#at least he looks appropriately wet and pathetic

[hballegro]

"A lot of very touching songs came outta that war..."

s2e5 "Dr. Pierce and Mr. Hyde"

previous piece

next piece

another piece for the pile. this one took ~25 hours, ish? i regretted it as soon as i picked it lol. still CSP, still gouache brush [my beloved] and various blenders. when i got to the rain poncho i had to bribe myself with sweets to do all the texturing, it was hell on earth and that alone took 6ish hours. i am most proud of the right [his left] eye lol i think i nailed that sucker

if anyone has recommendations for the next one, speak now; i am very bored over summer break waiting for college to begin and this damn show is swallowing up my life, so might as well lol

and like last time, heres some WIP snapshots [with numbers this time] to show what order they came in

put off that ear for 12 years and then nailed it first try, c'est la vie

[romana-after-dark]

Little Tease

Dark!Logan x Fem!reader

Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summary: Logan is trying to train you, but you keep teasing him. It's not his fault, really.

Warnings: Dub con but reader is secrtly into it. logan in a position of authority but to be clear, this is NOT student reader, or teenager reader at the school. This is a short fic so we're not getting into a backtory but that is NOT what this is.

Based on this ask.

More apoligetic non con? Read this series!

Divider by @coolcatsgraphics

1000 follower fundraiser game!

You were doing this on purpose.

Itty bitty shorts. Tight sports bra. Just you and him on the sparing matt and fuck, you looked delicious as sweaty and heaving.

Logan was the gym teacher, but that's not why he was here with you. He didn't spar with students, especially not while shirtless. Students had appropriate gym uniforms. Student's didn't dress like whores tempting him to pounce.

But you were. You wanted him. He saw it in the way you smirked at him when he looked at your tits. He felt it in the way you wiggled your butt when he took you down. He smelled it. Ohhhh he smelled it. The wetness between your legs whenever you and him tousled.

The premise of the rendezvous began innocently enough. You were a mutant, but not one with any powers that could protect you. You weren't like Jean, Remy, Hank, or him.... instead, you were empathic, able to make people feel what you felt and vice versa. This was something that put a target on your back, but you had no ability to protect yourself.

So, you asked Logan to help you, to train you in at least basic self defense so that those who would hurt you for being a mutant wouldn't have an easy time, and you didn't have to simply depend on the protection of others.

and it was torcher. How was he expected tp go about him day after feel your skin, your body under him, your sweet smell... he left rock hard every day.

Until today, when he flipped you around and swept your leg, he landed on top of you. he didn't get up.

"Alright Logan." you chuckle and grunt, attempting to get up but his 300 pounds kept your sweaty face pressed to the mat. "You made you point."

"This is why you gotta watch your legs, pumpkin. I been tell'n you, you're not steady."

"I knoooooow" You can't help but groan. "But can you get your fat ass up? Crushing me here."

Logan's face nuzzled your neck, the hair of his sideburns tickling you. "that's not fat, and you fucking know it. That's the skeleton, you know what that means?"

you huff your answer. "That you're gonna suffocate me under here?"

"It means I can protect you, pumpkin." Logan feels your whole body still underneath him. "Don't need to worry 'bout a thing, not with me around..." He trails his fingers down your sides, feeling the lightweight workout material separating you from him.

Once again, you try to push him off, but all the push ups he makes you do are no match for his heavy weight. "Logan. I think you got the wrong idea-" But he cuts you off with a deep kiss t those sweet lips of yours, sucking n your tongue and biting on your lips even as you squirm under him. Your movements only served to stimulate his cock in the loose grey gym shorts.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects him to you for another moment still. "No wrong idea, baby." Logan draws up his claws just a little, juuust enough that when he slides his knuckles over the crack of your ass, your pathetic, half-see through leggings shred underneath him.

"Logan! Stop!" Your voice cracks as you slap at the blue matt. "Get the fuck off me! I'm tellin Scott!"

"I'm TeLlInG ScOtT!" Logan mocks you, freeing his acing cock and sliding the uncut tip over you wet little slit. He knew you'd be wet, he could mell it on you, but this was something else. "No, you're not pumpkin. Know why? Because the second Jean looks into your m- oooh fuck- when she looks into that pretty little head of yours, she's gonna feel it. Right here." He slides a hand between you and the sticky matt, feeling your stomach right where his tip pokes you. "She's gonna feel how you felt right here, the warmth in your tummy when you watch me warm up, the way it flips when i touch you and, and the way it's clenching right now, ready to come on my cock after only a few strokes.

You whimper, know logically, realistically, Scott wouldn't question you like that, that jean wouldn't tell him any arousal you felt, that the fact you were telling him to stop would be enough for Scott...But a part of you pictured him doubting you, laughing at you even. you couldn't take it.

Instead, you try to appeal to Loga's decency. Even as your stomach swirled and tightened. "Logan, I was just teasing, I didn't mean-"

"But you did, pumpkin." Logan railed into you, one hand pressed between shoulder blades you keep you down, the other squeezing and pulling and touching your body. "You wanted it, you wanted me and you were just to scared to ask. Don't worry," He huffs, hot breath against your ear. "I got you."

He fucked into your core with a fervor you've never felt, a desire for you that was palpable in the air. He was hot, and you did want him... but not like this. "Logan..." You stop moving, stop squirming, stop fighting and lay down. When he sucks kiss to your neck, you can't help it anymore and cum on his cock stretching you open.

"Good girl..." Logan groans, your tightness pushing him over the edge. He bred your sweet pussy full of his cum, pumping you so full that as he continued to pound into you, the white slick platters out from around his member.

When it was over, he continued to lay on top of you, holding you close to him with hi nose familiarizing himself with the scent of your hair. Delicious.

"Logan..." You whimper underneath him. "Just let me go... I'm not gonna tell Scott, or- or anyone. Just please get off me."

"I'm sorry, pumpkin..." He licked a stripe up the side of your face. "not even Scott could keep me away from you now. You're mind." Logan sits up, resting back on his haunches and undoes his jacket. With surprisingly gentle hands, Logan pulls you up and wraps the sweatshirt around your waist to cover the hole he riped in your leggings and underwear. "I'm not gonna stop doing this."

****************************

thanks guys!!!! I've been cracking down on school so not as much time to write :(((

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @madamerubrum @journal3sposts @tomhockstetter7-111 @and-claudia @yeaiamme2 @xoxabs88xox @hornystan @mortuary-reads @hereforthehitsbaby y @alexisdotnett @kemi707 @spookysquids @zaggprincess2 @freythecrazyfae @esperanza229 @chocolatequeenbasement

[siflshonen]

Do you have any romance recommendations? (Books, manga, games, anything.) I'm a crotchety romance snob as well and haven't explored the genre.

My well is pretty empty for this, I must admit. But I guess... hey, you like immersive fandoms, camp, parody, and tongue-in-cheek, I hope?

While the book may be a little too dated for most widespread consumption, I will recommend almost any well-done derivative of Pride and Prejudice or Austen works in general, or even anything that involves it. Enter these with the attitude that everyone is a disaster and the work wants you to hoot and holler at it and treat it like a groundling at a Shakespeare play (that is, like a degenerate.)

Some examples include:

Pride and Prejudice 1995 adaptation - One of the main metrics I use when judging a Pride and Prejudice adaptation is the level of batshit histrionic (complimentary) Elizabeth Bennet's mother acts, and this one is a gold standard (compliments to the actress. I hated her and this is unironically the highest praise I can give in this context).

Pride and Prejudice 2005 (the one with Keira Knightley) - When I first saw this movie, I fucking hated it. My friends took it all too seriously. Then, everything changed when, on the third watch-through, I pointed at Darcy's too-tight (leather?!) pants in the final scene and ripped that poor character a new asshole for being a pathetic, wet man in stupid pants. The next watch-through, I treated each scene's verbal lashings like a WWE wrestling match complete with commentary, and suddenly the entire thing became the best movie in the fucking world. My friends will never watch it with me again, but more fool they because now that I am older I realize that, by doing so, I was the only one engaging with the work in the appropriate spirit even if I lacked the Regency-era class. Austen wrote these to be funny, witty, backhanded, and insightful. When Darcy says, "She isn't handsome enough to tempt ME!", try pointing at him and screaming, "BIIIIITCH!" at the top of your lungs and then see how you feel.

Austenland (view this once you have comfortable familiarity with at least one Austen story. It gets more ridiculous as it goes along, and is all the better for it. Admittedly, I also don't care much for the actual endgame romance in this one either, but the movie is fun even when it's cringe like with... well, you'll see.)

Side note: While I generally look favorably upon Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I do NOT recommend I Love You Because.

Mamma Mia - Do I actually care about any of these couples getting together? Do I ship a damn thing in this show? No, I don't. Their love stories exist only to forward the antics and camp they get into, but it IS a romance. Everything, including the casting choices, is a gag. For example, if you watch the 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice listed below, you will understand why it is funny that Colin Firth is in this movie doing exactly what he does. It opens with all the girlies being like "ohhh wow what a great idea you had to invite these THREE DUDES YOUR MOM HAD A ONE-NIGHT STAND WITH TO YOUR WEDDING" and singing a happy and supportive song about it like a classic optimistic musical, and then all the girlies immediately afterwards being like, "JUST KIDDING you are SO fucking stupid" but still going with it.

Hadestown - For all I bitch about romance............... this is my favorite musical. Before you ask, NO! I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE LOVE STORY OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE! I CARE ABOUT THE OTHER ONE!!!! And even then, it's not something I dwell upon as a love story. Admittedly, I have a strong preference for the Live Original Cast Recording rather than the Broadway version (I strongly dislike the changed lyrics for the Epics. However, I am a big fan of Orpheus' added parts in Doubt Comes In), but if you like one, you'll like the other. If you don't like either, well, whatever.

Um, what else... uh, classic anime fandom favorites like Ouran High School Host Club are also fun, but I can also admit to you that I care not for 80% of the romance aspect of it.

Um, d-does Devilman: Crybaby count????

[my-snowbaz-shit-idk]

You Feel A Little Warm Love

Simon Snow gets a cold and a horrifying fever hallucination helps him realise that he doesn't hate Baz as much as he thought he did. Baz just wants his crush to feel better.

Fluff, but first some angst then fluff so much fluff. Alternating P.O.Vs Baz & Simon

(2,601 words)

BAZ

I get out of bed stretching my legs out. I don’t bother worrying about Simon; he's always down at breakfast by now. As I finally focus on my surroundings I hear someone’s breathing, but it’s all wrong, congested. I’m the only one in here, or I should be at least . . .

I turn to look at Simon, he's just where he should be, or not. He should be at breakfast scarfing down barbaric amounts of food but he’s not. For once I’m up earlier than him and I can’t ignore the stab of worry it sends through me. Not to mention he’s huddled in what has got to be every blanket not currently in use at Watford. His hair is matted (even more so than usual) (which is saying something) and sticks to his forehead with sweat. He shivers. It’s wrong to see him like this, I think about going over to shut the window but it’s already shut, he always sleeps with the window open. That isn’t good.

I want to help him somehow but he wouldn’t want that and he’d probably think I was crazy or trying to dispose of him while he’s weak. He’s such an idiot. Why can’t he just see that I’m so desperately in love with him? I do know that it’s much better for everyone involved if he doesn’t because if he ever found out that would be disastrous.

Now I’m staring, even like this he’s beautiful. He probably has a fever. I should probably take him to the nurse. No I couldn’t wake him, I should get the nurse to come here. He’s always warm. I bet he feels like a radiator now, I can imagine his gorgeous blue eyes, bright and sparkling with the fever. I shake my head. Allister Crowley! I’m so fucking disturbed. (Ask anyone)

I make myself leave our room and go down to breakfast but as I fill my plate I realise I’m reaching for everything Simon usually gets. I sigh and try to focus, I take some food for myself but I can’t focus on eating. I keep thinking about Simon lying there all huddled up, he looked adorable and sick. I have time before class so I could check on him and I may as well take him some food. That seems like a totally roommate-appropriate platonic thing to do, right?

SIMON

I wake up to a horrible burning sensation, not like when I’m about to go off, but an ache that spreads throughout my whole body, I groan. Something cold touches me, and I turn.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch

Simon is still asleep.

I should say something nasty to him like “Wake up Snow, an idiot like you can’t afford to miss any classes!” Or “You look like death, shame, I was hoping to end you myself.” or “You look pathetic and sound disgusting! Get out, before you fill the entire room with your germs.” but looking at him all I can say is his name.

Simon Snow

“Simon,” he says. Baz stands over me. I call for my sword and it appears, he steps back surprised.

I want to confront him, he was clearly watching me sleep and plotting to kill me but all that comes out is a cough and then another. I dissolve into a coughing fit that takes my breath away. My nose starts to run and I wait miserably for Baz to laugh at me or tell me I’m disgusting.

Instead, he hands me a handkerchief. I don’t reach for it, letting fall onto the bed and staring at him open-mouthed. I realize I’m probably spreading my germs and putting my elbow to my face. Why would he give me his handkerchief, or for that matter anything of his when I’m coughing all over the place? I’m only going to get it gross. I look at him, really look. He doesn’t look patronising, he looks . . . worried.

And wait … Simon? He-he called me by my name, he called me . . . Simon. What. The. Bloody. Hell is happening to me?

BAZ

He looks like he’s trying to glare at me. I panic. What should I tell him, I was obviously watching him sleep. Then he starts coughing, harsh wet hacking coughs that rumble from deep inside his chest.

It sounds awful, I’ve obviously seen sick people before but I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t sound like this. His nose starts running and I hate myself for thinking it but he looks cute all wrapped in blankets. I want to wipe his nose for him but instead, I just take my handkerchief from my nightstand and hold it out to him, he looks confused and lets it fall.

Tentatively he picks it up and holds it up to his face. He looks a mess and I encourage him.

“It’s okay, I don't mind.” He looks like he wants to be suspicious but doesn’t have the energy. I hide my wince when he blows his nose. The sound is thick. I'm surprised he can breathe.

“I’mb sowry, I’mb a bess.” He says he still looks confused and I don’t blame him. Me being nice all of a sudden he probably thinks it’s a fever dream.

SIMON

I’m not sure what to do but snot is getting all over my face so I press the handkerchief gently to it to try and stifle it. It’s soft and smells like Baz . . . it’s nice. I don’t know what to say and for a moment I feel guilty for dirtying the nice clean fabric but then I remember who it belongs to. Yet he’s being so nice I don't want to be a jerk.

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess” I say cringing at how bunged up I sound

“I don’t mind.” He says 

I don’t mind? What the hell Baz, did I hear that right?

“I brought you some breakfast.” He continues casually casting a Some like it hot on two plates of food. The food doesn’t start to smoke, I’m jealous once again of his ability. But more than that I’m confused. Baz. Baz Pitch. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch brought me, his arch enemy, breakfast?

Did the Mage ask him to, he doesn’t look annoyed like he’s doing work he doesn’t want to in fact he’s focusing very hard on carrying a plate over. As he walks closer I can smell it even through my clogged-up nose.

All my favourite foods:

Beans

Toast

Eggs

Sausage

Bacon

And scones a pile of sour cherry scones.

Basilton Grimm-Pitch brought me scones, I feel a bit light headed then it goes black.

BAZ

He’s staring at me so I stare at the plates being very careful not to drop them, his gawking doesn’t help, and then he slumps over. I almost drop the plates as I run over. 

“Snow. Simon. Simon!”

He blinks and I’m so relieved that I say the first thing that comes to mind “Crowley Snow! I only brought you some scones. No need to be dramatic” I mean to sound annoyed but I’m laughing in panicked relief. He looks dazed and unfocused, feverish. I want to hug him, I want to put my arms around him and never let go, but I don’t. However, I am close enough to feel the heat coming off him. What have I gotten myself into?

SIMON

I open my eyes and see Baz’s face. This is closer than we’ve ever been before and for the first time, I can properly see his eyes. The colours in them, (yes colours plural) not one but many swirling together, mesmerising. 

I should move, I should get myself as far away from him as possible but I can’t stop watching his eyes. They’re filled with something I can’t define because I’ve never seen it on his face before. It doesn’t look like hatred . . . is it sadness? Fear?

I try to look closer and feel his grey irises pulling me in, I wonder what I’ll find there in the depths of Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s eyes. They’re beautiful, he’s beautiful. Well, now he’s blurry, everything is I feel heavy and sleep tugged at my aching body while the kaleidoscope of colours continues to swirl around me. It’s pretty at first but it soon becomes dizzying. 

It hurts. I scream. I call out for the one person here. I hope he can hear me, I hope listens. Maybe he doesn’t hear me, maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll let me die in the colourful world all alone.

The thought brings despair down like a heavy weight on me and soon it’s eating everything, the colours are disappearing. Being sucked away and I feel the sucking itching feeling too. The Humdrum, I feel him but he's nowhere else to be seen, nothing is anywhere to be seen actually. 

It’s all just black, black, black, black and more black. No colour or texture I can’t even feel my hands anymore but I feel heavy, so heavy. I feel like I’m getting heavier by the second and I just know that if I get too heavy I’ll fall, deep, deep, deep, down, down, down into the darkness. 

I think I liked the colours better. I don’t want to fall. I want to see him again, Baz, I mean, just one more time. I want to see him, to remind me that all of this is real, that Magick is real, that I’m real. I try to reach out but the crushing weight holds me back.

I suppose any mage could remind me, but I want it to be Baz. I need it to be Baz, actually. Because even when everything was shifting and changing and nothing was certain Baz was, Baz was certain. He’s been the one constant in my life since I was eleven. 

Even if The Mage was away, even if he went away and never came back and even if Penny gave up on putting up with me and stopped being my friend, even if Agatha broke up with me even if no one else was there by my side Baz would still be my roommate.

I want to hear his voice again, his footsteps around the room reminding me that someone is still here, his clean comforting scent like cedar and bergamot and Magick. I want to hear him play the violin again. I love his music. I think that if I could hear it now I could bring some of the colour back. I don’t want to die, I still have to save The World of Mages, but then again, would my death really matter? I’ve never been welcomed in the Normal world and I’ve only ever caused The World of Mages trouble but I don’t want to go without seeing Baz at least one more time. 

I stay there, in the blackness for what feels like hours—days and whenever I catch myself slipping away, deep down into the darkness I hold onto the one thing I’m always sure of:

Knowing that he’s still alive

Grey eyes

Black hair

The fact that Basilton Pitch is a vampire.

And I don’t know what I’d do without him.

It’s okay now though the black, as long as I keep Baz in my mind I can manage the crushing weight and the piercing all-consuming darkness. I imagine I hear him saying my name, my real name, not Snow but Simon. I’d do anything to hear him call me Simon again. I can hear him but it’s vague and muffled and just too faint to make out but it makes me happy anyway. If I have to be trapped here at least I have that memory.

Then I feel something cold, I look around but there’s still nothing. And then the blackness begins to crack. The colours come roaring back and I’m yanked up through the kaleidoscope back into our room. I’m face to face with Baz— literally.

BAZ

I place my hand against his forehead, he doesn’t seem to notice. Even with my cooler temperature, I know he’s burning up. I cast the first temperature-checking spell that comes to mind which is embarrassingly “You feel a little warm, love!”( it only works for parents/guardians casting it on children or on someone you love romantically.)

I push my thoughts aside and look at the number glowing over his sweaty forehead. 40, I panic! Then I remember that he runs higher than most people because of all the Magick. 

When we were sent to the infirmary after the Chimera the nurse checked us both over for injuries. She took both of our temperatures and declared us healthy. I remember glancing over and seeing that Simon’s was about 38 degrees.

But 40 is still high. I take a deep breath and shake his shoulders, he doesn’t move, he doesn't even blink, his eyes are fixed on the wall behind me. I need to get him to the nurse. I try to pull him off but he’s too heavy like he’s given himself extra weight. 

If we can’t go to the nurse then I’ll have to do something. Healing spells! I force myself to stop take another deep breath and recall all of the healing spells I know.

I cast “Get Well Soon!” and check his temperature again, but nothing changed. I try “Early To Bed And Early To Rise” but still it stays the same. Simon is sobbing now. He calls my name in a broken way reaching out but stiffly, like he’s being restrained.

“I’m here Simon” I say, “I’m right here”. I always have been. I cast “Right As Rain!” his temperature is down to 39.5 but that’s still too high. Desperate, I try “Good As New!” and it goes down to 39 almost there . . . “Fit As A Fiddle” 

I cast “You feel a little warm, love!” again and 38 glows above his forehead. I’m relieved but he’s still staring at the wall. I shake him again, call his name, practically shout it. He doesn’t respond. I whisper in his ear “Simon?” I dare to say the things I’ve always wanted to surely that will startle him awake. “Simon, love I’m right here, I’ve always been here.” He says nothing still staring at the wall.

“Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are!” I cast but there’s nothing but wall.

I stare at him for another long agonising moment and then I’m staring at him, his beautiful blue eyes, his lips I bet they’re so soft, I’ve always wondered what they would feel like. What it would feel like to kiss Simon Snow I’ve always wanted to, I bet it’s warm. I bet I could kiss him right now and he wouldn’t even notice. I could. No, that wouldn’t be fair, it would be like kissing a drunk person. It wouldn't mean anything and I would only feel worse afterwards. Knowing how good it feels and knowing I’d never get to experience it again.

But I feel awful now, don’t I? I feel absolutely terrible. What if he dies? And then I’ll never be able to kiss him and I’ll always be thinking about it, about him. It’s just one little kiss. Right? 

And so I do it. The one thing I’ve always wanted to do. It isn’t hard with him sitting up as he is. I kissed him. It isn’t as good as I imagined but then again that's probably because he’s edging on close to half-dead at this point. But either way, I’m kissing him, I’m kissing Simon Snow. 

And then he blinks.

(A/N: to be continued . . . )

[twntyfiveotwo]

i know my fking issue

yes i know. i fking know. i dont care about love. i dont care about who loves me or who i love. all i love is the feeling of being loved. which is why i always become insanely infatuated when i have a dream of me being delicately loved by a face i dont recognise. which is why i lock myself in my memories and reminisce all the good feelings i once had. you see, i know how insane and pathetic it sounds. but it feels good. to know, to remember that i was once loved.

he loved me at a time when i didnt know how to love myself. he loved me at my lowest, when i was so fking depressed and so desperate for love. he was my double edge sword - the cause of my anxiety because i would spend hours with him rather than on things i should do. but also, my safe space. if anything, every night i always always looked forward to our pillow talk with one another. and we would share our vulnerabilities with each other. it feels so raw, yet so real. and the first time he said "i love you" was before we even met each other. i wanted to see him, but i also would rather save myself the look of disgust that would appear on his face because i knew for sure no one would accept my physical appearance. impulsively, we made plans to meet, we booked all our places. and 2 days before meeting, i pushed myself to face my fear and sent him a real time picture of me. he told me, "i'm sorry but i dont think i can continue this". understandable, at least he got the courage to reject me directly.

i travelled as planned. i persuaded him to come down. i said "no strings attached, just come out and we hang as friends if thats ok. i dont have any other company here". he declined. he said he doesnt think it's appropriate. but yet we continued to play games and talked like nothing was wrong. later that night, he told me he was coming down to hang. im like sure, knowing full well how the night would go. we watched a horror movie, and after the movie ended we fucked. as always. allowing my body to be used by a man that doesnt love me. but who the fk cares at this point. the next day i went out with my friends. i left half of my cash with him because he said he was going out and i was concerned that he might not have enough money. we met later at night at a bar, together with my friends. we all drank and played drinking games together. at that point of time tbh fwb was probably the best description for whatever we shared. so we didnt cross each others' boundaries. then as we were going back to where i stayed together, i got tipsy-excited and started doing little skips in front of him. i remember turning back to wait for him, and then walking off side by side with him. as we were about to cross a road, he held my hand. i didnt dare to hold back. i just thought to myself, "what a kind gesture. he is probably worried for me because im drunk and he wouldnt want me running across the road". what caught me off guard was that he didnt let go even after we crossed the road. he continued to hold my hand as we walked all the way back to our accomodation. and when we were back, we fucked again. after the fucking, i asked him, "does this mean that we are back together?" he said, "what do you think?" i said "i dont know" he questioned me, "do you want us to be back together?" and i said, "yea". he nodded his head. i asked him, "what is it that made you want to reconcile?" he said, "im not sure either". i assumed it was cause i happened to be convenient.

or maybe not. because if it was just out of convenience he didn't have to be so sweet to me:

i still remember how we ran under the sudden downpour when we were walking to one of our karaoke sessions. we both ended up being soaking wet. but the first thing he did was to make sure i was alright. he tried to wipe me dry, despite how much of a mess i was. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how excited he looked when i came down from the bus during my second trip. and when we arrived at our hotel, i found it hard to use the toilet because i couldnt stand floor with small tiles. he offered and asked me to stand on his feet despite my size. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how much of a crowd there was during new years eve. and there were all those annoying fuckers that would horn the new year trumpet right in front of our faces. i was overwhelmed. the moment he noticed that, instead of leading me from the front, he walked behind me and cupped my ears as we walked through the crowd. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how there was one time he went out with he friends to drink. he called me when he was drunk and started crying, saying that he missed me. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember on my third trip there, he squeezed in a part time job shift just so we can use some extra cash for our date. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how we climaxed together for the last sex that we had, and i guess it felt really good for him. when we were showering together, he looked at me with those googly eyes. i shyed away from it, and asked him why was he looking at me like that. he said he found me cute. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

i still remember how he came back from his pt shift way past midnight and craved for some cold beer. i offered to go down to buy by myself cause he said he was tired. i went to the convenience store and snapped a pic asking him if that was the correct beer. he called me and asked me where was i. i said the convenience store. he said "stand there, im coming down. when i asked you to go down and buy i meant the front counter of the hotel, not the convenience store! do you know how dangerous it is for you to go out alone this late at night?" and when he reached, the first thing he did was to check up and down that i was alright while holding on to my shoulders. despite being tired. if that wasnt romance, idk what is.

but so what. so fking what. all the moments above didnt change the fact that he ghosted on me. he could have said something if he wanted to break up. maybe my anxious attachment style made it hard for him to breathe. but say something darling, i would have let you go. because truth be told, neither of us were made for long distance r/s. i want to believe that there were some pocket of moments when he loved me. actually, you know what, i do believe there were some moments that he loved me. but i guess, the love was not enough for us to overcome the struggles of a ldr. not that it matter, because this r/s is long over.

but thanks, i guess. he made me feel loved during a time when i didnt think anyone was capable of loving me. and while the rs was short lived, it was one of the sweetest rs i had. in fact, listening to the songs he shared to me & reliving through all these memories made me feel like wow, i actually once had a novel-like romance. so, thanks for that i guess. i still miss you sometimes, why wouldnt i. but boy, the heartbreak you gave me at that time. it drove me insane. but since when does love not drive me crazy. it always does.

[opheliasflood]

she picked her nails for a few moments, silent, trying to find the words most appropriate. ophelia was the picture of grace yet, could completely unravel such an image with her often indelicate manner of speaking. "my ex-husband...emir," the blonde began, letting out a slow breath. who had she explicitly told this to? nobody. nobody.

"he...well. he hit me now and again. just when i refused to be a good and quiet wife, just - fucking arm candy," it was the way it was worded, just, as if that was a justifiable reason for raising a hand to the women one was married to. there was the other reason, to, one ophelia didn't want to speak out loud ; no child had come from the marriage. no heir to the demirci tech conglomerate.

at some point, her hands begun to tremble, still picking at the the corners where small scabs and skin reddened from her ministrations. "i didn't have anybody, at that time. i tried to...tell mom but she just...asked me what i was doing wrong?"

ophelia had told herself to stop crying over it. that tears wouldn't help, and they didn't but...now? recalling the worst part of her life to thaddeus? she could feel the pressure behind her eyes, the building in her chest.

"but then hal came to visit, and he was so nice to me, thad. he looked at me as a whole person, not a - not a fucking object to be placed on a shelf and admired!" the tears began to fall now, dark eyes not looking up, never looking up. "we started sleeping together. it made my life easier, you know? bearable, at least. when i finally...got a divorce, i did so with the idea that hal would be on the other side. that i could be - happy,"

the word is spoken with a pathetically wet laugh.

"he wasn't there. nobody was - nobody was fucking there! and now he has the - the fucking gall to turn up in greywood and act like everything's so fucking normal!" her voice cracks then, and the drops flow into rivers as ophelia sobs. "what did i do so wrong, to deserve the misery i feel?"

“You can tell me anything,” Thaddeus responded, unsure exactly what Ophelia was about to divulge to him.  As she continued, it felt as if his stomach was doing flips.

“Whatever you need to tell me, it is going to be okay.  I am here for you.”

As she instructed him to sit down, he calmly eased himself down onto the sofa as his blue eyes remained on his younger sister.  Right now, he was very nervous but tried to remain still and not fidget, wanting to give Ophelia one hundred percent of his attention and let her know that everything would be fine.

Slowly breathing through his nostrils, he counted slowly as he tried to give her as much time she needed to process whatever she needed to tell him. Thaddeus reached over to gently place his hand on her leg.  “It’s okay, take as much time as you need.”

[sunstaar]

Forgetful

Kakashi Hatake x gn!reader

Word Count: 0,9k

Ao3

Summary: You are very forgetful, but luckily for you, Kakashi always comes prepared.

There was something delicate yet so harsh about the snow falling down from the sky, decorating the landscape surrounding yourself and Kakashi. The two of you were dressed in weather-appropriate clothing to keep you warm as snowflakes began adorning your bodies, only to melt in the end and soak whatever they touched. Against the heavy puffer jacket, you did not mind the nature-born speckles standing out, making you look so as though moments prior you had been rolling in the snow.

What you did mind, however, was how the snowflakes felt against the uncovered parts of your neck: first cold and then wet, making you shiver immediately upon contact. While several flakes lost their way to the ground and instead nestled in the space where your neck was not covered by both your knitted scarf and jacket, most of them had your hands feeling as though at any moment they might fall off.

It was then that you also realized that you forgot your gloves at home. You didn’t need to be told that it was stupid of you, idiotic even. While Konoha wasn’t known for harsh winters that exceeded the expectations and forecasts, covering your skin was always advised to avoid any kinds of health issues from the snow falling from the sky and ice forming on the ground.

But of course, you of all people just had to forget your gloves. If your cheeks weren’t feeling quite hot already from how compressed you were in your winter wear, akin to a sushi roll as Kakashi had commented moments before you two stepped outside, they would be feeling by now due to the embarrassment coursing through you.

“‘Kashi,” You began hesitantly. By now, you were already rubbing your hands together in the hope that the resulting friction would create enough heat to keep you at least somewhat warm. “I forgot my gloves at home.”

In your opinion, you did sound a bit pathetic as you spoke these words, because what was he supposed to do about your forgetfulness? Throughout your relationship, had it not been for Kakashi, you probably would not have your head on your neck anymore, as by now, you would have forgotten it somewhere. When beginning to date him it hadn’t been your intention for him to make sure you don’t forget anything, he had taken on the roll without any protest and always looked over your shoulder, checking that you have everything with you.

(The fact that you would forget was something you should have seen coming by now and somehow, you didn’t.)

Your boyfriend looked over at you, several strands of his silver hair falling out of his knitted cap as he moved his head. They fell near his eyes, but not close enough to obscure his sole charcoal eye from glancing down at your almost blue hands, before looking up at your face again.

Kakashi let out a slow sigh, shaking his head with a smile. “I knew this was going to happen,” He said in a tone that reminded you of a parent scolding their child. Quicker than your eyes could follow, Kakashi pulled something out of one of the pockets of his jacket and held it out to you. Your eyes widened as you saw the pair of gloves he held in his own gloved hand, nudging you to take them. “so I came prepared.” There was a twinkle in his eye when he spoke his words, one of mirth mixed with mischief.

“‘Kashi …” You whispered, evidently surprised by his action. To call it ‘heart-warming’ would be a major understatement in your opinion. You turned your head to look at him and the soft smile visible from underneath his mask. With a smile of your own, you said, “You didn’t have to.”

The silver-haired Shinobi shrugged leisurely, his scarf moving with the motion of his shoulders. “Better safe than sorry.” While he hadn’t noticed your lack of gloves the moment the two of you made your way out of the door, he was glad that he had taken an extra pair with him, just to be safe.

Carefully, you took the pair of gloves out of his hand and into your own, your hand noticeably shaking from the cold as you did so. The way your fingers clamped around the warm material worried him, so much so that he took the gloves into his hand again.

“Let me help you.” Kakashi said, not giving you any room to argue with you.

Without hesitating, you held your hands out to him and watched as he stuffed one of the gloves into his jacket again before he slipped the right glove onto your right hand. He first made sure that your fingers were all in the right spot before he pulled it down to fit snuggly. Then, Kakashi repeated the same steps with the left glove and left hand, making sure that it too, kept your cold fingers warm.

To seal the deal, Kakashi gently lifted both of your now gloved hands and pressed a masked kiss to each of them before intertwining one of his hands with yours, smiling at you. “Shall we?”

How could you say no to him? There was no doubt, that you were lucky to be dating such a thoughtful man as Kakashi.

The smile you offered him was genuine. Now that your hands no longer felt cold due to you being so forgetful, you were ready to enjoy your day out with your boyfriend. “We shall.”

[offtorivendell]

Elain Archeron's trauma should not be mocked

Not least because we shouldn't mock any of their respective traumas, but there could also be a plot or magic-based reason that would account for Elain's avoidance of crowds and war camps etc, rather than the typical cries of "she's just weak and pathetic."

Please don't share or screenshot this post without credit.

Disclaimer: this post isn't about any one instance, as belittling Elain's trauma, and her response to it, is pretty much pervasive in the fandom by now. I just hope people see this post and realise that Elain being so affected after she was Made was both a completely reasonable response to what she had experienced, and that there may also be a narrative based reason that she reacted like that. Ship neutral.

TW: mentions of an event being an allegory of rape, as well as canon typical violence, childhood trauma and grooming.

We're all entitled to our character preferences, and I'll never be mad at people for just not jiving with Elain Archeron's character - I have my preferences, too! - but this is just a gentle reminder to ACOTAR's fandom at large that mocking trauma isn't a good look. We shouldn't have to tear down one character to build up another, when their achievements can speak for themselves.

Trauma isn't a competition, though one can absolutely argue that Elain has experienced a lot of hardship over the course of her life, and...

There may be a reason that Elain struggled so much in the beginning, especially during the war, that furthers her character and the plot.

Elain handled her trauma differently, which doesn't mean it was less than.

It shouldn't need to be said, but here we are. People frequently reduce the entirety of Elain's trauma to "a bad break-up." This is unfair, not only because the breakdown of a relationship can and will cause many people to shut down - especially if their ex partner seemed to change over night, as Graysen must have done if Nesta's ACOMAF report that he and Elain were smitten with each other was accurate - but also because she experienced so much more.

Elain experienced period appropriate grooming from childhood, by her mother, who sought to use her as a pawn on the marriage market, equated her worth with her beauty, and thought that she couldn't, or possibly ensured that she wouldn't, ever dream of more. It's unclear how much of this continued after their mother died, but regardless, that sort of belief - or lack thereof - in and about yourself can take years to overcome.

She, like Feyre and Nesta, were impoverished at a young age, when their father's business lost everything. They then fell further, as what little money they had ran out, and they experienced starvation at certain times of the year. If Feyre hadn't taken it upon herself to hunt, they likely would have died. Elain may live comfortably now, but for a good long while she did not, and I'm sure that, like Feyre and Nesta, she does not take their current existence for granted.

Just like Nesta, Elain was kidnapped and Made into a faerie. Disregarding the fact that humans were taught to fear faeries from childhood, and all of the emotions that she (and Nesta) would have had to deal with purely to unpack all of that when they became their biggest fear, Elain's autonomy was ignored, and her body changed without her permission at a cellular level, which could reasonably be interpreted as an allegory of r*pe or SA. Elain went into the Cauldron first with no expectation of surviving the incident, and then experienced the guards around her laughing at her naked form, which was exposed through her shear/wet nightgown, and described in detail to the point Feyre said she hadn't seen Elain's legs for years. Just to be clear, acknowledging this possibility doesn't negate the trauma of any other character in the series, because we have already established that trauma should not be a competition.

After having her species changed against her will, Elain started to experience visions that she could neither explain nor understand. Her sisters, and others, thought she was going "mad," and didn't heed her cryptic warnings when in reality she was lost in her unknown powers. This must have been an incredibly scary time for her, as we have decent evidence that some of what she was Seeing was at least unpleasant, if not outright violent.

After all that she had been through, Graysen - her fiance, who supposedly loved her - cast her off in an incredibly public and painful manner. I personally suspect that Elain knew her marriage to Graysen could no longer go ahead (though I don't blame her for trying to tell him she loved him anyway), and she went to his land to beg for sanctuary for the other humans, regardless. However, his harsh betrayal of her would have understandably left fresh wounds on her already raw soul, and to laugh at this is, in my opinion, pretty shitty; Elain was planning her future with Graysen - running her own home, likely a family (given the times, and associated societal expectations)... everything she had been raised to attain - and it was gone, lost. Even if this was all Elain had experienced, she would be well within her rights to take time to heal before embarking on a new romance, or plotting her new life's course. Throw in the looming war and being a new, magical species, and she had a lot to deal with.

Not only would experiencing a war, and all that it would entail, be traumatic enough, but Elain was kidnapped once more. The Cauldron - we assume - used her remaining love for Graysen against her and lured her outside the wards of their camp, where it winnowed her back to the Hybern army's camp. We don't know who she met, or what she experienced, while there, but we do know that she managed to remain calm and collected, and aid Feyre and Azriel as much as she could in her own rescue, given the spelled chains she still wore (chains that had to be removed by Helion Spell-Cleaver no less, so let's not shame a newly Made faerie for being unable to escape them herself).

Like her sisters, Elain likely saw her father die. Perhaps she even Saw his death, but had to choose between saving him or Nesta (and Cassian). At the "very least," she lost her father, whom she loved, in the war, and was unable to say goodbye.

I'll expand on this below, but isolating herself through the war may have been a way to cope with her Sight, as Nesta used sex and alcohol to cope with her Cauldron/Death magic and PTSD in general. And to clarify, I'm absolutely not shaming Nesta for this, just pointing out the parallel: both sisters found ways to cope with their trauma and new powers. Their methods matched their needs.

If I've forgotten anything, please feel free to add on!

What if Elain was Seeing all the awful potential futures they could live?

Elain spent a lot of time with glazed, foggy eyes, or blinking, throughout ACOWAR. @wingedblooms has discussed this before (here and here), and I agree, that Elain's near constant blinking could possibly hint at her Sight being active. As I suggested in the final point before, her self-enforced isolation may not have only been the result of her dealing with her recent kidnapping, species change and heartbreak.

What if she was secluding herself to manage her visions?

Elain, on her first vision to Windhaven, saw all of the gathered soldiers, then asked if many would die. Wouldn't you know it, she was blinking at the time.

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army. Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. “Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta said beneath lowered brows. [...] Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground. [...] Elain at last slid into the chair near Mor’s, her dawn-pink dress—finer than the ones she usually wore—crinkling beneath her. “Will—will many of these soldiers die?” - ACOWAR, chapter 51

It's likely Elain also Saw Cassian's death, which many think might have been at the hands of the King of Hybern, if she hadn't acted to save him and Nesta.

“Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.” Nesta’s nostrils flared, but Elain peered up at Cassian, blinking twice. “He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” I tried to shut out the sound of Cassian’s scream—the memory of the spraying blood. Nesta stared at her plate. Elain, at least, was out of her room, but … “It’ll take more than that to kill me,” Cassian said with a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. Elain only said to Cassian, “No, it will not.” - ACOWAR, chapter 30

It doesn't seem much of a stretch, then, to wonder if Elain may have been keeping herself in her tent whenever possible to avoid visions of death and destruction that were triggered by her proximity* to the warriors, or the war camp in general. And I wouldn't blame her at all for that. She had been a human, with no personal experience with magic of her own, only a few months ago. She was only told she was a Seer - ie. not going "mad" - no more than two months before the war began. That is a LOT to get on top of in a very short amount of time.

* This could also be why - at least in part - Elain has chosen to lead a quiet life, avoiding large gatherings like drinking halls etc, until she gets on top of her powers; which, I assume, will be in her book.

Feyre suggested, in ACOWAR, that she should have made sure Elain trained as Nesta did; was this not only to ensure her powers would be at their most useful, but because - unbeknownst to them - out of control Sight has the potential to be either painful or unbearable? In an era when historically momentous upheaval - like a great war - is about to occur, would Seers be more likely to experience unprompted visions, due to the uncertainty of the future?

Imagine going from having a mind that was entirely your own, to one that is - hypothetically - being inundated with awful visions of battles and death that you haven't yet learnt to control. Then, because you know how worried your family was before, and you don't want to stress them out again, especially as they're preparing for war, you keep it to yourself and do what you can to manage it all, quietly. If Elain was experiencing such waves of premonition, it could nicely explain her actions, though once again, no one should be shamed for being overwhelmed by a war camp and the stress of an upcoming battle! Avoidance is not the healthiest of options, granted, but that's where Elain's subsequent character growth, and future book, have and will come in.

Just like her sisters, her time will come.

Please remain respectful in the comments/reblogs.

[taechaos]

Little Secret

pairing: step-dad!Jungkook x fem!Reader

synopsis: From a fun celebration to not getting to the bathroom on time, you pee yourself in the middle of the living room and your step-dad has to take care of you.

warnings: smut, pseudo-incest, urine, fingering in tub, dubcon

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is the disgusting fic i was talking about 🥰 not proofread, just smth i wrote in one day for fun. enjoy as long as u dont hate piss lol 😔👍

It's a night of celebration—the end of high school. It's the best celebration yet because you, after surviving hell of twelve years, are at the legal age to drink in a bar with your friends; the best night you can recall in your drunken state. Dancing, singing karaoke, giggling: pure joy.

So why are you crying while stumbling around in the living room? You sob and hiccup with a hand over your face and the other holding the couch for support. It has never been so difficult to stand straight, and you're thankful your mother's sleep is so heavy that she wouldn't wake up from your wails. 

But your step-dad's sleep is as light as a cat's, and you don't hear his heavy footsteps or grumbles as he climbs down the stairs. He rubs the sleep away from his eyes and they widen the moment they lay on you. He's about to call your name until his eyes trail down to the dark patch on your jeans. He doesn't need to ask why you're crying so loudly; it's easy to tell you're under the influence, and well, it apparently makes you very emotional since you're so upset about peeing your pants. 

But you're not exactly doing anything about it.

"Oh, it's okay," Jungkook coos and walks over to you to bring you into a light hug. 

You snuggle your face into his loose white shirt and sniffle. "I didn't– I didn't mean to," you snivel. "I-I couldn't get to the," you inhale shakily, "b-bathroom on time."

"That's okay," he runs his fingers through your hair soothingly, equally disheveled as his. "Don't cry, sweetheart. It happens; it's not a big deal. We'll get you cleaned up."

"I-I ruined it!"

"The washing machine—"

"No," you whimper pathetically, "it's ruined. My denim—" your head rolls back along with your eyes to the back of your skull. You go limp for a few seconds, and Jungkook holds you tightly. Just as he's about to ask you if you're alright, you continue, "the denim is forever ruined!"

Stepping away from his clutches, you rub your palms against the knees of your jeans and then the damp crotch area. The crotch and knees feel different; it makes your face scrunch up in sorrow. "Never the same," you exhale in a trembling voice.

Jungkook watches you in surprise and amusement. You tend to be closed off around him, well in the past year that he's been married to your mother at least. It makes him feel guilty to like you better drunk—extroverted.

"We'll get you new jeans then," he tries to comfort, but you only shake your head. 

"Feel it."

He sighs with a breathy chuckle and feels your jeans as you asked. He touches your pockets and then your crotch, practically cupping your heat. It's still warm with your urine and you pout at the look he gives you. You misinterpret it as disappointment, but it's a look of suppressing laughter. "Like I said, it's not a big deal. I'll wash it, okay? Your mother won't know."

You scoff and wipe your tears away. "Thank you. I-I'm very sorry, so sorry."

"Don't be. Let's go to your room," he slings his arm around your shoulder and walks you upstairs. You hold onto his waist and keep your gaze downcast. 

Your hiccups don't cease when you face the door of your bedroom. He twists the doorknob and lets you enter first. With puckered lips and tear stains on your face, you wait for him to come after you. He does, and then turns away from you. "Hand your jeans over to me, okay? I won't look."

He hears you shuffling behind him, and you don't take long to place the tainted pants in his waiting open palm. Your feet don't stay planted on the floor and you eventually land on your bed. The bathroom is right behind you, but you can't muster the energy to sit up nor open your eyes. "My underwear," you mumble with the side of your face squished against the sheets. 

At your indirect request, he cranes his neck and takes a peek at you. You're lying on your stomach and his eyes unintentionally travel to your ass. For being your step-dad, he thinks it to be okay for him to drink in this erotic sight. It isn't as if he's about to take advantage of a drunk girl, no less his step-daughter.

"You can't take them off?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head.

He blows out a deep breath and stands before your feet. The sight of your wet panties isn't meant to be attractive, but it does get his stomach in knots. He grabs the edges of your underwear and asks you to lift your hips, which you do sluggishly. They're off within seconds and he picks up your jeans from the floor before aiming to exit. He has to get out and cleanse his mind of all his filthy thoughts from seeing your bare pussy two inches from his mouth. "Don't fall asleep before taking a shower first," he reminds with flushed cheeks and pushes the door open.

"Help me," you whine childishly before he can leave. 

He sighs your name as if exhausted—reluctant.

"Please!"

As if it's not bad enough that he got a small glimpse of your pussy, now you're asking him to give you a shower while completely naked. He's trying to be respectful by keeping his focal point at bay, but your ass is still hanging out while you're on the verge of a tantrum.

"Oh God," he mutters to himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. He gives in.

After throwing your dirty clothes in the washing machine downstairs, he returns quickly so he doesn't catch you fast asleep. Thankfully you're still awake, but not so alert.

He warns you to keep your eyes open while he fills the tub in your bathroom. There's a water bottle on your bedside table, which he tells you to drink lots from until he's back. He throws in a pink bath bomb sitting on the edge of your tub so you can hopefully relax. Never has he seen someone be in such a childlike headspace after drinking.

But childlike doesn't fit the current scenario when he's lying under your naked body in his boxers in the bathtub because you seem to be a lot clingier when drunk. You don't move a lot, which is a plus, but your butt is pressed against his crotch, which doesn't make the situation any better. 

"I'm sorry," you slur sleepily, "I really didn't mean to." He can pick up the strong scent of vodka lingering around you better in this position.

He tightens his arms around your shoulders with his hands clasped above your chest as he whispers, "Don't apologize, sweetheart. You won't remember this when you wake up, and I'll keep it a secret. Don't you worry about a thing."

"Why are you crying?" he asks softly when you start to sob again. It's a dry cry, and he's certain you don't know what you're doing yourself at this point.

"I can't do anything," you complain, "I'm so tired and-and I can't move."

He stays silent so you can comfortably babble on and on about nothing until you say, "Wash me. Please."

Jungkook lightly pecks your neck and eyes your tits before dipping his hands in the warm, pinkish water and scrubbing your shoulders. You sigh at his gentle touch, prompting him to switch to your knees. "My knees are not dirty," you grumble incoherently.

"Hm? You're not dirty?"

"I'm not dirty there."

"And you're dirty where?" He's teasing you, knowing exactly where you want to be cleaned, but that'd further agonize him with how little freedom his erection has under the tight restraints of his briefs. It wouldn't be appropriate of him to use you to get rid of it, but is it against the law to simply bathe you?

"Down," you vaguely murmur.

He can't see anything of your lower region from the courtesy of the blanket of colorful hue that the bath bomb transitioned to, which both annoys and relieves Jungkook. But his hand only listens to you as it trails down to your pelvis. "Here?"

You nod against his shoulder, and that's all the confirmation he needs to palm your vulva. You gasp and slightly jump before adjusting to the feeling of his hand. The adjustment proves to be futile when a small moan slips past your lips at his fingers grazing your labia. 

“You want me to stop?”

“No, no,” you breathe with a shake of your head. “I want to be clean, otherwise no sleep.”

“That’s right,” he chuckles and starts running his fingers down your folds. Stopping at your clit, he starts to circle the hood to thoroughly give you the cleaning you desire so much. It isn’t with any ill intentions that he gently cups your pussy and moves it up and down while you squeak out moans without shame. After a few rubs and touches, he's confident there is no more remaints of your drunk mistake. “You’re clean now, love. Want to go to bed?”

“I’m not,” you whine loudly and hold his wrist to keep his hand in place. “I’m not clean,” you cry out and he knows you’re going to start sobbing again, which you do—except your volume might risk waking your mother.

He tries to hush you, but you don’t stop with the crocodile tears. “Baby, baby, look at me,” he pulls your face by your chin, but you escape his grip easily and continue with your tantrum. “I won’t clean you if you don’t look at me.”

With your newfound defiant attitude, it's with a few huffs and puffs that you finally face him and he silences your sniveling with a press of his lips. It's not a kiss in his defence; neither of you are moving your mouths, which he appreciates now that you've gone quiet.

Now that the risk of your mother waking is taken care of, his hand is on your hidden heat again. At this point, it's easy to tell you're not worried about being clean anymore. You aren't sleepy, though you keep your eyes closed from being in this intimate proximity with Jungkook, you're in need of a climax. It's a shame that he's in a similar state as you, but if you're drunk to the point of asking your step-dad to touch you, it wouldn't be clever of him to ask you to return the favor.

Despite his clear lack of vision, Jungkook is a human anatomy professor and he finds your clit and squeezes it between two fingers easily, not to mention he's already experienced in the sex field. Your lips part into a whine and he opens his mouth to swallow your sounds as he slowly rubs your clit.

You lean into the—now labelled as—kiss needily, and he lowers his hand to poke at your entrance with his middle finger. He stupidly peeks an eye open to see if he's located it correctly, but your subtle thrust is approval enough. He cautiously shoves it inside your tightness and uses his palm to continue pleasuring your sensitive nub, grabbing your tit with his other hand to play with your nipple. 

"Oh God, hmmm," you moan against his lips and sloppily make out with him, smearing your slick saliva all over. He hums into you, unbothered by your raw affection as he thrusts his finger inside and pinches your nipple to get you to cum faster. He can't have you sobering up any time soon.

"Are you close, love?"

You murmur something in response, but it's not intelligible enough for him to understand, so he assumes you're at least getting somewhere. He quickens the pace of his thrusts, his palm against your clitoris; massages your boob more roughly and moves his mouth down to kiss your neck. As he's giving you a small love bite, your breathing turns into mere gasps with little broken moans. If he could, he would add a second finger to your pussy, but your clenching hole doesn't feel so ready when he curls his knuckle. 

You clutch onto his hair, chanting, "I'm gonna pee again, I'm gonna pee again…" 

"Try to hold it in, baby," he cuts in hoarsely without ceasing his movements. He does slow down when your legs start to shake and tremble, splashing the water as you do as he leaves calming pecks on your neck, collarbone, and a few on your lips. Not as a warning to lower your voice—your last moans are ones to savour—but to ride out your high. He has no idea if you did squirt in the tub, but he isn't going to take another shower to wash it down. He wants to feel it on his skin.

He can feel your pounding heartbeat under his hand as your body spasms and grinds on his erection. A moment of silence passes with your shaky inhales and exhales while he pets your hair. 

When he feels you calm down, he asks, "Do you feel clean now?"

"Bed."

"Alright," he whispers and kisses your cheek. Your eyes are closed and he predicts you'll be fainting soon, so he pulls the plug with ease and waits for the water to drain before pulling you up by your pits. It's a bit of a struggle because of your slippery wet skin, as well as the water weight on you, but manages to get you out and immediately throws you on the bed. He grabs a towel hanging on the bathroom door and dries you before himself.

Jungkook considers himself an honorable man most of the time, but he can't refrain from jerking off to your naked body while you doze off. Like he said, you won't remember a thing, so it'll be his little secret as he releases on your tits with a groan. He wipes off the evidence of his unorthodox actions, pecks you and your pretty little pussy before dressing you in your pajamas. 

He puts on his clothes and tucks you in before leaving your room with a quiet, "Good night, sweetheart."

All there's left to do is persuade you into doing this again while sober, because he didn't marry your wretched bitch of a mother after two months of meeting if not to have you all for himself. He doesn't mind letting you in on that one secret with time.

[infernooftheivth]

The elder stays where he was, not moving a muscle as he listens to the others. It wasn’t like he was phased, though his body burned in pain. It wasn’t till they were gone, that he slowly decides to move, groaning as he he was in a pain he wasn’t quite used to anymore.

Feeling hands take hold of him, Sartauvoir looks over in surprise, taken back a bit by the kindness as his own pale one stares at Albeleo under the many strands of now messy blond hair. “...I guess...’ His eye drops to the ground. Though his nose and lips were bloody, possibly his nose being broken, there was a cut about his good eye, and even bruises forming about his face and neck where they laid their hands on him, with his clothes being wet and ragged from snow and mud. Seeing something in the corner of his eye, the Mage Knight looks over at the vial before shaking his head. “Save it for someone who actually needs it. I shall be fine in due time...” Besides, he been through worse. But he did snort at the remark of the mess nearby. “I do not know about that, I believe you let them off easy.” After all, the elezen knew who he was speaking too. Fixing his hair and putting it back as it was the best he could before putting most of it in the hat, the blond freezes up in confusion as he does as he was told.

Having his eyepatch touch, Sartauvoir tenses up, raising his hand a bit before quickly bringing it down as to not break the command. Looking away, he feels the brush of the other elezen’s fingers, however, instead of doing anything inappropriate in his mind, the younger simply made sure it was in place and snug. Sighing in relief, not realizing he was holding his breath, the Mage Knight looks over. “T-thank you... again, you did not have to do that...” It was here he finally turns to where the blood that was not his own way, and stares at it as a strange glint hits his eyes. “Poor bedside matters indeed. For people who speak so highly of themselves and the rest so lowly, they certainly do not play the part most of the time...Least of all when it is most appropriate to do so...” Chuckling softy the elder looks at Albeleo before frowning, his expression darkens. “Personally I did not fight back, in understanding that if I did, they may take it as disobeying orders, or worse... And look down upon our Legion, even seeing us as traitors... However, to insult even you, is unforgivable...” He looks over to where the others ran. “Shame indeed, that they did not stick around. If they properly acted on their words and thoughts... and fought me on a proper battlefield with fair rules, well, mayhap not only would your void be sated, but my flames as well...” Perhaps...next time... “They mayhap they would learn not to just a book by its cover. Much less insult a man above themselves and their own pitiful lonely pathetic purposes in life can finally have a purpose...” Here, a sickly grin covered in blood appears on his face as he leans over with a groan before grabbing a hand full of snow as he cleans his face with it before tossing it aside. It would seem, he may even have some broken ribs, damn... Maybe now he should learn some healing spells.

"mind if I step in?" (Albeleo)

Send "Mind if I step in?" For my muse's response to yours stepping in to help them out of a sticky situation...

Panting as he knees in the snow covered with his own blood, he hears laughing and mocking behind him as his hand slowly grabs snow as it curls into a fist, however, he doesn't move as a ground of men stands above him.

Do not fight, you mustn't give them a reason to tear down the Legion because you could not handle the heat...

No...as easy as it would be to burn them to ashes, it will only bring ill will to the others.

Slowly opening his eye, he looks up enough to see a steel toe boot coming for his voice, only for it to stop an inch from his nose, as the elder slowly looks over to see Albeleo standing before them.

No, the other shouldn't waste his time in this matter.

"Just...need a few more minutes, Master..." Hearing the Garlean soldier mock him for calling a younger and smaller savage Master, only for them to turn on Albeleo. No, that will not do... Turning their insults and mockery towards the younger, asking if he was the freaks Master and if that would make the mage a Master Freak, the Mage Knight slowly starts to get up as flames dance about his fingers as he feels his blood flare up.

No, that was a step too far for even pathetic fools.

[imaginepirates]

Pirate

For the anon who wanted a James x reader where they meet on the Pearl, but James doesn’t have the guts to admit that he’s falling for them. Later, (we’re pretending his death didn’t happen), they meet again at Shipwreck Cove, and James confesses his feelings during the battle on the Dutchman.

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​  @hellspawn-brownies​ @groovyfluxie​ @wordsinwinters​

~3760 words. Long again. 

~~~~~~~

           His hair hung in wet strings around his face. Whether they were matted together with water, alcohol, or vomit, you weren’t sure you wanted to know, though you suspected it to be a mixture of all three. A guard rail was all that kept him upright. He was a disaster, even for a pirate. Not that he’s a pirate, either.

          The former Commodore looked a wreck. You would be, too, you supposed, if you’d drunk yourself into complete oblivion. And someone needs to take away that damned wig. Currently, it sat on his head much like some bird’s nest, and you half-expected a gull to land in it at any moment. Pity mingled with your disgust. There had been a time when his name alone had struck fear into you. Now, he was a pathetic image, unable to do so much as hold himself up on two feet. He couldn’t strike fear into a fly.

          You were a bit surprised that Elizabeth, of all people, showed him no sympathy. Even Jack looked a bit repulsed, which was saying something, given that Jack himself was never in a prime state. He staggered upright, puking over the side of a railing.

          You sighed, walking brisky over, snatching the wig off the top of his head and tossing it overboard. He looked up at you through bleary eyes.

          “What the bloody hell was that for?”

          “You look awful.”

          “Thank you for your astute assessment.” Even drunk, his tone dripped sarcasm, and you were a little surprised.

          He’s still in his wits, then. You looked him over again. Somewhat. “You look marginally less awful without the wig.” He grunted. You grabbed the bottle he was holding, too, and threw it over the side.

          “Now that’s just a waste.”

          “You need to sober up.”

          “And who exactly are you, that it’s your job to police me?”

          “You’re embarrassing, is all, and it’s no good to be embarrassed by crewmates.”

          He snorted. “You should write to the admiralty. That sort of thinking would have spared me many of my own crewmates throughout the years.” He stared down into the waves, where his water-clogged wig had begun to sink under the surface.

          “Well, you don’t want to be that person, do you?”

          “At this point, I don’t particularly care.” His wig finally lost the battle, disappearing into the murky depths.

          “Have some pride.”

          “Pride?” He pushed himself up, looking coldly into your eyes with his own. “I’ve lost my title, I’ve lost my station, I’ve lost my livelihood. I have no house, nor family, nor friends. I’ve lost everything I ever held dear, including the woman I love, because despite being with her,” here he gestured with his chin to where Elizabeth stood at the helm, “I’m further from her than ever before. Now please, tell me again why I should have pride.”

          If you were being honest with yourself, it was hard to give him an answer. “You still have your life, and for however little that’s worth right now, things could be worse. You could be dead. Take pride in the fact that you didn’t let things get that far.” He scoffed, but you continued. “Go clean yourself up; splash some water on your face, and do something about the vomit in your hair. Things can get better. Clean up, and you’ll be one step closer.”

          He looked at you then, a vulnerability in his eye that wasn’t there before. Hope. He stalked off then, stumbling a bit, but trying admirably to, supposedly, follow your advice.

          Norrington carried out his tasks admirably and without complaint, no manner how demeaning for a man of his previous station. He was watched with suspicious eye; but why wouldn’t he be? He had been a ranking officer, after all, and an effective one at that. Too many pirates had been lost to his scouring of the Caribbean. Just how far can you trust a member of the navy, former or otherwise?

          The way he looked at Jack’s compass didn’t escape your notice. He knows. “Not thinking of stealing it, are you?” His neck craned to look up at you from his position kneeling on the deck, a wet cloth in hand. He stopped his scrubbing to glare.

          “I’m not a thief.” He looked back down, returning to his task.

          “You are a pirate.”

          His head whipped up at that, jaw working in annoyance. “I’m not a bloody pirate,” he hissed.

          “Then what the hell are you doing here? Top secret mission? I’m surprised you were chosen; I wouldn’t believe your fall from grace if I weren’t here to see it myself.”

          Norrington was showing clear restraint, obviously wanting to hit you with something. You watched him breifly consider using the wash-rag as a projectile before deciding against it.

          “Commodore Norrington. That was a name to fear, once.”

          The ferocity in his eyes vanished, replaced by sadness, his gaze dropping from yours. “I haven’t been that man in months. I never will be again.”

          “Good.” He shot you a questioning look. “It’s no use to be afraid of you. And, if what I hear from Elizabeth is true, you might learn to have some fun and not be so stiff all the time.” Offence flashes across his face, but you only smiled. “I blame high society. Welcome to freedom, James Norrington. I hope you get a taste for it.”

          He turned to look out over the steadily changing horizon, a soft pink beginning to dust the sky. “So do I.”

          The days wore on, and the crew steadily adjusted to James’ presence. He no longer ate alone, though he ate in silence, and the crew was more willing to interact with him. Elizabeth, you noted, had barely paid him any mind since his arrival. How she could be so callous towards him you didn’t know; you had expected her to at least talk to him, but she barely even looked his way.

          Not that he didn’t look hers. His gaze would fall upon her, sometimes, while he worked, and there was a sadness there that tugged at your heart. He was confused, too, as to her treatment of him. He wanted, more than anything, to be close to her. Even if she could treat him like a friend. But she refused to give him even that much.

          You were tired of watching it. “Come on,” you walked up to him, “let’s do something about that hair.”

          “You haven’t grown tired of telling me what to do, have you?” he drawled. He was propped against a railing, eyes following Elizabeth as she walked across the deck above them. With Jack, you noted. So, it seemed, did James.

          You sighed. “It can only get in the way, hanging down by your face like that.” You turned away, heading down belowdecks. He needs to get away from watching her.

          James followed, pushing off the railing and heading after you. Good. You found a spot with a few barrels—full of apples, you assumed; you never had gotten rid of all of Barbossa’s cargo—that would be suitable for sitting on. You motioned for James to do just that, moving behind him.

          You found yourself at a loss for words. What was there to say? You had little in common, and less that wouldn’t bring back poor memories for him. You kept silent, instead running your fingers through James’ hair. It’s longer than I expected, for a naval man. I wonder if he always kept it like this, or if it was close-cropped, once.

          “What exactly are you doing?” He turned his head a little to look back at you.

          “Braiding.” You separated his hair into three parts, beginning to twine the strands together.

          You expected him to ask you why, or to move away, but he stayed put. “I haven’t worn my hair in a braid since the navy.” It was almost a whisper. Somehow, in the low light of the hull, it seemed appropriate.

          You almost pulled away and apologized, but he went on. “I used to braid it to fit it under that damned wig. It could get so insufferably hot in the sun, though I was always glad to have the hair off the back of my neck. I don’t know how Elizabeth ever managed, in those dresses.” A soft smile sat on his face. “How did any of us manage, back then?”

          You knew he wasn’t speaking of the heat. You tied his hair off with a small strip of ribbon from around your wrist. It was interesting, to see something of yours on him, and you stared at it a moment before moving. “You’ve always kept your hair this long, then?” You moved to a barrel across from him.

          “For years. My mother hated it.” He smiled. “She told me it would be easier if I just cut it off.”

          “Good thing you didn’t.” He looked at you curiously, and you felt yourself beginning to flush. “It suits you.”

          His eyebrows raised in surprise. Even in the dim light of the lanterns, you could see his cheeks turn pink, the color extending down into his collar. You sat in awkward silence a moment, James fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves while you looked down at the black deck. “A name to fear, you said.”

          James was still toying with the cuff on his left wrist when you looked back up. “I think I like you this way better.”

          “I’m not sure I do.”

          You got up, moving to a barrel next to his. “I’d rather not fear you.” You grabbed his hand, taking it gently away from its fiddling. He scanned your eyes. “Like most people, you aren’t as terrifying as the stories make you sound.”

          “I never thought of it that way.”

          “That you struck fear, even into the best of us?”

          “I…” he trailed off. “It seems so ridiculous, that anyone feared me. I know I was good at my job—it was all I was good for.” He scoffed. “But I was so out of place in society…I always felt horribly awkward at all those social events. I was much more afraid of those people than they were of me.”

          “You were like…” you wracked your brain for a parallel. “You were told stories about Blackbeard when you were a child, right?”

          “Yes, of course. Upon reflection, I’m sure they were too dramatic to be true.”

          “That’s how you were to us. You were a reverse Blackbeard.” James laughed aloud at that. “I can’t even tell you how I pictured you. Larger, maybe. Older. And with a horrible, mean beard that took up half your face.”

          James smiled, and you found you quite liked the expression on him. “Am I as scary as the stories?”

          “Not even close. Though I’m sure I wouldn’t want to meet the business end of your sword,” you added.

          “Is Blackbeard as frightening as the tales?” James questioned. Then, more seriously, “Is Davy Jones?”

          You sobered. “Aye, he is.” You found that his hand was still in yours—he hadn’t pulled away. “But it’s mixed with disgust. He isn’t human, anymore. It can be revulting. And sad,” you said, upon reflection. “I can’t imagine; losing your humanity like that.”

          James said nothing, his eyes on your entertwined fingers. He ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Why do you talk to me?”

          You shrugged. “There’s no reason not to.”

          “That doesn’t seem to be the common belief.” He continued to rub gentle circles in the top of your hand. His fingers were calloused from years of hard work, but so were yours. He traced over your knuckles and each finger in turn. His brows furrowed. “It’s pity, isn’t it?”

          You could see how disgusted he was with himself. “Some, yes,” you admitted. “But you’re not half-bad to be around. This was…nice. I haven’t had a quiet moment with someone in ages.”

          He looked at you thoughtfully, using his free hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re not half-bad either, for a pirate.”

          You smiled, and he looked like he might say something more, but he stayed quiet, a soft smile of his own gracing his features. When he left, you knew he was in a better mood than when he came. I wonder if I’ll occupy any of the space in his thoughts that Elizabeth does. It was a silly thought, and you didn’t quite know why it came to mind, but there was a ghostly touch where James had brushed your hair aside, and you realized that you liked the idea of his thinking about you. Wishing for the attention of a naval man. Who would’ve thought?

~~~~~~~

          The news about Isla de Muerta came hard. You had been anxious the entire time, confined to the Pearl on the account that Davy Jones could make an appearance, and the ship would need to be crewed if he did.

          You weren’t prepared for the eventuality that James wouldn’t come back. You had worried, of course, wringing your hands with it, but you hadn’t actually thought…

          You kept your tears for him to yourself. Nobody else was bothered—not even Elizabeth. A man she’s known her entire life, dead, and she has no sorrow to show for it. How can she be so heartless? It was as if nothing had happened at all. The crew ignored it; they were used to that, you supposed. Half your number had been killed by cannibles, after all. But even Gibbs seemed unbothered by the prospect of James’ death.

          Only later did you realize that James had taken the heart. You didn’t believe it, at first, but slowly came to reconcile yourself with the idea. Elizabeth thought him a traitor. But was he ever really on our side? You thought back to your conversations with him. I like you this way better. It had been true. I’m not sure I do. That was true, too, and now he’d shown it.

          At first, none of it mattered to you. He was dead, anyway. Slowly, you began to realize that Jones didn’t have the heart. After all, he hadn’t quit pursuing the Pearl, even if you didn’t have the heart. When you learned that the heart was in possession of Cutler Beckett, damn his eyes, your heart leapt with joy. James is alive! No matter the mood of Jack, or Gibbs, or Elizabeth, or the crew, you could only think of James. He wasn’t killed, then. He used the heart as leverage to secure his old position.

          You pondered the thought. If ever you met him again, would you be afraid? Or would you just be sad?

~~~~~~~

          Shipwreck Cove was just as you’d remembered it. Dimly lit, ships stacked one on the other, whispered conspiracies in every corner. Every sailor’s legend had its place in these ships. There wasn’t a legend that hadn’t been speculated within the fortress, and not a pirate who hadn’t chased them without.

          You had fond memories of the Cove, but less fond memories of the Court. The Brethren Court convened on only the deepest of issues, and you still remembered some of their gatherings from when you were a child. It was loud, and there was no order, and the Court couldn’t meet without at least one death per session.

          It was that way now. Jack toyed with the swords stuck in the globe at the front of the room while the other pirate lords surrendered the miscellaneous junk they deemed their pieces of eight. The end result was a dish full of random trinkets. Not that you didn’t understand; the idea that pirates obtained mass amounts of wealth was a myth. Most of the time, you barely had a shilling to your name. Working with Jack was especially non-lucrative, but it was certainly more entertaining.

          Jack’s hand strayed briefly to the piece of eight at his temple. “Might I point out that we are still short one pirate lord and I’m as content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us.”

          “Sao Feng is dead.”

          You recognized that voice. You whipped around to see Elizabeth, clad in full Chinese armor, sword in hand. You smiled to yourself; she was always full of surprises.

          The best surprise, however, was the man standing at her side. You mouthed James’ name, and his eyes locked on yours. He stepped forward, as if to greet you, but you were interrupted by further discussion of the Court. He’s alive, and he’s here, and I never thought I would see him again. You glanced over your shoulder. And he’s in full uniform.

          The Court was chaos. Barbossa’s plan to free Calypso was not taken well by the others, and you couldn’t blame them. Your mind was preoccupied, focussing on the man somewhere behind you. You wondered if he had seen the relief in your eyes. Had he felt the same?

          A hand settled on your shoulder. You turned to see James, worried eyes staring into your own. He pulled you back, leading you out of the room.

          “James?” You felt your eyes beginning to water. “For the longest time, I thought you had died.” Your voice cracked, and you were unable to stop it.

          He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only reached out to you, pulling you into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry.” His breath tickled your ear. “I’ve done horrible things.”

          You held tightly to the back of his coat. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

          He stepped back, pain blossoming across his features. “I know you can never forgive me, for what I’ve done. I can only hope you-”

          The doors behind you opened, and the Court flooded out. The consensus is war, then.

~~~~~~~

          The rain made it hard for you to keep a good grip on your sword. The Dutchman pitched and rolled under your feet, waves crashing rougly into the sides of the hull. Its mast, tangled with the Pearl’s, loomed above you, a towering dark figure in the haze of the monsoon.

          These damned fish people. The Dutchman’s crew fought more viscously than even Barbossa’s undead pirates. Who knew starfish could be so angry? You feared that their weapons, often tarnished and jagged, would catch on your own and leave you defenseless. I should’ve stayed on the Pearl. But there are fish people there now, too.

          At least you weren’t alone. Elizabeth and Will were with you, as was Jack, though he seemed to be having difficulties of his own. If you hadn’t been fighting for your life, you might have been more amused. You had lost sight of most of your crew mates. You were too focused on the eel-headed freak in front of you to give your fellows much thought. With your swords locked, you had no other way to grapple with the beast. It hadn’t occurred to you that the eel could elongate its neck, which was exactly what it did, arching forward to bite at your face.

          A moment later, the head lay at your feet, the slimy body collapsing beside it. James was there, sword in hand, looking at you with concern. That, or he’s squinting to keep the rain out of his eyes. You gave him a nod, stepping in closer.

          “There are too many of them. We’ll never get to them all. Some of them are coming right out of the walls!” You both looked around yourselves at the endless numbers in the Dutchman’s crew.

          “We only have to kill one.” James gestured towards the other end of the ship, where Davy Jones stood, lobster claw digging into the wood of the deck.

          “We don’t have the heart.”

          “But we both know who does.” James’ face was grim. “I should’ve stabbed it while I had the chance.”

          You grabbed his arm. “No. You would be just like Jones, then, bound to this ship for eternity. You’d have no humanity left.”

          “I’d be better than I am now.”

          The comment broke your heart, but there were too many enemies around for you to focus on it. You slashed at a shark-headed monstrosity before James pulled you in close, stabbing something just behind you. Now isn’t the time for blushing. But James was holding you tightly to his chest, and you heard him shoot another member of Jones’ crew.

          You hated to let go, but you had to duck under James’ arm to go after another, and another. Your back ended up pressed against James’, and you could feel each others’ heavy breathing.

          “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of this alive.” You had to shout to be heard over the thunderous racket. Between the rain, the gunfire, and the sharp clanging of swords, there was little room for words.

          “It doesn’t seem likely.”

          “You were trying to tell me something earlier.” Rain ran down your face in streams. “Now might be your only chance.”

          James put a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. “I wanted to apologize, for it all. I hope you’ll accept it.”

          “Of course.” You grabbed the pistol from his side, leveling it at a creature behind his shoulder.

          “You didn’t deserve what I did.”

          You cupped his face with a hand. “I understand why you did it.”

          “You were the only one who treated me like a person, then, on the Pearl.” He had grabbed your arm, keeping you close. It occurred to you that you were both going to die like this, paying too much attention to each other and not enough to your surroundings. “I can’t…” James took a steadying breath. “I can’t help but love you for it.”

          You barely had time to process the words before his lips were on yours. Despite the storm, and the gunfire, and the clanging of swords—despite the knowledge that neither of you were going to make it out alive—the kiss was achingly tender, with so much softness and vulnerability that tears began to slip down your already soaked cheeks.

          This won’t be such a bad way to go.

          There was a sudden shuddering of the ship, and you and James had to cling to each other to keep upright. You looked up, only to find that the Pearl had broken away, her masts now untangled from the Dutchman’s.

          You tugged at James’ arm. “We have to go. I think the ship’s going under.”

          He nodded, and you found a loose line to swing over to the Pearl. The Dutchman sank not long after you hit the deck. The ship fell beneath the waves, sucked under by the storm.

          “We still have to face Beckett.” James looked out over the water to where the British armada was advancing.

          You could already feel some of the fight leaving you. How could you withstand an armada, when you’d barely defeated the Dutchman? “At least we have each other, now.”

          James looked down at you. “Yes.” He cautiously wrapped an arm around your waist. “And after? If there is an after.”

          You smiled teasingly. “I hope you don’t mind returning to piracy.”

          James smiled back. “I don’t think I’ll mind at all.”

[mega-bastard]

Bitch in Heat Stuck Under Debris Gets WRECKED

a miki mouse whorehouse collab, the m.list you can find here 

cw: sexual harrassment, abo themes, dubcon kinda

as the poor quality picture can’t really show you, I got stuckage and I chose Bakugo with the finishing touch of making it ABO <3 It’s also two days late but shhhhh we don’t talk about it uwu also 2.7 words of pain enjoy 

katsuki bakugou is becoming a thorn in your side.

you’ve both been metaphorically and somewhat literally glued to each others sides since highschool. it’s not necessarily a bad thing, to be quite frank katsuki is something of a deterrent in a world of second genders and pheromones— something you capitalized on in high school.

being an omega hero isn’t something entirely world shattering, but it’s a position that comes with lots of stereotypes— stereotypes you fought tooth and nail to fight against in your younger years. being one of four omegas in your class was...irritating, to say the least. lots of preconceived notions that you needed to be helped with trivial things, and while your classmates intentions came from a good place it was maddening. save for katsuki, back when he had no restraint with his anger and aggression, he didn’t coddle you like your classmates did. Labeled a brute for his actions towards his omega classmates in trivial interaction or sparring, you thrived on the normality— katsuki was an ass to everyone. Your omega was placated, finally encountering an alpha who wasn’t belittling her with preconceived daintiness.

it was easy to hang near katsuki, ignoring the atrocity that was his vocabulary. eventually like the rest of the peanut gallery that was the bakusquad, you just existed alongside katsuki— which meant that you grew on him. katsuki swears up and down that you’re all a nuisance but you’ve seen him go up to bat for all you at some point, you knew you’d all made some sort of ragtag pack with one another. this was rather amazing to you at the time, not to sell yourself short but you’d never really imagined belonging to a close knit group of friends— especially realizing that they understood when it was appropriate to step in for you. katsuki in particular had a knack for being at the right place at the right time.

During your second year you fumbled.

interning with miruko had its perks, a top 5 hero with raw strength, cunning, and the drive to just keep going— and an omega. landing and internship with her had been a dream, even more-so when you learned she’d been watching you since your first year because of the festival. bright eyed and eager, nothing could have dampened your spirits— neither katsuki and his usual moody behavior or the standoffish alpha from shiketsu. yes, you all had landed an internship with miruko and part of you was...worried? katsuki had never looked down on heroes based on their second genders but you couldn’t speak for the shiketsu alpha, both alphas interning under an established omega hero put your inner omega on edge— you didn’t quite know why though. but you chose to squash the feeling and enjoy your internship with who was essentially your idol and continue on.

then you started getting sexually harassed.

his name was omori kisai and he was the worst. hailing from shiketsu, known for their dignified schooling, he was far from it. salacious comments dropped when no one was listening, less that appropriate touching when passing by and just general ick that had your skin crawling and omega snarling. it was easy to brush it off as banter the first time, section off the awkward contact as an accident. The second time you made it clear the comments were not liked and the touches far from appropriate, after the third time you’d snap an insult or have to hold a trembling fish from making contact. but it was coming to a head and your suppressors could only do so much to hide your souring scent. looking back you should have said something, but your pride had told you that it was a necessary step to overcome and push through— that he wouldn’t be the last. it weighed you down, day by day, a heavy cloud that wouldn’t let up. one particular bad timed comment brought tears to eyes and shame to your entire being.

thankfully, as time would come to show, katsuki tended to nose into your dilemmas.

the day prior to the abrupt end of your harassment  you’d been tripped up by a villian and had fallen a sizeable distance into a pitiful excuse of pond. of course, omori had taken this as an open invitation to mock you and then offer you his shitty hero costume cloak— not without hinting at you returning the favor ‘somehow’. yeah right. you had stomped off, unaware of katsuki’s presence nearby. come next day, omori avoided you like the plague and katsuki not so subtly stuck to your side like an unwilling chowchow— all growly and temperamental. but his constant presence rubbed his scent off on you. despite his less than chummy attitude, you weren’t mad; katsuki smelled like cinnamon spice and whiskey with hints of burnt caramel— absolutely overpowering yet decadent all the same.

you tried not to think about just how much you enjoyed his smell. your omega was purring about it.

the omori incident was the beginning of katsuki’s subtle hovering. though you pried the truth of his involvement in omori leaving you alone after offhandedly bringing it up to mina and jirou one day, katsuki helped you out of situations as invasively as possible time and time again. by the end of third year it was no secret to you of your classmates teasing of your relationship with katsuki; an amiable and prideful omega and the irritable powerhouse of an alpha. you brushed it off because...well you didn’t know why, but katsuki’s seeming indifference to the teasing had you quelling every jittery happiness your inner omega expressed at the thought of katsuki being your alpha.

now, three years out of highschool and beginning to climb the ranks, katsuki was becoming testy— and for the life of you the reason couldn’t be more opaque.  you both work at the same agency, and due to the nature of your quirks you spend all your time together due to their compatibility. compatibility was a bitter word for you, katsuki and yours supposed compatibility had been talked about for some time now but the sobering reality is that perhaps you two were simply good friends— and now sharing your omegas endearment for the explosive alpha had reared its ugly head.

your heat was a week away and already you felt the familiar fatigue begin to lap at you alongside general moodiness. all that coupled with the annoying need to be around katsuki was maddening and sprinkling his own extra grouchy attitude on top and you were ready to snap. in hindsight, that should have been your cue to take an extra week off— instead you chose to once again to champion pride instead of your intellect.

you could have stayed home this morning, you should have.

patrol had been slow, not particularly unusual but favored nonetheless. face raised to the slowly dipping sun you couldn’t help but sigh, the warmth of the late afternoon sun was heaven sent-- you could sleep standing up with much issue. it remided you katsuki, strangely enough though most things did recently.

the sound of screaming and rushing feet shook you from your drowsy stupor. Set on alert, you spied the source of the sudden discordance and found several villains causing a commotion. quickly calling for backup for you before finding yourself facing a hulking mass of green charging you head on. tranquility gone, it was time to fight.

the ache in your body could not be more apparent but your humiliation ran more rampant in your system than any ache or pain could, your fatigue more than present as your body hummed with warmth. leave it to you to get stuck face down and ass up amongst the trashed ruins of what was an office building, weighed down between a broken desk and a collapsed bookshelf. the villain you had engaged with, some self-named idiot calling himself cruel croc, packed a punch and your bruised body and rendered office floor were a testament to that. of course, you’d done quite the bit of damage to him yourself before the entire floor collapsed underneath you both— rendering the meathead unconscious under a rather hefty pile of concrete and debris whereas you were pinned and to utterly weak to do much.

the thrum of your heat was beginning its path of vengeance through your body, feeling too pliant to get yourself out of what was otherwise easy to fix problem. you were feeling it, bad. the heat of your clothed cunt was beginning to become too apparent, unconsciously squeezing your thighs to provide relief to no avail. no, this could not be happening right now of all times. but as much as your inner monologue fought to try and will away your heat, the warmth was becoming too much and sudden breeze of wind had you trembling and whining. the feel of slick beginning to wet your hero costumes spandex set your hazing thoughts into sudden panic, if cruel croc woke up or if another villain came across you would they be above...the thought alone could’ve made you puke. flashbacks to second year had you bucking wildly for freedom, you wouldn’t let anyone have the opportunity for—

“ OI! Shitty ‘mega were are you? Are you—“

you stilled, biting hard to keep your mouth shut. your omega was whimpering, desperate for the alpha, HER alpha to relieve her from her heat. on a normal day she could melt into his scent, but right now? she could drown in it and die happy. with his scent getting stronger the closer katsuki clambered toward you, the more the head haze grew-- the slicker your thighs became. the whimper you let loose was pitiful, the need for some sort of stimulation to your cunt becoming near painful the longer you remained so close yet so far from katsuki. the pathetic little “alpha” you whined as you heard him quickly approach from behind would’ve been utterly embarrassing to you in any other situation.

but if you could have turned to see katsuki, you would’ve been met with the look of an unmistakably feral alpha-- pupils dilated to hell, fingernails blackened, and canines elongated and sharpened. but what you lacked in sight, you could hear and smell.

katsuki was the definition of an alpha as is, but the way he was pushing his scent out was like a big red sign that screamed ‘DANGER’. To you, it had you feeling utterly submissive-- if you weren’t already face down and ass up you certainly would’ve moved into position.  practically salivating at the thought of what katsuki could do--

the heated palm on the globe of your ass is thought pausing, the sudden heated touch coaxing a sugary sweet moan from deep in your throat-- the small touch quickly turning to rough palming at your moaning. tt feels so good, but you want more. need more. 

“Please, need more Alpha” it's breathy and whiny, something you're far from day to day but it feels too natural escaping you. mewling at the ghost of a touch over your clothed cunt, your blubbering when it presses harder-- escalating you to tears of frustration when it ceases. practically feeling katsuki’s harsh breathing near your cunt you begin to wiggle and wail with all manner of unrestrained vigor; chanting alpha and katsuki like a prayer and begging for relief like a sinner for forgiveness. it’s working, you know it is, if katsuki’s breathing is anything to go by but he refuses any further touching. you want katsuki everyday, but right now you need him. 

“Only want you Katsuki, please it’s only been you,” you hiccup your words through a shrill plea, but the tearing of your soaked spandex sends an excited chill down your spine. your legs tremble with excitement when katsuki grips the tops of your thighs and spreads them-- revealing your drooling cunt. it’s both too much and not enough all at once and you wiggle once more, yelping from a smack to your left ass cheek. it’s not particularly painful, not even as katsuki rubs over it right after the hit, but it quells your wiggling nonetheless. you open your mouth to urge him on but he beats you to it.

“No one else, you got that ‘mega? No one gets to see you like this, no gets to touch you like this-- your mine,” he punctuates his declaration with two of his deliciously thick fingers in your cunt and you squeal, “ you got that? I’m your alpha, always have been always will be.” nodding despite yourself, you struggle for words with his fingers pumping in and out alongside the ghost of pressure on your clit “Yes! Yes, I’m yours Katsuki!” you babble your words already teetering on the precipice of your first orgasm. it takes a pickup in pace and a rough rub along your clit and your wailing, slick streaming down your thighs as your first orgasm crashes into you.

despite the pleasant haze in your head, you faintly hear zippers being undone and the shuffling of clothes. licking your lips, you perk your ass up as much as the heavy bookcase allows, purring in excitement like a spoiled cat. The rough grab of your hips leaves you gasping, feeling the length of katsukis dick along your thigh-- long and heavy. you're salivating as he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, ramming his entire length in you with little regard. stars shoot across your vision and your ears deafen, crying out at being so full. it feels wonderful being stuffed this full and you babble it to katsuki. if you could see him, you would see just how prideful and smug he looked-- only he can take care of you like this, none of the other shitty alphas can take care of you this well.

katsuki sets a rough pace, drawing himself out slowly like he’s aiming for you to feel every vein of his dick before slamming back into you. your poor cunt clenches sporadically, drawing groans and growls from your alpha and all you can do is choke on broken moans because the way he feels churning your insides is downright sinful. you felt a band begin to tighten in your belly, your broken moans evolving into babbling-- how good katsuki was making you feel and how he was the only one who made you feel this good. it spurred him onward, fucking into you with more vigor alongside groans of your names and his own praise for you. “Good fuckin ‘mega”, “Takin’ me so well”, and “My perfect little mate” were some of the praise you could catch and had you preening. All of it combined you felt the band tighten and you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing out. feeling the base of Katsuki’s length begin to swell, you could only salivate at the thought of being knotted.

“Want your knot Katsuki! Alpha I need it”

 at your blubbering demand, katsuki faltered in pace for only a moment before a deep mix of a groan and growl ripped from his throat. grabbing and bending your leg upwards he fucked deeper and faster into your battered cunt, the new angle sending you hurtling into your orgasm. eyes rolled back and tongue, you felt utterly boneless-- momentarily brain dead before screaming out at Katsuki knotting you, his own groan of pleasure mixing with yours as he filled you impossibly full with his seed. 

 trembling underneath him, you were only a fraction aware of movement above you before the weight of the bookcase vanished from you. weakly you glance back up at your alpha. your surprised to see just how feral he looks, no doubt you’ve pushed him into his rut. whimpering as he moves down upon you, he nibbles and kisses along your jaw and neck before biting down on you scent gland. a flash a white hot pain curtailed by just as intense pleasure wracks your wrecked body but the dopy look of happiness pulls a low purr from katsuki.

you wanna say something, anything, but your too exhausted and as katsuki knot subsides you let another weak whimper as he removes himself-- feeling his seed spill from your battered cunt. he pulls a quiet moan from you as he gathers some of it a pushes back in-- and a glance at his smug face lets you know that he’s decidedly not done with you yet.

[donald4spiderman]

ok i know this is vague but pls bless me with some angst asf lol i read the one you wrote abt spencer and cat and it slayed me to the grave

i’m glad u liked the cat one even though it’s my least favorite fic i’ve ever written rip.

you ask for angst, i’ll give you angst!

TW: Spoilers for 14x15, crying, shouting, breakup

-

You and Spencer completed your entire nightly routine in silence, refusing to address the obvious tension.

“Are you mad at me?” Spencer questioned, irritation and confusion laced in his tone.

“Do I have a reason to be?” You scoff rhetorically.

He turns on his side to face you, “This isn’t my fault. I can’t control what JJ says.”

“I’m not mad at JJ being in love with you.” You sigh. “She said what she had to say, I’m not mad at her.”

“Then why are you acting like this?” Spencer exclaims, running his palm over his face in exasperation.

“I got a phone call, from your mom.” You explain. “She told me about the little chat you had. The one where you admitted that you’ve been waiting to have a life with JJ.”

His face softens, “T-that’s-you know that’s not what—“

“Save it. How could you, Spencer? After everything I’ve given up just to be with you. You’re telling me you’ve been thinking about being with another woman— a married woman—the entire time you’ve been with me?” Tears threaten to fall down your face, but you blink them away.

“(Y/N), you know I love you. I swear I’ve been over JJ for years now.” He pleads, grabbing your hands to lace them with his.

“Don’t even try me, Spencer.” You yank yourself away from him. “How could you say something like that?”

“I-I don’t...” His voice is raspy, and his cheeks are wet with tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean it.”

“Hm, an IQ of 187 and you’re still dumber than shit. You’re horrible.”

“Baby, please.” He cried out. “I don’t wanna fight with you about this.”

You’re visibly fuming at his stupidity. “You. You. You. Is everything about you, Spencer Reid? I know you’ve had your fair share of ups and downs, but why can’t you understand that I need to say something?”

Spencer stews silently in his guilt and regret. “Is it true?” You ask. “Do you mean what you said to your mom?”

“I-I uh...”

“Be honest with me. If this entire relationship wasn’t just one big fucking lie you need to tell me the truth— right now.”

Spencer nods, “Y-yes.”

“Fucking hell.” You shout. “You’re the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met, Spencer. You’re such a liar.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I really do. That’s not a lie. Please believe me.” Spencer begs.

You shake your head, “You can’t be in love with two people. You can’t have it all. That’s not how things work.”

“I don’t want it all. I just want you, please.” His sobs shake his body violently. “Don’t leave me. Everybody always leaves me.”

You laugh. It’s evil and vengeful and completely appropriate for the moment. “You’re not the victim here. You don’t deserve any of my forgiveness.”

“Then go!” Spencer screams. “Go and run away! Run away like you always do!”

“I will!” You reply, standing up to shove a pair of clothes into a bag. “I should’ve left you a long time ago. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, and I hope all your friends know exactly what you’ve done.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m staying with Penelope.” You snap. “And I bet she’s gonna want to know exactly why I’ve shown up at her door a crying mess. And when word gets out that your a lying, good for nothing piece of shit, I hope all your little friends won’t look you in the eye anymore.”

“We have work on Monday!” He retorts. “What are you gonna do when you have to see me then?”

“What I always do- Run away.”

[aceofspadegrass]

Get Sick? Break in!

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Chishiya Shuntaro

Genre: Just a sickfic, I guess. Chishiya's just taking care of a sick Niragi, who is a huge grumpy pants.

1.5k words

Nobody asked for this, I just got bored and decided to write Sick Niragi and Chishiya pretty much breaking into his house just to care for his sick butt then leave.

Of course he'd get sick on a rainy day. At least he didn't have plans, but it sucked that he was sick anyways. He rolls over in bed, pulling the blanket closer to him as he breathed through his mouth, his nose completely and utterly stuffed. He didn't even have the energy to grab any medication, and he didn't exactly live with anybody.

So, here he was, suffering by himself.

At least nobody would take pity on him.

Niragi sneezes, grabbing a slowly diminishing box of tissues and blowing his nose hard. He tosses the dirty tissue into the trash bin that thankfully sat within reach of the man, Niragi curling back under the covers. He might as well attempt to sleep off the sickness. Nothing else he could do.

----

Niragi wakes up to the feeling of a wet rag on his forehead, and his entire body burning. He whines under his breath, tiredly blinking as he kicks off the blanket in irritation. He tries to reach up for the towel, but something stops him, and it's then when Niragi spots the blotch of white kneeling near him, and Niragi squints, his eyes refocusing themselves to the smug looking bastard known as Chishiya. He growls a little, Chishiya calmly staring back.

" How did you get in.....?" Niragi's voice was raspy, but still usable. Chishiya just slowly blinks and pulls Niragi's hand away from his forehead.

" Your friend down the hall let me."

Damn it Last Boss. Damn it all.

" Fuck."

" Hey now, at least someone came to check up on you." Chishiya glances at the blanket, and pulls it back up around Niragi. " Stay under the covers, you'll make yourself worse."

Niragi sticks his tongue out. " You're not my mom."

" I sure hope not, because they raised a bitch."

" You take that back-" Niragi tries to yell, but that strains his throat too much and he starts to cough, Chishiya backing away so he didn't get coughed on. Niragi wished he would, make him suffer with him.

Chishiya just watches him suffer, Niragi groaning and tugging at the blanket, eyes shut. " Can you leave now?"

" See, I would, but now that you asked, now I don't feel like it." Chishiya says with an air of arrogance that Niragi wanted to shoot in the face, but he was a little incapacitated. So he opts to just bury himself in the blankets and attempt to sleep again.

Surprisingly, it works.

Unsurprisingly though, it doesn't last long. He wakes up again an hour later, and just starts coughing again, cringing at how heavy and thick they felt. Niragi grumbles and clings to the blanket, the wet rag at least helping a little bit. Not much, though, but it was better than nothing. He feels a finger poke his cheek, and he cracks an eye open as he looks up at a white blob, immediately scowling.

" Here, take some medicine." Chishiya says, and Niragi can make out a glass of water and what might be a napkin, Niragi grunting as he sits up a little and squints. Sitting on the napkin was two pills, Niragi glancing up at Chishiya for a second. Chishiya doesn't move, Niragi looking at the pills again.

" What do you want."

" Hm?"

" Why are you doing this to me? What motive do you have?" Niragi squints at Chishiya, who kept that same smug look he always had.

" I have no motive. Just felt obligated to make you look less like a drenched sewer rat."

Niragi grumbles, but he swipes up the pills, taking them into his mouth. Chishiya wordlessly hands him the glass of water, Niragi taking a few sips of the chilled drink to wash it down, then a few more to feel the cold wash through his hot body. Chishiya watches him without a word, even when Niragi sets the now empty glass down and curls up under the blanket again. Just barely, Niragi could see Chishiya just standing there, and he glares at the male.

" Leave."

" I'll be on your couch then." Chishiya walks away, Niragi calling after him as best as he could.

" I meant out of my house, you underdeveloped mozzarella!"

Chishiya just waves, and he disappears out of sight, Niragi just grumbling some more. He's not sure of how much time passes, just the slow silence and occasional sniffles coming from himself. He grumbles, and attempts sleep for the third time. However, it escaped him this time, so he had suffer for as long as he had to. He groans under the blanket, the headache getting worse and worse and foggier and foggier.

Chishiya comes back a little later, or at least a white blob did, and Niragi could've sworn the illness got worse somehow, despite taking medication. He just remains curled up under the covers and attempting sleep, breathing through his mouth.

Through the haze, Niragi could barely make out the sound of ceramic hitting wood, and the blanket as tugged away a little, letting in fresh cold air. Niragi involuntarily shivers, muttering and attempting to tug it back up. It fails though, and Niragi squint-glares at the white blob.

" Hi. I made soup." Chishiya says, and clinks a spoon against the bowl. " Now, are you gonna help yourself, or do you want to be fed like a little kid?"

" Fuck off, Chishiya."

Chishiya lowly chuckles, that damn laugh that made Niragi mad and his head hurt even more, Niragi squeezing his eyes shut. Still, when he opens his eyes again, Chishiya is still standing there, just staring down at him with nothing behind those eyes.

" Didn't you hear me? I said-"

" Oh, I heard you. But my name isn't an answer, so......"

Niragi just glares at him, his head just pounding. Like hell was he about to be fed by this box dye bitch. He determinedly attempts to sit up, and Chishiya offers him zero help as bit by bit he manages to get into a sitting position. Niragi huffs, and Chishiya at least carefully hands him the bowl, making sure to balance it well enough on top of the blanket that remained on Niragi's lap so it didn't burn his core. The spoon was already sitting there, innocently. Niragi couldn't smell it at all, but he could feel it. It looked like chicken noodle, some standard soup for the sick. He didn't remember having any chicken noodle though, Niragi taking the spoon and swirling the bits around the broth a few times.

Chishiya doesn't say a word, just standing there and watching, waiting. After way too long, Niragi finally takes a spoonful and sips at it. It tasted exactly as he expected, but somehow under this sick spell it felt like the best damn thing he has ever tasted. So he took another spoonful, this one with a piece of shredded chicken and a carrot peacefully sitting within the broth, and he takes that too. It was soft, yet not mushy at all. A satisfying soup. He lets out a hum of satisfaction. He looks up at Chishiya again, and he almost didn't want to even praise him, but he end up swallowing his overflowing pride, even for a mere second.

" Thanks. It doesn't taste like ass."

Chishiya just hums, hands tucked in his pockets as he continues to stand there. Niragi blinks, then scowls. He looks away and back at the warm and comforting meal, eating as much as he could take in.

Niragi doesn't remember when he ended up eating it all, and he yawns. The soup warmed his core in a good, heavenly way, and he sets the bowl on the bedside table. He barely realizes that Chishiya left at some point, but Niragi didn't care at that point either, crawling back under the covers as his tiredness overtook him, Niragi snoring away 'til morning.

When he wakes up again to a clearer nose and less of a migraine, enough that Niragi felt comfortable enough to leave the comfort of his bed, he shuffled around his house, checking to see whether Chishiya had touched anything he wasn't supposed to. However, as far as Niragi could see, nothing was out of place at all, except for a single note on the benchtop of his kitchen and a lack of dishes. Niragi picks it up, squinting at the tiny handwriting.

' Feel better. It gets boring when you're not being annoying and on the move. And make sure to retake the medication. I put it back in the cabinet, third bottle on the left.- 🐈'

Niragi blinks, then huffs a little, the paper crinkling under his fingertips. " You little......" He throws the paper back down, even though he fills a new cup up with water and the bottle of medication that Chishiya probably used. " How dare you come in, do all this 'care' shit, then just disappear. Absolutely rude and pathetic. Didn't even stay to make sure I didn't die in my sleep-" He mutters to himself, taking the appropriate amount.

Still, somewhere buried in him, he was a little thankful he even showed up in the first place.

[cursestothemoon]

His Bunny

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, degrading, also praising, slapping, spanking, spitting, strong language, use of nicknames like bunny and puppy, subspace, daddy kink

Post Azkaban! Sirius with a younger reader

SHE IS OVER 18, IN HER MID TWENTIES AND EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL.

17+ only

if i have tagged you and you are UNDER 17 please let me know for future reference 

Sirius Black is a complicated man. You knew this well from the three months you two had been dating. 

Tonk’s is like a sister to you and her boyfriend Remus is a good friend, so when they said they had someone for you to meet, an old, school friend of Remus’ you were expecting someone just like him. Someone timid, quiet, and unbelievably sweet was what you expected. Instead Sirius Black swaggered into your life with his stormy eyes and deliciously wavy hair. He oozed sex appeal and confidence with his each and every step. 

Upon first meeting you, Sirius was sure he didn’t have the will power to stop himself from bending you over the arm of the couch then and there. With your doe eyes and girlish giggle he couldn’t help but picture your in less than appropriate scenarios. And when you had started dating he was sure it was too good to be true, Azkaban escapee with a young little minx like yourself? It was almost too good to be true, and Sirius tended to dwell on it.

“Sirius? What’re you doing sitting by yourself?” You asked walking into the sitting room.

He was sitting in a large velour chair positioned diagonally in front of the large fireplace which had a small fire crackling. Sirius waved you over with a single lift of his finger without looking in your direction just yet. 

You tiptoed your way over to him, his crisp black dress shirt hanging off your right shoulder and brushing against the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Siri...” You cooed climbing into his lap, his hands gripping your waist to help steady you. 

You gripped his face in your hands forcing him to look into your eyes, “Want tell me what’s bothering you?”

Sirius smiled, grabbing your wrist, “Nothing, love.”

You knew him well enough to know that he was lying, and you knew him well enough to know what was bothering him. The best way to get him out of his head was to show him just how much you wanted him.

You placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, moving to his cheek, then trailing down his jaw and the side of his neck. Your hips started to slowly grind on his, the rigidness of his trousers against your barely covered cunt made your breath quicken.

Sirius felt your soft puffs of air against his skin as you dropped your head into the crook of his neck. He smirked at the feeling of you dry humping him like a horny teenager. 

“Keep going and you’re going to get yourself in trouble, bunny.” He warned.

A breathy sigh left your lips as you raised your head from his neck to meet his gaze with a mischievous smirk, “What if I wanna get in trouble?”

That had done it. 

Sirius pulled you down to meet his lips in a harsh kiss before shoving you off his lap and onto the floor with a thud. 

“Strip. Now.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for questioning. 

Your fingers came up to unbutton the shirt you were wearing. An annoyed huff left your lips as your fingers kept slipping off the ridiculously small plastic circles. Sirius let out a laugh at how you were struggling, it was a teasing, degrading chuckle that made the walls of your pussy clench. 

“Dumb bunny, you need daddy to do it for you, don’t you?”

The quick nod you gave him was pathetic, and part of your mind was screaming for you to get a grip and not slip into such a fuzzy, submissive state so soon. 

You hurried over to him, knowing if you took too long a spanking would be in order. 

Sirius wasted no time in tearing the shirt open, buttons scattering to the floor making you let out a whimper. Your thin underwear was disposed of in the same fashion, the material pulling apart like tissue paper. 

“Sirius...” You whined against your better judgement.

Before you realized you had done something bad, Sirius gave you smack on your cheek. 

“S’not my name, and you know better than to whine. Over my lap.” He moved to sit down in the chair again, waiting for you. 

Meekly you walked over to him and draped your body across his lap, suddenly very aware that he was still fully clothed. His large palm fell onto the skin of your ass, rubbing the supple flesh gently before his fingers dipped down to your cunt. The feeling of his fingers gathering your wetness made you whimper and push yourself closer to his hand. 

He pulled his hand away completely making you shudder before his palm rested on the globe of your ass, “I want to hear you counting, nothing else.”

“Yes, daddy.”

With that you felt Sirius’ hand give a harsh smack onto your backside.

“One.”

He landed one after the other, making the skin sting and tears well in your eyes. Sirius gave one last spank, the hardest of them all, before smoothing over the red, stinging skin. 

“What’dya say, bunny?” Sirius quipped. 

“Thank you, daddy.” 

You were moved off his lap again, this time gentler than the first, and set onto your knees in front of him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb running across your jaw as he looked into your eyes, his stare almost too intense.

“You need your daddy, don’t you? Just a dumb little bunny, need me, need your daddy to take care of you.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding enthusiastically, “Just a dumb little bunny, I need daddy.”

Sirius smiled at the honesty dripping from each and every word, you were his good little bunny. 

An idea popped into your mind, your hands moving quick to carry it out. You unbuckled his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, reveling in the presence of his hard cock. Sirius rarely wore underwear.

Your hand grasped his shaft, jerking him off slowly, letting your thumb swipe over his sensitive head and smearing the glistening droplets of precum all along his impressive length. Having waited long enough to taste him, you leaned down to place a kiss onto his glistening head making him shudder. 

“Don’t tease.” He warned from above you, his hand pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail before giving it a hard tug forcing your head back.

Having been in the position before you knew what he wanted and your jaw went slack and fell open instantly letting him spit into your awaiting mouth.

“Thank you, daddy.” 

Sirius smirked, “Such a good girl.”

Wanting to further prove you were a good girl, you quickly put your mouth on his painfully hard length. Hollowing your cheeks, you took as much of him as you could, spit dribbling out from the corners of your mouth acting as lubrication for the hand you had wrapped around what couldn’t fit. You bobbed your head up and down, ignoring the aching that blossomed in your jaw. 

Sirius, who was wanting more, pulled you off of him so he could stand in front of your kneeling form before gripping your hair again and thrusting his cock deep into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Your gags and whimpers only spurred him on, making him speed up his thrusts. 

Tears fell down your cheeks as he fucked your face and you felt yourself get impossibly wet with how vocal was being.

“Fuck, bunny, your mouth feels so good ‘round my cock. Y’like when daddy fucks into your mouth?” He asked, voice shaky with the nearing of his orgasm. 

You hummed in response to his question, eyes watching as the vibrations from the sound made his eyes flutter closed and head fall back. His hand gave a few harsh smacks to your cheek before pulling out of your mouth completely. 

“My good girl,” He cooed, “Get to the counter.” 

Your eyes widened in excitement, it was rare that you and Sirius would find an area of Grimmauld Place that he hadn't made you cum on, but this was new. 

Practically bouncing over to the counter you bent over it, or at least you tried to. Being short, your hips were too low meaning it would be quite difficult trying to enter you from behind like Sirius was planning. 

“Look at you. Pathetic little girl, you cant even get yourself up on the counter.” He laughed, slowly walking over to where you were with no hurry at all.

Sirius gripped your hips and lifted you on to the counter, leaving your feet to hang just far enough from the floor to make him chuckle again. 

His knee nudged your legs apart opening up your dripping core to him, making an almost animalistic growl emit from his lips. You felt his palm rest on your lower back whilst the other travelled between your legs and swiped through your slick folds. 

He ran his fingers up and down your spine, “A dripping mess just from making daddy feel good.”

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence as his middle finger seemed to find your clit and started to circle it slowly at first but gaining speed quickly. 

“What was that bunny?” He asked, tone snarky.

Again, all you could do was moan as his pace quickened vigorously. 

Sirius hummed, “Thought my dumb little girl said something like that.’

His fingers left your clit, only to slowly enter your sopping cunt. The action made a vulgar squelching noise from how turned on you were from hearing Sirius’ moans and grunts just minutes before. 

He added a second finger, thrusting them in and out of you with long, deep strokes pulling each and every whimper and moan out of your mouth. His thumb went to your clit and the palm on your lower back held down your hips that kept trying to move against your own accord. Within seconds he found the spongey spot in your aching pussy and used his two fingers to massage the sensitive area with no respite. 

Your sounds were loud now, physically unable to hold them back, you mewled and cried as your orgasm approached. 

“C-cum, daddy wanna cum-” You tried your best to string together enough words to make sense, your forehead falling to rest on the cool counter.

Sirius tutted, hand swatting at your already sore backside, “Ask properly, don’t be a little brat.”

“Can I cum, daddy, p-please?” 

You felt him place a kiss in-between your shoulder blades before responding, “Go on then, cum for daddy.”

His hand carded through your hair, starting from the base of your neck, and pulled making your back arch. That was all it took for your orgasm to rip through you, a pornographic moan leaving your lips as Sirius pumped his fingers slowly, letting you ride out your orgasm for as long as possible. 

You shuddered as his fingers gave your swollen clit a pinch before pulling his hand away from your core.

“Wanna taste bunny, or y’want daddy to clean it up?” He asked bringing his glistening fingers near your mouth. 

You sniffled, “Wanna share with daddy.”

Sirius crouched down so his face was level with yours. You moved to grab his hand, pulling his index finger to your mouth and sucking off your juices while you kept your eyes locked with his. When you were done you let his finger go with a pop and Sirius brought his hand to his mouth, taking in both his index and ring finger.

He groaned at the taste of you, sweet on his tongue now mingling with your spit from the digit you were so happily sucking on. The sight made your pussy clench involuntarily, already wet and ready for Sirius again. 

“Beg for it.” Sirius said lowly, knowing what you wanted just by your blown out pupils and grabby hands.

Your breath hitched at his demand, but you were too far gone to care about the desperation in your voice.

“Fuck me daddy, want your cock so bad. Please fuck your dumb little bunny, I need it. Wanna feel your cum inside me, please.” You cried desperately, tears staining your cheeks as you wriggled around on the counter. 

He brought his hand to your mouth again, “Get ‘em nice and wet for me.”

You did as you were told, sucking and drooling over his thick digits until he pulled them out and wrapped his hand around his girth moving up and down to lubricate his length with your spit. He moved to stand behind you, moving his head between your folds to collect your juices before thrusting into you harshly, giving you no time to adjust. 

His hand went back to your hair and pulled again so your back was arching, his thrusts had pushed your body forward and the counter and the way he had you arched made your clit grind against the edge of the counter. The feeling of how deep Sirius was inside of you and the mix of pain and pleasure on your clit had you nearly screaming as your vision started to go blurry. 

“Can feel your little cunt milking my prick. Who’s tight little cunt is this?”

You sputtered as the tip of his dick seemed to be hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars, “Yours daddy! No one’s but yours!” 

“And who makes puppy feel this good?”

You let out a choked sob, “Daddy does!”

“Daddy’s little girl doesn’t even reach the floor. Y’like it when daddy ruins his pussy, make it all achy and swollen?”

You nodded, the only word able to come out of your mouth being daddy followed by whimpers, moans, and choked cries.

Sirius’ hand on your hip moves to grab your breast harshly before delivering a harsh slap making you yelp and sending burning feeling straight to your core making your walls tighten. 

“Poor thing, gonna cum again? Cum on daddy’s cock, let me feel you.”

With that you felt your second orgasm crash onto you, thighs shaking next to Sirius’ own legs. Soon after you felt yourself come undone Sirius spilled into you, his warm load coating your pulsing walls. 

Sirius let himself slouch over your trembling body, his warm chest coming into contact with your balmy back. He pressed kisses onto your shoulder blades and around your neck as you came down from your high. His cock, slowly softening, was still buried deep in your cunt keeping you stretched around him. 

You let out a sound of annoyance as you felt Sirius move to slide out of you making him let out a soft chuckle.

“Come on, love, gotta get you cleaned up.” He tried to coax you.

You whined again, “No, want daddy to stay.”

“S’not daddy anymore, pretty girl. It’s Siri.” He said slowly pulling out of your pussy. 

The emptiness made tears gather in your eyes, the fuzzy mind space Sirius had fucked you into making you impossibly clingy and eager to please. He set you down from the counter, catching you as your legs trembled under your weight. Taking you up to your shared bedroom and bathroom, and cleaned you up as best he could without getting you in the shower- it was evident that in your sleepy, hazy state it would be difficult to keep you upright. You were slowly coming back, calling him ‘Siri’ instead of daddy and helping him by lifting up your hips as he slid on your underwear. 

“Y’wanna wear my shirt or one of yours?” He asked turning to look at yo from the dresser.

“Yours.” You answered immediately, lifting your arms as he came back to the bed you were sitting on to pull the shirt over your head. 

After making sure you were tucked into bed and comfortable, Sirius went to his wardrobe to grab a pair of black boxers and slide them on. He walked over to the bed and climbed in next to you, his arms coming out to pull you into his side. You rested your head on his chest as you got comfortable in the new position. 

Sirius felt goosebumps blossom on his skin as your fingers traced over the dark tattoos on his chest. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. 

“I love you, Sirius.” You mumbled, sleepiness present in your tone.

He gave a fake laugh, “You won’t leave me for some young guy right?”

You could tell his laugh was masking his insecurities.

You shuffled around so you were looking at him, hand cupping his cheek.

“Sirius, I love you. You are the only one I want, the only one I need. You Sirius Black, are the love of my life.” 

He smiled, the faintest blush coming across his cheeks as you snuggled back into his side. 

“I am in love with you too, my good little bunny.” 

Sirius kissed your nose before resting his head on his pillow, eyes focusing on the ceiling as he fell into thought. He thought about you, and he thought about his younger self and how desperately eighteen year old Sirius needed someone like you to keep his head above water. 

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989​

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

[sa2chaogarden]

i know i joke about how it took me a couple years combined with making two fleshed out characters who are transmasc to figure out i was transmasc. i know im the projection king but ive been doing a little introspection lately and wanted to write out my thoughts so hey feel free to read

wheatley I’m so sorry you got named as a joke years ago and it stuck for this long because whoops…

odds are, I treat wheats how i would treat my own past self if i had also figured out gender stuff in my early teens. congrats dude, you get a family that supports you 100% in regards to sexuality and gender also your needs are met they best they can be in regards to your autism. wheats exists in a world where any societal factor I had to repress in my teens, he is allowed to express without question. the people around him love him for who he is. his problems do not come from gender, sexuality, and neurotypical expectations…at least not directly. he still lives in a capitalistic society, but that’s not the point I’m getting at here. like if I was allowed to explore who I was more other than the rigid catholic upbringing I had and was not reprimanded and forced to mask and repress neurodivergent traits, wheats represents a sort of alternate timeline of myself.

yes so many factors are also different, but at this point I feel like he exists as a extension of my younger self, something that could have been if a lot of factors were different. so I treat him with a lot of kindness but also give him character development appropriate for someone who is 16 and still navigating the world (and also the plot of the story he is in) at that age. he isn’t perfect, he has flaws of his own, he still has to deal with growing up, making friends, and high school nonsense.

I love all of my kid ocs equality and each one gets their own sprinkles of self love through projection, but wheats is pretty special for this reason. he was the first step for a couple of my own self discoveries and creative processes so he has a special bread shaped place in my heart.

now matty…

hey, maybe making a taller, transmasc, recolor of yourself to roleplay as has consequences. look, if I had the option to slice my tits off for free and take a potion that makes me taller, gets rid of my hips, and deepens my voice over the span of 24 hours I fucking would. matty wasn’t just me getting the chance to play dnd for the first time and be a funny cursed pirate man once a week. no, I also got to try being a guy for a couple years before realizing that the transmasculine character i was rping was really comfy. from the very start he was someone everyone poked fun at because he really is just some guy in a wacky situation. all the teasing was out of fondness and funny enough, matty helped me realize I was masc. turns out I was also just some guy.

but this lucky son of a shit also has family that knows he’s a big gay trans idiot and isn’t all that neurotypical as well, and I get to be his voice lmao. I only talk mean about him because he’s just so easy to make fun of. I’m so easy to make fun of! but I do it out of love! out of fondness! he doesn’t deserve anything bad or horrible! just suffer the consequences of his actions. all the goofy stupid things that come to bite us both in the ass…I love that shit. I see my own flaws that I’ve learned from, project them onto mattheu and have him learn from them but through his own story.

matty is me if i lived without anxiety or shame of who I was coming into adulthood. more than just a gender presentation ideal, he’s a confidence role model in a way. he’s a pathetic wet cardboard box of a man, but he owns it.

there’s a whole lot more I could probably write but these two are characters are in a current wip and dnd campaign so, fear of spoilers if anyone ends up reading this bc I’m posting publicly

anyway, the middle of the venn diagram of wheats and matty is just me and i love it. love these two and how they helped me figure stuff out while also letting me flex my creative muscles. we’re all just a couple of guys