#gr: shinee

[crustyfloor]

A new pop-up store dropped for ALIEN STAGE's 2nd anniversary and wow. It's so sick.

It's Interesting what exactly these experiments are focusing on and monitoring.

Instrument practice

I found it interesting earlier that Till was so tame, more so than he usually is when he's going through experiments, but music, and making music is what he loves doing, So he was fully in his element here. This was probably the only thing he was made to do by the aliens that he at least tolerated.

(Additionally, judging by his collar (orange), he was at least calm. maybe he just isn't fazed anymore.)

//Side note, that head contraption looks familiar BUT this most likely isn't related at least i hope

(It puts me at ease, at least..)

Dance practice

This surprised me, but I suppose Mizi needed more skills.

She looks very startled here, and nervous(?) +It looks like she's doing this while singing. And with that face covering I assume this was a test monitoring her dance balance, precision, etc. At first, I did think it was odd, "Why would Shine put her through that" But alas I was reminded that even though Mizi is the flower of the group she was never untouchable, to Shine, this was the equivalent of teaching your dog to sit and stay.

(seeing this it reminded me of those scenes in movies where the people are dancing, and the music gets faster and faster until they fall. I wonder if she was doing through something similar to that)

Singing practice (?)

Similar to Till she also looks quite calm outwardly, if the machine around her neck is an iteration of the collars they have, then this process wasn't something she liked, or given how intense this experiment looks, this was a test of high-pressure to ensure she always stayed calm during performances (?). Then again this could also be a posture practice given all the structure focused on maintaining her position.

(What I believe was another form of this test was shown before so I think so)

(With her hands in a praying stance I wonder if she was praying to herself or singing a religious song (sweet dream?) It's also interesting that the machinery around her looks like a halo, and she looks so...angelic? holy?)

Image making practice

By image making, I think they made Ivan replicate expressions with his face. Whether this process was painful for him or not...I'm not sure. But it looked visibly uncomfortable, maybe that was the point. (His expression, even in this circumstance is so dubious..)

Ivan, among other things, needed to have a spotless appearance to be successful, his image was a priority given his skills were certainly guaranteed.

I assume the aliens eventually took note of his lack of expression, in the real world this can be a detriment to one's career, so the Aliens had to ensure quality was perfect. (To a more...dedicated level)

Superiority test

'Superiority test' Is very vague.

HyunA is very calm here too, likely sedated in that water with all the tablets on her. I guess this was a test to get an idea of a pet human's strengths and weaknesses, endurance, and temperament to compare and contrast them with others, testing who is more viable for Alien stage?

Another interesting, and sad part about this is that HyunWoo was there, watching his sister through her experiments.

(Also, it looks like both of her legs are normal, no alien leg yet.)

Heart rate variability

And finally, the most visceral of them all. The wording 'variability' makes this all the more sickening, the Aliens were testing his heart hours, testing it at different rates, speeds, and states. And he was in agony the entire time. Even the way he's clutching his chest, it gives me chills. This would've been a completely harmless test in a normal setting, as something quite similar to this can be performed efficiently in real life. But he's being tortured in the process.

This is one of the first times we've ever seen Luka's face so truly clear and unprotected, (understandably so.) He's even crying.

[mediumsizetex]

The bride and her ugly ass groom by nikokatt

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: June Wrap-Up.

Okay, y'all have Convinced Me--I'm going to start doing little wrap up posts! Behold: a shelf of what I read in June (not pictured: the bookmark at page 466 of ORDINARY MONSTERS, because despite having read two (2) books worth of book so far, I'm still not quite done with that one).

June was kind of a slow reading month for me (I did a LOT of writing, looking back--nice). I wanted to take OTHER TERRORS and THE ELEMENTS OF ELOQUENCE a bite at a time so the horrors and figures of rhetoric (respectively) didn't all run together. Both of those, much like A SHINING, turned out to be pleasantly leisurely wanders, whereas MONSTERS is kind of a plod.

I already did bigger write-ups for TERRORS and SHINING, linked in the bullets below.

OTHER TERRORS - ★★★★ Great bite-sized horror anthology with a really inclusive mix, as promised! I enjoyed most of these (always nice in an anthology!)

A SHINING - ★★★★ Weird fucked up heavy little book in translation, lit-fic flavored, but very approachable, I thought. Tiny enough to swallow in a sitting, but also kind of exhausting to do it that way? I'll definitely reread this one in the future.

THE ELEMENTS OF ELOQUENCE - ★★★ Fun romp through rhetoric! The examples were fun, and I appreciated the humor, but I also find myself still uncertain what a bunch of the figures actually ARE, definitions-wise, despite having read a book full of so many of them (I did just buy his recommended A HANDLIST OF RHETORICAL TERMS to help with that, at least, which is. almost entirely. definitions by volume). Neat thing to have on my references shelf, but it wasn't as excellent as I was hoping it'd be.

ORDINARY MONSTERS - 466/658 pages read; will report back later (but it's not looking good, folks).

[shamblz]

I think I'll be a miner actually

[nee-chan]

A blog I followed has introduced me to a new media, and... I am smitten with Jeffery...

[axeeglitter]

Lights are up but no one's home

Brad adjusted his letterman jacket and grinned as he caught sight of Emma walking down the driveway. She looked perfect, as always, with her auburn hair shining staircase morning light. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before her father, Mr. Gaines, stepped out onto the porch.

"Good morning, sir," Brad said, trying his best to sound polite.

Mr. Gaines didn't bother to respond, his sharp eyes scanning Brad as if he were unworthy. “Emma, be back by 3pm. And, Brad…” His voice was cold. “We’ll talk later.”

Brad shrugged it off, flashing his confident smile at Emma. "I think your dad will come around."

Emma gave him a concerned look, but Brad dismissed it, brushing off the tension.

Later that evening, as Brad walked Emma back to her house, Mr. Gaines met them at the door. “Brad, a word. Alone.”

Brad hesitated but eventually nodded. “Sure thing.” He gave Emma a reassuring glance before following her father into the study. Brad followed Mr. Gaines into the study, the older man closing the door firmly behind them. The heavy scent of leather and cedar filled the room, matching the dark, intimidating décor. A single lamp cast a golden glow over the desk, its light flickering slightly, giving the space a tense, almost foreboding atmosphere.

Brad stood his ground, towering over Mr. Gaines with his broad, athletic build. Years of football and rigorous workouts had shaped him into the picture of masculinity: square shoulders, a defined chest, and an aura of cocky confidence.

“Look, sir,” Brad began, his voice firm yet polite, “I know we don’t see eye-to-eye, but I care about Emma. I’m good to her, and…”

Mr. Gaines raised a hand, cutting him off. “Spare me the charm, Brad. I see right through it.”

Brad bristled, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I don’t need your approval. Emma and I…”

“You’ll find you need more than you think,” Mr. Gaines interrupted again, his voice cold and commanding. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small glass vial filled with an iridescent liquid that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light.

Brad frowned, his brow furrowing. “What is that? Some kind of whiskey or…”

Before he could finish, Mr. Gaines popped the cap off and flung the contents at him with surprising speed. The liquid hit Brad square in the chest, seeping through his letterman jacket and white tight shirt and into his skin.

“What the hell?!” Brad shouted, stepping back as he frantically tried to wipe the liquid away. His hands tingled where they touched it, as though the substance was alive.

“You’ve had your time with my daughter,” Mr. Gaines said, his lips curling into a smirk. “Now, it’s time to see what you’re really made of.”

Brad opened his mouth to retort, but a sudden, searing heat coursed through his body, cutting him off. It started in his chest, radiating outward in waves that left his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

“Wha, what’s happening to me?!” he gasped, clutching at his chest. The heat intensified, and he felt his ribs shifting beneath his hands. His sturdy chest, once broad and solid, began to shrink. The hard ridges of his pecs softened, the thick slabs of muscle deflating like a balloon.

“No!” Brad groaned, his voice cracking. He could feel his sternum pulling inward, the bones grinding painfully as his torso narrowed. His shirt hung awkwardly now, loose in places it had once hugged snugly.

The heat spread downward, latching onto his abs. His once-chiseled six-pack, earned through countless hours of crunches and dieting, began to fade. He pressed his hands against his stomach, desperate to hold onto the definition, but the flesh grew soft and smooth under his touch.

“Stop this!” he begged, his voice trembling.

Mr. Gaines crossed his arms, watching with a cruel, detached interest. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Brad stumbled forward, his legs shaking as a sharp pain erupted in his pelvis. He fell to his knees with a grunt, his jeans tightening uncomfortably around his hips. He groaned as his pelvis shifted, the bones grinding and reshaping into a narrower, more delicate structure.

His thighs quivered, the thick muscle softening and slimming. He had always prided himself on his powerful legs, tools of a star athlete, but now they looked more suited to a dancer. His calves followed suit, becoming slender and shapely, their once-prominent muscles fading into gentle curves.

“No, no, no!” Brad whimpered, clutching at his thighs as if sheer willpower could stop the transformation. His jeans shimmered and morphed, the denim becoming tight, ripped skinny jeans that clung to his new, slimmer legs like a second skin.

The heat moved downward, pooling in his feet. Brad gasped as his sneakers began to tighten painfully. His feet shrank, the size 12 shoes compressing around his toes until they reformed into smaller, more delicate size 9 feet. The sneakers warped, reshaping into sleek, white designer trainers that felt foreign and wrong.

He scrambled to his feet, swaying as he realized how much shorter he’d become. The once-commanding 6’2” frame that had made him stand out on the field was now gone and replaced by a slim and delicate 5’4”. He felt fragile, like a shadow of his former self.

“Why can’t I stop this?!” Brad cried, his voice growing higher-pitched with each word. He clapped his hands over his throat, horrified as his Adam’s apple receded. His deep, commanding voice was replaced by a soft, boyish tone that sounded utterly alien to his ears.

“Your height suited your arrogance,” Mr. Gaines said with a smirk. “But this? This is much better.”

The heat moved back up to Brad’s arms, and he watched in horror as his biceps and triceps, once bulging with power, shrank down to slender, almost dainty proportions. His shoulders narrowed, losing their broad, masculine width, leaving him with a delicate, almost effeminate frame.

His hands began to tingle, and he stared down at them in disbelief. The calluses that had marked years of lifting weights and gripping footballs faded, leaving his palms smooth and soft. His fingers slimmed, their rough, masculine shape replaced by long, elegant digits.

“This isn’t real,” Brad muttered, his voice trembling. “This can’t be real!”

“Oh, it’s real,” Mr. Gaines replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

Brad’s skin began to tingle as the transformation spread across his body. The fine dusting of body hair that had covered his chest, arms, and legs vanished, leaving his skin unnaturally smooth. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, desperate to cool the burning in his armpits, but the familiar musky scent of sweat was gone, replaced by a faint, floral fragrance. brad then felt his letterman jacket and white shirt starting to tighten around him. He turned his head to look at it only to realize he was now wearing a tight blue stripped shirt.

The heat surged into his face, and Brad stumbled back, clutching at his cheeks. His square jawline softened, the sharp edges rounding out into delicate curves. His cheekbones became more pronounced, giving his face a refined, almost ethereal beauty. His lips tingled and swelled, becoming fuller and pinker, while his nose slimmed into a petite, upturned shape.

Brad turned to the mirror on the wall, his heart sinking as he saw the stranger staring back at him. The rugged, masculine face he had always known was gone, replaced by one so pretty it could have graced a magazine cover.

The heat shifted to his scalp, and he reached up, gasping as his long, messy brown hair grew longer and softer on the top. It lightened to a golden blond, shimmering in the lamplight as it styled itself into a trendy, tousled look. His sides receded back in his scalp in millions of ant bites as Brad took his lobes in his hands screaming in pain.

“Look at you,” Mr. Gaines said, stepping closer. “You could pass for a model now. A twink, as they say.”

Brad stumbled away; his legs weak. “This… this isn’t me,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“It is now,” Mr. Gaines replied coldly.

The final wave of heat pooled in Brad’s groin, and he doubled over, clutching at his hips. The muscles and bones there shifted painfully, completing the lithe, feminine shape his body had taken on. He wanted to scream, but his voice cracked once more, betraying the raw emotion he felt. Brad could feel his huge 8 inches cut dick boiling with heat as he could feel his cock grinding against his new jockstrap and his hairless thighs until it stopped to a 3 inches uncut cock. His nuts followed as he felt them taking less and less place inside the pouch. Brad tilted his head and looked as the front of his slim jeans was shrinking faster and faster. When the shrinking stopped, brad exhaled from fear as he tried to get up once more. But as his hands touched the ground to help himself, he felt a discharge of electricity zap him in the ass. He screamed from surprised and pain as he heard Mr. Gaines laugh viciously. “Now we’ll see how you handle these new sensations” he said with a deep voice while looking at Brad trying to find his breath again.

He collapsed to the floor, trembling as the heat finally began to subside. His body felt alien, every movement unfamiliar and wrong. He could feel the smoothness of his skin, the slenderness of his limbs, the absence of his once-powerful build.

Brad looked up at Mr. Gaines, his deep brown eyes glitching as they finished turning into bright blue eyes wide with horror. “Why… why would you do this to me?”

Mr. Gaines crouched down, smirking as he looked the transformed Brad in the eye. “Because you needed a lesson, boy. And now, you’re exactly what you deserve to be.”

Brad lay on the floor of the study, his altered body trembling with lingering heat. He tried to push himself up, but his new, slender arms buckled under the effort. The unfamiliar weight distribution of his body threw him off balance, and he collapsed again, the smoothness of his skin and the strange proportions of his limbs only amplifying his panic.

Inside his mind, Brad’s thoughts whirled. This isn’t me. This can’t be me. He clenched his teeth, or at least tried to, but even the sensation of his now-soft jawline felt wrong. Every breath was foreign, the floral scent from his armpits a mockery of the musky, masculine odor he’d once carried.

Mr. Gaines stood over him, arms crossed, his smirk cold and calculating. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Or maybe you won’t. Who knows?”

“You won’t get away with this, Emma will know, I will tell everyone” Brad spat, his voice unnaturally high and trembling. He cringed at the sound of it. “I will sue you!”

But as if to mock his resolve, a sharp pain stabbed into his temples, sending him sprawling onto his back. The room spun as his hands flew to his head, gripping at the blond strands of his new hair. It felt like something was clawing its way into his brain, rewriting him from the inside out.

“What is going on?! Fuck it hurts!!” he screamed, but the words came out in a whiny, petulant tone, almost like a pout.

“You think you can threaten me under my roof, Brad?” Mr. Gaines said smoothly. “Well… I thought this was enough, but seems not! Let’s see how you’ll behave now, Blaine!”

Another jolt of pain struck, this time deeper and more insistent. Memories flashed through his mind and memories of who he was, who he had been. The star athlete, the golden boy, the charming boyfriend who could talk his way out of trouble with a grin. He clung to those images desperately, but they began to fracture, splintering like glass.

In their place came foreign thoughts, feelings, and impulses. Bright colors danced behind his eyes, an overwhelming hunger for attention and admiration bubbling up from nowhere. He tried to suppress it, but it grew stronger with each passing second, like a dam about to burst.

“No,” Brad whimpered, tears streaming down his now-delicate face. “This isn’t me. I’m not…”

But the assault on his mind continued. His thoughts grew disjointed, a battle between his old self and the intrusive presence worming its way into his consciousness. His sense of humor shifted, memories of football games and weightlifting sessions replaced by an inexplicable appreciation for fashion trends and pop music.

The new personality emerged, brash and unyielding. It wasn’t subtle; it stormed into his mind like a diva on a stage, shoving Brad’s old self aside.

“Oh my God,” a voice bubbled in his head, light and effervescent. “This room is so drab. Like, who decorated this? A sad old man?”

No! That’s not me! Brad screamed internally, but the words didn’t make it out. His lips parted, and instead of the defiance he wanted to express, a soft giggle escaped.

“Stop it!” he thought desperately, but his body betrayed him. His delicate fingers brushed a strand of golden hair from his face, and he caught his reflection in the nearby mirror. A coquettish smile spread across his lips without his consent.

The final blow came when the pain in his head spiked to a blinding crescendo. Brad’s name, his name, slipped away, leaving a void where his identity had been. In its place, a new name blossomed, sugary sweet and unbearable.

“Blaine,” Mr. Gaines said with satisfaction, as though plucking the name from Brad’s own thoughts. “That suits you. Blaine, my new personal assistant.”

No, no, no! Brad’s mind screamed, but it was as if he were trapped behind a glass wall, watching his body and voice act without him.

Blaine blinked a few times, his wide, blue eyes fluttering. “Blaine,” he repeated, his voice sing-song.

Inside, Brad seethed. He was still there, buried deep, but he couldn’t control his body anymore. Every word, every movement, was Blaine’s now. And Blaine was everything Brad wasn’t: flamboyant, animated, and utterly unconcerned with the past.

“Do you need me for anything, sir?” Blaine said, tugging at the tight, ripped skinny jeans and tight blue striped shirt that had replaced Brad’s clothes. “I remember you told me to come to work on The Fortress Club folder, right?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Mr. Gaines said, his smirk widening as he took a step about to grab Blaine’s shirt.

At that moment, the door to the study swung open, and Emma stepped in. “Dad? Have you seen Brad? He just vanished, and… Oh hello, I didn’t know you were busy working, you must be my dad’s new personal assistant, right?”

Her eyes landed on Blaine, who was standing with his hands behind his back, his head tilted in a way that screamed playful mischief. She froze, her brow furrowing.

“Who… are you?” she asked, clearly confused.

Blaine smiled as he presented himself while Brad’s trapped consciousness burn with humiliation.

“I’m Blaine!” he chirped, twirling a lock of his golden hair. “Just helping your dad out with… um… his work schedule. Nice to meet you!”

Emma blinked, then turned to her father. “Where’s Brad? He said he was coming in here to talk to you.”

Mr. Gaines feigned a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “Brad showed his true colors, I’m afraid. I caught him cheating on you. Told him to pack his things and leave. He didn’t even argue, just walked out without a word.”

Emma’s face fell, hurt flickering across her features. “He… what?”

Inside, Brad screamed. No! That’s a lie! I would never do that to her! But Blaine remained silent, batting his long lashes at Emma.

“You’re better off without him,” Mr. Gaines said firmly. “He wasn’t right for you.”

Emma shook her head, clearly unsettled. “Fuck him! If I ever see him again, he is dead! Well, I’m going to go. I need to process all of this.”

She turned and left the room without another word, leaving Blaine standing in the center of the study and Brad crying and screaming for Emma to come back.

Inside, Brad felt his heart shatter. She doesn’t even recognize me. She thinks I abandoned her. I’m still here! I’m still me!

Mr. Gaines clapped a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, ignoring the storm raging inside the former jock’s mind. “Well, Blaine, it looks like you’re all mine now.”

Blaine turned to him with a bright smile. “Ooh, what do you need first? Coffee? A snack”

Brad’s mind recoiled, hating every word, every exaggerated gesture. He was trapped, forced to watch and feel everything Blaine did, powerless to fight back.

“None of that, I was thinking something more… personal,” Mr. Gaines said as he walked to Blaine, grabbing his shirt and tucking it behind his head. “And you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“Anything for you, Mr. G!” Blaine said with a wink as he got on his knees, his small hard cock pressing on his thighs and leaking in his jockstrap.

As Mr. Gaines’s hard daddy cock entered Blaine’s virgin mouth, he came, leaking through his ripped jeans and directly on the carpeted floor. Mr. Gaines laugh and started to face fuck Blaine even faster with a smile on his lips, not caring about Brad's gagging please for this to stop. “I think you’ve learned your lesson son. And you’ll have to clean this up!”

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys! Here is my contribution to the story swap I did with @misctf. Go check his content if you haven't already. He has lots of great stuff there. See you soon!

[kinascum]

PICKUP - DAD!M. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY. when a stressed-out, sleep-deprived and chaotic SingleDad!Matt falls in love with his son’s kindergarten teacher.

CONTENT. no major warnings

WC. 1.3k

proofread by @baileysturns

You wait as the hours ticked by, the soft hum of the kindergarten classroom lulling you into a gentle rhythm. The children have long been picked up, their laughter echoing through the hallways replaced by the quiet buzz of teachers finishing up their duties. Then, you hear the distant sound of rubber soles slapping against the linoleum floor, approaching at a brisk pace. The door bursts open and in strides Mr Sturniolo, his eyes scanning the room frantically before they lock onto yours. His son, Tommy, who's a tiny bundle of energy, squirms in your arms as he calls out, "Daddy!"

Matt's cheeks are flushed with exertion, his tie askew, and his hair sticking up in every direction. You can see the lines of stress etched into his forehead, but when he sees you, his face relaxes into a relieved smile. "Thank you so much," he says, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room. "I had a meeting that ran over, and traffic was..." He trails off, shaking his head. You understand; the world of a single dad is often one of unpredictability and juggling responsibilities.

You hand over Tommy, who clings to your neck for a moment before launching himself into his dad's arms. "It's no problem," you reply with a smile. "We had a great time, didn't we?" The little boy nods enthusiastically, his eyes shining with excitement.

As they leave, you watch them go in a hurry, the chaos of the day seeming to dissipate around them. The hallways are empty, the lights flickering in the descending twilight. You pack up your things and head home, feeling a twinge of loneliness as the school falls silent around you. It's not every day you meet a parent who seems so genuinely thankful for your work.

-

The next morning, you're setting up the classroom when you see Matt standing in the doorway, Tomas tugging at his hand. He holds out a small box of chocolates to you, his eyes earnest. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday," he says. "And thank you for keeping an eye on him. I know it's not part of your job, but..." His voice is gruff, and you can tell he's not used to being vulnerable. You take the chocolates, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "It's okay," you reassure him. "It's what we're here for." He nods, his expression a mix of gratitude and something else. Something that makes your heart skip a beat.

As the days turn into weeks, you find yourself looking forward to the moments when you see Matt. His mornings are still hectic, but he always has a smile for you, and he makes a point to thank you every time he picks up his son. The two of you start to chat, sharing stories about the little one's antics and the challenges of single parenthood. You learn that he's a dedicated father, working long hours to provide for his child, and you can't help but admire his determination.

One afternoon, after the last child has been picked up, you're organizing the bookshelf when you hear a knock on the door. You turn to find Matt, Tommy nowhere in sight. "Could I speak with you for a moment?" he asks, his eyes searching yours. You nod, curious.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "I know this is probably weird," he starts, "but I just wanted to say... I really appreciate what you do. For him, and for me." He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that somehow makes him even more endearing. "I don't know how I'd manage without people like you." He pauses, and you can see the weight of his words hanging in the air. "And I was wondering if maybe, when you're not busy, we could grab a coffee or something. Just to say thanks. Properly."

You're taken aback by the invitation, but the warmth in his eyes makes it difficult to refuse. "I'd like that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "How about tomorrow after work?" He grins, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "It's a date," he says, and you can't help but blush at the term.

The next day seems to drag on forever, with every tick of the clock bringing you closer to the promised coffee. You're acutely aware of Matt's presence when he arrives to pick up his son, your heart racing every time you catch a glimpse of him. When the time finally comes, you grab your bag and walk with him to the small café across the street.

As you sit down, the café's warm lights reflecting off the polished wooden surfaces, you feel a mix of nerves and excitement. You've never done anything like this before, especially with a parent from your class. But something about Matt is different. He's not like the other dads who hover awkwardly or only engage in small talk. There's a depth to him, a raw honesty that draws you in.

The conversation starts off tentatively, with both of you sticking to safe topics like work and the school. But as the minutes stretch into an hour, you find yourselves delving deeper. He tells you about his life as a single dad, the struggles and the joys, and you open up about your passion for teaching and your hopes for the future. His laugh is contagious, and you find yourself smiling more than you have in a long time.

Then, in the middle of a story about his son's latest attempt at art, he looks at you with a glint in his eye and says, "So, tell me more about you, Y/N." You blush, surprised by his directness. It's clear he's trying to flirt, but you're his son's teacher, and there's a line you can't cross. You laugh it off, keeping the conversation light and professional.

The evening stretches on, the café slowly filling with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and the murmur of other patrons. You both find yourself getting lost in conversation, sharing stories about your pasts and your hopes for the future. His son is a common thread, weaving through every topic, a reminder of the bond you share beyond the classroom.

As you sip on your now-cold coffee, you feel a pang of something unfamiliar. It's easy to be drawn to Matt's charm and the way he talks about his son with such love, but you know that this isn't just a casual chat between friends. You're his son's teacher, and there are boundaries that need to be respected. But the way he looks at you, with genuine interest and a hint of admiration, makes it hard to remember why this isn't a good idea.

Finally, you decide to address the elephant in the room. "Matt," you say firmly, setting down your cup. "I really appreciate the gesture, and I've enjoyed our time together, but I think we should keep things professional. I care about your son, and I don't want anything to jeopardize that relationship." He nods, understanding in his eyes. "You're right," he says with a sigh. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The walk back to the kindergarten is a little awkward, the air thick with unspoken feelings. When you reach the door, he takes a step closer, his hand brushing yours. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "For everything. And I'm sorry if I overstepped."

You smile, feeling a rush of affection for this man who's doing his best in a tough situation. "It's okay," you reply. "We're good." With a final nod, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with a jumble of emotions.

That night, as you lay in bed, you can't help but think about Matt. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about his son, the way his hand felt against yours. You know that you can't let this go further, but you also know that you're going to look forward to seeing him in the mornings, even if it's just for a brief exchange about homework and school events. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.

tags! @christophersgf @rainuhh @mattandchrismakemewett @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @baileysturns

[queenbread]

For anyone wanting to see the rest of the chaos

I'm sorry Clef but this is Light's time to shine 💥

Pun very much intended

I will fight you too in the waffle house parking lot

(All jokes 🫶)

I think my friends might be tired of Sophia Light rambles

I dunno, I'm not sure but my friends miiight be a little tired of me sending this Dr Sophia Light meme and rambling about her....

they're gonna have to put up with it for at least another few months though

They can blame Arona for the meme mwahahahahhaha

I WILL NOT CEASE

[nena-la-fresa]

Fright Night

18+ Account | Minors DNI | Do NOT Follow, Like, or Comment | Pls have your age in your bio, if you do not I will automatically block you because I’ll assume you are a minor.

Pairing: Josh Washington x f! Reader

Warning: Smut | Oral | Fingering | P in V | Halloween Frat Party | Frat Boy Josh (ish) | Michael Myers Mask | 

Word Count: 1576

A/n: Pure shitty ass smut this time

Emily had suggested for you all to play a game, so in a corner of the party the group was sat. She never specified what it was until everyone was there. 

“Okay so we need one more before we start. We gotta make it even.” Emily finished counting heads. 

“What about Josh?” Chris started to look around for Josh but Sam stopped him. 

“I think he’s hosting. He might be passing out drinks or something.”

You had looked around, your eyes landed on someone standing by the door way. You felt like you were going crazy but this guy might have been following you all night. Almost everywhere you turned he was watching you. If he didn’t have on a Michal Myers costume you would have thought he was a creep, but weirdly, it was kinda hot. 

Emily had noticed you staring at the guy, “Hey you! Myers, how about you play with us.” 

He looked over at her before slowly making his way over. He sat down next to Chris, directly across from you. Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you. It sent chills up your spine. 

“So what are we playing Em?” Sam watches Emily place a bottle in the middle of the group. 

“Seven minutes in heaven. So who’s going first?” 

The group kept getting smaller, yeah Emily said it was seven minutes but that depended on the people. Most of them locked the doors if they were having sex, and those who didn’t just waited the seven minutes. 

“Okay Y/n, your turn.” 

You leaned forward to spin the bottle. It spinned about four times before landing on someone. Out of all the people to fall on, you looked up and saw the guy in the mask looking in your direction. 

“Good luck.” Sam smirked at you as she watched you stand up. 

You watched as he looked at you. He didn’t stand up, not till you stood in front of him. You felt his hand lightly graze your leg on the way up. You had wished it was Josh but the idea of potentially getting defiled by a stranger in a mask was kinda hot.

You grabbed his hand and led him to a room. After you walked in you heard the door lock behind you. You could feel your heart pounding, you wondered if he could hear it. Just as you were about to turn around you were pinned against the nearest wall. 

Chest against the wall as you felt his back pressed against you. You could hear his deep breathing as he grinded his cock against your ass. His fingers play with the tip of your dress, slowly lifting it up. 

He lifted your dress up completely, his hand cupped your breast while the other slipped through your panties. His warm fingers started to rub against your clit. Just as he tried to slip one in you turned around pushing him away lightly. His eyes followed your movement. 

He watched as you got down on your knees, he watched you unzip your coveralls. You pull out his cock, mesmerized by its length. You took him in your hand, pumping him slowly. You looked up at him, the moonlight shining just enough so you could see blue eyes looking back at you. 

You rubbed your thumb against his tip before kissing the it. You tried not to break eye contact, you wanted him to watch you. You wanted him to see you lick up from the base of his cock to the tip. You wrapped your lips against his tip, circling your tongue. You took a bit more of him in, once you started sucking you felt him twitch in your mouth. His hand held the back of your head helping guide you. You could feel him in the back of your throat. 

You pulled back to catch your breath. You get back up and slowly start backing him up against the bed. You position yourself to his side, propping yourself up with your left hand and using your right to grab his cock. You jerk him off slowly again before using your mouth to cover what your hand couldn't. 

You could feel his hand glide down your ass. He again moved your panties to the side, this time he let his fingers glide in. You moaned against his dick at the feeling of his middle fingers stroking your insides. He had such a way with his fingers. The fact he knew how to use his thumb against your clit would have made you cum but you needed more. Just as you pulled away from his dick he moved you swiftly. 

Your face pressed against the mattress and your ass up in the air. Before you can even catch a glance at him from behind he rams into you. You screamed at the feeling of his cock pounding into you. You had never felt so full. His pace was steady but by god's deep. He reached places you didn’t think you'd ever feel. 

“Fuck. Your dick feels so good.” You moaned against the mattress, you could feel tears start to form. 

You felt like that had sparked something in him, he pulled you up so that your back was now against his chest. He forced you to look in the mirror. His hand was now around your neck and the other was rubbing against your clit. You watched his cock slide in and out of your cunt with such ease. 

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m so close.” 

He felt your shaking, your cunt squeezing around him. He watched as your knees gave out. But he wasn’t done. He hadn’t had his fill yet. He flipped you over, head hanging down from the bed. He closed your legs, tilting you slightly, and lifted them against his chest. The feeling of his sliding back in was over stimulating but felt so good. His thrusts became erratic, sloppy, but the feeling of you pulsating around him was so arousing. He watched your breast bounce with every thrust, he watched tears pool at your eyes, he watched you cover your mouth to hold in a scream. 

But what really got him going was the fact that all you could do was watch him fuck you. You haven't taken your eyes off of the mirror the entire time. Out of all the things you had done, that was the one thing he thought was hot. You were begging to get fucked. You wanted to get fucked. You enjoyed it, you liked the idea of watching someone fuck you to the brink of tears. His last thrust was hard but so good. You felt his cum spill, you felt it begin to overflow out of you. 

You felt him slowly pull out of you. There was a brief pause before you felt the bed shift. There was now heat at your cunt, almost like an exhale. You felt his tongue lap at your cunt. You felt him lick at your entrance. You felt the way his tongue shoved itself in and out. You felt the way he stopped and kissed your cunt gently before pulling away. 

You get up from your position. His back against the bed, his chest heaving, but despite all that his dick was still hard. His dick still craved more. He looked up to see you crawling over him, your hand propping you up, the other grabbed his dick. He felt you rub it against your clit. 

“Nod if you want me to stop.” 

He laid still except for his hand making its way up your thigh to your hip. 

He watched the way you sank down on his cock. He looked up and watched the way you bit your lip before placing your hands on his chest. He watched as you leaned down, and just slightly lifted the mask. He closed his eyes when he felt your lips on his, the way you stopped bouncing to enjoy the kiss. He wrapped an arm around your waist, he propped his legs up and thrusted. 

He felt you moan against his lips. His tongue slipped into your mouth, saliva dripping down his chin as his tongue circled yours. He groaned at the feeling of you licking his lip before biting his lips. He loved the way it felt. He loved how you pulled at his lip before releasing and kissing him gently. 

You could feel the way he began to twitch inside of you. You knew he was close. You grind your hips against him, feeling his twitch coming to an edge. You quickly got off of him. Taking his dick in your mouth, you sucked at his tip. Pulled him out of your mouth you lifted his dick and licked at the base back to the tip. You don’t know what compelled you to look up. But you did. 

You saw Josh watching you. Watching the way his lips parted at the sight of you putting his dick back in your mouth. Josh watched you hold eye contact as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. He watched you take all his length in. He watched the way you took him cum with such ease. The way you never looked away from him as you swallowed. 

“Fuck you’re so hot.” 

It was a never ending cycle. You could feel your cunt begging for more. 

[hobby1008]

Manager for her

If you use a translator, the sentences may be strange.

yujin x m reader

Tags: creampie

You are the personal manager of the famous girl group Eugene. She was extremely popular from Izone to Ive, and she was doing many CFs and personal schedules, so she really needed you.

She couldn't take perfect care of her as a group manager, so she hired you separately.

You followed her right by her side wherever she went.

Whether she was doing individual activities or group activities, even on days when she wasn't working, you were by her side taking all her requests and taking care of her.

She was excited to take a break after a long time.

"Manager," she called you, and you ran to her right away at her call. As soon as you got there, you were very surprised to see her.

She was looking at you in her lingerie, in a seductive pose, and she looked at you with eyes shining with excitement and said. "Why don't you come quickly? I've been waiting for you." You immediately took off all your clothes and ran to her at her words.

This is why she hired you. She had an incredibly high sexual desire, so you always had to release it. But she was a famous idol, so she couldn't do it with just anyone, so she really needed you.

She wanted your tall height, handsome looks, muscular body and the biggest reason, a big cock

"Do it quickly, oppa, I really wanted to do it."

You climbed on top of her and licked her stomach with your tongue, and she moaned softly, and you slowly went up her chest and up to her face. Then she looked at you with a lustful expression,

and you started to caress her cheek and kiss her deeply.

You kissed her deeply, mixing your tongue with hers, and put your hand inside her thigh and gave her a light massage, feeling the heat inside her and breaking the kiss, and slowly using your tongue again, passing her lips, chest, and stomach, and reaching underneath her. Then her wetness grew even bigger and started to show through her underwear.

You immediately took off her underwear and dug in there, and her wet pussy welcomed you.

You immediately started licking her wet spot with your tongue, and she started moaning in satisfaction. “Ah.. good, I missed you so much..”

Her body trembled slightly as she felt your tongue and hot breath, and she put her hand on your head and pulled you towards her, demanding more.

You caressed her clitoris with your hand for her, and as you inserted your tongue inside her, she moaned and whimpered even more.

You kneaded her inner thigh with your hand, increasing her excitement even more, and she let out a scream-like moan and sprayed a large amount of her love juice on your face.

You felt the thrill of ejaculation and pulled out of Eugene’s weakened legs.

Eugene looked at his love juice sprayed on your face, and said, “Ah.. sorry, oppa, I’ll clean it up.” and licked your face and ate your love juice, and you started getting even more excited at the sight of Eugene.

Eugene laid you down on the bed after seeing you like that, and then he went down on you and started sucking the cock.

Eugene wrapped his lips around the head of the cock, and his tongue began to move, focusing on the tip before sucking deeply into your cock.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you were panting as you felt her mouth. Your hands and her hair were tangled, and she was sucking your cock passionately enough that her cheeks were sunken.

You said, “Eugene, I think I’m going to come out,” at the feeling of her mouth.

Then her lips popped out of your cock, and a popping sound echoed throughout the room.

“Not yet…” she said, and climbed on top of you and started riding the cock.

She placed her hands on your chest to support you, and looked down at you with an expression of excitement, happiness, and lust, and passionately shook her waist as she felt you.

You also started to get extremely excited, holding her buttocks tightly and starting to move your waist to her rhythm.

With your movements, her heat grew hotter, and she was gradually falling into pleasure.

“Haaah! Okay, so much faster, faster!!”

Yujin’s voice became more urgent the more she rode your cock, and more of her love juice flowed down to your groin.

“Ah…. Go away..”

She started to cum into you once.

She waited for her to come out of her orgasm after switching positions with you while fighting her orgasm once again.

When she finally came out of her orgasm, she looked up at you and said. “What are you doing, hurry and put that big dick inside me.”

You started poking her pussy at her words. Then she looked up at you with a face full of happiness and moaned, and you pleased her by hitting her pussy deep every time you inserted.

Her pussy walls were wrapped around your cock, feeling yours. She liked this so much. It was always the same rhythm and insertion, but she enjoyed it as if it was a new experience every moment, and it made her gasp even more.

In the meantime, she looked up at you with a face full of lust, and you figured out her intention and started to act,

and you started to humiliate her by poking her deep inside with your cock.

“Do you like my big cock that much, you slut?” She felt satisfied with your words and started to squeeze her pussy even more.

You started to get even more excited by the fact that Eugene, the leader of the popular girl group IVE, was a slut who was craving cock. “What would you think if you knew that An Yu-jin, who everyone thinks is cool, was such a whore?

She was panting and moaning in pleasure at the sight of you.”

She was getting more and more excited as you continued to humiliate her, and you were also feeling her pussy warmly wrapped around your cock, so stimulating and overwhelming.

She knew that the moment of climax had come in your sight, and as she said, “Give it to me whore Yu-jin, cum inside me..”

Her pussy began to contract around your cock, and you eventually began to release your warm seed inside her.

She then orgasmed again with the flow of your cum, and was satisfied with the sight of her cum flowing out of her pussy.

She finished her fight with her orgasm and crawled in front of you,

sucked your cock, and looked up at you.

“Release all the desires that have built up.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rumors

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader (no specific characterization, but he wears the eye makeup from The Batman)

Summary: Gotham has shared rumors about you and Bruce for years, and Bruce finally decides to do something about them.

Warnings: none, I think! it's mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Inspired by Rumor by Lee Brice + Battinson's eye makeup

A/N: I just found this and have no idea how long ago I wrote it. I edited it, but hopefully it's decent!

Masterlist | DC/Bruce Wayne Masterlist | Request Info

It’s late; the sun disappeared hours ago, and the pale moonlight took its place. This is when Gotham looks its prettiest, with no bright light to shine on the dark alleys, dirty streets, and criminals lurking around corners. But this is also when Gotham is at its worst. No one knows that more than you and Bruce Wayne.

Everyone in Gotham, you included, has tried to label the relationship you have with the billionaire, but no one seems to be able to decide on a suitable title; you’re too close to be colleagues, not close enough to be partners, friends seems to be too little, but in a relationship feels like a stretch. No matter what the tabloids call the two of you from week to week, you’re constant. Never apart for more than a day or two, Gotham’s prince and his seemingly dearest friend are seen together far more often than you are seen apart.

Your eyes burn as you force them to stay open, clicking the mouse to read another article in the Journal of the American Medical Association. You’re not a doctor and never wanted to be, but it seems to be the only thing able to hold your attention and keep you awake. Somewhere above you, in Wayne Manor, a grandfather clock rings, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. The police scanners have been quiet for several minutes, and the walkie-talkie beside your cell phone is silent. Your head turns toward the garage entrance as you stop scrolling through the abstract for an article about obstructive sleep apnea. Your attention is captured by the familiar sound of the Batmobile rumbling in the night. The engine idles for a moment before silence reclaims the cave, the headlights dimming and allowing the peaceful darkness to overtake the night again.

“Quiet night?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying to not disturb the rare peacefulness surrounding you.

“Yeah,” the gruff voice of Batman responds.

He lifts his tired arms to remove his cowl, sets it on the desk, and flits his eyes across the computer screen before they land on you. Baby blues scan up and down your frame before finding your face as if you were the one who had been in danger all night; as if you could have been injured sitting in the plush office chair and reading medical journals.

“Alfred left your dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry,” you say, smiling softly as you stand.

You lift your hand and push Bruce’s hair off his forehead, a sigh escaping his lips at the contact. It’s been too long since someone touched him like this, even though you did so just this morning before his business meeting.

“‘M not hungry,” he says, his voice returned to normal. Bruce, not Batman.

“You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

“After you.”

He carefully removes his suit, places it on its stand in the Batcave, now donning sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking much softer than he had mere minutes ago. You take his hand and lead him to the elevator, leaning against the rail as it takes you up into Wayne Manor, opening into a dark hallway. Bruce takes the lead, expertly navigating his home and entering his bedroom, his hand never leaving yours.

“Bruce,” you say, tugging his hand as he makes a beeline for his bed. “Your eyes.”

“Right,” he sighs, releasing your hand and moving to the bathroom.

You follow him silently, laying your hand atop his own as you gently pull a washcloth from his fingers. Nodding at him, you gesture toward the closed toilet, which he sits down on, and tilt his head up slightly. After wetting the washcloth and grabbing the gentle skin cleanser from his cabinet, you move to stand before him, unsurprised when his hands find your hips and pull you closer, now standing between his legs. The silence surrounding the two of you is never uncomfortable but a relief from the stresses and pains of daily life in Gotham. As you raise the washcloth, he closes his eyes. You gently wipe the excess makeup from his skin before adding the cleanser and watching the color lift off his skin. With each gentle stroke of the washcloth, he looks more like Bruce Wayne.

“Done,” you whisper, stepping away from him and rinsing the black product from the washcloth.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, standing and wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back as he drops his chin to your shoulder. “For everything.”

You smile at him in the mirror before leading him to bed, not arguing when he asks you to lay with him. The comfort of someone you care about by your side all night is unlike any other.

The first Wayne Charity Gala since the murder of Thomas and Martha is officially underway. Gotham officials and citizens have been eagerly and impatiently counting the days since the announcement several weeks ago. You spearheaded the planning, running constant interference between Bruce Wayne and picky Wayne Enterprises partners. The gala was planned to the minute, not a detail forgotten. Bruce had agreed to make a public entrance on the condition he had a table to himself, a wish that was quickly granted. The ballroom is now filled with people, co-planners talking in the earpiece you wear as you survey everything from the corner.

“We need more champagne in section 7,” you say into your microphone.

“On it,” a response sounds immediately. Several servers carrying full trays exit the kitchen and move to their assigned sections.

You begin making laps around the room, sticking to shadows and corners, politely greeting guests as you met them. The gala begun twenty minutes ago, and the building was already nearing maximum occupancy. The entertainment has yet to begin, waiting for the mayor, Bruce Wayne, and several other prominent Gothamites to arrive. The roar of paparazzi from outside the large double doors signals the arrival of one of these people. All eyes are on the door as they open yet again and everyone watches the mayor enter and greet her fellow citizens. Shortly after, the man of the hour makes his grand entrance. Bruce's dark hair is styled, and a new navy suit adorns his strong figure. He shakes hands with a fake smile plastered on his face as he makes his way to his table near the back door. Relief washes across his face as he reaches it, conversing briefly with a Wayne Enterprises associate before she is called away. You watch him with a smile, still listening to the gala workers in your ear.

“The mayor will be on stage in two minutes,” someone alerts.

“Perfect. After her speech, escort the entertainment to the stage,” you respond.

After a short detour to ensure the backstage area is to Wayne Enterprises’ standards, you are surprised to see Bruce Wayne’s table empty. The mayor approaches the stage, the chatter in the room quieting as people find their seats. You walk around a pillar and nearly run into a waiter. You apologize as you step backward and hit someone’s chest. Strong arms wrap around your waist, keeping you upright and away from the floor.

“I apologize,” you say as you separate yourself from your savior, nodding to the waiter before he returns to the kitchen. “May I get you anything?” you ask as you turn to face the man who had caught you. Oh.

“You could take a break. Join me at my table. I do have a plus one,” Bruce replies with a smile.

“Actually, you don’t. You waived it when you only RSVP’d for yourself,” you retort playfully.

“I don’t think they’ll mind,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Mr. Wayne, I have work to do.”

“Five minutes. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want a break from those heels.”

“As right as you are, there is a lot of press in here; you’re dealing with enough headlines right now.”

You peek around the corner and see the lights dimming.

“You need to get back out there,” you say, gently pushing him toward his table.

He catches your wrist gently and asks, “Find me when you get a chance?”

“If you haven’t ditched by the time I get a break, I will find you,” you promise.

He smiles and nods before returning to his table. You continue your rounds during the mayor’s speech and the beginning of the entertainment show. Concerns from the staff lead you to the kitchen, where you decide to open another box of the expensive champagne and begin serving dessert early. Many laps later, the gala is winding down as guests begin leaving, and the entertainment thanks the audience before they exit the stage. Within an hour, only a few guests remain, and the cleaning staff is waiting for them to leave to begin cleanup. You cross the room to gather the guest books from each table.

“You know how to plan a gala. I should let you do it more often,” a familiar voice says from behind you.

You smile as you turn to face Bruce. “No,” you protest softly as he tries to take the books from your arms. “You’re a guest.”

He tilts his head before looking around the room. “As the only one, I think it’s okay.”

You look around too, and notice the last guests are gone. You wave to alert the cleaning crew they’re ready to begin. As they enter the ballroom, Bruce uses the distraction and gently takes the guest books from you.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Bruce says, offering his free arm to you.

“I was going to stay and-“

“You’ve done more than enough, let’s go,” Bruce implores.

You disconnect your earpiece to leave them in the staff dressing room to be picked up in the morning. The guest books are placed aside to be cataloged and used for thank-you cards next week. After, Bruce leads you to his car, opens the passenger door, and helps you in before getting in himself. He drives back to Wayne Manor in comfortable silence, parks in the main garage, and leads you to one of the many guest rooms.

“There should be clothes in the closet, help yourself” Bruce says as he turns on the light.

You open the closet and see everything from pajamas to work clothes to evening gowns, and it is all your size. “What is all this?” you ask, turning to look at Bruce.

“Alfred and I thought that since you spend so much time here and do so much for us, you deserved your own space,” he explains with a shrug.

“You didn’t have to-” you interrupt yourself with a yawn - “do all this.”

“We wanted to. Get changed and meet me in the bathroom.”

You change before entering the bathroom, as requested. Bruce gestures to a soft chair at the vanity, and you sit down, looking up at him as he approaches you.

“My turn to return the favor.” He smiles before removing makeup from your face with soft touches. Pleased with the success of the makeup wipe, he turns and procures a wet washcloth, wetting your skin before he applies face wash and gently rubs it into your skin. After he rinses the face wash off, he picks up a brand-new bottle of your favorite moisturizer and applies it to your face and neck before wiping his hands on a separate towel. “Need anything else?” he asks.

“That was way more than I did for you,” you mumble sleepily.

“You do more for me than you realize,” Bruce states. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I need a plus one to the gala,” Bruce says as he enters your new office.

“Okay, Mr. Wayne,” you answer, pulling up the gala attendance list on your computer. “Who should I put down? Ms. Kyle?”

Bruce pinches his eyebrows together briefly before shaking his head. “No. I wrote it down to ensure you understand.”

He hands you a card, watching with a smile as you read your name.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m planning and working the gala, I can’t-“

“Pick someone else to run this one. You can still plan it, but I want you to come with me. If you agree, of course.”

“I’d love to. What about the press? Aren’t you worried about what they’ll say?”

“Not a bit. So, do I have a date?”

“You do, Mr. Wayne,” you answer with a smile.

“Perfect.” Bruce returns your smile, and you know you made the right choice.

You get ready for the gala at Wayne Manor. After choosing one of the gowns from the closet Bruce prepared for you, you gratefully accept Dory’s help with your hair and makeup.

Bruce knocks on your door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. He stares at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You look very handsome,” you respond.

Upon arriving at the gala, Bruce takes your hand as you both walked through the hordes of press and into the venue.

“You outdid yourself,” Bruce whispers, looking at the elaborate decorations and settings.

You smile, squeezing his hand gently as he leads you toward your table, never releasing your hand as he speaks to several people. After excusing himself, he asks you to dance. You stare up at him, dumbfounded that Bruce Wayne just asked you to dance. He pulls you against his side without waiting for an answer and leads you to the dance floor.

“Bruce, you know all the rumors are going to start again, right?” you ask as he places a hand on your hip and takes your hand in his other. Your hand raises to his shoulder while your eyes stay trained on his, unwilling to look around and see all the people staring.

“What if they weren’t rumors this time?” Bruce asks, leading the dance.

“What do you mean?”

“There have been rumors going around for years about me and you. Stirring up Gotham’s richest and criminals alike. Tell me why we are the only ones trying to deny this feeling. I feel it.”

“I do too,” you assure him softly.

“So, we can shut them down, I can shift the attention of the reporters,” Bruce begins. “Or… we could make it true.”

“Do you want to keep them talking or make them stop?” you counter.

Bruce doesn’t answer, finishing the dance. As the music fades, you drop your hands, but Bruce adjusts his grip on your waist and pulls you into a kiss that captures everyone’s attentions. Cameras flash, paparazzi yell, and Wayne Enterprises employees whisper to one another as several pay up for long-standing bets. Gotham knows what to call us know, you think.

You pull back first, and Bruce rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe that will keep their focus of Batman for a few days,” he murmurs.

“One rumor at a time, Bruce.”

[v1ctor1asecretangel]

Undercover

Peter Maximoff x Fem!Reader

warnings: p i v, semi public sex, bar bathroom sex, fluffy, bad smut writing cause i rushed it😭, slight fingering

word count: 2.1k

note: OKAY PLS READ FOR SOME CONTEXT!! so in this lets pretend peter doesnt know that erik is his father.... I LITERALLY COULD NOT THINK OF ANYONE ELSE TO PUT AS THE TARGET😭😭

MDNI 18+

Peter Maximoff, in true form, leaned casually against the bar, the mischievous glint in his deep bronze eyes shining beneath his tousled hair. A smirk danced on his lips, his trademark look, while his leather jacket gleamed slightly in the dim light. He threw you a playful glance, the corner of his mouth curling upward. Your pulse quickened, excitement intertwining with the thrill of your mission, the energy palpable between you.

The mission was straightforward in theory: infiltrate the bar, gather intelligence on a rumored underground operation, and remain unnoticed.

Peter raised a brow, his voice dripping with sarcastic charm. “So, you ready for this adventure? ’Cause I’m thinking we’re about to make one gnarly couple, don’t you?” His tone was light, but his eyes sparkled with that undeniable Maximoff mischief.

You gave him a skeptical look, keeping your voice low as you leaned closer. “Let’s just stick to the plan, okay? We need to blend in. Not make a scene.”

Peter, undeterred, shot you a mock pout. “Come on, don’t be such a square. We’re undercover, babe! Gotta add some spice. A little flirt-fest between us could totally sell this whole gig, don’tcha think?”

You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the edges of your lips. “Flirting isn’t part of the mission briefing. We’re supposed to act like a couple, not a couple of airheads having fun.”

He winked, leaning in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Relax, babe. It’s called method acting. Just roll with it. I mean, you’re lucky you get to hang with a guy as rad as me.” He leaned back, his grin widening. “Besides, a little hand-holding never killed anyone.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Hand-holding, huh? What’s next, kisses? I think you’re getting a little carried away, Maximoff.”

Peter shot you a playful smirk, waggling his eyebrows. “Who, me? Carried away? Pfft, nah. But hey, we gotta make it look real, right? And if that means we gotta smooch to sell the story, well… I’m just sayin’ im a pretty bitchin' kisser.” He slid his hand into yours, his fingers lacing through yours with ease. The sudden warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity up your arm, and despite your earlier words, you felt your pulse quicken.

You gave him a stern look, though the playful heat between you was undeniable. “Let’s just focus. We’ve got a job to do.”

Peter shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure thing, boss. But if this turns into a John Hughes flick, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He flashed you a grin, squeezing your hand gently before turning his attention to the room.

As the night stretched on, you and Peter navigated the bar seamlessly, weaving in and out of conversations and making casual small talk with patrons. Peter’s natural charm was disarming, and he wielded it with practiced ease, drawing people in with laughter and lighthearted banter. Meanwhile, you played the part of the attentive partner, throwing in affectionate glances and the occasional touch, all while keeping your senses sharp for any signs of your true objective.

“We’re looking for a dude named Erik,” you reminded him softly, leaning in to speak over the music. “Supposedly, he’s around here somewhere.”

Peter quirked a brow, tapping his chin theatrically. “Erik, huh? Sounds like a dude straight out of an action flick. Got it. Objective one: No making out with the fake boyfriend while looking for the bad guy. Objective two: Don’t get totally wrecked by said bad guy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a grin. “Very funny. Let’s just stay focused.”

Peter’s energy never wavered, and he flitted effortlessly from group to group, flashing his trademark grin and making fast friends with everyone from the bartender to the bouncer. He threw himself into the role with abandon, though the playful tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface, always threatening to boil over.

“Man, this place is so bogus,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you.”

Peter gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Bogus? Babe, this place is a gold mine club! The tunes are totally righteous, the vibe is chill, and the drinks? On Charles! What more could you ask for?”

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible? Nah. Impossibly cool, maybe. Besides, you get to hang out with me. That’s primo, babe.”

As the banter continued, the underlying tension between you both crackled with intensity. Every glance, every brush of his hand against yours felt charged, like a live wire running beneath the surface of your mission.

After what felt like hours of mingling, you caught Peter’s eye and gave a subtle nod. It was time to move. Together, you made your way toward the back of the bar, slipping into a quieter, dimly lit corridor that led toward the restrooms. The pounding music faded into the background, leaving the space eerily quiet compared to the chaos just beyond.

“Erik's gotta be lurking back here somewhere.” you whispered, scanning the hallway.

Peter’s hand slipped from yours as he gestured down the hallway with a flick of his head. “I’ll take the right, you grab the left. Keep it cool, babe, don’t want things to go totally off the rails.”

Before you could argue, he was gone in a flash, disappearing down the right side of the corridor. You swallowed your nerves, adjusted your stance, and headed in the opposite direction.

The hall was dark, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and something faintly metallic. As you approached the restroom, the sound of running water and the occasional clatter of something metallic filled the otherwise quiet space.

Peter reappeared seconds later, his grin as confident as ever. “Miss me?”

“Not really.” you replied with a smile, trying to match his nonchalance. “Find anything?”

“Nada,” he said with a dramatic sigh, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “But something tells me things are about to get, like, totally heated.”

The air between you shifted as Peter stepped closer, his presence magnetic. The playful banter faded, replaced by an intense silence that buzzed with unspoken anticipation. Your breath caught as the space between you narrowed, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

There was a shift in the air between you, the playful banter fading into something deeper, more palpable. Peter stepped closer, his presence magnetic, drawing you in without either of you uttering a word. The intensity in his gaze caught you off guard, and before you realized what was happening, the space between you vanished.

Your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss, but the restraint didn’t last. In a matter of moments, the kiss deepened, the passion between you igniting with a sudden and unrelenting force. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until every part of you was pressed against him. The world outside—the mission, the bar, everything—faded into a distant blur. All that existed was the heat of his touch, the fervor in his kiss, and the overwhelming sense that this moment had been inevitable from the start.

As the kiss intensified, you lost yourself in the feel of him. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the way his breath hitched every time your lips brushed against his. His mouth moved with a hunger that matched your own, a silent agreement that this was more than just a cover for the mission.

your bodies moved in perfect unison, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Peter's hands traced down your back, sending shivers down your spine, and you felt his erection press against your tummy as he pushed you against the wall.

You slowly pulled away from the kiss, your lips tingling from the intensity of it, but your body remained firmly pressed against Peter's. Your breasts flush against his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt. The proximity between you was almost unbearable, each breath you took mixing with his, creating a charged intimacy that crackled in the small space between you. Your heart pounded in sync with his, the intensity of the moment thick and electrifying.

Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering and filled with an unspoken need. There was no hesitation in your voice as you whispered, your words heavy with desire. "Right here, Peter. Take me right here. Right now." The intensity in your eyes echoed the urgency in your voice, a plea that left no room for doubt, only raw, immediate passion.

all of a sudden you realize Peter has moved you both to a small restroom in the bar.

The bathroom was tiny, the walls painted a dark, almost black shade that made the light seem to flicker. Peter leaned you against the cool porcelain sink, his hands roaming up your body, leaving trails of heat in the tension. Your skin prickled with excitement, and you could feel the fabric of your dress straining against your curves. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You gasped, your hand reaching up to tangle in his silver locks. His touch was firm, yet gentle, as if he knew exactly how to coax the responses he wanted from you.

The kiss grew more passionate, your tongues dancing together as the music from the bar pounded in the background. It was a rhythm that matched the beating of your hearts, a tempo that spurred them on. Peter's hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. You arched into him, eager for more. He groaned, the sound vibrating through your chest.

With a swift move, Peter lifted you onto the sink, your bodies aligned in a way that made it clear what was about to happen. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his muscles tense as he held you there. His eyes searched yours for extra reassurance, and you nodded, your eyes filled with a hunger that mirrored his. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that spoke of need and desire. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you closer. You feel peter lift up your dress and push aside your panties while also unzipping his jeans and pulling out his hard length. You could feel the head of his erection at your entrance.

The world outside the stall faded away as Peter pushed into you, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your nails digging half moon shapes into his shoulders as he began to thrust into your begging hole. His strokes were deep and deliberate, and you met him with every thrust, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. The coolness of the sink was a stark contrast to the heat between them, and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by your kisses. Peter's hands roamed your body, exploring every inch. You could feel his fingers tightening, his movements becoming more urgent.

Your breathing grew ragged, and you knew he was close to the edge. The music grew louder, the bass line pounding in time with your hearts. Peter's hand slipped between your thighs, down to your clit. You bit back a cry as he began to rub it in gentle circles. The sensation was too much, and you felt yourself falling apart in his arms, the orgasm ripping through you like lightning. He groaned, his hips bucking against you, and you felt him cum with you. His body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, You stayed like that, panting and clinging to each other, the only sound in the stall the muffled throb of the music outside. Then Peter leaned in, kissing your forehead gently, his eyes filled with a softness you hadn't seen before.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Peter leaned his forehead against yours, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, no kidding. But we should probably…”

“Get back to the mission?” Peter finished, his voice low and teasing. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips “Yeah, yeah. Mission first. But don’t think I’m done with you yet, babe.”

The thrill of the moment lingered between you as you got yourselves dressed. The mission still hanging in the air—but now, something much more electric simmered beneath the surface.

okay my shit 80s vocabulary needs to never be written again I APOLOGIZE IF ITS CORNY

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Ao3

Nine: Sirius

Pascal’s

Amsterdam

Remus wasn’t in the car. James wasn’t in the car. Sirius’ two captors sat across from him in the sleek, black backseat. The dark-haired one knocked on the divider to tell the driver to go. Sirius eyed the gentle shapes of guns beneath their jackets and took some faith in the idea that they hadn’t bound his wrists. They hadn’t even taken his own weapon or checked him further for any others that might be concealed.

“Having a good Christmas?” the curly-haired one asked.

“Saint,” the buzz-cut said, his tone scolding.

“What?” The one called Saint grinned. “I’m just making conversation.”

Sirius ignored the question altogether. “Where’s James?”

“He’ll be waiting for you,” Saint replied. “You can stop glaring at us. We’re not your enemy.”

“Saint.” Another warning from the buzz-cut.

“Luke,” Saint replied mockingly.

“Will you quit telling him things?”

“Sure, cowboy. I’ll quit.”

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked.

“Huh. Interesting,” Saint said. His strong features mocked a frown. “Asked about James first. I would have bet money on Remus. Good money, too.”

Sirius sat forward in his seat. “If you don’t tell me—”

Sirius heard the familiar sound of a gun clicking towards him and looked to see that the buzz-cut, Luke, had subtly turned his weapon on him.

“Luke doesn’t like when people threaten me,” Saint said. “Even when they don’t quite finish their sentences.”

Slowly, Sirius leaned back. It was too hot in the car, even after the bitter cold. The heat dried his throat out and made his skin itch.

“Who’s Pascal?” Sirius asked.

“Who’s Pascal?” Saint rolled his eyes. “Oh. Just the person who’s going to save all of your lives.”

+++

Sirius was allowed to keep his weapon even as he was led up the front steps of a very narrow townhouse. If he had to guess by the canal at his back, he’d say he was at the heart of the city. The building was made of brown-red brick, and in the heavy snowfall it almost looked like gingerbread. The roof sloped with delicately curling designs that looked as white as frosting, covered in the powdery flakes as they were. In the fading light, the tall windows glowed—Sirius wouldn’t say invitingly. Most light looked warm, sometimes deceivingly so. It didn’t mean much.

The entrance hall was as narrow as Sirius had expected, but the house seemed to make up for it with very tall sets of stairs that rose beyond where Sirius could see. Shining hardwood floors, pocketed by doorways, extended back a long way. Sirius had expected an office of sorts, not a house, and so the normal entrance hall surprised him. There were coats on hooks and boots on a mat. A mirror, spotted at the edges, hung to his left. He caught a horrible glimpse of himself in it. He looked tired and angry, with snow melting in his hair. Maybe this was all Remus ever saw. Tired. Angry. There was worry there, too, so sharp it stung.

Saint and Luke took off their coats and Sirius, reluctantly, did the same. He stuffed the hat and gloves Remus had stolen him in his coat pockets before hanging his coat on one of the hooks. He shouldn’t be sentimental about them. They weren’t gifts, just necessities. They felt like one, though. When Remus had first disappeared, Sirius had been alarmed by how few reminders he’d had of him. The agency had gone through Remus’ apartment, cleaning up any give-aways before Remus’ family arrived. By the time Sirius had forced himself through the door, the flat was empty and up for sale. Not many photographs. It was just a habit among their kind, but Sirius had never regretted anything so much.

“Let’s get a move on, then,” Saint said. “Shall we?”

“Don’t tell me I have to take my shoes off,” Sirius said.

The one called Luke snorted softly. “As if we’d ever ask that of a your sort.”

“My sort?” Sirius had been under the impression they were the same.

“There’s paranoid,” Saint said. “And then there’s you, Sirius Black. You’re a box of suspicions tied up with a ribbon.”

They led him up one great staircase to a second floor. A large, abstract painting met them on the second landing. The gray and whites of ice. The dark of something like a forest. Sirius was tempted to fall into it and stay in that cold oblivion until someone reached in and grabbed him back, but only to tell him Remus knew him again.

“Sirius.”

Sirius turned sharply at his name. James stood there wearing new clothes. A soft looking blue sweater and dark jeans. His glasses rested on his face like they always did and his hair was its usual disheveled mess. The relief in Sirius’ chest hurt.

They walked forward to each other at the same time and James put both his hands on Sirius’ shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he assured him. “You?”

“So far,” Sirius said. “What happened?”

James sighed. “Someone snuck up behind me. Still can’t figure out how.”

“Who?”

“Sweet reunion and all,” Saint said, brushing passed them both and gesturing to another set of stairs. “We’re not there yet, so if you could—”

“I can come to them,” said a voice from above. “No worries.”

Sirius looked up through the stairs’ curling wooden banisters. Brown, polished shoes appeared first, then light gray trousers. The man himself had dark hair that was parted and held in a gentle curl over his forehead, and a short beard that would have appeared scruffy had it not been so neatly trimmed. He smiled at Sirius as he descended the stairs.

“Hello, Sirius.” A nod to James. “James.”

“Pascal,” Sirius guessed.

“Yes. Sorry for the mystery, but better careful than not. Now that Salazar has tried to kill you, I figured it was finally time the three of us met.”

“How do you know they tried?”

“You went offline,” Pascal said simply.

Sirius touched the healing cut on his neck. “What do you want?”

Pascal paused on the final steps, seemingly taken aback by the harshness. Sirius didn’t care. He’d never been one to smooth contacts over with false flattery and charm. That was James’ job.

“Your Salazar blood runs thick, Sirius,” Pascal said. “Your great grandfather. Grandfather. Your father. Your younger brother. Regulus is there now, isn’t he?”

Sirius would not talk about Regulus with this man. “How do you know me?”

Pascal came to a stop a few paces away from him. “What I want, as you say, is to get to know each other. I would like you to listen to what I have to say. I knew you especially, Sirius, wouldn’t be easily swayed. Not even by what Remus and Logan knew.”

“Knew,” James repeated. “Do you know what happened to their memories?”

“I share your theories about Salazar,” Pascal said. Saint and Luke fell back a few steps but stayed close. “Logan and Remus knew something and Salazar didn’t want it going any further.” He glanced at Sirius.

“You thought I wouldn’t listen to something my own team told me?” Sirius asked.

“I think,” Pascal said quietly. “That there are some roots which run very deep.” He glanced between him and James. “What do you know? Before everything happened, I had begun to worry Remus would tell you too soon. He thought it would pose no problems.”

Remus had wanted to tell him something. It explained every moment Remus’ eyes had gone far away. It had explained the lingering silences, and that last day, when Remus had put a hand on Sirius’ neck. I need you to know—

Sirius couldn’t escape that touch. He didn’t want to. It had been filled with such panicked, sudden urgency.

“Nothing,” Sirius said. “He never told me anything. He never got the chance.”

James’ shoulder brushed his in silent sympathy, then he looked back to Pascal.

“Logan said your name,” James said. “When we first found him, he had a split second of clarity and told Finn your name. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that’s the only reason either of us is still standing here.”

“Then I will have to thank Logan,” Pascal said. “When Leo Knut allows him to be found, that is.”

“You found Finn through Leo’s tracker,” James said. “You just admitted to tracking us.”

Pascal laughed lightly. “And Mr. Knut does not make that easy. Especially now that he’s discovered the back door we came through and locked it up tight.” He gestured through a doorway. “Will you sit?”

The sitting room Pascal led them to was just as nice as the rest of the house. Low-backed, simple couches of brown leather and a gleaming, dark-wood coffee table already set with a french press and thin ceramic cups.

Sirius and James glanced at each other as they sat down. Sirius looked down briefly at James’ waist, and James nodded. He’d been allowed to keep his gun, too.

Pascal smiled slightly as he poured the coffee. “You don’t have to drink it, I won’t be offended. I know how this must feel.”

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked.

“He’s here and he’s safe,” Pascal said, sitting across from them. “I’m not keeping him from you, or you from him. I would like the chance to talk to you first, if you’ll allow me to. I’m sure you have questions, and I’d like to answer them without influencing Remus one way or another.” Pascal hesitated, pressing his hands together. “I…Greece did not go as planned. And I don’t know exactly what happened to him after he and Logan ran from us.”

“Ran from you,” James repeated.

Sirius sat forward. “Who were we following in Greece?”

“Salazar,” Pascal said. “There was never any real mission. They wanted you running in circles, chasing your tails, so they could kill Remus and Logan and turn the blame on some third party. Mission gone wrong. An old trick of theirs.”

“You were part of Salazar?”

Pascal didn’t answer, but no answer and the shadow in his dark eyes was enough. Sirius tried to place his face. He was about as old as his own father, a few years younger perhaps. Sirius never seen a record of him. He’d never heard his name.

“So the people in the boat, the people shooting,” Sirius said. “Those were other Salazar agents. Like Archer…”

He thought of Jack’s body, twitching once as his memories were wiped, then again as he was killed.

“No,” Pascal said. “That’s the way Salazar wanted it, but no. Those were my people in the boat.”

Sirius just stared at him. From beside him, James stopped breathing. “So you shot—”

“Stunning bullets. It had to be believable. But Salazar was also shooting—real ammo. They hit both of them, as you saw from above in the cliffs.”

Sirius tried to drag that image out of his mind and pin it down. Had he seen shots coming from two directions? He didn’t know. All he saw was Remus’ blood on the sand, Logan’s in the waves, and the boat speeding away.

“It was vital that we get to them first.” Pascal gave his head a small shake. “They were never going to die, but you could not come looking. Not yet. They both knew the risks.”

Air lodged in Sirius’ throat. They both knew the risks.

“What are you saying?” James pushed forward in his seat. “What the fuck are you saying, what did you just say?”

Pascal’s chest expanded with the breath he took. “James…”

“Are you telling us that they knew that was going to happen?” James asked. “Are you telling us…”

James trailed off in disbelief, but Pascal knew enough not to interrupt. Sirius wouldn’t have minded if he tried to look at least a little more guilty.

Sirius wanted to throw the steaming coffee in his face. “We thought they were dead. I thought he was gone, I thought I had killed him, I thought he was dead—”

“We didn’t know about the memory wipe,” Pascal urged. “We didn’t know. It was never supposed to go on this long, we were never supposed to lose them entirely, but they needed to disappear. Salazar had to think they were gone.”

“They needed help,” Sirius shouted.

“It was supposed to be a week. Then Logan and Remus would contact you, James, and Leo in their own time when they thought they could get you alone.” Pascal took a sip of his coffee like he was in no hurry at all, and James hit his palm against the table. Pascal looked at him but didn’t flinch. Only when he put the slightly shaking cup down did Sirius realize he was guilty. It was suddenly all over his face. “Just a week. That’s what they agreed to—and believe me, they didn’t like the idea of doing that to you for even that long.”

“Then why wasn’t it a week?” Sirius asked flatly.

“The trackers,” James said softly.

Pascal nodded. “We didn’t know about the trackers, we didn’t know they’d wipe their memory. Saint and Luke watched them forget themselves and acted quickly, thank God. Only, waking up and not knowing who you are and finding yourself shot and with two strangers cutting into your neck is not exactly the way to earn trust.”

“The boats they were on,” James said. “I don’t understand.”

“They fled. Logan and Remus,” Pascal said. “We thought, for a while, that they were together, and we were going to pick them up again in port, but…” He shook his head. “They might not have known themselves, but their skills of covering their own tracks are as good as second nature. So. That’s all I know. I couldn’t find them until Leo picked up Remus’ image. Now we’re here.”

“We don’t know a Saint or a Luke,” James said. “If they’re Salazar, why didn’t they know about the memories?”

“You didn’t know,” Pascal pointed out, eyes going to James’ own stitched-up wound. “It’s a new addition. That did not happen for me, or for them when they left.”

“I still don’t know those two,” Sirius said.

“You don’t know how large Salazar is.”

“Leo didn’t recognize them on the train.”

“Leo is young.”

Sirius tried to soak it all in. Remus, faking his own death. Remus not telling him. Logan, so calm, so calm that day, talking about taking Finn on vacation. Sirius got furious so quickly that he felt the world tip dizzyingly and he looked down at his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

“I wish,” Pascal began again, more softly, “that I could help them. But I’m not you.” He looked at James. “Or you. And I am not Finn, who was smart to come along, by the way. But know there’s no world in which he’ll be allowed to live now, not if he’s captured.”

“Why is that smart?” Sirius wanted to stand. He wanted to curl away from the world. He wanted to see Remus for himself. “I tried to stop him.”

“You’re not us?” James asked. There was a scoff to his voice, and Sirius knew he was about as ready to get up and walk out as he was. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Logan, Remus, and I spent time together, but mostly over the phone.”

“So?”

“So, memories have power,” Pascal said evenly. “They have a source. Love. Anger. Comfort. Sorrow. Listen carefully to me. Please.” He looked truly desperate for a moment. “They need to come back to themselves before they can come back to me. Otherwise, without knowing it, they could lead Salazar straight to us and all of the work we’ve done will be—”

“What are they to you? Why do you need them?”

“Witnesses,” Pascal said. “They’re the only witnesses I have against what Salazar has done. If we can riddle this out, this whole thing will be over in mere days. But I can’t do it alone.”

“And what’s that?” Sirius felt like he was right back in that cupboard with nothing but the dark. “What have they done?”

But Pascal only shook his head. “All I will say now, is that a witness is worth nothing if he can’t remember what he saw.”

“Tell us what you know.” James rose from his seat. “Tell us, or—”

Pascal rose, too. He was taller and broader than James, and for the first time since they’d met he used that advantage. “Okay, say I tell you. And then Salazar gets to you, let’s say.” His warm eyes narrowed. “They have Lily in a cold room somewhere. Talk, or she dies.”

“Don’t you fucking—”

“They bring her to you, let’s say,” Pascal cut in. “They put a gun to her head.”

“Stop,” James snarled.

“What would you say, James?” Pascal matched James’ volume. “If you want me to tell you so badly, what would you say to them if they were going to hurt your family?”

Sirius saw the dizzying waves wash over James. The anger. The grief. He fell back in his seat with one of his hands locked around his wrist, trying to hold himself together. 

“Anything,” James said softly. “Anything they wanted me to.”

Slowly, Pascal nodded. He retook his seat, glancing at Sirius. “Okay. Now, that is what I would need out of you. Loyalty. So, before I say a word, why don’t you let me make sure your family is as safe as my own.” James’ eyes flicked up to meet his and Pascal gave a nod. “Okay? Will you let me do that?”

For a moment, a flash of a moment, Sirius was jealous. So, so jealous of James for having someone who would let him protect them.

“Where is Remus?” he asked again. “Are you who he recognized outside the train station?”

Are you who he left me for?

“He recognizes you, too,” Pascal said.

He dreams of you.

  “You can help him, Sirius. Just like Finn can help Logan.”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not me. I can’t. Remus doesn’t trust me, not even a little.”

Pascal’s sigh sounded almost resigned as he stood again from the coffee and leather. “You’ll be comfortable here, I promise. It’s my own home. One of them. Food, drink, whatever you like. But I’d stay inside as much as possible. I can protect you here. Let me know when you’d like to signal Leo, Logan, and Finn. Take your time.”

Before he left the room, before Sirius could put a hand on James’ shoulder and get him to clear that vacant, scared expression out of his eyes, Pascal spoke again.

“You can help him,” Pascal said. “Remus is not himself. And, if you don’t mind my saying, neither, at the moment, are you, Sirius.”

Pascal slipped out the door soundlessly. He left some sort of ringing behind in Sirius’ ears.

“James,” Sirius said, putting a hand on his back. James had his fingers beneath the lens of his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Do you trust him?”

“I…” James sounded so tired. He kept his face half covered for a long moment. When he finally straightened, eyes red, he looked at Sirius. “Right now, I only trust you.”

“Remus will be in soon.”

They looked up to see that Saint had appeared. He held a tray of sandwiches and water bottles which he set down with a smirk. Sirius couldn’t tell if he’d heard that. “Hope you’re hungry.”

James ignored his words. “You were in Salazar.”

“Uh-huh. Before Pascal wiped me out of their existence.” He grinned in that odd way of his and began to walk away. “It’s nice to be a ghost. At least for a little while.”

“How did you get out?” Sirius asked.

“Piece of cake,” Saint called over his shoulder. “I took the only person I love with me.”

[noirsire]

✮⋆˙

content geto x reader, afab reader, riding, usage of One pet name (princess), he’s a little mean, overstimulation, size difference (kinda), geto talks to your pussy

i want. i wanna do things to him. he makes me a little crazy in the head.

strong arms are circled around your waist, keeping your body in place as you move your hips, soft little moans falling from your lips anytime you take suguru all the way in. he has you bouncing on his lap, legs spread to keep you open, eyes shining mischievously at the sight of your breaking composure.

“suguru,” your voice whines out, breath catching in your throat as every thrust has you feeling the drag of his dick against your walls, stretching you further, and if you weren’t as wet as you are now, you’re certain he would’ve split you in half. the thought is enough for you to speed up just slightly, clenching around him at the quiet grunt that escapes him.

large hands move to your hips, aiding your movements. “yes, princess?” you’re holding on desperately to his shoulders, nails slightly denting into the skin, but he pays it no mind. he’s more focused on the way your face scrunches up cutely, breath coming out in short pants now, every exhale a whimper.

you’re practically leaking on top of him, his thighs shiny with your prior orgasm, fucking yourself against him with the wetness it’s left behind to move at a controlled pace. there’s a wet, lewd squelch following your movements, and you’re shaking on top of him. the only reason your body is able to remain upright is because of the hold he has on you.

“‘s too much,” you manage to stutter out, tone shaky and breathy. your body felt like it was on fire, unable to even think with how full you are, head fuzzy as you squeeze around him. sensitive walls flutter around him, arms circling his neck. you had tried to slow down after the waves from your climax began dissipating, but suguru’s arms kept you in place, urging you to keep moving.

he chuckles in response, and doesn’t give you any sort of warning as his fingers wrap around the back of your thighs, lifting you up slightly before slamming his hips up into yours.

“you can’t complain after making such a fuss, can you?” he asks sweetly, innocently, as if his tip wasn't short of hitting your cervix, forcing you to feel every curve and vein on his shaft. he’s not wrong. as soon as you opened the door to the apartment, you were pushing him to the bedroom, not even wasting a second before crawling on top of him, muffled words of “wanted you” and “couldn’t wait” whispered against his lips. “weren’t you so eager to grind on my dick earlier?”

he thrusts a little harsher into you when you don’t respond, jaw falling slack as you nod, a measly, weak whimper of “yes” following the action. “and look at her,” his words feel like a purr against your ear, and you don’t even notice suguru’s hand is moving in between you until he presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, grinning as your body jolts in response, “she’s taking me in so well. practically crying around my cock, yeah?”

you can’t utter a response this time, too overwhelmed by the sound of his voice, so close and warm, and every moan and hiss has your skin tingling in excitement. “she’s so good to me, letting me use her like this.” his words are emphasized by even harsher thrusts. suguru enjoys the way your body twitches against his chest, loving how small you feel on top of him, “and you wanna be good too, right?”

suguru relishes in how quickly you nod, soft pleas whimpered against his cheek, growing higher in pitch as he keeps fucking himself into you, speaking clearly even with the ravenous pace he’d set. his grip on one of your tits is strong, his whole palm encompassing the fat skin, rolling it harshly with his fingers. “then you’re gonna have to take it.”

his words are hot against your neck, leaving soft, gentle kisses against your throat, so different from the way he’s mercilessly pounding into you, leaving you aching and crying. his grip on your thigh is sure to leave bruises, but you can’t focus on the pain when he angles his hips to repeatedly hit your sweet spot, walls spasming as your body convulses.

his thighs clench at the effort of having to move his hips up, eyes closing as he pulls himself closer to his release, but he pushes past the exertion. suguru’s voice is strained, chuckling softly before moaning, lips brushing against your jaw. “i still have to fill you up.”

[tunastime]

A Gear of the Heart, Turning

so I'm back on an ethubs kick after so very long of not writing them (spacer really changes a man), and decided to take a quick peek back into the DBHC au by @shepscapades beloved. thanks for making me insane! ahhaha <33 etho... anyways enjoy them! <3

(2847 words) (check out DBHC here!)

When Etho comes back from exploring, Bdubs is lying in the grass.

It’s a crisp, cold, clear day. The sun is bright blue, bright enough to stare into and imagine what the burning feeling could be, the cold brightness, the way the sun carries no warmth but a fraction of what it could in the summer. Etho knows exactly what time of year it is, he’s never stopped keeping track, he’s never paused counting the days in his own personal, mental calendar. Fall. Getting colder every day. Nights growing in length, days getting shorter and shorter. In the corner of his eye, if he were to focus on it, he could see the date. For now, though, the sides of his vision held other data—temperature, his own lives, a list of players, his personal chances of success. He’s not here to cause problems, that’s not his job. He’s got another objective, something self-made. Survive. He’s supposed to be surviving. He is surviving, in fact.

If Etho could breathe, he would’ve taken in a lungful of that sharp, cold air, would know the way it hit the back of his throat. Instead, he feels the sun, and the air, and knows them in absolutes, and picks his way around the base and over to Bdubs in the grass. He’s not asleep yet—his heart beats a steady drum, calm and even. Etho notes the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way he sees his eyebrows twitch when Etho stands in the patch of sun he rests in. He pillows his head on his coat, his arms spread out. His eyes don’t open, but his hand reaches out, smacking the side of Etho’s ankle.

“Etho,” Bdubs says tiredly. 

“How did you know it was me?” Etho asks, a note of curiosity entering his tone. He tilts his head, a bit unnecessarily. He knows Bdubs can’t see. It just feels right. He’s been doing a lot of that, lately—doing things because they feel right, rather than because he has to. That’s human, isn’t it?

“Who else is gonna come stormin’ into our base and stand in front of me?” Bdubs says. Finally, he cracks open an eye, squinting up at Etho, brows furrowed. His hand messes with the lace of Etho’s boot, twisting it in his fingers. Etho notes it down—he doesn’t want to trip.

“I was quiet as a mouse, Bdubs!” Etho says. He smiles—just enough for it to be seen in his eyes. Bdubs can’t see behind the black mask on his face. 

Bdubs snorts. After a moment, he shuts his eyes again. His hand falls still, over his chest. He sighs out a profound thing, face softening as he relaxes again.

“Sure you were, Etho,” he says. Etho hums a little. He likes the sound of Bdubs’ tone when he says that—something about it feels so much softer than normal. Maybe unintentionally tired. Maybe he was asleep before Etho got here. “Get outta my sun, will you?”

Step out of the sun, Etho thinks. It lingers for a moment. Will you? The added request. He considers it for a moment longer before he does. He rounds around Bdubs’ head, drops down to occupy the space right at his right shoulder. The sun shines on both of them.

Etho takes a moment to shrug off the warm coat around him. It ends up on the grass beside him and so does his mask and he leans back on his hands. He soaks in the sun, wondering what that warmth could feel like if it were just a bit stronger, if the bite of cold around them weren’t so prevalent. He wonders how much Bdubs feels of both, if it’s more than him, if it’s less. Bdubs heart stays steady, his breathing even. He still isn’t sleeping.

“That better?” Etho asks, lowering his voice. Bdubs makes a noise, half-startled. Etho looks down at him, watching the way his face changes ever so as he recognizes Etho’s question. He gets the urge, just for a moment, to reach out, to run his hand through Bdubs’ hair, despite how greasy it must be at this point. He wonders if it would tangle. He wonders if it feels any certain way. 

“That’s much better,” Bdubs sighs. “Thank you, Etho.”

“Mhm.”

There’s a beat of quiet where they sit together. Etho’s hand sits behind Bdubs’ head. He considers that urge with full merit, listening to Bdubs sigh again, comfortable and content even in the midst of a death game. To be fair, Etho knows he isn’t. This is just a facade for a brief moment—or perhaps it’s Etho himself making him this calm. He can’t tell. Part of him hopes it’s the latter, rather than the former.

Bdubs tilts his head back, craning his neck to get a look at Etho behind him. He smiles a bit, furrowing his eyebrows questioningly. Etho tilts his head again, that questioning gesture, finally letting his hand rest at the crown of Bdubs’ head. Bdubs smile only grows, just a bit, just the smallest fraction. Etho doesn’t move his hand—he just rests it there. Just for a moment. 

“What’re you doin’?” Bdubs asks.

“Sitting here,” Etho says plainly. “Is that a problem?”

“You’re lookin’ pretty comfortable.”

“I am,” Etho says. He hums a little, to add to the effect. “You look comfortable yourself.”

“Oh,” Bdubs says, shutting his eyes. “Very much so.”

Etho hums again. He lets his thumb drag over the top of Bdubs’ head, muzzing up his hair, allowing just a moment of self indulgence. Bdubs doesn’t stop him. It’s nice. 

Bdubs watches him with a soft, partially confused, partially content look. After a moment, he shuts his eyes, leans his head back down so that Etho’s hand cups the top of his head. He sighs out and clambors up. Etho’s hand falls away after that, and something resembling a pang of longing makes his thirium pump stutter. 

Bdubs turns toward him, shifting forward until their knees meet. He blocks part of the sun over Etho, to which Etho nearly makes a comment about it, but it gets lost somewhere as Bdubs squints at him. Late afternoon, Etho thinks. The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky to last much longer. He’ll have to haul himself up and start a fire, soon enough, but Bdubs pins him with that look and Etho can’t move. Bdubs hasn’t even given him a request. It feels self-inflicted. 

“You’re staring,” Etho says, a bit obviously.

“You were looking at me funny,” Bdubs says. His mouth curves into a frown. Etho hopes it doesn’t look like he’s watching. Instead, Etho laughs.

“I wasn’t,” he says. Bdubs snorts, shaking his head. He reaches out, patting Etho’s unmarred cheek. The impression his hand leaves is warm—warm enough to almost be hot. Etho’s brain pings the sensation, the impression, the linger of touch, records, stores, repeats. If he had something to swallow he’s sure he would've done it, like he’s seen Bdubs do. 

Instead, he raises his eyebrows, and doesn’t say anything, and Bdubs laughs, and Etho doesn’t think another sound could be that good. Bdubs pulls himself up after that, pushing himself forward on his hands and knees, wincing at he twists to stretch, and sighs.

“Tango’ll be back soon to check up on us,” he says. “You wanna get started on a fire?”

Etho looks up at him, nodding slowly. He’s still lingering on that remnant of a touch, the weight of it all. He agrees to what Bdubs says regardless, and as Bdubs nods his thanks and walks away, still complaining about the ache in his back, Etho scoops himself off the ground. Above him, the sun has started to sink in the sky, and the shadows grow.

Etho makes a fire.

Tango comes and goes. He’s not much for sleep, which is typical for him as of late. He laughs as he talks to the two of them, as they bounce around stories about the day passed. Nothing happened—not really, nothing of note. It was slow, full of collection, of waiting, of planning. Tango talks of resource gathering as Bdubs drinks soup from a wooden bowl. It’s a nice slice of quiet, and Etho watches the expression on Tango’s face with a careful contemplation. His red eyes flick to Etho when he talks about their team, and Etho feels that bit of warmth, sharing that eye. Everywhere he goes, he carries a bit of Tango with him. Their odds look better with him here, but he can’t deny the sliver of human error that chips away at that success rate. He doesn’t know how much longer Tango’ll stick around. Surely, he can see it too.

The fire is still going when Tango picks himself up and dusts his pants off and says he’ll be back later. Etho believes him, reaches out to pat his shoulder as he stands with him. Tango jostles, smiles like he means that, too. Etho watches him go before he drops down beside Bdubs again. Bdubs stares into the flames, eyes far away, expression soft. Etho moves to sit next to him, their shoulders almost brushing. It’s Bdubs that closes the gap, pressing to his side, cheek against his shoulder. Etho stays still, stiffening, pretending not to care when Bdubs takes his hand. He can feel the uptick of stress as he sits still, feeling his pump thump in his chest.

Bdubs runs his thumb over the back of his hand, over the valleys of his knuckles. He traces them out with the pad of his finger, and the spark of sensation travels up Etho’s arm, like it could tickle the back of his neck, raise the hair there. It registers, again and again, dull and present but not unpleasant. He leans back into Bdubs. Bdubs laughs a little, just a huff of air.

“You better not be sleepin’ on me, Etho,” Bdubs says, the undertone of sleep coming to his voice. Etho makes a noise of disagreement.

“Never, Bdubs!”

“Mm,” Bdubs sighs. “Good.”

Bdubs lets go after a moment, peeling away from him for just a beat, before they’re sitting side by side again, Bdubs still pressed as close as he can be to his shoulder. Etho notes the way Bdubs shivers, imperceptible. Etho’s the warmest thing besides the fire, here, all moving mechanical parts and expelling heat to keep cool. Not as much as Tango might, but enough to matter. Enough to be a little bit warmer than Bdubs, right now.

Bdubs sighs again, shutting his eyes. Facing Etho, now, Etho can watch his expression change as he starts to warm up, softening, sinking. Bdubs doesn’t open his eyes for a long moment, but his hand comes up, his right hand, left hand replacing the one holding Etho’s wrist hostage. He reaches up to cup Etho’s face in his palm. His warm hand slides up to cradle the scarred side of Etho’s face, and Etho can’t help the immediate reaction of simulated skin fading to white, sliding away where Bdubs’ warm, calloused hand makes contact. Bdubs runs his thumb over a particular crack near his jaw, just a simple, slow motion. Etho wishes he could sigh. It would be the proper response. More than just leaning into the touch and shutting his eyes, more than not knowing why it was nice, and just knowing that it was. It sends sensation after sensation after sensation, the tingling feeling running over his skin and up his cheek and neck. Does Bdubs know? Can he see what it’s doing? Surely he can’t hear the stutter, the way his pump works faster, any of that. If he were to open his eyes, would Bdubs be looking at him? What would that expression look like?

He opens his eyes anyway. He lets them slide open, ignoring the very human response to shut them again, to soak in the touch, the feeling of being held. The feeling he was realizing he would like if he could tie the two together. Bdubs is looking at him, but his expression is soft, almost concerned. Hesitant, maybe. He pauses the drag of his thumb over Etho’s cheek as Etho meets his eye, even as Etho’s expression is low-lidded and unfocused.

“‘S that nice?” Bdubs asks softly, voice going hoarse as it hits the low register. 

Etho blinks, slow. The edges of his vision fuzz out, like his optical unit is failing. He opens his mouth, realizing he’s failed to preemptively form a sentence. He makes a sound instead, then tries again, stuttering.

“I don’t know.”

Bdubs frowns a little. Etho leans hard into his palm. Not like that. He doesn’t mean it like that.

“It’s nice, but I don’t know what nice means,” Etho manages. He’s not making any sense. “You don’t have to stop.”

Bdubs’ frown fades, turning soft, warm, into a smile. He laughs a little, a sound Etho registers as a laugh. Good enough to be a laugh. 

“I hear you, sweetheart,” Bdubs says gently.

Etho smiles, laughs a little. As much as he’s learned to mimic, so far, something that’s started to morph into his own little sound. 

“You getting soft on me, Bdubs?” he asks. He can’t help it—the amused tease comes too natural to kick. He feels Bdubs pinch his cheek and recoils, face scrunching.

“I am not,” Bdubs barks. His voice is flooded with amusement though, and Etho laughs with him. He can’t help it. Bdubs laughs, and he does too, and whatever thing he’s experiencing feels incredibly fond and sweet and he hopes he’ll soon be able to actually pin it to something. What was all that? Who was that, squeezing itself into Bdubs’ body, to touch Etho’s face in a way that he’d never really done before? To admire? Was he admiring? Looking at him? Memorizing like Etho was? Etho watches Bdubs turn away, searching for something to snuff the fire. He pretends not to notice the flush on Bdubs’ cheeks.

Bdubs is such an odd person. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get a proper grasp of human emotion. Maybe that’s the whole point.

Bdubs snuffs the fire. When he does, he turns to Etho. The mask finds Etho’s face again, and Etho registers the falter in Bdubs’ face when he looks at him.

“Gotta protect that face of yours, don’t’cha?” Bdubs says, swallowing down something. Maybe there’s a hint of emotion Etho is missing. He can’t really tell. His vision sharpens back into clarity as Etho rises to a stand. The sky is just starting to get dark, the air cold, and Bdubs looks over to the wooden structure they’re calling home—more than just the fort. A warmer space than just the fort.

“You know it,” Etho says playfully. That alone cracks the facade of Bdubs’ discomfort. He smiles, shaking his head, rolling his eyes in the good-natured way that Etho always recognized as good-natured and not malicious. 

“You comin’ to bed?” Bdubs asks. He jerks his head over to the wooden structure, body halfway turned to it. He doesn’t say anything else, lingering on Etho’s unsaid answer. Etho shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets as his shoulders rise. 

“Maybe. Probably not tonight.”

“Mm,” Bdubs says. “Right. Forget you don’t need to sleep half the time.” Then he laughs, and at the last second, adds:

“You weirdo.”

Etho barks out a laugh—something wholly his own, surprised, startled by Bdubs’ comment. He watches Bdubs turn away from him, still chuckling, still smiling to himself. After a beat, he calls back to him, and Bdubs turns. Etho shrugs off his coat, holding it out to him with one hand, the other still in the pocket of his pants. Bdubs tilts his head, frowning a little.

“You’re not gonna get cold?” he asks. Etho shakes his head.

“I’ll be alright,” he says, smiling. It feels nice to smile. It feels nice that it meets his eyes.

“Okay, Etho,” Bdubs says, taking the coat. He pauses for a moment, draping it over his arm. It feels good. Maybe that’s what Bdubs means by things feeling nice. Feeling. Maybe. “Have a good night, alright?”

“I’ll try, Bdubs,” Etho says, letting his tone be as affectionate as is appropriate. Bdubs nods his head. That smile doesn’t leave his face for as long as Etho can see him.

Bdubs wanders off to their room, quiet. Etho finds that place in the grass again. He’ll check in on him in a bit, spend the rest of the night planning, working, and spend some time resting when he knows he’s able to tomorrow. For now, though, Etho drops himself into the soft grass still present around the base, in the snow, feeling it cold but not yet damp, waning from the evening light. Feeling. Feeling. Feeling. Maybe he can get used to feeling. Maybe he’ll understand feeling on his own. He looks up, into the sky, and tries to see if there are any stars he recognizes.

They wink their way in from the gold-blue sky, and Etho watches. 

[muddyorbsblr]

feels like mine pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You wake up in a bed that isn't your own, living a life that seems to be pulled straight out of your wildest dreams

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ | mentions of death; slight gaslighting (?) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: everything is not what it seems; twist at the end

Your eyes squinted to adjust to the brightness of your bedroom awash with the morning sun. Looks like Mother Nature chose to be a little too chipper this morning and tried to blind you with its rays shining straight into your room.

You rose from your bed, your hands flopping on to the ultra soft comforter that sunk beneath the pressure.

Weird, you thought to yourself. I don't remember checking in to a hotel, and God knows my bed isn't this soft. You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and alarm bells immediately ringing loud in your head when you looked down at the pristine white sheets.

"This isn't my bed," you said aloud, hopping down from the mattress and assessing your body, ensuring that you were free to move and your limbs weren't tied down in some capacity keeping you captive in what would have been a bizarrely cozy looking prison. You assessed your clothes next; mainly to see if you were even wearing any, your brows shooting to your hairline when your hands touched a lush satiny fabric covering your curves. "These aren't my clothes."

You rushed over to a mirror situated on a door that you assumed was a closet, your confusion growing by the second when you saw that the reflection looking back at you was…yourself. Exactly as you were last night before you went to bed, only clad in a navy blue nightie that looked like it cost over a week's pay. And wearing a ring that probably cost your soul.

The items on the nightstand by the side of the bed you'd woken up on raised even more questions. A black leather-bound journal with a gold 'H' pressed on the spine, a fountain pen, a laptop, a tablet, and a Kindle Oasis. An almost exact match to the items on the nightstand that you knew by heart, but each item was a more luxurious variant. For one, you wouldn't in your right mind ever buy yourself a Kindle Oasis. Or an S.T. Duponte fountain pen.

On the opposite nightstand were a stack of papers bound together with brass fasteners and a pair of reading glasses with a grade that moderately blurred your vision when you held it close to your eyes. You decided against looking at the contents of the book-bound papers in case there was anything confidential you weren't meant to glimpse in its contents.

You checked on the door next, seeing if it was locked from the outside. It wasn't.

You stepped out of the bedroom, assessing your surroundings to find any semblance of information that would tell you where you were and why you were here, only to grumble out of sheer frustration, "This isn't my apartment." To start with, apartments didn't have stairs. And your place didn't have nearly this much windows.

"Did I…shift?" Your voice softly echoed off the walls, staring in disbelief at the framed picture before you. Your hair and makeup impeccably done, a flower tiara delicately put in place at the top of your head, clad in a downright whimsical wedding dress and smiling brilliantly at the groom whose back was turned to the camera, your only hint at who he was being broad shoulders and brown slightly curly hair.

The unmistakable sound of vegetables being cut led you down the stairs and into the kitchen, desperately hoping it would lead you to who your mystery husband was and maybe start making some sense of this downright crazy predicament.

But catching a glimpse of the well over 6-foot lean frame dressed a white button-down shirt tucked into black dress pants that put a way too familiar butt on proud display had you itching to wake up because this was most definitely a concerningly vivid dream.

That is definitely not my husband.

No way on God's green Earth were you married to Tom Hiddleston. This just went from bizarre to downright impossible.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted you in that low timbre that had your knees buckling, setting aside his task at hand and removing his apron before walking over to you.

"Hi…" you answered him, voice wavering. Before you could speak another word, he framed your face in his hands, thumbs softly running across your cheekbones, and then pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. "What're you--"

"We finished filming early," he answered, words murmured against your lips. "I caught an earlier flight so I could see you sooner. Oh I've missed you so much." He pressed his lips to yours again. "My darling wife."

Okay, I definitely shifted. This body you may have woken up in had your face, and probably your maiden name…but this wasn't your life. You were occupying space meant for someone else. Another Y/N.

"Tom, I think I have to--"

"Whatever it is can wait." He kissed you again, this time he pressed against you a little harder, your heart beating wildly in your chest when you felt a light, tentative lick to your bottom lip. "Just let me hold you a little while longer." He wrapped his arm around the small of your back, cradling your head with his other hand as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, sighing in contentment.

You knew you were seconds away from abandoning all your plans to try and get him to listen when he started pressing numerous open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your whole body growing weak when he started nipping and licking at the skin. "Please it's important. I don't think I'm supposed to be--"

The feel of him groaning into your skin made your knees give out, making him hold you tighter against him. He walked you backwards until your back pressed against the wall, your breathing labored as he kissed along the expanse of skin exposed to him by your negligee.

When his kisses started traveling south and he pressed his lips to the swell of your breast, you knew you had to get your words out before you gave in and let him have his way with you, however far that may be. "I'm not supposed to be here," you blurted out, pressing your palms to his shoulders and inwardly cursing at yourself for making him stop. "I know that I might sound like I'm not making any sense but…I think I shifted realities…? It's bizarre to me because I never actually succeeded until now but the point is--"

"Sweetheart, slow down." He began to rub his hands up and down your arms, calming you down some within seconds and once again making you question this reality. And how he knew what to do when you began to ramble and spiral in your own thoughts. "You say you're not supposed to be here. Where do you think you should be? Tell me what you know and perhaps I can help from there."

"My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I'm a software engineer in the middle of a career shift. Last night I went to sleep in a one bedroom apartment in Anaheim. I was no one to you. At most a faceless name that sings your praises online. Definitely not…" You waved your hand in a sweeping gesture across your surroundings. "This," you finished, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you caught sight of his expression, eyes shining with tears that were seconds away from falling down his cheeks.

"What a bleak life," he breathed out, pressing his lips to your forehead as he pulled you into an embrace. "I can't imagine having to live in a world where I didn't know you. Didn't love you." He kissed your temple. "Thank God it was just a dream."

"A dr--A dream?" you sputtered, confusion overcoming your thoughts. Surely it wasn't that simple. That easily explained. You could remember in vivid detail the code you worked on last night, the bumpy bus ride on the way back to your apartment. The last story you read written by your friends online before you finally laid your head on your pillow and succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

Something about Tom's character on The Hollow Crown and barn sex before he was to face off against the Dauphin of France.

"Yes, my love. Nothing but an awful vivid dream," he reassured you, soothing you with the low velvety tone of his voice, partnered with the kisses he was softly peppering all over your face before stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Your name is Y/N Hiddleston. We've been together for five years, and you gave me the unique honor of becoming your husband less than a year ago. You were a software engineer amidst a career change when I met you all those years ago, and you've come so far since then. You have amazed me at every turn, and it's been a privilege to witness all that you've done. And all that you will continue to do." He captured your lips in a tender kiss, making you melt into his arms as you crossed your hands behind his neck, allowing him to pull you closer. "You just need a few minutes to readjust after waking up. Everything will come back to you soon enough. And any details that don't return to you I'll happily fill those blanks in."

It was almost like the protests that remained in your mind got muffled at his assurances. He spoke about you with such conviction and fondness and love that it made it sound beyond reproach. All that remained was the faintest murmur of doubt that you quickly recognized as those few hours of disbelief you would go through after waking up from a particularly vivid dream, much like those ones you had back in college where you mourned the loss of your best friend and you internally panicked for hours until he walked into the classroom looking every bit as alive as he had the day before.

"Just a dream…" You tested the words on your tongue, the explanation steadily becoming more and more palatable than your initial theory of successfully shifting. Your eyes met Tom's again. "Sorry I…kinda freaked out back there--"

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips to stop you. "There's no need for apologies, sweetheart. You were disoriented, and I'm grateful you confided in me that you were instead of holding it all in." He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, the gesture bringing a smile to your face and causing a small giggle to escape your lips. "How about you head back upstairs and get ready for the day, and I'll finish whipping up breakfast?"

"That…sounds like a good idea," you agreed, unable to keep the smile off your face even as he kissed you again. "I'll go take a shower and then…I'll be back down here in twenty minutes?"

Tom loosened his hold on you, hands smoothing down your sides before he took a step back so you could make your way up the stairs. Before you passed him, he took your hand in his to call your attention again, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to each of your knuckles. "I love you," he whispered against your skin.

"I love you, too," you said back, biting your lip as you gave him a smile before heading back up the stairs, your doubts calmed and your panic from earlier subsiding, allowing you to simply look around the house and appreciate the beauty and joy that your life granted you in stark contrast to last night's dream.

Just as you stepped on to the top landing of the stairs, a flash of green glinted at the corner of Tom's eye, diverting his attention to the visitor in the kitchen.

"She is a perceptive one, your mortal," Loki mused, staring down at the ingredients on the cutting board. "A part of her recognizes that she is no longer within her universe. That part could linger…fester, even. Are you truly certain you wish to continue down this path? To risk her finding out the truth and resenting you from stealing her away from her life--"

"What's the alternative, then?" Tom snapped, gripping the countertop so hard his knuckles were going white, hot tears finally falling from his eyes. "Go on the rest of my days without my wife? Let her go back to a world where she said it herself, she's no one to me?"

Loki let out a sigh, taking a few steps towards the door to the patio, the tension and frustration evident in his stance. "She did not deserve the life she was designed for, on that I do agree. But it will take time for her to fully acclimate to this new universe, if you truly wish to keep her here. And you must accept that no matter what you do, she may never fully fill the space that your late wife left behind."

Tom's eyes burned with more tears, indignation and grief making his heart ache even worse at the memory of you -- that is, the you that he lost not even three days ago. "I know that," he said through gritted teeth. "What of the people who heard news of her passing? The people on set who saw me when I got the call? They're going to ask her questions when they see her alive and well. Questions she won't be able to answer."

The god simply waved a hand dismissively. "Simple memory spell. Their recollection of events will simply be altered wherein they recall you receiving a call and you needed to leave and halt production to ensure her safety, not see to her funeral. Her record at the hospital has been expunged. Any and all evidence that suggests that the Y/N Hiddleston of his universe is no longer with us has ceased to exist."

"Thank you," he choked out, walking up to the god and extending a hand.

"Of course. You deserved not the life you'd planned with your wife taken so violently." Loki took your husband's hand in a firm shake. "Now, I know it may not be my place to tell you what you should be doing at this moment. But from where I stand, you have just been reunited with your wife. If you're open to suggestions, I would recommend putting the apron down, going upstairs, and simply enjoying the life that has been returned to you. Breakfast can wait."

With those words, Loki disappeared in a flash of green right as Tom turned around and headed up the stairs in your direction, heeding the god's advice.

A/N: Something tells me that when I told y'all there's a Centrum Ad Hiddles story coming your way, y'all probably didn't expect this…and to be honest I didn't think I was even gonna make a Centrum Ad Hiddles story, let alone one that took this direction. 😳👀 I hope you like it though, slightly dark twist and all 😅💖

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