heavy against your thigh.

"You’re fucking stunning. I need you dripping with my cum."

He slid over you, teasing you with his thick cock as he rubbed against your folds.

“God, you’re so wet already.”

“Wonder why,” you whispered, grinning.

That earned you a low growl. Vibranium braced your hip, the other hand fisted in the sheets beside your head, and then a guttural moan ripped out of you as he eased in, taking it slow because he was so damn big. 

The sensation was overwhelming, and you trembled on the bed, breathing deeply.

“Jesus, Bucky!��

“Yeah?” he rasped, eyes locked on yours. “That what you wanted? My cock for your birthday?”

You nodded, dizzy with it, but he was already moving, already moving his hips in that perfect rhythm that made you whimper every time he pulled out only to fill you again and again. Deep, rolling thrusts, each one carving you open just right.

"Say it," he groaned. "Tell me what you need."

"You," you gasped, wrapping your legs around him. "Harder. Just don't stop."

He went slowly at first, grabbing your hair in his fist as he thrust in and out of you, stroking your squeezing pussy with his pulsing cock. You arched up against him and he gave you more, everything you could take. 

He thrust harder. Rougher. His rhythm breaking just enough to show how close he was, how much he needed this.

Bucky’s control started to fray at the edges. You could tell in the way he cursed into your neck, in the way his rhythm started to stutter, rougher now, deeper as his hips snapped into yours.

“Gonna give it to you,” he promised, and he did, he gave you everything. The weight of him, the heat, the unspoken love in every thrust. He fucked you like you were the only thing that’s ever made him feel right.

Because you were.

You met him stroke for stroke, fingers digging into his back, nails raking as you got closer again.

“Gonna come for me again, birthday girl?” he panted, barely holding on. 

You nodded, breathless. “Yes, please, Bucky, I’m right there…”

“God, I wanna feel it. Wanna feel you squeeze me just like that, fuck, gonna cum inside you…”

And you did.

And he did.  

You shattered underneath him with a cry, body clenching tight around him, massaging the length of him in firm tugs until he lost it. He followed fast, burying himself deep as he came with a raw, broken groan that sounded like your name.

He didn't pull out right away; he was still hard.

“I want to do this all day and all night, forever, Charm.” 

You took his head in your hands and looked him in those beautiful eyes.

“Gonna give you what you need, Bucky.”

He broke, whispering a reverent, “I love you,” for the first time.

You grinned back at him and whispered it back. 

“I know. And I love you, too.”

Bucky laugh/sobbed and then proceeded to work the waves of your orgasm further, harder, until the waves of your next climax tugged tightly around his cock and he filled you with more hot bursts that made you come again. 

It was amazing.

His hands gripped you possessively, playing with your nipples and your clit, memorizing every perfect curve and groove, until you were coming yet again. Finally, he lay there, panting, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat-damp hair falling in his eyes as he kissed you like he didn’t want to let you go.

His smile turned lazy, confident, until you flipped him gently onto his back and straddled him, that same glint he wore now reflecting in your eyes.

“Did you get everything you wanted?”

“I can think of another gift I’d like…” you murmured, rolling your hips just enough to make him curse, “I want to ruin you.”

Bucky blinked up at you, caught between reverence and sheer, helpless lust.

“Jesus, Charm…”

“Do you understand, Sargeant?” you asked, dragging your nails down his chest, scraping his nipple deliciously. You took his arms and guided them above his head. 

“Now, keep your hands up here. Do. Not. Move. Understand?”

Bucky swallowed hard and nodded, voice gone, pupils blown.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Good boy.”

You rolled your hips down against his watching the way Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, how he bit back a moan, hands twitching where you’d pinned them to the bed.

But he didn’t move. Not without permission.

You smiled, pleased, and leaned in to kiss along his throat, leaving a mark just below his jaw.

“That’s better,” you murmured. 

“All this strength, all this control, and you give it to me.”

His breath hitched. “It’s always yours.”

You sat back on his thighs. Your hand slid between your bodies, wrapping around his cock, still hot and half-hard, soaking wet with your combined fluids, and already starting to throb again beneath your touch.

“Then let me take what’s mine.”

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, until he was fully hard again, aching for it, whining softly in his throat. You watched him fall apart under you, helpless and obedient, eyes glassy with need.

“Look at you,” you whispered, lining yourself up and sinking down on him in one slow, deliberate motion. “So fucking gorgeous when you let go.”

His groan was deep, desperate, like he was barely holding on.

You rode him slowly at first, then harder when you felt him start to twitch beneath you, like he couldn’t take it anymore. You leaned in close, lips brushing his.

“Don’t come unless I say.”

He whimpered, eyes wide, and you grinned as you rolled your hips again.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “God, yes.”

You rocked harder, nails dragging down his chest again, and you felt him tremble underneath you. But he held on. Just like you told him to.

“Good boy,” you whispered, then gave him a filthy kiss. 

“Now tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” Bucky choked out. “I belong to you, Charm”

“Damn right you do.”

And then you let him break.

“Cum for me, Bucky.”

That was all it took.

The second the words left your mouth, he came with a wrecked moan, his entire body arching beneath you, cock pulsing as he spilled deep inside you. You didn’t slow. You kept riding him, hips grinding down to milk every last drop, your cunt squeezing him mercilessly until he was gasping for breath.

But you weren’t done.

Not even close.

His arms trembled where you still had them pinned. He looked dazed, flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

You leaned forward and kissed him, soft at first, then biting his lower lip as you clenched around him again.

“You didn’t think I was finished with you, did you?”

His breath caught.

“Baby, fuck, I don’t think I can…”

“You can. And you will.”

You pulled your hips up slowly, feeling his cock twitch inside you, still half hard, but oversensitive. You dragged your nails down his chest, then planted your hands on either side of his head, hips rolling with calculated precision.

“I want it again. Want to feel you get hard inside me while I use you.”

He groaned like he was in pain, but his cock was already thickening again, fighting through the aftershock to obey.

“That’s it,” you whispered, biting along his jaw. “Good fucking boy.”

You moved with ruthless grace now, your control absolute. You rode him like his only purpose was to fill you, please you, break for you. And he did. He took it all, shaking, panting, drowning in the way you fucked him.

And when you came again, clenching hard around him, moaning into his mouth, he whimpered like it hurt, and then begged to cum again.

“Please Charm, let me, please, let me come inside you again…”

You smiled wickedly.

“Not yet.”

You leaned back, hips still moving, watching the tension build in him again, watching how badly he wanted to obey. You pressed a palm to his chest, and let your free hand slip between your legs to rub your clit in tight, practiced circles, moaning shamelessly, knowing exactly what it did to him when you took control like this.

Bucky’s eyes were fixed to the spot and he bit his lip as he watched you.

And finally, when your breath started to break, when your thighs trembled and you could feel another climax building, you gave him his reward.

“Now, Bucky. Fill me.”

He shattered beneath you with a hoarse, broken cry, coming so hard it sent your orgasm crashing into you too. Your pussy clenched violently around him, drawing him deeper, milking him again as you rode both of you through it, grinding every drop out of him.

You collapsed forward, breathless and flushed, your body humming from the high of it, sweat-damp skin sticking to his.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you the second you let him, trembling and blissed out, lips finding your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, voice raw. “I think you just rewired my brain. Supposed to be your birthday, not mine.”

You laughed softly, stroking his jaw, and kissed him with a slow, satisfied hum.

“Best Birthday ever.”

He smiled, boyish and ruined and beautiful. He kissed your shoulder.

“You sure? I've got more planned."

You hummed, fingers drifting down his back, nails grazing his skin.

“Hmmm. Well, we’ve got all weekend."

"Gonna give you everything you ever wanted, Charm."

"You already have, my Darling. My Bucky. My love."

[fayevalentiinee]

Ace in love with you, wasn’t exactly what you expected. But somehow, you grew used to it anyway.

You got used to the love letters he left when you were going to be apart for a while.

Or rather — the pile of half charred confessions that always smelled like smoke.

That’s what made them very Ace letters. He’d get so excited writing down how much he loved you that he’d accidentally set the paper on fire. And honestly, you never had the heart to complain.

You got used to him eating and talking at the same time, food stuffed in his mouth as he rambled.

“Ace! Chew with your mouth closed — talk after you swallow!”

He’d just grin, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, go quiet for a second… then shove more food into his mouth and continue just as loudly.

It became no surprise that after clearing his plate, he’d glance at yours with those hopeful eyes, silently begging you to say you were full.

And sometimes — even when you weren’t —you’d lie. You’d push the plate toward him just to see that excited, childlike joy light up his face again. Watching him eat like that warmed your heart more than any meal ever could.

You got used to the late night talks when it was cold. You’d curl up beside him, letting his hands warm your body as you spoke excitedly about your plans for the next island you’d dock at, your dream date, your little ideas and stories.

Only to glance over and realize he’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.

You were always this close to shaking him awake. But one look at that peaceful, soft smile—and the frustration melted.

His excuse?

“I just feel so comfortable with you… my eyes get heavy,” he’d say with a lazy grin.

You got used to how competitive he was. How stubborn he could get. Even over playfights.

A pillow fight? He’d swing like it was a final battle, feathers flying until the pillows became more stuffing than fabric.

Tickling? He’d keep going until you were breathless, clutching your stomach and crying from laughter while he shouted some ridiculous victory line.

You got used to how he flirted with you—constantly, shamelessly — but the second you flirted back more boldly, he’d go redder than his flames.

Ears flushed, eyes wide, trying so hard to play it cool as he muttered a flustered, “Shut up…” whenever you teased him for it.

But what you could never quite get used to?

The casual touches.

How he’d drape an arm around you while talking to someone else. How he’d absentmindedly stroke your hair while zoning out, completely unaware of how much it made your heart flutter. It was second nature to him — but for you, it was utterly distracting. Every single time.

You got used to it all. Every side of Ace. Every little quirk. Every flame, every fault, every fire sparked affection.

And most importantly — You fell in love with every single detail of him.

mlist. -> here // couldn't find art credits pls lmk

[gothcsz]

Blocked and Begging | Javier Peña x Black Latina F!Reader | ~3.1k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You block Javier and he shows up at your doorstep.

Tags: angst, smut, fwb dynamic, drunk!javi, fuckboy!javi, modern!au i guess, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie!, pussy pronouns, half-assed beta'd, untranslated spanish, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, sorry for any stray typos/grammatical mistakes, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: i blame this anon i got for this, tbh. so thank you for doing all the heavy lifting, 'nonnie. much appreciated. there's not much i can say except i hate javier peña so much the only way to fix it is to fuck him! also @almostempty 's fuckboy joel def inspired javi's characterization in this so thank you for blessing us with that weds mwah love u! okay guys as always let me know what you think and thanks for reading 🖤

The first call came in at 2:12 AM. An unknown number, but you knew. 

You silenced it. Then again, 2:14. 2:17. 2:23. Again. Again. Again. Until the screen was so flooded with missed calls and increasingly misspelled messages, it looked like he was trying to break into your world through sheer persistence.

Baby Answer the phone I fucked up Please

Fuck him. He hasn’t been around or texted back in days, and now all of a sudden he’s blowing your phone up like you’re the one who disappeared. 

You wouldn’t have minded the silence, really, it was to be expected from a man like Javier. However, one of your friends had seen him out last night—messy, drunk, as affectionate as he is with you with some girl—practically fucking her on the dance floor.

When the video came in, you stared and stared until the knot in your throat wrung angry, jealous tears from your eyes. You blocked his number right then and there, throwing your phone across the couch, telling yourself you didn’t care.

You shouldn’t care. You aren’t together. You both made that clear. It’s supposed to be casual.

But it doesn’t feel casual, not with your stomach in knots and your heart twisting up and damn it, it’s really your fault for fooling yourself into thinking this is more than what it is.

You finally answer the phone at 3:06 AM. Your voice is like ice. “What?”

He sounds drunk. Words slurred, voice raspy like he’s been smoking, or yelling… or both. “I fucked up. I know, I know—Just let me come over. Let me see you—”

“Why? So you can lie to my face instead of over the phone?”

“I didn’t fuck her, baby, believe me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You hang up.

He can take that sweet-talking, liquor-soaked bullshit and feed it to someone else.

However, twenty minutes later, there’s insistent knocking at your front door. Like he knows you’re waiting.

You exhale hard, palms dragging over your face, and stomp to the door. When you look through the peephole, there he is—his drunk ass swaying slightly on your porch, one hand braced against the frame to keep him steady, the other casually on his hip.

It pisses you off, yet you still open the door. “Leave.”

He does the opposite, stepping inside as if you aren’t in the middle of a fucking argument, shutting the door behind him. Javier Peña never needs an invitation to make a mess.

“You have some fucking nerve—” You push at his chest, but he catches your wrists. 

“I know,” The smell of whiskey emitting from him has your nose wrinkling.

“No, you don’t.” You yank your wrists from his hold, trying to be preemptive by putting some distance between you both.

Being close to him is dangerous as hell, especially when you’re angry and hurt and jealous. “You ghost me for days and now you show up like some stray looking for scraps? What—did she not let you spend the night? Got bored fucking her and remembered I’m always dumb enough to answer?”

All your overthinking spills from your lips, grinding your teeth at the thought of him being with someone else before showing up here.

His face twists. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn’t sleep with her—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javier. Don’t insult me. I saw you with your hand up her dress!”

He tuts under his breath, shaking his head like you’re the irrational one here and you hate how that makes you feel. “That doesn’t mean I fucked her.”

“Whatever. I shouldn’t care who you stick your dick in. We’re not together, right? So go ahead. Have your fun. Just don’t show up at my place acting like you give a shit about me when you can’t even be bothered to fucking call.”

“I do give a shit.”

He steps forward and you move back, spine stiff, feet landing near the edge of the dining room, t-shirt barely brushing the tops of your thighs. You’re aware of how exposed you are and how his eyes flick downward, just for a second. Your whole body betrays you when he looks at you like this.

“I’m sure you do.” You sass and his jaw twitches. 

“You want me on my fucking knees, crawling to you to show you that I’m being serious? Because I will.”

“Estás borracho, Javi. No seas ridículo.” Men are so nonsensical when it comes to trying to prove their innocence. 

You just stare as he kneels, his shoulders going slack, hands on the floor. His gaze never leaves yours as he crawls the short distance across your living room rug to where you are.

You say his name, half-warning, half-beg, swallowing roughly, your ass grazing against the edge of the dining room table.

He reaches you, reverently sliding his hands up your calves until his thumbs brush the backs of your knees. His breath is warm against the tops of your thighs as he presses his face to your stomach, kissing you through the cotton of the shirt, inhaling your scent.

“I’ve missed you.” His fingers disappear beneath the tee, calloused palms grazing the skin of your stomach before they trail past your ribs, cupping your breasts, squeezing softly. 

You both let out sighs of pleasure, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peak for him. 

“You’re just saying that so you can fuck me.” As if you’re not going to let him.

Javi squeezes your tits roughly, making your back arch. “I mean it. Was dealing with some shit and got reckless…” He continues to knead your breasts, making you feel disoriented. “Don’t wanna fuck someone else when I have you…” He sounds truthful, but you don’t know if that’s because he means it or because he’s touching you like this and saying all the right things. “I wasn’t thinkin’, perdóname baby.”

One hand leaves your chest to drag down, knuckles brushing your belly as he hooks a finger under the waistband of your sleep shorts, toying with them.

He looks up at you with those stupid, brown glossy eyes. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Your hands grip the edge of the table and your whole body screams yes even as your mouth tries to say no.

You never learn.

“Okay.”

His breath is hot and shaky as he lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your torso. You rid yourself of it, the cooler air nipping at your heated skin, his palm still on your tit while the other grips your hip. 

You gasp when his mustache scrapes against your skin, coarse and ticklish, making you shiver so hard your knees almost buckle.

His tongue draws lazy circles around your belly button, slow and sensual, dragging heat lower with every wet swirl. You want to stay angry—you try—but it’s so hard.

Then his fingers slowly hook onto the waistband of your shorts again, tugging slightly like he’s asking permission without speaking. He glances up at you, and when you don’t stop him, he tugs them down your thighs and lets them pool around your ankles.

You step out of them, entirely naked now.

Javi’s strong hands slide under your thighs and lift you onto the table. The wood is cool beneath you but his hands are hot. He spreads your legs obscenely, exposing you fully. The air kisses your folds and you twitch, cunt glistening only slightly due to your anger-thinned arousal.

He knows exactly what to do about it, starting by letting his fingers stroke through the coarse hairs at your mound, his pointer and middle fingers matching the V of your cunt, massaging your sensitive flesh and making you mewl, hips hovering off the table.

He starts slow.

A kiss to your outer lips then a long, dragging lick right up the seam of your pussy, tongue splitting your folds, collecting every bit of heat you haven’t admitted you’re building.

“Look at her,” he groans, lips brushing your pulsing clit. “Fuck, baby. She’s so sweet.” His voice drops a bit. “You think I’d want anyone else when this is mine?”

His tongue darts out again, flattening along your labia, slow and wet. You hiss through your teeth, falling flat on your back, unable to keep straight.

He does it again and again, not quite giving you what you want, but he’s only doing this to savor the blissful taste of your syrupy arousal building on his taste buds.

“Still mad at me?” he murmurs into your cunt, getting even more drunk between your legs.

You open your mouth to snap at him, to remind him why you’re pissed—but then his pouty lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, gentle but insistent, and your head tilts back with a helpless moan you can’t swallow.

“Jesus—Javi—”

“Let me hear you. Let me make it better.”

Your fingers find his thick and soft hair, tugging hard. He groans against you, lips humming at your clit, tongue circling and flicking with a skill that makes your thighs shake.

Wetness floods you, you can feel yourself opening, melting, helpless under the pressure of his talented mouth.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” he growls, voice muffled against your now soaking cunt. “Eres perfecta. I’d never find better.”

His hands grip your thighs, groping the supple skin, holding you in place as he sucks and slurps at your pussy. Messy, wet sounds fill the space.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold onto your anger. To remember how jealous you’d felt when you saw that video. How humiliated you were. How tired you are of being strung along by a man who only seems to remember how much he wants you after he’s already hurt you. How he knows exactly how to play you.

But God… his mouth. His cock. They’re too fucking good and outweight all the shitty things he puts you through. 

He eases two thick fingers inside your pussy and you cry out loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your walls clench around them instantly, pulsing with need as his fingers curl deep, finding that spot that makes your vision dot.

“Ohhh fuck, Javier—”

“Take ‘em so well, baby” he purrs, pumping into you slow and deep, his lips still making out with your clit between every sentence. “Let me have her. Let me love her. She deserves it. You deserve it.”

The squelch of his digits pumping into your soaked cunt is drowned out by the ringing in your ears and the hot wave of euphoria that seizes your whole body. Your skin tingles, toes curl, as your pussy clenches down hard, orgasming and fluttering around his fingers in messy, wet spasms. 

Javi comes up from between your legs, mustache wet and lips glistening. He reaches your breasts and palms them with greedy hands, squeezing them together as his tongue laves at one peak, then the other.

The attention to your chest has a needy, cracked whimper slipping from you and it makes him smirk against your skin.

He then hovers above you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, despite him being fully clothed, the scent of sex and sweat and his cologne wrapped around you like a drug. He leans in for a kiss.

But you turn your head, letting his lips land on your cheek instead—a silent rejection that makes him growl low in his throat.

His hand—the same hand that was just buried knuckle-deep inside your pussy—grips your jaw tight, fingers slick as he forces you to look at him.

“Dame un beso,” he orders roughly.

You don’t get the chance to obey or protest.

He crashes his mouth against yours, lips hot and hungry, tongue sliding past your teeth in an instant. The taste is potent—his favorite whiskey and your own pussy, mixed and heavy on his tongue.

You whimper into him, your arms pinned between your bodies, lips held captive and bruised under the weight of his kiss.

Your hips swivel when you hear the clatter of his belt then feel the rasp of denim sliding down low enough to release himself.

He drags the head of his cock up your aching seam, circling your puffy clit with it. Javi taps it teasingly against your tender nub, smearing your own wetness, making you jolt.

Breaking the kiss, a thin trail of saliva bridges your lips to his. He keeps the grip on your jaw tight, blunt fingernails digging into the skin, making you wince slightly. His nose brushes yours, eyes locked, the rest of the world melting away.

And without a word, he pushes in.

Slow.

Thick.

Deep.

You can’t speak. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You just feel it—every inch of him forcing your walls to stretch until his balls kiss your ass and you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“Mierda,” he groans, eyes fluttering. “You always look so fuckin’ pretty with this dick inside you.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, eyes softening for just a moment. Then he leans in and kisses you again—this time tender, sweet, like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words.

“Now,” he murmurs, voice honeyed and dangerous, “you’re gonna watch me tear this pussy up.”

You barely register his grip shifting—the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck, pulling you upright, making sure your eyes are trained down to where you’re joined. Where his dick is slowly dragging out of you, glossy and thick, before he slams back in with a sound that punches all the air from your lungs.

“So fucking good for me, even when you’re pissed off at me. But you don’t really hate me, do you baby?”

Your whole body jolts against the table, your answer coming in the form of a gasp.

He fucks you slow at first, making sure you feel every devastating inch, the drag of his cock pulling against your walls, your cunt already dripping down his shaft.

Your pussy sings.

He sets a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard and deep, making the table creak beneath you. Each time he drives in, your slick gushes around him, creamy and filthy, soaking the hairs at the base of his cock.

“Look at her,” he growls, keeping your neck craned so you can’t look away. “Look at how wet you are. You see that? That’s how bad you want me.”

You whimper, fingers digging into his arms for balance.

“Creamin’ on my cock like this—fuck, baby. This is why I come back. You’re why I come back.”

He slams into you again, making the whole table jerk forward.

“This pussy’s perfect. So warm. So tight. You were made for me, huh?”

You nod—frantic, trembling—tears in your eyes from how full you feel, from how right it feels.

“You gonna let me fuck you stupid?” he rasps. “Gonna let me ruin you?”

“Javi—”

“Say it. Tell me she’s mine. That you’re mine.”

“She’s yours,” you whimper, biting your lip, trying to hold on. “I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, slamming into you so deep it makes you see double.

After a few more strokes, he lays you flat on the table, his hands gripping your hips with bruising intensity. He drags you toward him until your ass is right at the edge, your body completely at his mercy.

There’s no teasing this time. Just the relentless pace of his cock plunging into your pussy, the wet slap of skin on skin while he fucks this second orgasm out of you.

You're already so sensitive, your walls quivering, stretched to the limit and still greedy for more. He hits that pleasurable spot inside you over and over again, and you can’t help the helpless cries that tear from your throat.

He leans into it. Grinds deeper. Fucks harder.

“One more, shit, Let me feel you. I know you fuckin’ want it.” He pants, watching your face twist up, your body arching. 

The pressure builds fast and then you’re coming again, a white-hot burst that sets your skin aflame, jaw open in a silent moan as your cunt squeezes around him, sticky and pulsing.

He curses low and filthy in Spanish as he follows, slamming deep one last time and holding there, cock twitching inside you as his own orgasm overtakes him. His seed floods you in hot, lazy waves, filling you so full you can feel it leaking out around him even while he’s still inside.

Javi slumps forward with a ragged exhale, arms bracketing your body on either side. He doesn’t collapse, but he’s close.

His lips find yours again, slower this time, gentler—just the soft slide of his mouth against yours, the afterglow humming between you like static. Your fingers drift into his hair without thinking, stroking through the curly strands, feeling like you’re floating.

His brown eyes are soft when he opens them, catching the dim light of the room like warm honey. He looks beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, skin damp, chest still rising and falling against yours.

“Stay,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from all the moaning and crying he’d coaxed out of you.

There’s a pause. He studies your face, his expression unreadable, answer delayed momentarily.

“No puedo,” he says at last, his bluntness almost cruel. “Gotta be up in a few hours.”

And just like that, the warmth in your chest snuffs out. Cold creeps in, sharp and fast, and you lay there stunned as the post-coital haze clears. Your jaw tightens. Your hand drops from his hair. He feels the shift in you instantly, watches the light drain from your eyes as he pulls away.

He tucks himself back in his jeans, does his belt with maddening casualness.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snap, sitting up so fast it makes your head spin. You reach for your shirt and yank it on.

“You’re really gonna leave after this? After that?”

He shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Promised Pops I’d help him with the fence. You know how it is.”

You slide off the table with a grunt, snatching your shorts up from the floor and stepping into them. Your legs still tremble from the good fuck you just received, thighs squeezing together to keep his cum inside you. You try your best to ignore it. “All this just so you could get some pussy,” you spit. “Get the fuck out.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed. “No seas así. Unblock me so I can call you tomorrow.”

He steps close again like it’s nothing, wraps a hand around your waist and tugs you in. You stiffen against him, glare up into his face, trying—desperately—to see through him. But you can’t. And that makes you want to scream.

“You really gonna call?” you ask, voice quiet but sharp, already hating how pathetic it sounds.

“Yes.”

You roll your tongue over your teeth, the taste of him still clinging to your mouth, your skin still tingling from his touch. You should know better. You do know better.

And yet—you believe him anyway.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @clubsoft . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @mandaloriankait . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @angiewatson .

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07.1 Duke and (Name)

 07. An explosion of emotions trigger warnings: mentions of past abuse, cursing, shouting, medical + emotional + physical neglect, mentions of wanting to die (name), mentions of anger, spoilers for chapter 7 of nobody's child. Main m.list         series m.list

Duke and you have a complex relationship. When it came to school you always made sure to use your last name, but somehow he still found out you’re technically a Wayne.

He promised to keep it a secret, as long as you would be his lab partner in chemistry, a subject he didn’t need help in. You never understood his reasoning. You never understood his actions, in fact you became confused the closer you two got. At first you thought it might be that he wants to get closer to your family, but then it seemed like he wanted to be your friend. He was interested in you, interested in who you truly are. So slowly you began to trust him, you began to share information you had yet to share with your family. You explained that you never felt like you, that everyone calls you them but that you have yet to tell your family. ‘Why?’ he had asked and your answer shook him to the core.

“I don’t trust them,” you said at first, a simply statement that holds no value but then you continued, “I was attacked in my own home, and Bruce refused to let me press charges because I had to understand the attackers circumstances.”

Duke remembers falling silent, shaking as tears fill your eyes. “When I woke up from that attack I learned that my family is to not be trusted. Not when it comes to safety and health, so who says I can trust them with anything else?” He remembers a chuckle leaving your mouth. He remembers how hollow it sounded. “It doesn’t matter I will get away soon enough.”

That day he learned the truth about the bat family, but the next day he finally learned your truth as well. You had been hunched over the teacher’s toilet as he walked by, the teacher trying to get you to calm down. You were puking your guts out, the teacher spotted him staring from the hallway. “You!” she had shouted. “You are friends with (name) right?” He had nodded without thinking. “Come hold their hair back as I get the nurse!”

He did just that, and that day he learned that you were chronically ill. “Don’t worry,” you had said. “I’m not dying, it’s quite usual for the folks in my family to get chronically ill.” when you said the words ‘my family’ he knew you were talking about your mother’s side. He also knew that you thought those words would comfort him, but they did not. It made him worry, especially with the fact that your father is Batman. Not like you knew, and that made him even more worried. How did the Batman not know that his child is ill?

“Does Mr. Wayne know?” he remembers asking.

“No,” you had said with a grin. “I’m medically emancipated, knowing how to forge a signature is quite handy.”

At the time he had wondered if you were joking, but the more time he had spend with your family without you ever being mentioned the more he realised that you had made the right choice. If he tried to ask about you, they would quickly change the subject. Telling him to not mention you, that you made it clear that you aren’t one of them. But truthfully, it was them that made you an outsider. It was visible to even him, an outsider, that the fault does not lie with you. It lies with them.

The longer he knew you the more he started to resent the Wayne family, with the days that your pain clouded your judgement and you begged for death his anger rose. But when he found that the Wayne family are the bats, he knew exactly what to do.

He would accept the invitation to be adopted by Bruce, to protect you, you might hate him at first. You might believe that he used you, but it will be something he must do. He had spoken to your other friends.

Friends you were arguably closer with, they admitted to him that you were fading away in your journey for freedom. That you need an ally in that cursed manor. And he will be that ally, sure it also means that he will be able to be a vigilante. Something he wants to do with all his heart, but at this point that was just an advantage that came with his need to help you.

You are a victim. A victim of a family that has become so tuned out to trauma inside their own family that they cannot recognise what they’ve done to you.

And when he walked through the manor doors, sure that you were at your work, just to be greeted by you screaming at Jason. It froze Duke death in his steps, but when Jason touched you, something snapped in him.

“Step away from them,” he had said, trying to control his tone, but when he took in the state you were in his control flew away. “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason had stepped back. ‘Good he can listen,’ Duke had thought, tuning everything out as he turns his full attention to you. “(Name),” he had whispered, trying to place his hands gently on yours to stop your scratching. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?” He had never seen you this distressed, he had never known that your pain could do this to you. If he did he would have stepped in sooner. He would have thought of a different plan, but he’s too far in to go back now.

“I need to die,” you had whispered, your eyes snapping to his as his heart broke at your words. “can you kill me?”

You were terrified of death, that’s why you are asking him. At least subconsciously you still knew you wanted to live. “You know I can’t,” he had said as he attempted to carefully brush your hair out of your face. You hate having your hair be touched in this state, but having your hair touched also brought you comfort. And at this point Duke would have done anything if it had meant calming you down. “But I can and I will listen.”

Those words always had a big impact on you, Maria had told him so. But in that moment those words meant everything to you. You were crying, but at least you had stopped scratching your skin off.

‘A win is a win,’ Duke had thought.

“You promise?” You had asked, your voice sounded so small and fragile. Your eyes were unfocused, and Duke feared that you could pass out any second.

“I promise.”

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch

[aetherraeys]

hideaway

for this request x

sirius black x reader ⊹ 6.8k

cw ⟢ swearing, very toxic household, angsty, reader has a bad homelife, descriptions of panic attacks, hurt/comfort

summary: in your mind, home was home no matter what, and as much as leaving crossed you mind, it was never a real option, never something you could commit to. you'd learnt to be brave in a different way, through sacrifice and endurance. and it wasn't until one slip-up, one glimpse through a crack that sirius found out about your well kept secret.

a/n:...i just twisted the knife in myself WHY?? this is prolly my most angsty fic yet, cried three times. not proofread x

Everyone found their way. Moved on, living their lives comfortably—peacefully.

Everyone except you.

It’s like you missed the train. Standing on the platform in a terminated station—frozen, trapped—living the same days on loop over and over.

You had small moments of peace; fleeting, few and far between—but it was something. something to take you out of the relentless dark cloud that loomed over your home.

If you could even call it that.

It even burned you to admit how it truly made you feel—imprisoned, burdened. Part of you wished you could feel different about it, and some days you did.

And though they were rare, they were truly amazing, each room overflowing with joy and light—as if there had never been a second of despair between the walls.

Sometimes, it was hard to explain what made it so suffocating.

It wasn’t the shouting—not always. It wasn’t even the silence that came after, stretched so thin it felt like it might snap and slice your skin open. It was the way it changed—constantly, rapidly—until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

It was cruel, in a way. The house knew how to pretend. How to charm you into staying, to blur the sharp edges with just enough warmth to convince you it wasn’t always bad. That maybe you were the one making it worse, and the one keeping it together, all at the same time.

There were moments where everything felt fine. Better than fine, even. There’d be laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, the faint smell of something sweet baking in the oven, sunlight pooling across the floor like warmth had always lived there. Someone would tousle your hair, call you darling, say how proud they were of you for something small and stupid—doing the washing up, remembering to take the bins out—just being around even.

In those moments, the house felt almost normal.

But peace never stayed long. It never stayed.

A single misplaced word could ruin everything. A look. A sigh. A silence that lingered just a second too long.

Suddenly, the temperature would shift. Like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The same mouths that had just praised you would twist into sneers. The eyes that once sparkled with love would turn sharp, empty, or worse—disappointed.

And it was always your fault. Somehow. Some way.

You should’ve said something. Or not said it. You should’ve known. Should’ve tried harder. Should’ve been better.

And once the mood turned, it didn't end in hours—it lingered for days. Weeks. Sometimes it felt like the bad would never end, caught in an endless storm that just kept circling, even when the sky looked clear.

Before going home, you learned to prepare. It became a ritual.

Standing outside the door, hand frozen over the knob. Breath caught in your throat. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. You’d stare at the grain in the wood or rusted metal of the bell, counting backwards from ten like it would change anything, like it would miraculously make it more bareable.

The russian roulette of what version you were going to get.

Maybe it would be the loving one. The one who called you precious and kissed your forehead and begged you to believe they were trying. The one who cried in your arms after yelling too much, whispering “I don’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m just...tired.”

Or maybe it would be the other one. The version that needed someone to blame—someone to tear down so they didn’t have to feel so small. And you were always within reach.

It was like being whiplashed by affection.

One moment, you were too much. The next, you were everything.

And you knew, in your heart, that they loved you.

But they also burned. And when the fire started, you were always the one left singed.

They hated themselves for it—told you that often. Said you were the only one who understood, the only one who stayed. And you held them. Every time. Because that was the part that hurt the most: you wanted to help them. Even as they broke you. Even when your chest felt hollow and your hands shook.

You learned to read the room like a map of landmines. Learned which words to avoid, which tones to use, when to keep your head down and when to nod, to agree, to thank them for their cruelty as if it were a gift. Because sometimes it came with a kiss on the head or a rare, fragile I love you.

You couldn’t leave.

Not because you weren’t desperate to.

But because the entire house felt built on your presence. Like the walls would collapse without you, someone needed to carry it all—and you did. Every single day. Without asking for help. Without complaining.

Because how could you justify saving yourself when they were still drowning?

Passing moments of peace kept you head somewhat above water, it was easier to pretend when you were with them—your friends—dulling the neverending whoosing ring of your heartbeat in your ears and the weighty pressure of your own thoughts.

Just slightly.

You’d laugh along, smile widely when expected. Hug back and sway along with each easy, warm embrace.

And sometimes, in those short-lived, temporary moments of solace—you’d indulge yourself, allow yourself to believe it.

When James would throw you over his shoulder with loud barking laughter, when you and Lily would spend hours lounging on the sofa, nonsense conversation filling the room, or when Remus would drap his arm over your shoulders—you could feel weightless. Safe.

But those moments always ended.

And when they did, you’d find yourself drifting. Zoning out in the middle of a conversation. Watching James and Remus banter across the room, listening to Regulus hum absently to himself while reading, or Sirius—loud, beautiful Sirius—throwing his head back in a laugh so real it cracked something open in your ribs.

And the ache would start.

That slow, creeping anxiety that curled its way up your spine like frost. A sadness so soft and sharp you couldn’t explain it. The kind that whispered: This will end. This peace isn’t yours to keep.

You almost envied them—quietly, desperately.

Not just because they were happy—they’re happiness was your only escape, only taste of normality in your wharped, upturned daily combat. But because they’d all chosen to be. Sirius and Regulus had walked out of the same kind of fire you were stuck in, years and years before the idea even crossed your mind, and they didn’t look back

They had each other.

Sometimes, you wanted to Sirius. Tell any of them. But the words never came, getting caught on the lump that forms in your throat at the mere thought at opening up. And you trusted them—with your life—but they’d already escaped. They’d clawed their way into the light. You couldn’t drag them back into the dark for your sake-you couldn’t taint what they’d built with your shadows. So you kept it to yourself.

You bore it in silence. Let it hollow you out.

The first time Sirius really noticed, it wasn’t because of something you said.

It was more because you weren’t saying anything.

Sirius noticed it the first time when you were sitting at the edge of the couch, surrounded by warmth and noise and comfort, yet entirely apart from it. Your shoulders were stiff, posture too still to be at ease, your eyes fixed on nothing in particular—swimming with a dejected sort of melancholy that seemed to drag your whole presence down like an anchor.

All sprawled across the living room with mugs in hand, a record spinning lazily in the background. Conversation hummed around you, warm and full, but you barely blinked. You sat curled in on herself, tucked into the far corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into it. Eyes dull, distant. Fingers pressed so tightly into the palm of your hand that Sirius could see the tremor across your knuckles, and the skin by your thumb was raw, scratched and pinched like a nervous tic left to fester. It was a small glimpse—accidental, unmasked—of something Sirius couldn’t name but knew wasn’t right.

It was like looking at someone underwater.

He watched you from the seat opposite, brow slightly furrowed, worry pressing lines into his face. And then Lily came around, all bright eyes and warmth, with a cup of tea held out toward you and a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked, startled, your body jerking almost imperceptibly before you looked up at her, and in the span of a heartbeat, the wall slammed back up.

You smiled—too quick, too practiced—and took the tea with a murmured thanks. Sirius could see the way you tried to shake it off, tucking your hands beneath the throw pillow in your lap, casting your gaze downward with a practiced tilt of your lips. But he saw it, always saw you.

He didn’t miss the performance.

The second time, it was during a seemingly harmless spat between James and Marlene. Something inconsequential—voices raised, tones sharp and clipped but still laced with the air of playfulness. No one else batted an eye.

Except you.

You’d gone still again, your fingers twitching faintly like you were reaching for something—some invisible thread to tug the tension down. Your eyes darted back and forth between them, wide and alert, chest rising too quickly for what the situation called for. And then, without a word, you slipped away into the kitchen.

Sirius waited a beat, ignoring the puzzled look on Remus’ face, trailing after your absences, heart tightening.

You were hunched over the sink when he found you, your hands gripping the ceramic edge so tightly your knuckles were white. Forcing the lump in your throat down with a laboured swallow—ears filled with a dreadful high pitched ringing that made your head spin.

Trying desperately to at least be discrete—avoid detection, because now really wasn’t the time for this. You were trying to breathe—he could tell—but it was shallow, uneven, a tremor threading through every exhale. Your shoulders trembled, your head bowed, and he could hear the faintest sound of numbers being whispered under your breath.

“Y/N,” he called softly.

You didn’t react.

He stepped closer, cautious, watching you closely. He could hear the shuddering breaths now, the way your voice cracked on the number seven, like your lungs were collapsing inward. “Y/N,” he tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

Coming around your side, ducking his head down to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes screwed shut tightly, brows pinched high on your forehead. He reached out, hand tentative as it landed on your shoulder. You jumped—nearly recoiled, entire frame jerking as you tried to flinch away from his touch. Sirius immediately withdrew, holding his hands up between you like a surrender.

“It’s just me,” he said, gently. His voice was quiet but firm, grounding. “Just me.”

Your eyes were wide, glassy, rimmed red. Panic painted across your face in strokes Sirius had never seen on you before, and it made something in him crack.

He slowly took your hands, still trembling at your sides, coaxing them away from the tight curl of your fists. “Look at me,” he murmured. “Just me, alright?”

He guided your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart. “Breathe with me, yeah?”

It took a moment—didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but your breathing started to shift—still shallow, but not so frantic, breathing just barely evening out, He walked you backwards gently, step by step, until the kitchen door opened behind you, the air brushing cool against your skin, subdueing the flush that burned under your skin ever so slightly.

“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested softly, guiding you to the bench in the garden.

You still hadn’t said a word—curled up, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself. Fingers picked absently at the skin of your thumb, scratching with a quiet urgency that made Sirius reach out again, covering your hand with his.

And though your face was no longer twisted and scrunched in panic, its replacing expression had Sirius feeling no more comforted; the vacany in your eyes, the way you were scrunched into the corner, taking up as little space as physically possible. Scooting closer to you cautiously, his warmth washing over you in slow swathe, silence stretching between you.

“Are you okay?” his voice was quiet, careful.

It was too fast—too easy, the wa you nodded, not able to look at him. Gaze focused on an unimportant slab of concrete.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he said, his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of your hand.

Another nod, a shorter silence gracing you.

Before you stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing to go, moving faster than Sirius could process. Words only computing when he heard your short excuse and rushed goodbyes to the others.

He followed you in, quiet in his pursuit, waiting until the living room door closed before he rush his endless flow of questions—why you were leaving, if you were alright. You waved them off, pulling your shoes on with hurried hands, pulling on your coat—swift to escape.

“Just need to go,” you said.

And Sirius stopped you at the door, stepping out onto the road with you, voices and laughter from inside barely audible through the cracked front door, now a distant hum.

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” completely dismissive, voice pinched.

Sirius scoffed, disbelief cracking through his voice, frustration creeping in. “There’s plenty to talk about. And don’t lie to me—I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, voice sharper now, almost defensive. “Go back inside.” inching further down the path, putting a small distance between you.

“I’m just worried, alright? I’ve never seen you like that, you were shaking—.”

You huffed, turning your back to him, cutting him off. “—Sirius, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

Trailing away from him, walking down the driveway to the main road in hurried steps, and he was moving after you before he realised, instinctively reaching out, stopping you with with the soft pull of his hand around your wrist, his desperation seeping out, words adopting a pleading tone.

“At least let me drop you home—”

“No.”

The response was immediate, not even a second after his voice had uttered the words, home. So sharp, too much like a command, tone foreign to both your ears, voice cracked at the edges, panicked—raw.

He stopped, hands slipping from where they’d held you, palms raised. Your was breathing fast again, shoulders twitching with effort to stay composed, whole body ridged as though you were bracing yourself.

“Y/N…” he said your name like it hurt. And it did. Seeing you like this, curled in on yourself—it hurt in a way he hadn’t expected. And he stepped tentatively towards you, his approach so painfully careful—as if he was closing in on an injured animal, like he was fearful of scaring you away. You still wouldn’t look at him, but he could see it—that same dread swimming in your eyes and it made his stomach lurch.

“I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That you get home safe.”

With a shake of your head, you voice was quiet, hollow—“Don’t be sorry. I’m fine—I promise. Goodnight, Siri,”

And then you was walking away before he could stop you, the night swallowing your figure whole, shadow stretching before it vanished under the dull streetlights. His throat was painfully dry, the way you said his name, it lacked all aspects of you. Void of all warmth and wary, your empty words—promise—sounding too much like a lie for his liking.

Sirius stood there for a long time, the front door cracked open behind him—frozen on the pavement. A quiet ache twisted in his gut, cold and heavy as he pushed down the urge to chase after you. Brows furrowing further—tightly on his forehead as a small reality dawned on him.

He wouldn’t even know where to start.

He’d never been to your house, in all the years of knowing you, loving you, being your friend, he’d not once even seen the road you lived on, what your area looked like, what you went home to.

Stepping back inside the house where everything buzzed and thrived in his absence, settling solemnly into his seat—leg bouncing while he droned out the chatter around him—endlessly racking through his brain, almost spiralling.

Sighing as he tried to pinpoint just one time you’d spoken about your family, your home, something soild—real. But he couldn’t, not one detail. Not one word—throat tightening under the weight of his discovery, under the shame he felt.

It could be nothing, could be something—could be what he hoped and prayed it wasn’t. And now, he couldn’t stop replaying every second of what just happened, feeling sick to his stomach almost, scolding himself over and over. For not asking. For not realising. For not knowing for sure that you were okay.

The walk home was long, so long your feet burned in your shoes, hands tucked firmly into you coat pocket, fiddling with a loose string—the night’s biting wind had your ears burning. But you needed it—the time, the solitude. Watching the half-moon with a lonely eye, your only company until you reached your driveway.

Hesitating before you twisted the key, counting down slowly, fingers trembling and palms sweaty. Its been bad recently, the worst its been in a while; lasting especially long. And it had you on edge all the time, hands twitching around the door handle—and it was eerily silent.

You swallowed thickly, slipping off your shoes as silently as physically possible—treading up the stairs, recoiling under each whine and creak of the steps.

It felt like a short forever before you reached the top of the stairs and pausing, chest tight, fingers still wrapped in that string from your coat pocket. You didn't let go. You couldn't. That fraying thread was the only thing tethering you in the moment—something to anchor you before you crossed the threshold into your room.

The door clicked shut behind you with the softest sound, but it still made you wince. You stood in place for a second, maybe two—waiting. Listening. Hoping you hadn’t drawn attention, it was better this way—waiting for the storm to pass silently, with as little interaction as possible.

Looking down at your hands—red and raw from where you’d scratched them earlier, the skin near your thumb scabbed over. You picked at it without thinking. It was a habit you hadn’t even realised had gotten worse until Sirius noticed. You didn’t want him to notice. You didn’t want anyone to see the parts of you that were unravelling.

You curled up under the thin blanket on your bed, still in your clothes, pulling your knees to your chest. The silence wasn’t comforting anymore. It was just waiting for the next blow, the next explosion over the miniscule. And you lay awake like that for hours, flinching at every floorboard creak downstairs, eyes wide open in the dark, unable to find peace even in sleep—your pulse disruptive and invasive in your ears.

It was cruel, the way you felt trapped in your own space, in your own skin, folding in on yourself.

The look on Siriur’s face flashing behind your eyes—pleading, concerned. But you couldn’t drag him into this. He had escaped his own hell. He didn’t deserve to be tethered to someone else’s.

You turned over, burying your face in your pillow, holding your breath until your ribs ached. Truly forsaken—not even granted the small mercy of peace when with your friends—tainted with subsequent aftermath, the risidual burn from the scorching fire of your house.

Dinner was meant to be a break.

A breath of fresh air after two long, suffocating weeks. You had told yourself that over and over again while getting ready—while dabbing concealer beneath eyes sunken from too many nights spent awake. You’d smiled at your reflection in the mirror like you were rehearsing for a play. Even your voice, when it left your mouth, felt unfamiliar. Bright. Effervescent. Someone else's.

But the truth was your bones ached with exhaustion.

Two weeks passed. You hadn’t slept properly in days.

Maybe it was the walking-on-eggshells routine, the volatile rhythms of home. Maybe it was the internal noise that never seemed to stop—gnawing at the walls of your brain, keeping your body tired and your mind too wired to rest. You weren’t really sure anymore.

Your appetite had long since vanished. Food sat like lead in your stomach now—you hadn’t eaten all day, but the idea of it made your stomach lurch. The energy it took to just sit there—smiling, nodding, pretending—was all-consuming. The world felt too loud. Every clink of a glass. Every laugh. Every shifting of silverware scraped against the edges of your nerves.

Sitting at the restaurant table, smile wide, voice artifically light. You even laughed once or twice, chiming into the conversations with a manufactured sort of brightness. But it never reached your eyes.

But your posture was a little too perfect. Your hands too still in your lap—firmly pressed to your thighs so you wouldn’t give yourself away. Because the minute you let them move, they’d be scratching. Picking. Clawing. The skin at the base of your thumb already bore the quiet story of weeks spent fending off invisible monsters.

Sirius was watching you—he hadn’t looked away once in the past twenty minutes.

You could feel his eyes, a constant presence weighing on your shoulders. It was suffocating. He saw everything—every fake smile, every too-long blink, every glance downward as you recalibrated your mask.

And he wasn’t the only one watching anymore.

Regulus had clocked it too. His eyes didn’t leave you for long. The weight of their observation heavy on your shoulders—brothers with matching glares of concern—watching you across the table. Quiet. Calculating. Waiting.

It made your chest constrict.

So you excused yourself. Bathroom. You even smiled when you said it, tossing out a breathy little laugh to sell the illusion, leaving your phone on the table without thinking.

First mistake.

The bathroom was cool, mercifully quiet. You weren’t even gone for five minutes—fingers gripping the edge of the sink, letting your head fall forward. Gone just long enough to take just one breath. One single breath that didn’t feel like you were underwater.

When you returned to the table, something in the air had shifted.

Sirius had your phone. He wasn’t looking at it—not really. But he was holding it like it had burned him. The screen still lit up with missed calls. Texts. All from the same contact. Dozens of them. You felt the blood drain from your face.

Sirius didn’t look at you. Not directly. But you felt the flicker of his gaze as your expression fell—just a millimeter, just enough to crack the mask you’d so carefully painted on.

You forced another smile. Another hollow laugh. “I’ll just—step outside for a second,” you said, tone light, like your hands weren’t trembling at your sides.

He watched you slip out the back exit of the restaurant, disappearing into the alley. And the moment the door clicked shut behind you, you thumbed through your notifications and hit the call button.

It didn’t even ring once.

The voice on the other end was sharp. Cold. Punishment. Words hurled at you with precision and force, too fast for you to defend yourself. You tried anyway—murmuring apologies, soft placating words. Recoiling instinctively, holding the phone a few centimeters away from your ear as the berating began.

It wasn’t a conversation. It never was. Just a torrent of demands, accusations, complaints. Ech time you tried to get a word in, it only escalated the volume. Pacing the small space, like that might somehow drain the pressure building in your chest. Head bowed in shame—lump settling familiarly in your throat—one arm wrapped tightly around your torso, the other fiddling compulsively with the raw patch of skin by your thumb, picking until it bled.

Sirius cracked the back door open quietly. He’d lasted three minutes before excusing himself under the pretence of a smoke.

You didn’t even see him.

Didn’t hear him call your name quietly as he stepped into the alley.

But he heard everything.

The voice on the other end of the phone was loud even from a distance. Not the words, just the tone—loud and sharp enough that it cut through the quiet evening air. He watched the way you winced, head ducking as though the volume alone could bruise you—the way you flinched—physically leaned away from the device pressed to your ear. How your body shrank into itself as though trying to disappear. His stomach turned.

When you finally saw him, you froze.

He looked furious—hurt. And you backed up, instinctively shielding him from the sound, from your shame, from the bile being spilled into your ear, from the chaos bleeding through the tiny speaker.

The call ended after another five minutes, your voice small and desperate: “Yes, I understand. I’ll be home soon. I’m sorry—I’ll fix it.”

Silence followed. The kind that rang louder than shouting.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

A few long moments passed before your lips parted to say something, anything, but he cut you off, sharper than he meant to be; “Don’t—lie to me.”

It made the air in your throat catch, a grimancing frown pulled at the corners of your mouth as your eyes slipped shut, forcing a breath through your nose. His tone stung, the simmering anger in his voice almost too much—take a second to push down the urge to breakdown right then and there. Already on edge.

Sirius’s face immediately softened. He took a deep breath, correcting his tone before he spoke again, “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. Please…just talk to me.” Lips curving into a frown when he stepped closer to you, and in return you back away slightly.

Your voice came out flat, strained, as you shook your head. “Can we not do this right now?”

And he runs a hand roughly through his hair, feet twitching in the ground, desperate to reduce the distance between you, he tried to keep the soft tone of his voice, regulate his emotions not just for your sake, exhaling hard. “If not now, then when? You’ve been holding this in for God knows how long. It’s not fair—just let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” you said quickly, too quickly. “I can handle it.”

His eyes widened. “Handle it?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “You’re not handling anything—this isn’t handling it. This is barely surviving.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me, Sirius,” tone rising. “Not everyone gets to run away,” you snapped, the words out before you could stop them.

Your voice cracked, sharp and cutting, and his mouth fell open, recoiling like you’d hit him.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked bitterly, stepping closer. “You think this is normal? That panic attack you had at James and Lily’s?” He didn’t even notice the climbing volume of his voice, the abrasive tone his words took as he stepped further into your space—stopping just out of arms reach.

“That twenty-minute verbal assault on the phone?! That’s not normal?! That’s not love!”

His words ricochetted off the brick walls that surrounded you, loud and booming. It had you staggering a step back until your back hit the cold wall, like you were trying to disappear into it. Breathing turned jagged—short breaths that never made it out again. Eyes screwed tightly shut.

Hands came up instinctively in surrender, shoulders tensing, chest heaving.

Sirius’ heart cracked, all air punching out of his lungs—eyes glossy as he watched you shake.

You flinched away from him.

Sirius reeled, instantly stepping back. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he breathed, hands held out in front of him like he was warding off a wild animal. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But you couldn’t hear him. Not properly. The ringing in your ears was deafening, pressing your trembling hand to your mouth, trying to breathe, but your chest was tightening like a vice—vision blurring. The only sound filling the backroads were his slow, cautious footsteps closer, eacch pitched shallow fight for breath accompanying.

And your hand came out infront of you, as if to keep him away, trembling and outstretched like a shield between you and him—an unspoken plea for space.

But your breathing was no longer steady. It had unraveled completely, fractured into desperate, choking gasps, each one more strained than the last. Your chest rose and fell in stutters, panic carving hollows into your ribs, lungs too tight to hold even the shallowest breath.

Sirius froze, his heart in his throat at the sight of you unraveling in front of him. But then—slowly, carefully—he edged forward, hands open, voice impossibly gentle as he murmured your name over and over again like a prayer. Like the sound of it alone might bring you back to yourself.

“Hey, hey—breathe with me,” he whispered, voice steady even as panic swelled in his chest. “Just breathe. In. And out. Come on, love, with me.”

And something about his tone—low and sure, threaded with a kind of fragile desperation—broke through the haze. Hands latched onto him like you were drowning. He cradled your head to his chest, murmuring affirmations, stroking your hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

You did your best to listen. To match the rhythm of his breathing, to follow the rise and fall of his chest, to drown out the echo of everything else.

And eventually, your gasps turned into shaky, stuttered breaths. Still uneven. Still fragile. But breaths, nonetheless.

Sirius held you for a moment longer, just breathing with you, hands never leaving your skin—afraid that if he let go, you might disappear altogether.

“Do you want to go back inside?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

You shook your head. “I have to go.”

His brows drew together. “You’re not serious—you're not going back there.”

“They need me,” you said quietly, still not looking at him.

“Y/N, they’re hurting you.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just stepped away—untangling yourself from his arms, slipping from his grasp with quiet finality.

And all he could do was watch—stood there, helpless, in that dark alley as you walked away.

The ghost of you still in his arms, the ghost of you pressed into his chest lingered, carved into his memory like a wound. His lungs ached. His eyes burned. His heart—he wasn’t sure he still had one. It had followed you down the street, scattered in broken pieces behind you.

The back door swung shut behind him. Inside, laughter echoed. Warmth spilled from the lights and the soft hum of conversation. But Sirius felt none of it. Just the sting of cold night air and the bitter ache of the knowledge that you were suffering.

The following days were unbearable for Sirius. He tried to keep himself distracted—he really did—but every time he sat down, his eyes would flick to his phone. And when there wasn’t a notification lighting up the screen, he’d pick it up anyway, tapping to refresh the messages you hadn’t answered.

He called you more than he’d admit—morning, midday, evening. Sometimes just to leave voicemails: “Hey, just checking in… again. Let me know you're okay, alright? Please.”

But you rarely answered. When you did, it was always the same. Vague assurances, soft and distant: I'm fine. Don’t worry.

But Sirius did worry. Constantly. He couldn't help it.

He found himself wandering the halls of Grimmauld Place like a ghost, distracted and irritable. The silence echoed louder than anything else, and it left him pacing the creaking floorboards of Grimmauld Place, heart thudding with unease. He hovered by the fireplace more than once, fingers twitching with the urge to call Kreacher to search for you—just to know you were somewhere, breathing, safe. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to breach your trust, even if it cost him his peace of mind.

Then came the silence.

By the third day, his calls stopped going through altogether. Messages went unread.

Not even a "seen." Just nothing.

Not even the hollow comfort of your voice. And that silence drove him mad. Rain lashed against the windows that evening, dark clouds crawling across the sky like bruises spreading. A storm had rolled in and so had the panic in his chest. Something was wrong. He knew it. Felt it deep in his bones.

You were just making dinner when it happened.

Standing quietly at the stove, stirring, trying to stay invisible. But they came in, heavy-footed and already brimming with rage. The moment the door swung shut behind them, it all snapped. And you barely had time to brace yourself before their voice exploded through the kitchen.

“Useless. Just fucking useless. Can’t even stand the sight of you anymore—GET OUT. OUT!”

You didn’t move right away. You stood still, spoon hanging limply from your hand, staring at the bubbling pot like it might anchor you in place. But then you set it down gently. Shoes. Jacket. Phone. That’s all you took.

And then you walked. No direction. Just away.

The sky wept with you as you wandered aimlessly, soaked to the bone, your skin ice-cold and trembling. Hours seemed to pass—or maybe it was minutes. The line blurred in your exhaustion. Your eyes were bloodshot, swollen, throat raw from holding in sobs that still found their way out. And then, as if your legs had decided for you, you found yourself standing at the foot of Grimmauld Place. It loomed tall and dark, but it wasn’t scary.

It was familiar.

Safe.

Your hands were trembling so violently it was hard to hold the phone, your fingers fumbling until Sirius’ name was highlighted in green. The rain relentless, soaking through every layer of clothing, your skin burned from the cold.

Staring up at the steps for a long moment before lifting your phone with shaking hands, battery hanging on its last breath.

The call connected on the first ring. “Y/N?” His voice cracked with urgency. “Y/N?! Where are you—?”

But you couldn’t speak.

The only thing he heard was the storm. The rain pouring and your soft, broken sobs tangled in its rhythm. He was already moving, phone clutched tight to his ear.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. He was out the door in seconds, shoelaces untied, jacket forgotten, his voice cracked, “I’m coming, I’m coming—just hang on, alright?” as he threw open the door, leaving it wide open as he raced outside into the storm.

But there you were. Just at the bottom of the steps, a ghost in the rain. He froze for a moment, heart seized in his chest at the sight of you—drenched, shaking, hollow-eyed and utterly broken. He didn’t hesitate after that.

Rushing down, wrapping his arms around you, whispering your name like it was the only thing he knew how to say. You didn’t resist. You didn’t speak. You just leaned into him, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried you inside.

The warmth of the house hit you like a wave, but it didn’t reach you. Sirius took your coat off with trembling hands, calling Kreacher in a voice tight with urgency. The elf vanished to prepare a bath as Sirius led you to his room, cradling your shivering body with care.

You stood motionless, silent tears accompanying the drips from your clothing on the rug—barely there. He fetched a towel, wrapped you in it, pulling you gently into his arms again as you finally hiccuped out, “Didn’t know where else to go.”

He cradled your head gently, resting his chin there, whispering.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me now. You’re home, yeah? You’re home.”

You didn’t nod, just let him hold you, your body trembling in his embrace. When the bath was ready, he guided you there slowly, his hand on your back like a tether, steady and warm. You let him undress you like a doll, mechanical and unresponsive, let him wash your hair with careful fingers, his touch delicate, reverent—like if he was too rough, you might shatter completely.

Afterwards, he dressed you in his clothes, gently guiding your arms through sleeves, pulling the jumper down over your head. You sat where he put you, legs curled under you on the sofa, barely blinking.

He brought food—warm, nourishing—but the moment the smell hit you, your stomach turned. Your hand shot up to your mouth, eyes watering with a lurch of nausea. Sirius reacted instantly, waving the food away, concern etched deep in the lines of his face.

He brought you back to his bed, wrapping you up in the thick duvet, curling himself around you like a barrier against the world.

You barely registered when the door knocked gently and Regulus stepped inside, a mug of tea in hand. He said nothing, just handed it over with a soft look, his concern etched in the way he lingered before retreating.

Sirius coaxed you to sit up, holding the cup near your lips, voice tender. “Just try, yeah? Please.” Palm warm against your spine, making small soothing circles of encouragement, eyes pleading before he continue

“You haven’t eaten or drank anything since you got here. Just a sip. For me.”

A long pause. And then, finally, you nodded. The smallest motion. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and helped you sip slowly, one hand around yours to keep the mug steady.

When you finished, he set the cup aside and pulled you back into his chest, wrapping the duvet around the two of you like a cocoon. You were shivering again, even under the warmth, so he rubbed soft circles into your back.

“You’re so brave, you know that?” lips brushing your temple as he spoke softly. “You’ve been so strong for so long. But it’s okay now. You don’t have to go back. Not ever. You’re staying here. With me.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you’d slipped into sleep—until the first shake.

That was when you broke—really broke. Not violently. Not loudly. Just a soft, unraveling cry that soaked into his shirt, your fingers weakly clutching the fabric, your breath hitching in little sobs you couldn’t control. He held you through it all, his own eyes stinging.

“So tired, Sirius.”

His throat closed. A sharp, painful tug in his chest.

“I know, love.” he murmured, kissing your temple with trembling lips. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. Just close your eyes. You’re safe here. You can rest.”

The rain still whispered outside, but within Grimmauld Place, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into sleep.

And Sirius stayed awake long after you’d gone quiet, holding you like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth—because maybe you were.

He pressed one last kiss to your temple, letting his eyes slip shut.

[unluckilyimnot]

hiiiii, can I please request bonten hc after they found out someone disrespected their gf!!

Bonten when their gf is disrespect

Character: Ran, Rindou, Koko, Sanzu, Mikey

m.list | rules

Note: I wrote that last night I forgot about the "find out" so there's both sorry 😞 thank you sm for your request 🤍

Ran

I hope for the poor guy that it's not in front of him or he can pray for his life and it's gonna be useless

Spoiler it is

It's not written on Ran's face that he's going to kill him, but everyone in the room tensed up at his "excuse me ?"

Your jaw is clenched but you feel so angry and ashamed, you really don't want to help this guy rn

As he started to stammer some useless excuse, Ran shush him instantly

"Come again ? I'm not sure i heard you right"

He's a sadistic, he wants his skin ripped of his body

He lied, not repeating at all his words

Not knowing it's gonna be worse

"So you lie to me now on top of insulting my lover?"

The second he stand up you know it's the end for him

He take one hit, then another, and another

Ran probably exposed a full bottle of alcohol on top of his head to end it

"Never again, do you hear me ?" He said, bend down to his level

Hoping that he made it clear to everyone in the room that disrespecting you it's worse than disrespecting him

Rindou

He got angry and doesn't wait to stand up

They don't even get to finish their sentence that their face is somehow already hitting the table

Doesn't matter where you are, he's never gonna let that slide

"Hey you think you're more important than her to speak shit like that ?"

He hits him until he answers, grabbing his face fiercely, letting the blood of his nose and mouth run down his fingers

"I didn't hear you ?"

If he's already knock down, he call the security to leave him in the street

He excuses himself to you all night even if you tell him it's not his fault, he thinks it is

He's suppose to make sure that all his subordinates respect you

Koko

"What ??"

You tell him what happened tear his eyes off his computer

He's in disbelief, this can't be true

He frown ad you go on with your story, walking in circles in front of his desk

He has to get up and catches you for you to stop but he can tell how upset you are

He will ask for their name again, and calm you down, smoothing your back

kindly whipping the frustration tears that show up in your eyes

He would probably take you out on a nice dinner to clear your head

You won't hear about it for a few days

But one day you'll wake up to see that their company went bankrupt and that they were found dead in their appartement, seemly suicide

If you ask Koko, he'll say he doesn't know about it but deep down you know he did it

Sanzu

He's mad to say the least

He wants to end them himself

You're tough, he knows you can handle your business alone but he just can't stand it

He'll find him himself to make him understand that that's not something you said to someone on of the higher-ups of Bonten loves

If there's one thing Sanzu put at the same place as Mikey, it's you

It's like disrespecting his boss, he can't let it unpunished

He'll probably step into their place and shot them down if there's no-one important

If they happen to be, he'll just make sure to make things complicated for them until they beg for help/found

Mikey

You're so precious he can't even picture someone talking you badly

But on top of that, you're the Bonten's boss gf, they really don't know what they're doing

But he won't handle it himself

He's too busy making sure you know your worth and make it up for you

He just make sure they suffer for good while he's having a good time with you

If it happened in front of him though, they're shot down without thinking

He can always find someone better, he doesn't need someone that don't respect him, and by that he means disrespecting you as well

It's been a while ! I hope you liked it ♡

[azrielsdove]

Fated Souls: Lucien Ending

Warnings: Some Violence, Suggestive

Read Pt.1 Here

***

You looked in shock to Azriel, standing in the doorway as anger radiated from him like you’d never seen. “Keep your dirty paws off of my mate,” he growled. The sudden claim should have brought you joy, causing the mating bond to sing to life. Instead it laid dormant, as if it was too far gone.

“Get over yourself, Azriel,” you snapped, the thin string that had been keeping you together breaking. He looked at you with narrowed eyes, the shadows holding you captive tightening.

“I’ll deal with you later, whore.” Your eyes flung wide at his insult as anger flooded your system.

“Whore? You’ve acted as if I didn’t exist ever since the bond snapped, galavanting around with someone else in your arms. Someone else’s mate, if I may point out.” You wrenched your arms free from the shadows, the rest of them dissipating as if they sensed your rage. “You have no right to me or my heart any longer, Azriel.” You moved to stand tall in front of him, eyes locking onto his. Your mind was clouded with rage, but one thing stood clear.

“I refuse the mating bond.”

As if it had been waiting, the once-golden bond inside of you soared to life. For one second it shone bright between the two of you.

And then it shriveled to dust.

“Y-you can’t!” Azriel stuttered, a hand moving to rest on his heart as if it had been stabbed. “All i’ve ever wanted was a mate! You can’t take that from me!”

“Please,” you scoffed, “I’ve been here this whole time. If you wanted a mate so badly you could’ve come to me. It is not any fault of mine that you got it in your head that Elain should belong to you. You care not for her in and of herself, do you?” You stepped closer, voice lowering as you leaned your lips towards his ear. “You don’t love her, Azriel. You love the idea of her. Of you and your brothers having a matching set,” you hissed out, enjoying the way his body stiffened as your words rang true. You moved back, looking behind him to see Elain.

You could tell from her face that she had heard what you’d said.

“Azriel, is it true?” She asked, her voice so sad you almost felt guilty.

You felt a hand come rest on your waist, the comforting form of Lucien moving to stand next to you. The war raging in his expression was enough to wash any feelings of guilt away. Elain had made her own choices in this cruel situation.

Her watery eyes turned to look at Lucien, taking him in as if she had never truly seen him before. “You’re my m-mate, still?” She made a motion as if to move next to him, but the cold look he bestowed upon her halted her movements.

“As it stands,” he responded, his fingers flexing against your skin. “How interesting that you would suddenly care.”

She flinched as if he had struck her, bowing her head in shame.

“Enough,” Azriel commanded, bringing the attention back to him. Rage was etched onto his face, siphons glowing as he called upon his power. “You do not get to tear apart our lives for some, some fling.”

It was angers turn to take over your mind, your own power rumbling deep inside of you. “Have you lost your mind, Azriel Shadowsinger?” You asked, pulling away from Lucien for fear of harming him. “You have done nothing but cause me pain, and now you’ve decided I can’t make my own choices? I wasn’t aware it was up to you what I do with my time.” Your palms itched, begging for him to strike first.

“It matters when it’s being intimate with someone who’s not me!” He roared, the winds picking up around you as if they sensed his emotion.

“We are no longer mates, Azriel! You never truly had any claim to me! Get it through your thick, ugly skull!” The insult was the tipping point for the Shadowsinger, a low scream accompanying the blue bolt of power he launched towards you. You blocked it with a silver one of your own, yelling for Lucien to get off the balcony.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” you teased, anger and satisfaction burning through you. You had needed this. “I’m just as well trained as you are.” You sent a wave of power towards him, laughing when it caused him to stumble. “Some may say i’m better.”

The wind was whipping through your hair, pulling it free from the loose braid you’d had it in. You felt stronger than you had in years, standing tall against your mate. He sent shadows to twine around you, but you dodged them as easy as they came. Truthfully, you didn’t think they wanted to harm you. It was as if they knew the cruel way their master had acted. Azriel shouted in frustration at his shadows, sending bolt after bolt of blue towards you. You blocked each one, shooting your own in response. A shot of silver hit him in the middle of the chest, knocking him to his knees. The blue siphons decorating his body flickered, no match for the power you held.

You made your way to stand in front of him, silver still glowing in your hands. “Is that the best you can do, Az?” You pouted, using the nickname from when you were friends. He looked up at you, a million emotions running through his eyes.

“When did you become so skilled?” He asked.

You leaned in close, a wicked smile on your lips. “What else is a heartbroken girl supposed to do? You ignored me, so I became better than you. At first I thought it would impress you and you would want me instead of Elain. Now I know, it was all for this very moment.” You placed your heel on the center of his chest, kicking him onto his back as you called your power back into you.

“Leave me alone, Azriel. I’m making my own life now.”

You left him there, winded on the ground. Your heels clicked amongst the stone as you walked off the balcony, eyes sliding to catch Elain as you did. “Better call a healer. He should be fine, but his pride will be woefully wounded.”

***

Lucien found you in your rooms, eyes bright as he took in your windswept form. “That,” he said, moving to place his hands on your waist, “was the most intimidating thing i’ve ever seen. Somehow, it only made me want you more.” He accompanied his words with a kiss, your body melting into his.

“Hmm,” you hummed into his mouth, forcing yourself to pull away. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to do that.” You turned from him, resuming the packing you had been doing before he entered. Lucien took in the sight, eyes taking note of what you were doing.

“Planning on leaving?” He asked nonchalantly, picking up the silk sleeve of one of your gowns.

You shrugged, folding the shirt in your hands. “I do not believe I will be welcome here after my attack upon Azriel.”

The fabric slipped through Lucien’s fingers as he moved to stand next behind you, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. “How is that fair? He gets to treat you terribly and yet you are expected to flee your home?”

You leaned into his touch, nodding in agreement. “Yes, but Rhysand would do anything for him. Everyone else comes after Azriel and Cassian. He may be mad at him for a moment, but in the end he’s choose him over me. It’s how it has always been.” You sighed, pausing your packing. “It’s a shame, truly. But they hardly cared while it was happening. Any one of them could have confronted Azriel about it, and they chose not to.” Lucien’s arms tightened around you at the sadness in your voice.

“Where will we go?” He asked.

“I was thinking I could head to Summer, Tarquin and I have always gotten al-“ You paused your words, turning in his arms to face him. “We?”

He smiled, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I do not wish to reside in a place where you are not. If you’ll have me, it would be my greatest honor to sit by your side wherever life may take us.” You didn’t register the tears falling down your face until Lucien frowned, wiping them away. “I do not need to come,” he said uncertainly, only wanting to cause you joy.

You gave a weepy laugh, shaking your head. “No, Lucien. I want you to be with me. I just haven’t had anyone who cared so much before.” You kissed him then, full of love and light. A feeling you thought you’d never find, after so long of living in the shadow of a failed mating bond.

He kissed you back hungrily, his hand moving his way down your leg. You pulled your mouth from his, kissing the soft skin along his neck. He groaned, the sound the most delicious thing you had ever heard. “What of Elain?” You whispered between kisses, so quietly you almost hoped he hadn’t heard. The hand on your leg moved to wrap around your neck, his thumb pressing lightly over your pulse point as he turned your head to look at him.

“What of her?” He murmured against your lips, fire burning in his expression.

“W-what of the mating bond?” You stuttered out, heart racing as his hand tightened pleasurably against your skin.

“There is none. I rejected it. Happily, if I may say so.” He kissed you again, smiling against your lips as you moaned. “My heart and my soul belong to you, if you’ll have them.” His hand dropped from your neck, finding its new favorite spot on your waist.

You smiled back, taking in the unyieldingly handsome male in front of you. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

He kissed you once more, a sense of devotion behind it. You twined your arms around his neck, allowing him to lay you back on the bed behind you. Your fingers tangled themselves into the soft strands of his hair, arching into him as his hands worked your skirt up over your hips. You whined when his lips left yours, already pathetically needy for him. You quickly got over your displeasure when you felt them press against your inner thigh.

Lucien had his way with you there, painting the walls of your room in sin. The hallways would echo with the music of your screams, the imprint of you never truly gone.

Left, to haunt Azriel for all his days.

***

AFTER

You sat on the warm sands of the beach, shielding your eyes from the ever-shining sun. You watched your shirtless husband splash amongst the water, beautiful laughter trailing to your ears. The Summer Court had become home to you, a place where you truly felt you belonged. Tarquin had welcomed you with open arms, happy to give you a new start.

You quickly made yourself indispensable to his army, rising to a high leadership position within a matter of months. You worked to train the new recruits, showing them how to tap into their power. The fae who followed you adored you as much as you did them, the camaraderie you created priceless.

After a year of living here, Lucien had proposed. You’ll never forget the way his hands shook as he opened the ring box, asking you to do him the honor of being his wife. Your eyes sparkled with tears as you took in the golden ring he had made for you, tackling him to the ground in your excitement. Not too many months after you held a small ceremony, professing your eternal love to each other on a stretch of beach with the background of a sunset.

It had been some time since then, and your lives from before were but a distant memory. The thought of Azriel never crossed your mind, and you never felt the emptiness of the broken mating bond. You kept loose contact with the Night Court, more diplomatic than anything. You knew he and Elain did end up together, though you couldn’t speak of their relationship past that. Neither you nor Lucien bore them any ill will.

The little one squirming in your lap brought your attention back to now, pulling you from your memories. You smiled at the little boy, pulling him up into your arms. “What is, my little fire spot? Do you wish to be in the water with your daddy?” You cooed at him, smoothing back his bright red hair. You stood, making your way towards your husband and the toddler girl playing in the water. You laughed she splashed him, Lucien falling dramatically backwards as if she had gravely wounded him.

“Mommy!” She called, waving her two small hands excitedly in the air. “Be like you!” She gestured to your husband, still feigning that she had bested him. Your heart swelled with love for the family you had created, the joy for your children and husband.

“That’s my girl!” You called back, happy with the way she wished to follow in your footsteps. You walked into the water, helping Lucien up with your free arm. He wrapped his around your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your son before giving one to you.

As you stood in the water, listening to the glee-filled screeches of your daughter while your son tried to chew on your finger, you felt at peace. Your soul was complete, tied to Lucien of your own accord. You wished you could go back in time to the version of you that longed for Azriel to love you back, and tell her that a beautiful future she couldn’t even imagine was waiting for her.

***

give me more lucien SJM please i begggggg. i hope you all enjoyed this ending for him❤️

[lady-ashfade]

Abed

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ team green x hateful reader (slight Aegon x reader)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ dabble.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: reader hates cole so bad, uncanon events, targ-cest, had a thought for days and made it, team green defenders don’t come after me- because I’m not on their side doesn’t mean I am a bad person, or hate you. I understand you💜🫵

“I was abed, your Grace.”

Spinning your finger around the cup as Aegon questioned the man you hated for years and his response made a laugh rumble from your throat. Silent sweeps the room and all eyes turn to you while it goes unnoticed by yourself from the thoughts in your head. Mourning wasn’t a word to describe what you felt, anger and madness perhaps are the best words to use.

Aegon stepped back and glanced curiously at you while caught in a daze, “Sister?” his calling is enough to snap out of it. As his eyes found yours it was clear the single thread behind his eyes began to snap, “Care to share what is a jest to you at a moment like this?” all watch as he walks across the table.

“While my son is dead?” he stopped before you.

Alicent knew the hatred for Cole runs throughout your blood. Ever since you were a child you refused to listen to him, mocked him, even tried to stab him in training. Some of that hate was also for her as well but you loved her enough. Though, the way you looked at both of them with a sly smirk of what you had witnessed a few weeks before put it through doubt.

“I am just tickled, by the person who is really at fault her brother. Aegon you of course took the knights and some men to entertain last night, but I am sure there were more when I left helaens room last night?” fulling playing with them as you lean back in the chair, “If I recall our mothers hall happened to have all guards dismissed last night.”

Alicent looked frightened and wanted to beg you to keep silent as the men look at her, Cole by her side in disbelief. “Ser Criston Cole said he was abed,” looking into the dark haired mans eyes, you feel a power wash over you unlike anything you have felt. “But he did not say where.”

Aegon looked at the man who helped raise him and his jaw tighten, “tell the truth,” taking a deep breath before slamming his hands down onto the table, “Now.” He shouted and made all except you flinch.

“Forgive me, but the princess has no idea what-” pushing the chair out from beneath your legs in a haste movement and grabbing hold of the handle of your sword.

“He was bedding our mother,” the looks of shock are louder then words could say. leaning closer to your older brother, “he left his post at your child’s bed. But clearly what’s in between our mothers legs is more important.”

“That is enough,” Alicent raised up and looked at both of you in tearful eyes, “I am to blame. Punish me, we meant non of this to happen.”

“Is it true.”aegons head starts to shake, his eyes darkening.

One simple nod and cry from his mother and that’s all he needed and rushed forward to cole and start to shout and punch him. Of course cole is more skilled and managed to slip away. And as much as you enjoy some action be taking against him, you had to stop it.

“Strip him of his power, his armor but don’t kill him,” Aegon alway had a soft spot for you because you understood him, played along to his ways. “Let me handle him, and let our mother go unharmed.” Raising a hand to his cheek you stroke the skin, he was so easy to manipulate.

“He is yours, sister. Punish him however you see fit.”

I really hate coke so much. Like if i could just skip to his death i would, i couldn’t care about anything else. Idk if you are mad at that, he just pisses me off.

[shortcakesturns]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 - 𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐑. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

summary: rob fucks you in soulties lol

warnings: unprotected sex, public sex (nobody sees) pet names, female reader, kind of cheating mentions? (not locked in with anyone.) p in v, oral (f recieving) sorry if it’s not that good ☹️

being in a couple rob had its ups and downs, he likes to explore but you liked him. unfortunately the exploring led to him getting by another girl. rob was genuinely upset, he respected you. He felt different about you way different.

The whole day you couldn’t get it out of your head. You sat at the villa staring at liv and rob talk it away to you it didn’t look natural. they looked awkward and you had ill feelings towards liv coming and stealing him from your grasp. You couldn’t let her know you were salty, no..but you could get back at her.

Your legs moved quicker then your brain as you walked closer and closer to rob. “hey rob can I talk to you?”

“yeah sure.” rob got up from where he was sitting and began to follow you as you led him to soul-ties.

“so, I just want to talk to you about what happened last night you know.” you said as you laid down on the cushioned area. Rob quickly laid down next to you.

“me too.” he agreed with you.

“so, I’m lowkey upset by what happened, I know it’s not your fault but I feel like we had a insanely deep connection rob.” you look at him.

“yeah no me too, I think what she did was uncalled for and I was exploring others but I made it clear you were my number one and wasn’t open to the idea of being picked.” he frowns a bit.

“can I make it up to you y/n?” he looks into your eyes.

you pondered how he could make it up to you, you weren’t sure what could fill the void that you once called your couple in the villa. you had been publicly humiliated in front of thousands on tv.

“sure..” you hesitated but gave in. because who could resist those beautiful enticing eyes.

Rob wasted no time grabbing the back of your neck softly but strong enough to pull you to his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth every few pecks, the pecks became slower and deeper but rougher. Eventually both of your tongues meet and rob tugs on the waistband of your shorts.

he lays you on your back and slowly slips off your shorts and underwear tracing his fingers along your pussy. The warmth grows by the seconds and each small touch rob makes. “can I y/n? words sweetie. please.” he groans.

“yes rob, yes please.” you nod desperate for his touch.

“good girl.” he wastes no time sipping down to your wet pussy and pushing your knees to your chest to get a better angle when tasting your sweet spot. His tongue lapped your clit over and over again every other lap entering your hole before tongue fucking your hole while using his thumb to rub your clit.

He mumbles into your pussy as you feel as if your getting dragged to the edge with each lap and dip of his tongue, his thumb rubbing your clit continuously until you tense up feeling your orgasm approaching.

“that’s it let go for me sweet girl.” rob keeps the attack consistent letting you ride out your high.

“more..more rob please.” he smirks when you beg.

“begging for me? since you wanna be good i’ll give you more.” you hear him fumble with his belt buckle.

his pants drop leaving him with just underwear but those are quickly slipped off while he rubs his tip up and down your slit teasing you.

“no teasing rob.” you cry out.

“okay princess no teasing.” rob aligns his tip with your hole and begins to sink in bottoming out throwing his head back in pleasure.

“best pussy ever.” his pace speeds up roughly.

moans escape from your lips, the pleasure so intense that you can’t help but let mewls slip past your lips. his whispers and moans are incoherent too pussy drunk to form words. you guys were in a trance.

a white ring forms around the base of his cock, cream coating his length. “fuck i’m close sweet girl.” his pace begins to get sloppier and sloppier.

“me too rob fuck.” you clench around him as you feel ropes of cum hit your cervix. rob pulls out and pulls your pants up and puts your shirt on and fixes himself. he lays next to you moving strands of hair out of your face.

“if we recouple soon it’s you, your like a drug, and i’m way too addicted.” he presses a kiss against your lips while holding you

—- SORRY IF ITS BAD OR SPELLING MISTAKES ITS LATE NOT PROOFREAD