#i got possessed and was drawing this for three hours

[ndrwlls]

i love the fact that in mag142 jon became one of the entities he reads about. he is now a nightmare haunting innocent people i love that for him

no green eyes version he looks crazy here

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ‘Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[bluemoon-fever]

needy

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader

summary: steve rogers is a very needy man.

word count: 2.45k

warnings: fluff, smut, dub-con (reader is tipsy, but not drunk), unprotected sex, possessive steve, allusions to DD/lg (but not really), D/s undertones, daddy kink, soft!dom!steve, begging, hand job, oral (male and female receiving), rough sex, fingering, light choking, spitting, dacryphilia, praise kink, grinding, mention of safe words, nipple/breast play, cum play, creampie, aftercare, it's filth, but it's also fluffy MINORS DNI

a/n: so i've been having this in my head for over a week, and i'm excited to finally share. i also have something else planned with steve (maybe a mini series or something. i'm still planning). while all can read, i do write with black/poc readers in mind! i hope you all enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated! <3

not edited.

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL THIS POST. I do not give permission for my work to be posted on another site.

A symphony of giggles and clumsy steps lets Steve know that you’ve just arrived home. He’s at his desk, working on a new art piece. It’s a drawing of you sleeping soundly in your shared bed based on an image he snapped a few days ago. He goes to hide the drawing, wanting it to be a surprise for you when he’s done.

He hears you fumble with your phone and tell your friend through a fit of giggles that you made it home safe. Then, Steve hears the sound of you taking off your heels and walking into the kitchen. He sighs, waiting for you to finally finish up whatever you were doing and come back to him. It had been about three hours since he last saw you, and he had missed you.

On his days off, Steve cherishes your time together. It’s very rare that he gets days to be home, draw, and just relax, but when you told him you had plans to go to brunch with your friends, his mood soured a bit. He didn’t want to keep you from his friends, but he was feeling very selfish over you. He wanted you all to himself. This morning, he tried to convince you to stay in bed, but after about an extra 15 minutes of cuddles, you told him you had to get ready. He threw a pout at you that made you giggle, and you kissed his cheek all sweet before you got up to get ready. He watched as you got dressed and put makeup on which he constantly told you, “You don’t need it.”

“Thanks, babe, but I just wanted to be dolled up. It’s been forever since I’ve gone out.” Steve winces at your words. He had just gotten off a long mission, and since he had been back, he had been more focused on relaxing than taking you out on dates. Even though you never complained about it, he knew you were in need of a fun outing. That’s why he couldn’t be too mad that you were so quick to agree to brunch with your best friends. You knew he wasn’t in the mood to be out and about, and he didn’t want you to sacrifice your need for socialization just for him.

Well, he did, but he would never ask you to do that. Not when you’re his perfectly sweet, beautiful girlfriend.

Steve volunteered to drive you to brunch, but you said you already agreed to a carpool. When he volunteered to bring you back home, you shot that down (unintentionally). One of your friends agreed to be the designated driver. Steve held in a grunt, but his frustration dissipated slightly when you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and lips. “I love you! I’ll be back before you know it.”

And here you were, but what was taking you so damn long?

Steve was about to rise until he heard you slightly stumble towards the room. Your cheeks were flushed red, a sign of the bottomless mimosas he knows you downed at brunch. Your lipstick was long gone, leaving a slight pink tint on your lips. The rest of your makeup looked fine, and you were actually glowing. Your outfit, a black mid-length, bodycon dress, clung to your curves perfectly. Steve felt his dick start to stir. 

God, he wanted needed you so bad.

“Hi, baby,” you said. You held a bottle of water in your hand and took a sip as you walked in the room. You weren’t drunk, but he could tell you were tipsy. You threw a playful smirk as you sauntered towards him. “I missed you.”

For some reason, Steve didn’t want to give into your sweetness. While he had missed you and missed your body, he wanted you just as needy as he was. He wanted you to need him so bad you were begging for it. While his exterior remained stoic, something feral bloomed inside of him that he had to stifle his own smirk.

You moved directly in front of him and leaned down to give him a kiss. When you didn’t feel him return it, your face flashed concern. Did you do something wrong? Was he mad at you? You began to feel nervous under his gaze. Rather than say anything, you moved to straddle him and began to burrow into his lap. You faced him directly and wrapped your arms around his neck. When his expression didn’t budge, you buried your face into his neck and inhaled his scent.

God, you needed him so bad.

As you shrunk yourself in his lap, Steve gave a small smile. Seeing you become so little was making him harder. He knew after one drink that you were affectionate and needy. At events, you’d seek him out, attaching yourself to his side or finding some way to touch him. He had you right where he wanted you. You had mumbled something into his neck that took him from his own thoughts.

“What was that?” he asked, keeping his voice firm.

“How was your day?” you said softly, almost at a whisper. You turned your face and looked up into his sparkling blue eyes. You were so damn sweet he felt he was getting a cavity. “Are you enjoying being off?”

“It was fine,” he said, telling the truth. It was just fine. If you were with him all day, laying naked next to him, it would have been everything he needed. But seeing you concerned about him, being so sweet and kind, made him want to just pick you up and make sweet love to you in his bed. But a strong part of him didn’t want that; he wanted to ruin you and make you more pliant. “How was brunch?”

“It was nice,” you began, playing with the hairs in his beard. “But I really missed you, Daddy.” 

Fuck, he thought. Here you were, his perfect girl, wrapped up perfectly in his lap and pliant. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He gripped your face in his large hands and began to kiss you passionately. You didn’t even try to keep up, letting him push his tongue past your lips and claim your mouth. You began to whine, and Steve felt you begin to grind against his hard-on. He shifted his hands to your neck and pulled you back.

“If you missed me so much, baby girl, then show me.” Your eyes were blown wide with lust. Your lips swollen and pink. You nodded and began to pull his dick out of his sweatpants. You began stroking him, creating a steady rhythm that made Steve catch his breath. “Fuck angel.”

You shifted off his lap and moved his rolling chair back. You settled yourself between his legs. You began giving kitten licks to the tip of his cock before staring up at him with the kindest eyes; Steve had to fight the urge to blow a load on your face. You teased him a bit more with the licks before swallowing his own length down. Steve gripped the back of your head, pushing his length further down your throat. You struggled to take all of him, and the sensation of it made him pulse a bit down your throat. He pulled you off of him and took in your state. Your eyes began watering, your mascara starting to smudge under your eyes. Your mouth was wet with saliva. Steve wishes he could take a picture of you, seeing you ruined made further awakened a beast within him.

You reached for his cock, moving your mouth back on him. He watched in amazement as you tried to deep throat him on your own. You began looking up at him, your eyes looking as big as possible. How you managed to make yourself still look innocent while sucking his dick was something.

“Look at my pretty girl, sucking her Daddy’s cock. You’re doing so good.” You keened over his praise. He watched as you attempted to move your hand under your dress to gain some relief, but he grabbed both of your hands and held them above you. He removed your mouth off of him as gently as he could. You stared up at him waiting for his next words.

“Get on the bed.” He let your hands go and watched as you moved quickly to kneel on the bed. Steve didn’t even bother making it, leaving your bed sheets at the foot of your mattress. You placed your hands in your lap. He got up and cupped your face in his hand. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before his hand moved to pull the thin strap of your dress down. “How are we feeling?”

“Green,” you told him. You gave a small smile. “I need you.”

“I know. Be patient, baby.” If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black…

He pushed your shoulders back as a sign for you to lay back on the bed. He moved to pull your dress off, you lifting your hips to help him. You were left in just a lacy pink thong and strapless bra. You moved to pull the bra off and placed it on the floor next to your bed. You grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest. You were so desperate for some sort of relief.

Steve began massaging your breast, his fingers pulling at your nipple. You let out a breathy moan from the sensation, happy to finally feel something. Steve’s eyes darkened when he saw your hand slip inside your panties, and you began to play with yourself.

“How bad do you need me? How bad do you need your Daddy?” he asked, almost mockingly.

“I need you s-so bad,” you cried out. “I’ve missed you so much. Thought about you the whole time at brunch. Please, I need you.”

Steve removed his hands, causing you to whine. When you looked up at him, you saw him frantically stripping out of his sweatpants and white tank top. He didn’t even bother with underwear, secretly praying that you came home exactly like this, and he would have easy access.

His mouth began an assault on your neck. He pulled your hand out and roughly pulled your panties down, flinging them somewhere in the room. He kissed down your body, spending precious time kneading and kissing on your breasts before he found himself in between your legs. Without asking, you opened yourself up to him. “Please, please, please,” you whined.

Steve dove in, essentially making out with your pussy. You cried out, and he placed his left hand on your stomach to hold you down. His other hand began to push into your core, finding that spongy spot that instantly had your hips bucking. He looked up at you through his thick lashes, watching your face contort into pure ecstasy. He found your bundle of nerves and began to suck while continuing to play with you like you were his favorite instrument (you were). You immediately began singing out, a sign you were close. It was music to Steve’s ears, your incoherent cries.

Steve lifted up, removed his fingers from your core, and watched as your face fell in betrayal. “If you’re going to come, it’s going to be on my dick,” he spat at you. “Open.”

You opened your mouth, and Steve spit down your throat. He captured into another filthy kiss, you grabbing onto his back to pull you into him, trying to become one. He lined up himself at your entrance before pressing in quickly, filling you up quickly. You broke the kiss to moan, tears spilling from your eyes from the pressure. Steve felt himself grow harder as he began to lick at your tears. You felt so defiled, so nasty, and you couldn’t get enough. You began scratching at his back, desperate for him to move, for him to finally let you come.

“D-daddy, please. Please move. Please!” you begged. “Please, I need it. I need to cum. Please let me cum!” Tears began to spill from your eyes. Your face was so utterly fucked out that Steve could have came right then in there. But you were giving him everything he wanted, and now, he finally could oblige.

He began roughly fucking into you, pulling your legs into his arm to change his angle. Your back arched off the bed, and your moans grew louder. Normally, Steve would cover your mouth, not wanting to face your neighbors after this, but he didn’t care. He wanted the whole world to hear him fucking his perfect, sweet girlfriend on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. You grabbed at your breast and Steve brought his face down to one, popping one of your hard nipples into his mouth. You clenched harder around him.

“Steve, I’m s-so close. May I cum? Please, may I cum?” you asked so nicely. 

“Yes.” You came with a cry, your body shaking as Steve continued to fuck into you. Seeing you fall apart gave him a second wind and he kept fucking into you. You fell into a second orgasm, your eyes beginning to close in exhaustion, but Steve didn’t relent. He pulled out and turned you on your side like a ragdoll as you laid limp on the bed. He immediately rutted back into you, his pace relentless. His release was building up. “Come on, baby. Come with Daddy. Just give me one more.”

Steve came with a roar. He looked down at your coated juices on his dick and fucked it back into you. He couldn’t wait to see himself leaking out of you. Honestly, if you gave him a minute, he could go again and have you filled with him for days. The idea of you filled with him, possibly making his child made him cumming again.

He collapsed on top of you, softly kissing your face. You started giggling before turning and grabbing his face in your hand. You captured his lips in a long, soft kiss. You whined as he pulled out of you, and Steve shifted next to you. Looking down at your legs, his eyes darkened seeing his spend leak out of you. He gathered it and pushed it back inside of you. You winced at how sensitive you were, but Steve knew you loved when he’d play with your mixed releases. 

Steve rose and grabbed your water bottle, making you drink a considerable amount before placing it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He lifted you up and placed both of you under the covers of your shared bed. He pulled you into his chest as you lazily rubbed circles into his chest and him on your shoulders.

“I love you,” you whispered before softly kissing at his chest and closing your eyes.

“I love you too.” Steve was happy. His perfect girl was finally in his arms, just like he needed.

[moonstruckme]

hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈

Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words

“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”

Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better. 

You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice. 

You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine. 

Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends. 

Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you. 

He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room. 

Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives. 

But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good. 

Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door. 

He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.

Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question. 

He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it. 

You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.” 

“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”

“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.” 

“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?” 

Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more. 

“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?” 

That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed. 

He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes. 

“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.” 

“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.” 

The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.” 

“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.” 

Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either. 

“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.” 

You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?” 

“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.” 

You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?” 

A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.” 

“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?” 

Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.” 

You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand. 

“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I’m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.” 

That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again. 

“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I���m going to let you both down.” 

“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.” 

You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him. 

“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.” 

You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.

“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.” 

“You did, too,” you murmur. 

His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.” 

Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand. 

You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?” 

“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?” 

You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.” 

“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.” 

Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound. 

Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—

Sirius. 

Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you. 

“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. 

“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide. 

“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” 

You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.” 

Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand. 

“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly. 

He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part III

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You agreed to his terms, but you don't really have any idea what that actually entails—not that it matters. Ben's going to show you exactly what it means to be his. Turns out the price of a drink might be a bit more than you'd originally thought.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 7,146

A/N: I can only apologise for how long it's taken me to post this one -.- I went to the dentist today and (tw: mentions of drugs and painkillers) I had anaesthetic, then after I took strong painkillers—I really shouldn't have—and I felt like I smoked about an ounce of weed to myself for hours, so it took me a lot longer to finish this part up, edit, and then proofread. And honestly, I've probably still not done a proper job of it. The opening of this? Serious dub-con, which obviously is a big no-no... but it's this version of AU-richboy-motherfucker-Ben flaunting his fucking control. Possession. And I told y'all that this was gonna be a different breed of fic for me. I'm actively trying to make myself uncomfy (amongst other things) with this story, because it feels like good stories always leave you with a little pit in your stomach after reading. I got SO freaking excited when I got to writing about the bookstore and subsequent fucking because... bookstores are literally heaven. <3 like Reader obviously wasn't thriving in the boutiques, it wasn't her comfort-zone, but bookstores? Now that's where she can soak in the atmosphere, indulgently. I hope that comes across in my writing. Anyways, ramble over, here's part three... you know the goddamn drill: if the warnings above aren't evident yet, they certainly will be. I really hope you like this one. I really like it. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

You woke up floating.

Heavy-limbed. Warm. A deep, languid pull of pleasure threading through your veins, thick and honey-slow, drawing you up from sleep in waves. Your breath hitched, body trembling, hips shifting against something solid, something warm, the sharp, hot pleasure between your thighs sending sparks through your bloodstream, shooting up your spine like a live wire.

Fingers.

His fingers.

Two of them, deep, slow, curling inside you with perfect precision, teasing that gummy spot that had your stomach twisting, had your thighs clenching, had you already so fucking close before you even realised you were awake. A slow, lazy drag of his thumb over your clit.

You whimpered, body arching, eyes fluttering, and then, a wet, heavy pressure at your lips.

Thick. Hot. Ben’s cock, dragging slick precome across your mouth, smearing it slow as he watched you stir, watched you come back to yourself, watched you realise.

“‘Bout fuckin' time you woke up,” he murmured, low and smug, his voice gravel-thick, still warm with sleep, but dripping in satisfaction.

Your lashes fluttered, breath stuttering, body trembling as his fingers kept working you open, kept teasing you, kept coaxing you closer.

“Wanna come, sweetheart?” He murmured, voice mocking, silky, cock dragging over your jaw, your cheek, your mouth.

You whimpered, legs shaking, already so fucking gone.

Ben grinned, teeth flashing, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“Y’know, you make some real pretty noises in your sleep,” he mused, so fucking smug, fingers thrusting deep, dragging over that perfect spot, thumb circling slow, tight, making you clench down around him. “Didn’t even have to wake you up for it, you just started takin' it.”

You shuddered, body tightening, pleasure winding sharp, so close, so on edge, so ready to snap.

Ben laughed, voice low, taunting, his free hand dragging through your hair, fingers tightening at the base of your skull.

“Told you I was gonna give you a rough wake-up call,” he murmured, voice mocking, teasing, deliberate. “This is actually real fuckin' nice for you, huh?”

You tried to answer. Tried to breathe, but then his fingers curled deep, his thumb pressed down hard, and the pleasure hit you all at once, ripping through you, your body seizing, a wrecked, wrecked sob breaking free—

And the second your mouth parted, Ben pushed inside.

Thick. Heavy. Filling your mouth all at once, dragging across your tongue, pressing deep, holding you open, groaning loud, sharp, head tipping back as your throat fluttered around him.

“Jesus fuck, doll—”

Your breath hitched, body still trembling, still tight with pleasure, your own orgasm still wracking through you as Ben fisted his hand in your hair, thrust slow, shallow, letting you adjust, letting you feel it, letting you take it.

“So fuckin' good,” he groaned, hips pressing forward, deeper, savouring, owning. “Best fuckin’ way to wake up.”

Ben groaned, deep and wrecked, hips pressing forward, cock sliding deeper, thicker, stretching your mouth wide, making your throat flutter around him.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ on a cross, fuck—”

His fist tightened in your hair, keeping you right there, keeping you open, taking everything he was giving you. Your head was still fuzzy, still floating, drunk on pleasure, drunk on him, still warm and heavy-limbed from sleep and your orgasm, body loose and pliant.

You hadn’t even had time to think—to process—that you’d only known this man for maybe twelve hours.

It didn’t matter.

Because all you could focus on was how good he felt, how perfect he tasted, how completely he was using you, how his noises, his groans, his heavy, wrecked breaths, made you feel so special, so wanted, so fucking good.

Ben laughed, low and smug, watching you blink up at him, eyes glazed, lips stretched tight around him.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he mocked, voice gravel-thick, dripping with indulgence, dragging his thumb over your cheek. “Still all fuzzy from coming, huh?”

His hips flexed, slow, testing, watching the way your throat fluttered, the way your body trembled beneath him.

You whimpered, barely aware, just accepting it.

Ben’s grin widened, something mean, something so fucking pleased.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be good for me,” he muttered, hips snapping forward, a sharp thrust, shallow, controlled, but enough to make your eyes water, enough to make your breath stutter.

He groaned, deep, satisfied, tilting his head back. “Shit, sweetheart, your mouth—fuck.”

A slow, deep roll of his hips, a tightening of his grip in your hair.

“You just—fuck—you want it, don't you?” He murmured, voice thick, wrecked, smug. “Bet I could do whatever I fuckin' wanted to this pretty little throat, huh?”

A mocking hum, gravel-low, his free hand dragging down your cheek, thumb swiping at the spit collecting at the corner of your mouth. His hips jerked, breath catching, and suddenly, his grin dropped, his breath hitched. A sharp, wrecked curse, his grip in your hair tugging, fisting, tighter, rougher.

And then—

“Ah, fuck it. Your face is gettin’ painted.”

A sharp groan, his hips pulling back, his cock dragging from your mouth, hot and slick and aching, his grip tight as he stroked himself, the tip brushing over your lips, your cheeks, dragging over your tongue.

He jerked, groaned deep, wrecked, as his cum spilled hot across your lips, your cheekbones, your jaw, thick ropes of it painting your skin, dripping onto your tongue, dripping down your chin.

Ben hissed, smirking, breathing hard, watching you, taking in the mess, the sight of you, his, all fucked out and ruined.

Another groan, thick and low, as he pressed back inside, feeding you more, making sure you swallowed him down, making sure you took him completely.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he muttered, gravelly, smug, satisfied. “Goddamn. You were made for this.”

Ben sank down onto the bed, pulled you up into his lap, then hummed low in his chest, fingers dragging slow over your cheek, collecting the mess he’d left there, his gaze hot, heavy, watching you.

“Made a real fuckin’ mess of you, huh?” He muttered, smirking, voice thick, wrecked with satisfaction.

You whimpered, body still boneless, still floating, still ruined from him.

Ben just grinned, dragging his cum-slick fingers down to your chin, scooping the rest from the corner of your mouth, then pressing it back against your lips.

“Open,” he murmured, mocking, fond, pressing slow, deliberate, watching your lips part for him, watching your tongue flick out, tasting him, yourself, everything.

A slow inhale, his smirk deepening as you sucked around his fingers, licking them clean, taking it all in like a good girl.

“There’s my girl,” he muttered, voice dropping low, pleased, rubbing his thumb over your tongue, feeling the way you suckled, letting him own you a little more.

Then he sighed, shaking his head, smirking like he was already thinking about how much worse he could ruin you later.

“You’re gonna have to put that dress back on,” he muttered, swiping his thumb over your swollen bottom lip, dragging it down slow, watching how your breath hitched at the touch. “But after we stop by your place, I wanna take you out.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, still floating, still coming back to yourself.

Ben grinned, amused, rubbing slow circles at your jawline.

“Wanna see what kinda shit you’d pick for yourself,” he murmured, “but I’m pickin’ some stuff too.” A pause. A knowing smirk. “Especially for when you’re here on weekends.”

You blinked up at him, then nodded, slow, hazy. But then, quietly, you murmured,  “I don’t really need you to buy me clothes, Ben.”

A tut. A slow, mocking shake of his head.

“You gonna fuckin’ accept it,” he murmured, low, smug, indulgent, rubbing his hand up your bare thigh, gripping it hard, “or I’ll just pick shit myself and not give you a damn option.”

Your lips parted, surprised, but you just nodded again, giving in.

Ben grinned. “Good girl.”

You stretched, arms raising above your head, back arching like a lazy cat, letting out a small, contented squeaky noise, your body still heavy, still warm and loose from sleep and pleasure.

Ben laughed, low and rich, his grip at your thigh tightening before he leaned in, teeth flashing.

“Get your pretty ass up,” he murmured, eyes dark, hot, voice thick with warning, “before I bury my fuckin’ face between your legs.”

Your breath caught, a shiver running down your spine, but you listened. You slid off his lap, pulling your dress back on, the fabric still crumpled, still reeking of him, the night before still lingering on your skin, your hair, your lips.

Ben watched you the entire time, smirking, shameless, before standing himself, stretching broad and tall, his body all golden skin and lean muscle, before reaching for his jeans.

The way he wore them was devastating. Thick belt, silver buckle glinting, the fabric fitting in all the right ways, low on his hips, taunting, like he knew what he was doing.

Then—

A button-up, dark, crisp, sharp, his thick watch sliding over his wrist, rings slipping back onto his fingers, the weight of them clicking together, his hands dragging through his hair, pushing it back, off his forehead.

You stared.

Ben smirked.

Then he reached for you, grabbing your wrist, tugging you toward the bathroom, flipping the light on as he grabbed a toothbrush, pressing it into your palm. His own already between his teeth, moving slow, lazily, the domestic ease of it so stark against everything he had done to you this morning.

And yet—

It felt seamless. Like this was just what you did now. Like he was already making you part of his life.

You padded out into the living room, body still warm, still loose, still tingling with the aftershocks of everything he’d done to you. The air smelled thick with whiskey, smoke, and sex, last night still lingering in the space, still woven into the fabric of the night before.

Your dress shifted around your thighs as you bent down, reaching for your underwear where it had been left in front of the sofa—where he’d stripped you down, spread you open, and made you his.

A sharp tut broke the silence.

You stilled. Then, slowly, you turned your head, glancing over your shoulder at Ben, who was standing near the door, arms crossed, head tilted, watching you.

His expression was unreadable.

“No,” he said simply.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

Ben cocked a single, thick eyebrow, eyes dark, knowing, and challenging. “You’re not puttin’ ‘em on.”

Your stomach dropped, a pulse of heat snapping down your spine.

You scoffed, straightening up, underwear still in your hand. “I can’t go out in this tiny dress without underwear on.”

Ben’s smirk was dangerous, his gaze taunting, smug, entirely too satisfied with himself. He tilted his head, that single brow lifting higher.

“You fuckin’ can,” he murmured, voice low, indulgent, a slow drag of his tongue over his bottom lip. “And you are.”

Your breath caught, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Ben grinned, catching it, seeing everything, knowing exactly what was happening in your head.

Then, sharp, commanding—

“Get over here.”

You swallowed, exhaling through your nose, and as you went to step forward. Your fingers instinctively twitched, your underwear still gripped in your fist.

Another sharp click of his tongue.

“Leave ‘em.”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed. You dropped them back to the floor, the fabric crumpling, and walked straight to him, heart pounding in your ribs, stomach tightening.

Ben’s smirk deepened, pleased, his hand brushing over your hip, his grip warm and firm as he squeezed once, slow, deliberate.

“Good girl.”

A shiver snapped down your spine, and Ben just chuckled, pulling you toward the door, leading you out.

The morning air was crisp against your bare skin, the fabric of your dress barely covering anything, the cool breeze skating up your thighs.

Ben unlocked the car, a different one from the night before—sleek, low, expensive, a deep red, all money and power, loud and attention-grabbing. You swallowed as he slid in, the engine purring beneath his hands.

“Address,” he said, voice smooth as smoke and whiskey.

You gave it to him, and the moment he punched it into the GPS, his expression shifted—

Disgust. Absolute, unabashed disgust.

You bit your lip, fighting back laughter, because of course he’d be fucking horrified. His eyes flicked up to you, then back to the directions on the screen, then out the window as he turned onto the main road, lips pulling into a scowl.

You saw the exact moment he took in your neighbourhood, his hands tightening on the wheel, jaw tensing.

And you lost it. A loud, bright laugh escaped your lips, body shaking with it.

Ben just scowled deeper, one broad hand lifting to rub at his temple. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You wheezed, barely able to contain yourself as he made a slow turn onto your street, eyes flicking around, pure judgment written all over his face.

Ben sighed, exasperated, glancing toward the run-down building as he pulled up to the curb.

“If some dumb pussy touches my car, I’m killin' 'em.”

You cackled, throwing the door open and stepping out, gesturing dramatically for him to follow. Ben groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but ultimately stepped out after you, grumbling under his breath, already looking like he regretted every decision that led him here.

The building was old, not terrible, but definitely not nice. You led him inside, checking your post box, then heading toward the stairs. Ben sighed again, glancing around before following, dragging a heavy hand through his hair.

“No elevator?” He muttered, already annoyed.

You just grinned over your shoulder.

“Welcome to the real world, rich boy.”

Ben’s footsteps were fast, heavy, intentional, and before you could even react, he was right behind you, a sharp swat landing against your ass, making you yelp.

You twisted your head, wide-eyed, breath catching in your throat. Ben just smirked, pawing at you, hands gripping, squeezing, claiming, voice low and mocking.

“I live in the real world, sweetheart.”

You laughed, stepping higher, looking over your shoulder, eyes shining with amusement.

“This is my version of the real world.”

Ben huffed, shaking his head, grinning. “Yeah?”

His hands slid lower, fingers skimming the hem of your dress, pushing underneath, brushing over bare skin, and your stomach flipped.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, voice thick, certain, irrevocable. “My world’s yours now.”

You shook your head, lips parting to argue—

But then you heard it. A low chuckle. The rustle of fabric. And before you could react, cool air hit the backs of your thighs. Your dress was up, pulled high, your bare ass completely exposed, and your breath caught in your throat.

You gasped, yanking it back down, twisting on the stairs, glaring at him. “Ben!”

His brows furrowed, like you were being ridiculous, like this was a non-issue, like you hadn’t just been completely exposed in the middle of your apartment stairwell.

Then he grabbed your dress again, and pulled it back up.

Your breath hitched, mortified, eyes wide, hands fisting in the fabric, trying to pull it back down again, but Ben’s grip was firm, unyielding.

“Wanna see my pretty girl’s ass while she’s walkin’ up the stairs,” he murmured, eyes dragging over you, taking his time, savouring the view.

Your stomach twisted, heat rushing up your neck, panic spiking.

“Ben, it’s a public fucking stairwell!” You hissed, scandalised, horrified, twisting around, gripping the banister for support, shoving at his hand.

Ben just bit his lip, dark eyes dragging over your naked skin, taking his time, memorising it, owning it. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted, locking onto yours.

“If anyone looks,” he murmured, calm, deadly, quiet and certain, “I’ll break their fuckin’ neck.”

Your heart stuttered, stomach dropping, throat tightening.

Ben held your gaze, firm, unflinching, before patting your ass, voice mocking, teasing, but completely serious beneath it all.

“Better hurry up, sweetheart. Unless you want some poor fuck’s blood on your hands.”

Your face burned beet-red, humiliated, embarrassed, but soaked in arousal, body buzzing, pulse roaring in your ears.

You didn’t say another word. You spun forward, dragging him up the last flight, leading him to your hallway, heart pounding, the feel of his eyes on you the entire time making you shake with nerves and heat.

When you reached your door, you yanked your clutch open, fumbling for your keys, fingers slipping against the metal as you unlocked it, heart racing, feeling Ben’s presence at your back like a physical weight.

The door clicked open, and you dragged him inside before anyone could see.

Ben stepped inside, taking exactly one second to sweep his eyes over your space before exhaling slow, one hand dragging through his hair, the other planting on his hip.

His expression was unreadable.

But his silence spoke volumes.

Your apartment was small, modest, but yours. It had been built with limited space and even more limited funds, but that hadn’t stopped you from making it your own.

A cream loveseat sat opposite a vintage-looking armchair, both covered in pastel cushions, a soft throw draped over the back. A small wooden coffee table sat between them, lightwood, matching the side table nearby. More than anything, though—there were bookshelves.

Everywhere.

Overflowing, spilling over, double-stacked, books piled onto side tables, onto the nightstand, onto the floor, and Ben’s eyes dragged over them, taking in the titles, the bindings, the absolute literary graveyard you lived in.

Your space was gentle, artsy, laced with soft nostalgia and the kind of quiet beauty that made sense for you. Tiny artsy trinkets lined the shelves, a tiny wooden table with two mismatched chairs sat near the kitchen, a vase of wilted, dying wildflowers placed in the centre.

Ben exhaled again, slowly, hands planted on his hips, his head tilting as he took it all in.

You cleared your throat, moving toward the kitchen, voice casual. “Want a drink?”

No answer.

You glanced back, watching as he took slow steps, looking around, soaking it in, lips parted slightly, like he was seeing something he didn’t quite know how to process.

Then—

His eyes landed on the window. He moved toward it, pressing a broad palm against the frame, gaze flicking outside, the sound of traffic drifting up from below.

A quiet laugh, deep in his chest.

You furrowed your brows, stepping forward. “What?”

He turned, expression half-amused, half-something else, chin tilting toward the fire escape outside your window.

“That where you sit to read?” He asked.

Your brows furrowed further, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes,” you answered, hesitant. “That’s where I like to read.”

Ben’s lips tugged down, an almost thoughtful frown, like he was considering something. A shift. A glance back at you.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, motioning for him to follow. “Come on.”

You led him toward the small hall, into a bedroom that was more of the same—small, but soft, delicate, lived-in. A double bed, lightwood frame, bedding pastel, frilly, a tiny dresser and matching single wardrobe standing against the wall.

Books were everywhere—stacked beside the window, stacked on the nightstand, tucked into the smallest corners, just waiting to be picked up and lived in.

Ben exhaled slow, stepping inside, eyes dragging over every detail, every piece of you, before something on the bed caught his attention.

A stuffed bear.

You saw it exactly when he did—

But he was faster. He reached down, fingers closing around the bear’s plush arm, lifting it up, inspecting it.

Your eyes widened, a horrified gasp catching in your throat, and in an instant, you lunged, snatching him back.

“That’s Eugene,” you blurted, clutching the bear to your chest, heart hammering, heat flashing up your face. “I’ve had him since I was a baby.”

Silence.

Then a deep, gravel-thick chuckle, low and amused, so fucking smug.

“Eugene?”

Your stomach dropped.

Ben smirked, arms crossing, head tilting. “That’s a stupid fuckin’ name.”

Your jaw dropped. “It’s not a stupid name!”

His grin widened, delighted, eyes dragging over you, still clutching the bear like your life depended on it.

“You’re adorable,” he muttered, shaking his head, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

You huffed, pressing Eugene tighter against your chest, scowling. But Ben just laughed, deep, rich, indulgent, before turning back to your tiny dresser, hands dragging across the wood, eyes sweeping your wardrobe, taking in the limited space, the minimal amount of clothing.

He nodded to himself, once, thoughtful, like he’d already decided something, and then turned back to you, grinning.

“You really are just a cute little thing, huh?”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you placed Eugene neatly atop the dresser, turning back to your drawers to pick something out for the day.

"Are you done judging my apartment yet?" You asked, voice dry, throwing a glance over your shoulder at him.

Ben nodded, too easily, like he’d made his decision already.

Then he said it.

"You’re not livin' here anymore."

You froze. Slowly, slowly, you turned to face him, blinking, lips parting. "Excuse me?"

Ben stood there, completely set, his expression final, unchallenged, like it was a decision already made. Like his word was law.

"I’ll find you somewhere nicer," he said, flat, casual, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Not havin’ you livin’ in this shitty little space. In this—" He scowled, lips curling in absolute disgust. "—this fuckin' neighbourhood."

You laughed, loud, incredulous, because surely he was joking.

Ben’s brow lifted, his expression turning harder, sharper, annoyed.

"The fuck’s so funny?"

You shook your head, grinning, motioning vaguely around you. "I can’t just leave."

Ben’s grin dropped. His jaw ticked.

"You absolutely can."

Your stomach flipped, something tightening, something warning—

"You’re stayin’ at mine 'til tomorrow night anyway," he continued, voice even, matter-of-fact, like this was just how things were now. "Gives Butcher enough time to look into some places closer to my building."

Your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat, panic flickering in your chest. "Ben—"

He wasn’t listening.

"I’ll make sure you got a little outside space, so you can read when it rains."

Your lips parted, words catching, sticking. This was too much. This was ridiculous.

"Ben, no," you breathed, shaking your head. "Ben, this is—"

Too much. Too fast. Too real.

You barely had time to process before he moved, gripping your ass, yanking you flush against him, his presence commanding, unrelenting, his hands rough, his voice dropping to something low, dangerous, final.

"Not fuckin’ up to you anymore."

Your breath left you in a rush, a shockwave rolling through your body, heart hammering, pulse roaring.

The gall of this fucking man.

Your stomach twisted, your mind spinning, thoughts racing.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What if this arrangement didn’t work out? Where the fuck were you supposed to go?

Then—

His mouth crashed onto yours. All tongue, all bite, all fucking force, like he wanted to brand you, consume you, remind you exactly who you belonged to now. You moaned into him, helpless, his hands kneading your ass rough, possessive, fingers digging in, owning you, staking his claim. He licked into your mouth, deep and hot, smothering, like he wanted to choke you with it, take you under completely.

You whimpered, weak, knees wobbling, head swimming, body giving in. You forced yourself to pull away, gasping, breaking the kiss reluctantly, shaken, breathless, every nerve buzzing, every limb weak.

Ben just grinned, cocky, satisfied, lips red, slick. Wrecked.

You exhaled, swallowing hard, turning back to your dresser. You pulled out two different outfits, laying them out neatly on the bed, before stepping back, arms outstretched, chin tilted up.

Ben’s eyes flicked to the bed, then back to you, his smirk deepening. A slow, pleased nod.

"Good girl."

Ben’s eyes were heavy on you as you slid into the sundress he’d picked, a soft cardigan draped over your shoulders, your fingers slipping into your chucks, tying the laces with quick, practiced motions.

He was silent, but you could feel him watching, like a predator tracking its prey, eyes dark, intent, cataloging every movement, every shift, every breath.

You ran a brush through your hair, smoothing the tangles from the night before, the tension of the morning still settling in your bones, still buzzing in your chest.

Ben slapped his hands together, breaking the silence, voice gruff, expectant. “Come on.”

He grabbed your wrist and dragged you back down to the car.

The drive was quick, the city flashing by in streaks of morning sun and steel, your neighbourhood disappearing into something sleeker, something richer.

You knew where this was going before he even parked.

Boutiques.

Your stomach twisted as he led you inside the first one, racks of silk and lace and delicate materials stretching out before you, the air filled with the scent of leather and perfume. The lights were too bright, blinding, like a spotlight shining straight at you—making it evident that you had no business standing around such extravagant and lavish fabric. Ben was already moving, hands skimming through hangers, eyes narrowed in focus, decisive, ruthless, sure.

He plucked a dress from the rack, holding it up. “This?”

You bit your lip. “Ben, it’s so expensive.”

He rolled his eyes, exasperated, before grabbing another. “What about this then? Fuck, sweetheart, come on.”

You hesitated, fingers twitching, eyes dragging over the price tags, heart pounding.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t pick.

Ben sighed sharply, grabbing you by the waist, pulling you against him in the middle of the store, uncaring, unbothered, completely indifferent to who was watching. Big, warm hands splaying wide against your back and waist, holding you there, possessing you.

Then—

A bite to your jaw, sharp and teasing, followed by a slow, lingering nip to your bottom lip. His voice, low and smug, a whisper just for you.

“If you’re a good girl and you pick some clothes and things you like…” A pause. A beat. “I’ll take you to a bookstore after.”

Your breath hitched, eyes widening, something bright sparking behind your ribs, something sharp and eager, something so painfully obvious that the second Ben saw it. His grin stretched slow, sinful, victorious. He had you.

You exhaled sharply, defeated, muttering, “Fine.”

Ben’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest, his hand squeezing at your waist before he released you. “Atta girl.”

So you picked.

Hesitant at first, but then more assured, more certain, fingers brushing fabrics, grabbing soft knits, casual blouses, comfortable dresses, things that felt like you.

And Ben did the same. Only, his choices were…

Less you. More him.

Thin straps. Short hems. Deep plunging necklines. Tight and revealing and scanty. But you didn’t argue, because in the next store, it only got worse.

Shoes. Strappy little heels, sleek and minimal, elegant and dangerous.

“These,” Ben murmured, holding up a pair of barely-there stilettos, eyeing them like a fucking prize. “I want you naked in these.”

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, heat flashing up your spine, face burning.

Ben just grinned, pleased, slipping the shoes into the growing pile.

Then lingerie. Tiny, lacy, barely-there sets.

Ben was relentless. Piece after piece, holding them up, grinning as your face burned hotter, making mocking little hums when he found ones he particularly liked. By the time he was satisfied, your arms were full, your head spinning, the sheer amount of money spent on you making your stomach twist.

You chewed your lip, glancing at the packed bags, overwhelmed.

Ben watched you, saw it, and before you could spiral, a sharp clap of his hands, voice gruff, certain.

“Let’s go.”

You blinked. “Where?”

Ben’s smirk turned lethal.

“The fuckin' bookstore, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumped, something soft, warm, excited spreading through you, and before you could even process it, he had you in the car, heading across the city, taking you exactly where you wanted to go.

The scent of old paper and ink swelled around you, the quiet, reverent hush of the bookstore wrapping around your bones like a second skin. Dim amber light pooled in soft halos overhead, illuminating rows upon rows of shelves that loomed like cathedral pillars, stacked high with the kind of stories that felt like home.

This was sanctuary. A temple. A place that smelled like history and longing, the weight of every story pressing down on you in the most delicious way.

And then there was him.

Ben was flush against your back, broad and burning, radiating heat like a furnace. He was impatient, hands constantly on you, gripping your waist, your hips, fingers squeezing like he wanted to leave marks even through your brand-new clothes. Clothes he had insisted on buying you. Clothes he had piled onto counters, thrown into bags, spent more money on than you’d ever let yourself consider.

And yet, here? The bookstore? Here was where you would accept indulgence without argument.

You trailed your fingertips over the spines of classics, whispering titles under your breath. Poe. Wilde. Shelley. Darker works next, running over Dostoevsky’s bleak philosophies, Dante’s infernal descent, each one pulling at you with their heavy, inescapable gravity. Then, onto the poetic, the romantic—words spun like gold thread, woven into something aching and eternal.

This was everything.

Ben made a low sound behind you, something between a sigh and a growl, burying his face against the crook of your neck. His beard scratched deliciously at your skin as he nipped at the spot just beneath your ear, exhaling against you, his voice thick with something molten.

“Fuck’s sake, doll,” he muttered, hands slipping lower, gripping your hips, pulling you back into the hard line of his body.

“I’m standin’ here about to bust in my fuckin’ jeans and you’re—” he gestured at the shelves in front of you with a short, impatient movement, “—gettin’ all dreamy over a buncha fuckin’ books.”

You bit your lip, fingers closing around a particularly battered copy of Paradise Lost, trying and failing to ignore the way his grip tightened on you, fingers digging in, desperate to ground himself. His mouth trailed down, teeth scraping along your jaw, another groan pressed into your skin.

“Y’know what I wanna do?” He rasped, low and dangerous, his voice meant for violence, his words meant for you alone. “Wanna get you back to mine, spread you out, pump you full ‘til you’re drippin'. Make you sit on my fuckin’ face ‘til I can’t breathe, get you cryin’ all over me ‘cause you can’t take anymore—”

You exhaled sharply, knees going weak, thighs squeezing together instinctively as heat coiled low in your belly. You gripped the book tighter, trying to focus, trying to remember where you were, but Ben—Ben was relentless. His hands slid up beneath your brand-new shirt, rough palms skating across your stomach, fingers spanning wide against your ribs, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

“Ben—” you tried, your voice coming out breathy, barely above a whisper.

“Fuck it,” he cut you off, tone edged with that gruff finality, like he’d already made up his mind. “Get ‘em all.”

Your brow furrowed, your dazed mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“The books,” he said, like it was obvious, voice dripping with exasperation. “Fuckin’ get every single one of ‘em.”

You blinked, stunned, lips parting to protest, but he was already moving, reaching past you and plucking stacks from the shelves, shoving them into your arms like it was nothing. A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes, jaw ticking with impatience.

“Ben, I don’t need—”

“Don’t give a fuck what you need,” he gritted out, snatching the Paradise Lost copy from your hands and tossing it onto the growing pile. “You’ll take ‘em. Every last one.”

Before you could argue, before you could do anything other than gape at him, he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you to the register, dumping the books onto the counter with an utterly dismissive wave of his hand. The poor cashier barely blinked, used to customers with too much money and too little patience, scanning them through as Ben shifted behind you, his hands back on you, his mouth back against your ear.

“Fuckin’ piece of work,” he muttered, voice bordering on a growl, like he couldn’t believe you. “Whole new fuckin’ wardrobe, and you get all soft-eyed over books instead.”

That broke you. You laughed—properly laughed, the sound bubbling up out of you before you could help it, head tilting back against his shoulder. And the thing was, he wasn’t even trying to be funny, wasn’t trying to make you laugh, but his delivery—the sheer frustrated disbelief in his tone—was hilarious.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, scowling, but there was something softer behind the glare, something almost fond.

“You’re laughin’ at me,” he accused, his hold tightening, but you only laughed harder, trying to suppress the grin overtaking your face.

“A little bit,” you admitted.

Ben grumbled, but he couldn’t keep up the charade. His lips twitched like he was fighting his own smirk, like he couldn’t quite resist the way your laughter curled around him, soaked into his bones.

Still, he rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he reached into his pocket and shoved a ridiculous amount of cash into the cashier’s hands without waiting for the total.

“C’mon,” he said, voice rough as he slung an arm around you, dragging you toward the door, his grip firm and possessive. “Gotta get you back before I fuckin’ lose my mind.”

You followed, books in hand, warmth in your chest, laughter still lingering on your lips. He was impossible. A wrecking ball of impatience and rough affection, of greed and need and unrelenting, all-consuming hunger.

And you didn't think you'd have him any other way.

The ride back to his building was a blur of neon streaks and city lights, the low rumble of the car vibrating through your bones as Ben floored it through intersections, breaking speed limits like they were a personal affront.

One hand gripped the wheel in a vice, the other flexed restlessly against your thigh, fingers twitching like he was barely holding himself back. You could feel the tension radiating off him, like a storm wound tight, ready to break.

He barely even put the car in park before he was out, throwing the door shut behind him. The books, the bags—he didn’t give a single fuck about them. Someone else would handle it. He jerked his chin at one of the building’s staff.

“Get that shit upstairs.”

Didn’t even wait for a response.

You had barely unbuckled your seatbelt before he was yanking open your door, grabbing your wrist, hauling you out onto unsteady legs. The air outside was thick and humid, but it was nothing compared to the heat coming off him in waves. He didn’t even slow his stride as he dragged you toward the building, toward the private elevator that led to his penthouse. No interruptions.

The second the doors slid shut, he was on you.

A snarl ripped from his throat as he shoved you back against the mirrored wall, mouth claiming yours in a brutal, consuming kiss, all tongue and teeth and hot, growling need. His hands were everywhere—knotting in your hair, yanking your head back so he could suck bruises into your jaw, your throat. His other hand was palming your ass, gripping hard, fingers digging deep like he wanted to leave bruises, like he wanted to brand you beneath his touch.

“Gonna ride me soon as we get in,” he growled against your lips, voice raw and wrecked with hunger. “Gonna fold you in half and fuck you ‘til you don’t know your own fuckin’ name.”

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, at the thick muscles of his back, but it only spurred him on. He wedged a thigh between yours, pressed you down against the hard muscle, grinding you against him like he needed you to feel how desperate he was.

“I could fuck you right here,” he muttered, voice thick and dark with filth. “Right against this fuckin’ wall. Spread those pretty legs and fill you up. Bet you’d love it.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, thighs clenching around his leg, and he felt it—felt the way your body responded to every word. His grin was wicked, breathless.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” His teeth scraped against your throat, tongue following the path of his bite. “Like me talkin’ about how I’m gonna wreck this tight little fuckin’ cunt. How I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t be able to fuckin’ walk.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

Before you could take a breath, he grabbed you, hauled you up, threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

You yelped, fists slamming against his back, but he just swatted your ass once—hard. Then again. And the third time? That one had you gasping, a sharp, stinging heat blooming across your skin. Instinctively, your hands scrambled down his back, gripping the thick muscle of his ass in retaliation.

He let out a rough bark of laughter, squeezing your thigh as he carried you through the front door to the penthouse.

“Grabby little thing,” he taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I like it.”

You sank your teeth into the hard plane of his back, and he groaned, fingers digging into your thigh, pinching the tender flesh there.

Then he was moving. Fast. Determined. Possessed.

He stormed into the kitchen, sending a chair skidding across the tile in his path. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Just reached out, knocked half the shit off the counter, and threw you down on it.

Air punched out of your lungs from the impact. 

Your new pants? Gone. Ripped down with a single motion, tossed aside like they were nothing more than an obstacle. He shoved your legs apart, pushed your knees up to your chest, spreading you wide open for him.

His pupils were blown, his chest heaving, a primal hunger carved into the sharp angles of his face.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, voice hoarse with reverence. “Look at you.”

Then he was on you.

His mouth latched onto you like a man starved, groaning so deep it vibrated through your core. His hands—massive, greedy—held you open, kept you exactly where he wanted. His tongue worked you over, hot. Wet. Obscene. Licking into you like he wanted to consume every part of you.

He growled against you, the sound muffled, vibrating straight through your cunt. He licked deep, long strokes, sucked at your clit, shaking his head slightly like he was drunk on it.

“All fuckin’ mine,” he muttered, voice wrecked, spit-slick and desperate. “This fuckin’ pussy—mine.”

His eyes rolled back, fingers flexing against your thighs. He looked like a man unhinged, lost in it, absolutely devouring you like he needed it more than air.

“Fuck, doll—fuck—tastes so good—” He groaned, the sound pure filth, his hips grinding against the counter like he couldn’t not.

“Could fuckin’ die with my face buried in this pussy.”

And then he doubled down.

Sucked harder, licked faster, fucked his tongue into you with a desperation that sent you arching, gasping, hands scrabbling at the countertop. He growled, low and threatening, holding you down, keeping you there, keeping you open, making sure you took it.

“Takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby—shit, you were made for this.”

Your vision blurred, your legs trembling in his hold. He was relentless, obscene, groaning into you like this was all he ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered.

And God help you, you loved it.

The second you shattered under his tongue, Ben pulled back with a sharp breath, his beard slick, his mouth bruised and swollen, pupils blown wide as he grinned down at you.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling through his nose, and then his gaze dropped to you—twitching, breathless, sprawled out like a wreck over his pristine marble counters.

“That was fuckin’ pathetic.”

You barely had a moment to recover before he was flipping you onto your stomach, dragging you back so your hips hung off the counter’s edge. His strength was effortless, his grip bruising as he yanked you where he wanted you. He didn’t waste time, didn’t ease you into it. One second you were catching your breath, the next—

Slap.

His palm cracked against your ass, hard enough to have you gasping, gripping at the counter.

“Fall apart the second I put my mouth on you,” he sneered, fingers digging into the fresh sting of your skin, kneading before delivering another hard slap. “Get so fuckin’ needy, huh?”

You moaned, toes curling against the tile, your hips pressing back instinctively. His rough chuckle scraped down your spine, dark and mean, and then you heard the metallic clink of his belt being undone. The sound sent a violent shudder through you, anticipation tightening every muscle in your body.

Ben grunted as he freed himself, his cock heavy and aching in his fist as he lined up, dragging himself through your slick folds before slamming inside, all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

You screamed, arching, nails scraping against the counter, and he just groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard as he held himself deep.

“Fuck yeah,” he exhaled against your skin, thick fingers curling around your throat from behind, dragging you up, bending you back at an angle that made every thrust hit just right.

“So fuckin’ tight. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

You gasped, his arm unrelenting around your throat, holding you up like it was nothing, like you weighed nothing. He was using you, owning you, claiming you with every brutal snap of his hips.

The cold marble bit into your hipbones, a delicious counterpoint to the blistering heat of him. His free hand slid down, gripping at your ass, squeezing, groping, pulling you open wider so he could watch himself split you apart.

“Gonna keep you just like this,” he muttered, breath ragged, voice mean. “Bend you over every fuckin’ counter in this place—”

Slap.

“—Keep you stuffed so full of my cum you look knocked up.”

You whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless pace, every punishing thrust pushing you closer and closer to that breaking point again.

“You fuckin’ love it.” His teeth scraped against your jaw, fingers tightening around your throat, controlling the very air you breathed. “Love lettin’ me use you, huh?”

You moaned a broken yes, and he growled, the sound primal, vicious, something feral. His grip on your ass tightened, nails digging in before another sharp slap made you jolt in his hold.

“Yeah, you do.” He huffed a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it—just raw, unhinged possession. “Let me wreck this perfect little fuckin’ body. Let me have it—all of it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, that tight pull dragging a guttural groan from his chest. You were so fucking close—

Ben groaned, forehead pressing against your temple, his thrusts turning rougher. Sharper. Deeper.

“You don’t wanna take pretty clothes from me,” he gritted out, punctuating each word with another snap of his hips, “but you go all fuckin’ doe-eyed over some bullshit books.”

A sob of pleasure tore from your throat, your whole body tightening around him, and he felt it—felt the way you clenched, the way your legs shook.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he groaned, fingers squeezing around your throat as his pace turned brutal, fucking into you like he wanted to break you.

“Fuckin’ come. Come for me—now.”

Your whole body seized, pleasure consuming you like wildfire, dragging a ragged cry from your lips. You convulsed in his hold, clenching down on him so fucking tight that he snarled, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a vicious, guttural sound.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the penthouse was your ragged breathing, the distant hum of city lights through the massive windows.

Ben exhaled hard, pressing a bruising kiss against the side of your face before muttering, voice still thick and wrecked with lust, “You ain’t goin’ back to that shithole.”

You barely had the energy to lift your head, still shivering, still trying to catch your breath. “Seriously?”

“You heard me.” He grunted, still buried deep inside you, his grip possessive, immovable. “You’re stayin’ here. Gettin’ you a real fuckin’ place. No more of that run-down, rat-infested shit.”

You huffed, a weak little laugh, but there was no arguing with him.

Not when he was still inside you. Not when his fingers were still bruising your hips, keeping you in place like he wasn’t done with you yet. Not when his teeth were grazing your shoulder again, voice dipping into something lower, darker.

“You’re mine, baby,” he murmured, breath ghosting against your damp skin. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver <3

[scorpio1205]

WE BECAME PARENTS FOR 24 HOURS!!! (TO EGGS) Ft Bambi

Summary: Bambi, Matt, Nick and Chris became parents to eggs for 24 hours

Warnings: swearing, fluff, Matt being a simp, Matt being in love, cuddling being 'parents', Bambi being over the triplets shit lol

"For the next 24 hours... You can call us daddy"

Matt and Chris' mouth fell open in shock, turning to each other and awkwardly laughing.

"What on earth possessed you to say that on camera?!" Bambi laughed walking into the frame in shock.

"I honestly don't even know"

She laughed grabbing a Fanta from the fridge "So what does that make me? Cause i'm sure as hell not a daddy?"

Matt smirked slightly with raised eyebrows and a slight head tilt, as if wanting to make a joke or comment.

She moved behind him her hands running into his hair "Don't even think about it, baby."

He closed his eyes for a moment leaning into her touch "Alright."

"To clarify for the next 24 hours Me, Matt, Bambi, and Chris are going to become parents of-"

"little eggies."

"Little baby. Little baby eggs."

"I'm just here to beat you three." Bambi mumbled before opening her soda with her teeth.

Matt snickered "Eggs, so delicate... They can crack."

"that's morbid"

"For the next 24 hours, us four are going to have to be parents to these little egg babies.... They don't have faces or identities yet so we're going to spend the next few minutes-"

Chris was tossing his egg up in the air repeatedly. "Stop! Stop"

"Okay, so you all saw that mess. We all have new eggs and are cleaned up." Bambi laughed as the video cut back in, her sitting on Matt's lap.

"3 new eggs cause Bam was able to keep her egg out of Chris' grasp." Matt laughed softly "Already a better parent then all three of us."

"We cleaned up the crime scene that was in front of us"

It wasn't long before Nick Matt and Chris started talking over each other.

"You're doing great sweetie." Bambi mumbled annoyed with the bickering.

Taking the hint they got to the point, Matt and Chris drawing on their eggs as Nick went over the rules.

****

"Alright here's our eggs. My egg" Nick showed his egg. "This is Chris' egg" he showed Chris' egg on the screen.

"He has a red hat on"

"Yep" Both Nick and Bambi spoke with a snicker.

"This is Bambi's egg" He showed Bambi's egg making her smile cutely. "And this is Matts egg"

Bambi smiled happily "Mine's the cutest."

Bambi sat in the passengers seat her egg in her hands where it had been all day, she loved the boys but when it came to challenges like this.... She didn't trust them. But she looked up confused as Matt pulled over. "What?"

"I think I cracked my egg"

"WHAT?!?" Nick immediately handed her the camera to vlog it. "Show the vlog."

She pointed the camera "I'm showing the vlog"

"this isn't fair cause I have to drive."

"Give me your baby. I'll take care of it." Nick grabbed the egg.

"Hold him"

"Don't worry" Nick smiled "Since the four of us are amazing parents we're taking our eggs outside for some Adventure time"

"Its crazy that we're only going outside to bring our eggs out"

"Our kids" The two began to go back and forth.

Bambi rolled her eyes at them "If you guys start bickering we're turning this car around."

"Sorry Bambi" Nick and Chris both mumbled immediately, not wanting to annoy Bambi.

****

They were all at the beach when Chris looked at Bambi who was on the swings. "Bam-Bam"

"Yo"

"What's your eggs name?"

She got quiet for a moment for smiling "Evangeline"

Matt tilted his head at her with a soft smile. "Why Evangeline?"

"Evangeline is the star from The Princess and The Frog.... It's one of my favorite movies" She grinned sheepishly.

"Okay, she won" Nick grumbled a bit.

"So, we have to get up in the middle of the night to comfort the 'babies'" Bambi cut off both Matt and Nick who were trying to get the point across but kept bickering. "I'm not doing it for 10 minutes though. I don't have kids yet for a reason. So can we cut that time in like half" She put the egg in the box next to Matt's egg

"Yea, I wanna be able to go back to sleep. I wanna be able to keep my tired, so I can go back to sleep."

"Okay, so for three minutes then?"

Bambi nodded getting up "Fine by me"

****

Bambi groaned in frustration as Matt's alarm went off to go cradle the eggs. "No"

"Here" He mumbled handing her his pink Hershey teddy bear shirt and a pair of boxers, as she was.....not exactly dressed

She sat up taking the clothes from him getting dressed as he stumbled out of the room in his pj's and a blanket wrapped around him.

As the triplets sat on the couch grabbing their eggs "Where's bam-bam?"

"She'll be out in a sec" Matt spoke barely above a whisper.

Just then Bambi stumbled out of the room tiredly running her hand through her......'bed' head, before grabbing her egg and crawling under Matt's blanket with him. "Start the timer" She mumbled gently rocking the egg.

"I always forget she's not as nice when she first wakes up." Nick mumbled.

"Your mother."

"Bambi" Matt grumbled.

She sighed "I'm sorry, Mary Lou is the sweetest woman I know. What I really mean is, your fucking face."

A tired Chris started laughing softly pointing at Nick. "She got you man."

The camera cut a bit where Matt was sitting up with Bambi half asleep in his lap still rocking the egg tiredly.

"How've you guys been sleeping?" Nick mumbled to Matt and Bambi still mostly tired.

Matt shook his head and Bambi groaned a bit "not good."

"Why?"

".....We fell asleep like an hour ago."

Nick made a face "We went to sleep like 4 hours ago-" He cut himself off seeing the look on Matt's face. "Oh" he made a grossed out face.

"You asked"

The next several hours were pretty uneventful. Until the end. Nick Matt and Chris dropped their eggs and Matt's broke. Whick lead them to where they were now, Watching a video Matt made and edited talking about how he replicated, stole, and ate Nick and Chris' eggs.

"....Is it bad i've never found you hotter?" Bambi spoke after her, Nick and Chris sat silently for a few minutes.

Matt grinned kissing her head "Case in point to you two... Don't fuck with me."

Comments:

User414: Did Matt and Bambi just imply that the reason they were up so late was cause they were.... you know....

User222: Bambi walking out in MATTS shirt and boxers is wild

User778: SHE HAD SEX HAIR!

User111: Honestly.... Bambi's a mood

@sturnmeovr @big-poppa23 @colorthecosmos444 @sturns-mermaid @mattsstarlet @iammattswife @pinksturns @courta13 @conspiracy-ash @middlepartmatt @raesturns @mattscherries @emely9274 @harls-sturn @loser41ifee @trevorsgodmother

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

[annebd]

winter warmers, day 16: secret santa. ~1800 words <-holy shit.

There’s a little box on the corner of Daniel’s desk, wrapped neatly in green paper and topped with a gold bow. The tag is a small square card, no more than a couple inches across, with a short message on one side:

To: Daniel

From: Your Secret Santa

Daniel opens the box and unfolds the carefully wrapped tissue paper bundle inside to remove the expected Scrabble tile. Today is the letter H. He tucks it into the top drawer of his desk, along with the rest of the tiles. The bow is also gently removed and stuck up on the pinboard next to the other twenty-two bows that he’s gotten so far this month. Some are gold, some silver, a few red and green.

There’s one particularly sparkly bow that’s been shedding glitter on him and all of his possessions for the past week. Halfway through the marketing team meeting last Thursday, Max reached over and brushed his thumb across Daniel’s cheekbone.

“You are all shiny, Daniel,” he said and showed him the sparkles of golden glitter that he’d rubbed off. “Always you’re so handsome, but today you’re like a shining star, too.”

Daniel was pretty sure he’d turned bright red, not even the deep tan in the middle of an Australian summer able to hide the color rising in his cheeks.

“Oh, uh, thanks, mate,” he replied and then turned back to the meeting on the last marketing push for Christmas sales, while trying not to think about the feeling of Max’s hand against his skin.

Today’s bow isn’t quite as glittery, but it does glint prettily in the glow of Daniel’s desk lamp. It’s 8:52am on December 23rd. Early enough that he has time to sip his coffee without interruption for a few minutes as he waits for his computer to boot up and he has to hop into the workday.

He eyes the drawer that holds the Scrabble tiles and decides he’s got time. As he’s done so many times so far this month, he pulls them all out and scatters them across his desk. Twenty three tiles so far. One of them is a blank, but a little question mark has been drawn on in black sharpie.

The ? tile showed up on the 17th, and he assumed that that was the end of it, so he’d spent the entire day trying to unscramble the letters, but couldn’t get anywhere. When another N arrived the next day, he realized that it wasn’t quite over yet.

The first box had arrived on the first of December. He wasn’t expecting it. George, over in operations, had floated the idea of doing a Secret Santa exchange a few weeks prior, but there had been so much hemming and hawing, with no one really wanting to commit, that he’d given up and moved on. Daniel hadn’t given it any further thought until the first box showed up.

Like every day since, the little box was wrapped inexpertly, though neatly, with green paper, and had a red bow stuck right on top. The same note, from “your secret Santa,” was attached. The Scrabble tile that day had been a D. Daniel assumed it stood for Daniel and that someone was either playing a silly joke, or truly had the worst taste in gift giving.

That assumption was only further confirmed on the second, when another box arrived, containing an R, which he could only assume stood for Ricciardo.

Thoroughly confused, he stopped by George’s office to poke his head in the door and ask when the Secret Santa drawing had been and why he hadn’t been involved.

“There was no drawing, mate,” George told him. “You lot were all too cool for the idea, so I didn’t bother. Why d’you ask?”

“Huh,” Daniel said, flummoxed. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

He brought it up to Max when they had lunch that Friday. It was Daniel’s favorite part of the week- getting Max all to himself for an hour, to make ridiculous jokes and watch Max turn pink from laughter.

“Strange, isn’t it? Just a random couple of Scrabble tiles. What, am I supposed to use them to make a name tag for myself?”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Max replied. “And they are, of course, just using the Secret Santa as an excuse to send you gifts.”

“They’re some weird gifts, then,” Daniel said, and took a bite of his pastrami on rye. It was good. Mustardy.

“They might get better. It could be fun.” Max looked over at Daniel, who was in the middle of another big bite of his sandwich. “You’ve got a little-” and pointed to the corner of Daniel’s mouth. He reached out, as though he intended to swipe away the crumb with his own finger, but he pulled back and let Daniel dab at his mouth with a napkin.

“Thanks, Max. And I guess you’re right. But I reserve the right to be annoyed if it’s just a bunch of letters spelling my name.

Day three put a wrench in the name theory when he popped open the box and found a V. So definitely not his name then.

Over the next couple of days, he received a W and a Y. On the following Monday, he showed up to two Ls and another E, each tucked into one of three boxes lined up carefully along the edge of his desk. He’d wondered what would happen over the weekend, and he was quietly pleased that his secret Santa had taken into account the extra days.

And today, as Daniel sits sipping his coffee with twenty two letters and a question mark, he decides that he’s got to be able to figure this out. Christmas is in just two days, which means that he’s only expecting two more gifts. And really, he’s only expecting one gift, since the office is closed on the 25th, and he’s not coming in for anything- even a secret Santa surprise.

Daniel mixes the tiles around, trying different combinations of words. The twenty three tiles at hand read NOIVUHHTLEMIWARELDYNIE?, which he’s pretty sure isn’t a thing. He can spell various words. He’s got the letters for DANIEL, but not RICCIARDO, so he’s mostly ruled out his initial name tag theory.

He’s been able to make a few phrases, some more promising than others. He had “HAVE YOU LET ME DIE?” laid out when Max stopped by his desk last week.

Max had raised an eyebrow at the phrase and given Daniel a disapproving look. “You don’t think that’s what your secret admirer is saying, do you?”

Daniel shrugged. “No clue, mate. Your guess is as good as mine right now.”

Max didn’t offer any actual help, but he scrambled the tiles again so that the question was no longer visible. “I don’t know either, but probably it isn’t about death.”

Daniel tries a few more letter combos, but nothing is jumping out at him. As the clock on his desktop ticks over to 9:00, he gathers up the tiles and places them back into his drawer.

When he heads out of the office that afternoon, he bumps into Max in the elevator. “You’re wrapping up early today!” he exclaims.

Max is always staying late at the office, and Daniel is forever trying to get him to leave on time, have a life outside of work. But Max insists that software engineering waits for no man, and he’d rather just get as much work done in the office as possible, instead of having to take it home with him and continue with it there.

“Hello, Daniel,” Max says. “Yes, today is an early night. I have some things to do today. Before Christmas, you know.”

“I’m glad,” Daniel replies. “See you tomorrow?”

Max gives him a big smile. “Yes. Tomorrow. See you then.”

The next day is Christmas Eve, and, Daniel assumes, the last day of his Secret Santa gifts. He still has no clue what the tiles are supposed to be telling him, but he feels a nervous energy thrumming in his stomach. Something big is coming, he thinks.

He gets to his desk by 8:45, eager to unwrap his final gift and finally figure out what’s going on. To his surprise, instead of just the one little green box he’s expecting, there are three wrapped presents on his desk. The first is the usual green box, but the tag that he’s expecting to proclaim the usual salutations instead proclaims “open me first.” He checks the other two. The box to its right reads “open me second.” And, just to be sure, he confirms that the final box on the end says to open it last.

With a slight shake in his hand, he picks up the first box and plucks off the bow to secure it to the pinboard. He opens it up and pulls out the last tile, another W. He adds it to the stash in his drawer and then reaches for the second box.

It’s the same size as the first, wrapped in the same way- no bow on this one. Perhaps it’s a one bow per day kind of deal.

Inside, there’s a small slip of paper folded in half. Daniel unfolds it to find a clue:

W_ _ _ Y_ _ H_ _ _ D _ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ M_?

He waffles for a moment. Does he open the third gift, or does he unscramble the letters? The opening instructions didn’t say, so he supposes he could do either. Tiles, he decides.

He pulls open the drawer and tips the tiles onto his desk, then carefully arranges each one face up and pointing in the right direction.

Slowly, he starts moving tiles around. The Y is probably You, he guesses. So perhaps the M is Me? And then H could be Have. W is What? No, he realizes; that wouldn’t make sense. W for Will?

A sentence begins to take shape.

WILL YOU HAVE D_ _ _ _ _ W _ _ _ ME?

Daniel is fairly certain where this is going. He arranges the last few letters into place and then reaches for the third box. He tears open the paper, carefully as usual, and opens the box.

Inside is a card, on which is printed the name of the fanciest restaurant in Perth, which Daniel has been wanting to try for months, but which he has lamented to Max several times is impossible to get reservations for.

Beneath the name of the restaurant is today’s date, the 24th, and a time, 7pm.

Beneath that, there’s a final line, which simply says “TURN AROUND.”

Daniel takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and then swivels in his chair.

Behind him, Max is leaned against the doorframe to his office.

“So?” he asks. “I asked a question, I think.”

Daniel looks back over the tiles, laid out neatly on his desk. He looks back at Max and grins helplessly. “Yeah, Maxy. I would love to.”

[lustlovehart]

For your followers requests, maybe a sketch of slime monster Azul with little details about him? He sounds so fascinating in your teaser list!

Congrats on the 700+ followers!

A/n: Azul’s a fav but my goodness I cannot draw him, in fact, I kind of hate the drawing (╥_╥). I’ve never done slime before so I blame it on that, and backgrounds, all my homies hate backgrounds. This was a lot quicker to do though, as I did have an Azul sketch made before this request so I just got back to doing that one. Drawing under the cut! Also in head canon format.

Pairing: Monster!Twst [ Slime Kraken! Azul x Reader ]

Warnings: Slight possessiveness towards the end, Azul struggles with insecurity, Three hearts are seen in the drawing

- Due to his insecurity about being a slime and all that, he formed some barrier made of shell to keep a stable form instead of melting into some disfigured blob.

- Before meeting you, Azul, Jade, and Floyd had no preference for their smaller, more humanoid forms, as they didn’t have any particular liking towards humans. To them, what was the point? They were essentially the top predators in the sea with the massive body they already inhabited. That changes when you come in, as now they have a real reason, if they’re in their real forms, how could they ever hold you, have fun in the water?

- It’s slightly different for Azul though, as not only can he become humanoid, but can become human as well (In appearance, each monstrous tendency he holds is still deep within him. He also can’t keep it up for very long, only 4 hours at max) He does this because well… you’re human. All the details he reads from human remnants, like books, or photos, shows romantic relationships can only be achieved within their species. So, he’ll become a mortal, for you.

- In the moments where you do catch him in his smaller form, he’ll attempt to hide from you, or come up with a swift suave excuse as to leave. There was one moment where he couldn’t avoid it… In a state of exhaustion he passed out, having not found any nutritional intake in the sea lately.

When he woke up, he’s ready to spring back into hunting mode, but the feeling of solid skin rather than hard rock makes him slowly turn his head up, your form looking down at him, his soft head laid in your lap. He’s practically stunned, you’re not ridiculing him for being made up of something so gross… Your fingers brush a strand of his hair back, watching as he slowly lifts himself up, a slimy residue left on your thighs.

There’s no way, you must be disgusted by now—

“You were on the floor. That’s not very common is it? That’s why you’re here, sleeping somewhere… better?”

It’s official, Azul will either follow you on land, or you’ll stay with him in the sea forever.

“Hm, perhaps it is better, maybe we should form an agreement that lets me sleep here, rather than the hard sea bottom?”

Thank you for the congratulations! I really was not expecting to have 700 so soon ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[astervaleblack]

DP X Marvel #22

Nick Fury hadn’t known peace in years. Aliens, HYDRA, interdimensional rifts, Tony Stark’s emotional instability—he thought he’d seen it all. That was until a small, gremlin-like twelve-year-old girl phased through the wall of the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, exploded three vending machines with a casual flick of her wrist, and declared with unshakeable confidence, “You guys owe me a snack for saving the multiverse.”

Her name was Danielle Phantom—Dani, with an “i”—and she was, allegedly, a clone of a ghost-human hybrid from another dimension. She was twelve, made entirely out of spite and ectoplasm, and Nick Fury made the catastrophic mistake of not immediately tossing her into a containment chamber.

Not that it would’ve helped. The last time they tried, she melted the titanium walls by burping.

“She’s not a threat,” Banner had insisted.

“She’s twelve!” Steve argued.

“She called me a rotting rotisserie chicken and set my cape on fire,” Thor grumbled, looking genuinely unsettled.

“She’s perfect,” Tony said. “Can I adopt her?”

“NO,” Fury barked. “She’s mine.”

And that’s how Dani Phantom became Nick Fury’s personal chaos goblin.

It started with the incident in Belarus. Fury had sent her to shadow a low-risk intel extraction mission—get in, get out, observe. She got bored. Two hours later, she returned with the mission completed, three HYDRA bases blown up, and a new trench coat she’d stolen off an agent twice her size. She looked proud. She also had a churro.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Fury asked.

“Multiversal Costco. Long story.”

She ate it while hovering upside down.

Dani didn’t walk. She floated. She didn’t knock. She phased through walls, floors, and sometimes people, which she claimed was “great for making dudes pee themselves.” She kept trying to haunt Clint Barton’s hearing aids (“for funsies”), called Natasha “Murder Barbie,” and threatened to sell Peter to the Tooth Fairy for “a good price.”

“I don’t even have ghost teeth!” Peter shrieked.

“Exactly. You’re rare,” Dani replied ominously.

She made the mistake of touching Loki once. Just once. She’d been told not to.

“Don’t touch the Asgardian,” Fury had said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because he’s the God of Mischief.”

“Oh. Cool.”

She poked him.

Loki screamed. She screamed louder. Everyone screamed. For some reason, there were snakes involved by the end of it.

Now, every time Loki sees Dani, he immediately teleports to another continent. “She’s worse than Odin,” he whispers, eyes wide and glassy.

Fury had to admit: Dani got results. She was an absolute menace—a glowing, cackling, miniature poltergeist in ripped jeans and combat boots—but she could sniff out a Kree spy from fifty yards away, beat an Ultron drone with a piece of rebar, and disable alien tech by licking it. (He didn’t approve of that one, but she claimed it was “a ghost thing.”)

“Why do you keep her?” Hill asked him one day, as Dani was in the background convincing a rookie agent that she was a resurrected Soviet weapon.

Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because the little gremlin saved my life.”

That part was true. He’d been cornered by a Skrull impersonating Agent Coulson, and before he could blink, Dani had flown through the ceiling screaming, “NOT MY BALD DAD, YOU SLIMEY LIZARD BASTARD!” She obliterated the Skrull with a ghost ray and threw Fury over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“You weigh like a thousand pounds!” she’d grunted, struggling to fly him out of danger.

“Put me down!”

“No! You’re grounded and dying on my watch is against the rules!”

It was, somehow, the most competent rescue Fury had ever experienced.

From then on, Dani followed him everywhere. She sat in on briefings, chewing bubblegum obnoxiously loud. She hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D. files just to draw little ghost doodles on top of agent profiles. She replaced the AI’s voice with her own. Every time the intercom came on, it was her:

“Attention all agents, remember to hydrate or I will personally possess you and make you chug milk.”

She terrorized the Avengers with zero remorse. Steve got glitter-bombed. Clint was stalked by a floating sandwich. Banner’s lab notes were mysteriously replaced with eldritch doodles and “Dani was here” scribbled in the margins. Tony found all his Iron Man suits programmed to play “Ghostbusters” every time they powered on.

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF I HEAR THAT SONG ONE MORE TIME—”

“Who ya gonna call?” Dani whispered from inside the vents.

Tony screamed.

But in her own completely deranged way, she was loyal. Deadly. Protective.

When some alien parasite tried to mind-control Fury, Dani showed up mid-briefing, opened her mouth, and screamed—a full-on ghost wail that shattered the windows and disintegrated the creature instantly.

Silence.

Everyone stared.

Dani wiped her mouth and grinned. “Oops. Was that loud?”

Fury was on the floor, bleeding from the ears. “You think?”

Later, she brought him noise-canceling earmuffs with skull stickers. “For next time.”

Fury eventually stopped questioning it. He’d wake up and find her floating three inches above his bed.

“Sleep check,” she’d say.

“I am very awake now.”

“Good.”

She haunted meetings, stole alien artifacts to make jewelry, and referred to Maria Hill exclusively as “General Mom.” She threatened to possess Tony’s coffee machine and did it. It only made decaf for three months. He cried.

And somehow, Dani ended up as the unofficial child mascot of S.H.I.E.L.D.

She was terrifying.

She was beloved.

She bit Deadpool once. He cried.

And yet, when Fury got taken by a rogue faction of former S.W.O.R.D. agents trying to expose classified data, the first person to show up wasn’t Steve, or Natasha, or even Carol.

It was Dani.

She burst in mid-interrogation, glowing, floating, and furious. Her eyes blazed green. Her ponytail whipped behind her like a comet trail. She didn’t say anything.

She just started throwing people.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN KIDNAP MY DAD?!” she screamed, hurling a desk at someone’s face. “I live in his walls! I KNOW THINGS!”

“You’re not even related to me!” Fury yelled as she fried a guy with ectoplasmic lightning.

“I TOOK A BLOOD TEST ONLINE AND IT SAID I’M 78% NICK FURY, 22% CHICKEN NUGGET!”

“You WHAT?!”

She ghost-punched the lead agent into the ceiling, caught Fury by the collar, and flew him out of the crumbling compound as everything exploded behind them.

When they landed, she wiped the soot from his coat, then hugged him hard.

He stood there stiffly before awkwardly patting her head.

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m not your—”

“Too late. I already wrote it in my diary.”

Later, at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Dani threw her feet up on the command table and declared, “This whole place is my haunted house now.”

Nobody argued.

The AI was programmed to greet her.

The agents stepped aside when she passed.

She had a personal couch that she’d painted green and black, and a glowing “NO NERDS” sign that Tony kept trying to steal.

Every so often, she disappeared into the multiverse. “Gotta stretch the legs,” she’d say, then come back two hours later with three infinity stones, a new jacket, and a baby goat.

Fury didn’t ask.

He learned not to ask.

But when the next alien invasion hit—when half of Manhattan lit up with something eldritch and writhing and very not-from-Earth—it wasn’t Thor who responded first.

It was Dani.

Hovering above Times Square, cracking her knuckles, eyes glowing like nuclear fallout.

“Alright, weird space tentacle thing,” she said. “You just messed with the wrong twelve-year-old.”

And from the helicarrier, sipping his bitter coffee, Nick Fury watched the ghost girl he never asked for absolutely wreck an interdimensional horror, cackling like a goblin while civilians cheered.

He sighed.

“God help us all.”

[draftdweller]

Cherry, baby

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Unprotected P in V, Oral F receiving, plus sized reader.

You were on your way home from your late night Diner shift, the uniform looking straight out of the 50's, your cherry red lipstick providing a stark contrast to your facial features, the dark mass of hair tied back in a nice updo to keep it out of your face and make sure it's contained while you work. You loathed the pastel pink dress that you had to wear for your shift, but money is money. You were flat broke every month after bills and groceries, the economy was more than difficult to survive in. You blamed the cost of things on the damages every city endured from every spat that came from mutants fighting their own wars. You noticed the city you were in was compromised the most, New York. Every week a new part of the city was destroyed, every month a new price raise on things. You loathed it completely. Even being a mutant yourself, you stayed to yourself.

Your family had tried to ship you off to Charles Xavier's school for the gifted. You booked it out of there by first light of the next day. No one had even noticed you were gone. Who would, with your powers being nothing spectacular, just telekinesis and the ability to cloud your presence from others. It was useless in any of their battles, and useless in life unless you were using it to move the trays at your job when you were busy with other things.

When you got back to your tiny apartment, you sighed seeing the notice on your door, three days to evacuate the premises, two months late on rent due to hours being cut meaning you couldn't afford it any longer. luckily you had almost no possessions, and the next thing you knew, you were on your way back to the mansion of professor x.

You approached the door and gave a tentative knock, who knew if Charles would let you back into this place. But when the door opened, it wasn't Charles before you. No, it was a muscular man, broad shoulders, dark hair that came up to a point on either side of his head. He was gorgeous, and rugged. He had a cigar between his lips and eyeing you cautiously.

"Can I help you, bub?" A gruff tone left his lips as he spoke.

"Uh, Yes. I'm looking for Charles"

"Charles? How D'you know him?" Another glance in your direction as he took a drag from the cigar.

"He's an old friend."

"I see. Well, come in then" As he spoke he turned and stepped into the house.

You nodded and walked in, and suddenly all eyes on you, Storm drawing in a breath as she caught sight of you. She was one of the only ones who had noticed you had left back when you did. The look in her eyes was both hurt and shock, taking in the sight of you. She walked up to you, her hair significantly shorter than when you'd last seen her.

"Y/N? Where have you been? I thought you had died. Why are you back?" She cautiously held you at arm's length and looked you over

"Died? No, I was just fine. I was on my own as soon as I could be. No one knew where I was because I knew if you all could find me, you'd bring me right back here, and I don't think I ever belonged here, my gifts are useless to say the least. Could you take me to Charles please?"

Without another word, she led you to Xavier, who you spoke to about staying here. You were assured you would always have a place at the school, and so there it was. You were working on unloading what little things you had, when the man who answered the door was standing there in the doorway. Keeping his eyes on you, as you used your mind to move the items around where you wanted them.

"So. You've been here before then? What brought you back?" He spoke and as he did so, you could feel his eyes tracing over your curves. You took off your hoodie you were wearing and looked back at him. "I had nowhere to go anymore" Your reply was short, not unkind but definitely blunt

"I guess that makes sense. But why'd you leave in the first place?"

"Look. I'd rather not discuss this with someone I know nothing about." Your cherry red lips pursed as you finished your sentence, hoping that would be the end of it. You couldn't be more wrong.

"Yea, well bub, Good luck trying to know anything about me. I don't even know much about myself from before I got here. Just that my name is Logan, and I have adamantium bones, and claws"

Your eyes rolled and you looked at him unbelieving. Then you noticed the look on his face. Your brows crinkled up and you sat on the bed.

"You really don't remember?"

"Not really. When I try to look back, it's foggy. Like someone covered it with mist"

You were nodding along as he spoke, and couldn't help but feel bad for him.

"So then, what is your name?"

"Logan." That was all he said before he left the room. That in itself was weird.

SIX MONTHS LATER

You had adjusted to the mansion life, always buzzing during the day. Quiet at night, there seemed to still have the curfew to be in your rooms at. But tonight, you couldn't sleep. You cautiously made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a drink and snack, and going to the room where the TV was. You made sure that it was turned down low enough that it wouldn't disturb anyone, but high enough that you could still hear it. You were in the middle of a horror movie when there was the sound of someone clearing their throat. You felt your body launch ten feet in the air, knocking the snack and drink off the coffee table in front of you. You turned around to see Logan standing there, his hair messy, and him wearing sleep pants and a white tank.

"You do know, there's a curfew, correct?"

"Yes, I, Yes. I just couldn't sleep. I'm sorry" You were tripping over your words as you spoke, your eyes following the contours of his body.

"Yea, that's the understatement of the year for me. I don't sleep much either. You mind if I join you here then?"

"Go ahead, as long as you promise not to scare the shit out of me like that again." You were moving over to make room on the couch for him, and he sat, eyeing you with a smirk playing on his lips.

"What are you doing sitting so far? I don't bite." He motioned for you to sit closer to him, and nods at the TV "Poltergeist huh? that's a good one"

You nodded, and slid closer to him, leaving a bit of space between the two of you. "One of my favorites that still startles me here and there."

He chuckled and nods. "I suppose it still has some good jumps here and there. If you need to, you can hide in my shoulder"

Your own laugh left your lips, and you nodded keeping that in mind. Eventually you did wind up burying your face against his shoulder, feeling nothing but muscle. He wound up moving to wrap said arm around you, his hands stroking over your plush curves, fingers splaying against your bare midriff, and tracing circles against your skin. You felt your cheeks heat up as he did this and looked up at him. You couldn't form words, but you could feel a spark of energy between the two of you.

You leaned up, and pressed your lips against his, kissing him slowly. At first, he resisted, shocked by the bold move and then kissed back. The kiss increased in passion, until you pulled back looking at him sheepishly.

"I, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"Don't apologize, I was just stunned at first, bub. I liked it."

You met his eyes, your own wide, just as he crashed his lips back into yours, kissing you hotly. You returned the kiss with the same urgency, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, a guttural groan leaving his lips as you tug gently, and his hands coming to rest on your hips, trying to pull you into his lap. You resisted with that move, mainly because you were self-conscious about your weight. You pulled back and looked at him "I, I can't" Your words were hushed, and he looked at you his brows knitting in confusion. "I'm heavier, I don't want to crush you"

"Bub, look. You wouldn't crush me, believe me. You may think you're too heavy, but I promise, I'm indestructible. I can handle you" As he spoke, his fingers came up to grip your chin gently. His words were sincere, and his touch gentle. He brought your lips back up to his, kissing you slowly. Instead of pulling you onto his lap this time, he pushed you back gently, causing you to lay back on the couch.

He pulled back from the kiss and moved his lips to the hollow of your throat, kissing and nipping gently, eliciting a gasp from you. He looked up at you from your throat and smirked "Oh, you liked that, did you?"

You didn't respond. You just nodded your head. In an instant, his lips were back on your throat, licking, nipping and sucking on it. Sure to leave marks on it. His hand was trailing up your thigh, and stopped at the junction between your thighs, stroking gently through your clothes. You moaned out and covered your mouth. He smirked and hushed you slightly. He moved up and hooked his thumb in your sleep shorts, pulling them down, revealing nothing underneath. He let out a ragged groan as he took in the sight of you. You glisten slightly in the lighting of the TV.

"Fuckin' beautiful" He murmured. His eyes had a look in them like a man starved and he met your gaze again. "If you want me to stop at any point bub, tell me. I will" "I want to keep going" Your words were a whisper, your hands covering your face slightly as he moved to place his head between your thighs.

He gazed up at you, and his fingers coming up to stroke along your folds. The little moan that left your lips encouraged him to keep going. His fingers slipped between your folds and caressed the sensitive bud above your entrance. Another gasp slipped from your lips, and he inhaled sharply, taking in your scent. His lips replaced where his fingers were, and they slipped down, teasing your entrance before pushing one digit in. You moan out loudly and arch your hips, his lips capturing the sensitive bud, sucking and nipping on it gently. "Logan, please. I need more" You mewled out as his pushed another finger into you. He smirked against you and sped up the motions of his fingers, continuously hitting the spongy area that had you most about to come undone. You felt yourself tighten around his fingers. "Come on bub, let go. Soak my fingers."

With his words, you let out a strangled cry, coming around his fingers and your hips buck slightly. He pulled back and looked up at you, bringing his fingers to his lips, and sucking them clean with an appreciative groan

"You taste so sweet, like cherries" His words caused your cheeks to heat up again and you look at him

"I, maybe we should go to my room, if you wanted to, I mean"

He smirked and nodded, pulling your shorts back up and lifting you effortlessly. He made his way to your room, and opened the door, bringing you into the room and shutting it with a kick. He made his way to your bed, laying you on it and kissing you once more. His knee separating your legs, and he nipped at your lip roughly. You could feel the bulge of him in his sleep pants pressing into you. Your hand came down to rub against it gently, causing him to let out a low growl "You sure you want to go there bub?"

"I've never been surer of anything, Logan" He nods and pulls back, peeling his shirt off his body, and then his sleep pants. Finally, he removed his boxers, and you gasped as he sprung free. He was thick, and long, with the tip red and leaking precum. He noticed the way you were looking at it and smirked slightly. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you" You nodded slowly, and looked at him, carefully peeling off your crop top and sleep shorts. You made an effort to cover your body back up as his eyes danced hungrily over you, but he grabbed your hand gently. He looked you over and used his free hand to stroke your face gently "You are so beautiful. Don't hide it" You were speechless, most people didn't compliment you for your body. But he did, and his eyes devoured you. Before you knew it, his lips were back on yours. His hand moving down to line himself up with your entrance.

He slowly pushed into you, stopping after an inch to let you adjust, and your jaw was slack at the feeling of him. He was waiting for you to adjust. "Logan, please move" With your plea, he pushed further in, until he bottomed out, his balls against your ass and a groan leaving his lips at how tight you were around him. Slowly he began moving and growled at the first thrust. He couldn't take the slow pace, and began to speed up, the sound of skin slapping filled the room, along with the grunts and moans. Your hands were on his back, nails digging into the skin making him hiss. Your eyes rolled back as he hit your sweet spot. The feeling was washing over you again, and he was murmuring sweet things to you, encouraging you to let go again. You let go with a cry of his name, tightening almost painfully around him, and he thrust, the thrusts getting sloppier. As you came undone around him, he followed quickly. His hips stuttering as he shot his seed deep into you. He collapses on top of you, breathing hard, and looked up at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "You did so good for me, Cherry baby" "Why do you call me that logan?" your eyes met his curiously

"Because when I first met you, and every day I see you. your lips are red as cherries"

You smiled and nodded, taking in what he said and agreed. A yawn slipped from your lips, and he pulled out gently, moving to lay by your side. You turned to face him, spent entirely from the sex and his hands rested on your hips. Before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep, and logan snuck from your room.

By the time you woke up, you had noticed the side of the bed he'd been on was cold, and empty. You couldn't help the disappointment you felt. You decided that last night was just another meaningless night.

A/n: I'm so sorry, this was my actual first attempt at writing smut. It's not very good, but I enjoyed it. Let me know if you did too!

[docwritesshit]

Hello! Me again with another request, if that's okay? I'm not sure if you've done this or not yet, but if you haven't, maybe you could do headcanons of the aftermath of Lady Bone Demon's defeat, and Sun Wukong, Macaque, MK, and Red Son reunites with their fem S/O? They're either sent away for their own safety or they were possessed by LBD.

Hello! I

Sorry, took me a hot minute to get here, got a big creative writing project that’s taking a bit out of me

Always!

After LBD

Wukong!

After you bring possessed by LBD, I see this man as clingy

He’s always making sure a hand or his tail in on you in some way. As a comfort to you that he’s there and as a comfort to himself that you’re safe

I also see him being stalkerish for a bit. Always spying on you when you go out to make sure nothing funny happens.

Many many nights are ended with you in his arms as you two sleep in the couch after binging some of your favorite media

He will outright refuse to do anything the heavens need because he doesn’t want to leave you just yet. The fact he couldn’t get to you before you were taken by LBD terrified him

Macaque!

He’s not leaving you in your apartment alone. He’s moved in now, cant stop him

A shadow follows you for a few weeks. You know it’s him, he knows you can see him. You do talk to him and he doesn’t do it as obvious or often

You’re getting new plushies and hoodies and all the things. Do you question how he got them? Best not to

If he has to go away, expect a shadow clone popping up every hour or so to check on you

MK!

The amount of trainings go up. He is determined not to lose you again

You are now tagging along with him when he hangs out with Mei. You just get dragged with them.

You’re either sleeping over at his or he’s sleeping over at yours. There is no sleeping in separate places for a solid three months. Pigsy had to drag him out of your apartment a few times

You’ll notice he doesn’t draw around you as much. When asked, he said he just wants to enjoy the moment.

Redson!

You’re not leaving the DBK fortress. Not once. You’re flanked by three bull bots minimum if you go walk outside

On the bright side, when you ask for something, she cannot say no to you! He will feel too guilty

Youre in the workshop with Reds most of the day, just doing your own thing. If you ah e to go to the bathroom, they will accompany you and wait outside the door

PIF and DBK are more quiet around you, and more generous. PIF takes you away once in a while to go with her to dress up just to help feel in charade of your own body. DBK will learn and cook your favorite foods every meal, making sure you’ve had your fill.

That’s all!

[drabblesandimagines]

Lemon Tarts

Clive Rosfield x female (Branded) reader Fluff, 5,828 words

“Come on, out of there, eh? I know I have a scarred mug but I’m a nice fella under all that.” Gav – he’s introduced himself several times now – jokes with a half-hearted laugh.

He’s crouched down in front of the alcove where you’ve sequestered yourself, your body pressed right up in the corner, your head tucked in-between your knees to try and make yourself as small as possible.

Gav’s broad shoulders won’t permit him entry, his reach coming up short when he’d got down on his knees and put an arm in to catch your wrist to guide you back out – cursing himself under his breath when you’d flinched at his attempt.

Your master was harsh both in what he demanded in labour and how he treated you. However long ago, you’d decided it was better to not talk back and, eventually, not worth talking at all. It wasn’t like he’d bought you for your conversation skills - for what worth is there in anything a Branded has to say?

The days in his service were repetitive – just the faces around you would change as the curse wore away at their supposed worth. Two new Bearers had been acquired over a tenday ago, apparently tracked by a group of people calling themselves Cursebreakers when they broke into the barn where you all slept. They explained they were here to take all of you somewhere safe, to free you from your master, all whilst weapons hung from their hips.

They’d escorted you into a covered wagon in the early hours of the morning with a firm grip, before the three of you were transferred onto a skiff roped up at a small dock, tucked away off a beaten path. The boat set sail across the blighted waters of a lake, heading towards some sort of Fallen structure in the middle. From there, you were led up onto a dock and then into a goods lift, ascending up to a new fate. You had tried to keep your panic at bay on the wagon and skiff ride, swallowing down the anxiety that had churned in your stomach and threatened to come up your throat but the moment the lift reached the main deck, the fear of the unknown won and you ran without further thought.

You ran with an energy you didn’t know you still possessed, ducking around outstretched arms. You didn’t make it very far before your mind caught up with your legs - where could you even go now? You’re in the middle of a lake, you don’t know how to swim, you’re trapped.

Now that you’d ran from them, disobeyed their commands to stop, only punishment could follow. At least with your old master you knew what to expect for whatever he deemed as ill behaviour, despite your best attempts to fulfill his demands, and what to brace for when you failed.

The alcove had caught your eye – a gap between two wooden walls made of thick planks. You’d slipped in with more than a hope that you wouldn’t be spotted as you did, perhaps they’d think you’d jumped into the waters below and drowned.

Luck was not on your side – when had it ever been? - for as soon as you’d pressed yourself into the very back, a scarred face had appeared in the opening.

“You can’t stay in there forever.” Gav chides, stepping back to put his hands on his hips before his face falls. “Not that that’s a threat, like! I mean, it’s not… practical, is it? Especially when we’ve a lovely, warm bed with your name on it.”

Warm bed…?

It’s a trick.

Don’t be so stupid.

“Gav, what’s going on?” An almost amused voice draws the scout’s attention elsewhere and the man steps out of view, entering into a hushed conversation. You risk a look between your knees, seeing the railings and a bit of the sky beyond – dusk beginning to fall.

A few moments later, you hear the voice again – gravelly, but cautious and gentle. “Hello, my lady.”

The lack of sarcasm in their address of you – for who would call a Branded my lady –prompts you to peer between your knees. Another rather broad-shouldered man is knelt down on one knee - shaggy dark hair framing stormy blue eyes, clad in red and black leathers, the hilt of a great sword showing over his shoulder.

“My name’s Clive. Mayhaps I could have the pleasure of yours?”

“She doesn’t talk much.” Gav’s voice comes from over his shoulder, but Clive keeps his gaze on you. “Or ever - that’s what the others said anyway. They’re all pretty new to the bastard’s service, like. Said they didn’t know her name, and not sure how long she’d been with him.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to, my lady. We just want to help, but we can’t help much whilst you’ve tucked yourself away here, can we?”

He waits for a few moments, testing the waters.

“We have a healer who can treat whatever ails you,” Clive presses on, tone still gentle and genuine. “And a very cosy bunk for you to rest in, where you won’t be disturbed. And food of course - I’ve heard there’s a delicious stew on the menu tonight. Molly - she’s our cook - has made some exquisite lemon tarts for afters. You can have mine, if you like.”

Your mouth salivates at the prospect of hot food. It had been a while since your stomach felt content - yesterday’s meal had consisted of vegetable peelings after a poor day of harvest, shared with the chocobos…

It’s all too good to be true.

“I know you must be frightened – to be taken from everything you’ve known for so long, but you have my word that we wish only to help you.” He places his fist over his heart, hoping it would prove his sincerity. “Though I understand we cannot be helping by hovering over you like this, so I will leave you be to think on it a while, my lady.”

Clive gets to his feet with a soft grunt and takes a few steps away back over to where Gav was stood, shaking his head in defeat.

Gav sighs, wearily. “S’pose I could ask Bartram to knock the planks out at the side so we can get her out that way?”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Definitely not. I could see her body trembling – she’s terrified.”

“We can hardly leave her in there.”

“She just needs time – we can give her that. It’s not ideal, but she’s at least safe. If her health turns, I’ll consider more drastic action but patience is best for now.”

“Maybe she’d be more comfortable speaking with someone who’s Branded?” Gav muses, scratching the back of his head.

“Good idea, Gav.” Clive claps his on the shoulder with a heavy arm. “I’ll ask Molly if she can pop by with some stew – food and a friendly, familiar face might work wonders."

--

You don’t emerge later though, despite Molly’s best efforts. She gives you a bright smile and soft, encouraging words – a tale of how she was rescued, proudly demonstrating the brand on her cheek, what she does now at the Hideaway, and then offering the bowl of stew in her hand.

The aroma makes your mouth water and stomach ache. Molly carefully places it at the threshold, not wanting to encroach on your personal space. Says she’ll leave it there, alongside a waterskin, before she bids you well and disappears from view.

If you shuffled forward a little, perhaps stretched out your arm as far as it would go, the bowl would be in reach to drag back to eat.

You don’t, though.

You won’t.

It’s a trick.

--

Clive had made himself scarce, hoping Molly's presence would be more calming than his own, and left her with instructions that if you were to emerge, or engage in conversation, perhaps she could coax you into going to the infirmary next.

He busied himself in search of the seamstress, eventually finding her in the bunks, sorting through piles of material stored away in a cupboard.

“Hortense, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” She nods, turning to face him. “What can I do for you, Clive?” “I wondered if you had any spare blankets?”

“Oh, yes – I’m always working away on more as we grow our ranks!” Hortense beams, turning back to the cupboard. “I'm not surprised you asked – there must be quite the draft in those chambers of yours.”

“Ah, no - not for me. One of the rescued Bearers from today is a little shy, sequestered herself in an alcove in fright. I'm hoping she'll emerge before nightfall for food and to go to the infirmary, but I do not wish for her to catch a chill off the lake if she does not...”

“Oh, the poor mite!” Hortense frowns at the idea, but sets to thumbing through a pile of blankets in search of one in particular – a fleecy grey one in the end - and bundling it up in her arms before she hands it over to him. “Well, this one should keep her nice and cosy, it’s plenty thick enough. Tell me she is at least properly dressed, Clive.”

“The usual attire.” A polite way of saying the threadbare cloth shirts, trousers or dresses that Bearers were permitted by their masters, sans shoes as always. “I doubt she’ll accept any changes of clothing currently, but I am sure she’ll come round. We just need to be patient.”

“How could she not? Please, do let me know if there is anything else I can do.”

“This is plenty, I assure you.” He smiles, holding the blanket aloft in demonstration and leaves her to her work, heading the long way down to the Ale Hall to avoid the main deck. He spots Molly back in the kitchen behind the counter, looking forlorn.

“I’m sorry – I tried, I really did.” She scoops a generous portion of stew into a bowl and hands it off to an awaiting Bearer as she talks. “I told her my story and everything, but it’s almost like she’s frozen in place. I half-worried the curse had took her in front of my eyes. I left the stew - I hoped with some privacy she might eat without me there watching her.”

He places a large palm on her arm and give hers a sincere smile. “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate you trying.”

“It’s nothing. Here”, she hands him the bowl of stew she’d just prepared. “Can’t forget yourself. And before you ask, yes, everyone else has been fed.”

Clive smiles, wryly, and takes the bowl with a grateful nod.

After he has had his fill, he heads out at the top of the steps, planning to keep his distance for a while longer up in the mess before an attempt to coax you out or gifting you the blanket. As his eyes cast over the alcove, he finds an unwelcome guest with their head and shoulders wedged firmly into the entrance.

“Torgal - away from there!” Clive snaps with a growl in his throat and the wolf hound instantly retreats to his master’s side with a whine and a tilt of his head, unsure as to what he's done.

He sighs, giving the beast a pat on the head. “I am sorry, boy, just... that bowl wasn’t for you – that was for our guest. I am afraid you may have scared her.”

Clive walks over and drops to a knee to peer within. His heart sinks to find your head tucked further between your knees than it had been previously, in addition to your body now trembling almost violently.

By the Founder, you must’ve thought he’d sent his beast to devour you.

“My lady, I am so very sorry that Torgal frightened you. He must’ve picked up the scent of the stew and followed it, mistaking it for his dinner. His sense of smell is unparalleled.”

Torgal barks as if in agreement, and you jump in place at the noise. Clive hushes the wolf with another pat on his head. “Sorry – he still acts like a puppy sometimes, but he is a very loyal friend of mine and he means you no harm. Allow me to fetch you something else to eat.”

He lays the bundled blanket down and pushes it forward, until it’s less than an arm’s length away from you.

“It gets a little cold on the deck in the evenings, my lady, but this should keep you warm until you feel comfortable enough to come inside. I’ll be back in a moment with some more food, and Torgal will keep away – I promise.”

He gets to his feet, picking up the bowl as he does and Torgal quickly follows behind at his heels as he heads back to the Ale Hall. Molly’s eyes widen in delight as he places the empty vessel on the counter, but Clive shakes his head.

“I’m afraid Torgal got to it first – licked it clean. Do we have any left?”

“Ah.” The cook’s face falls. “No, I’m afraid not – some of the Cursebreakers were feeling particularly hungry after their mission. But I do have bread, some cheese, apples and a lemon tart, though I had held that one back for you…”

“That all sounds wonderful. Please.”

Molly pulls out a cloth napkin from below the counter, placing the assortment of food together with a delicate hand. She ties the napkin in a knot to keep the bundle protected and hands it over.

“Thank you.” He looks down at the hound sat by his heels. “Torgal, why don’t you go and sit with Lady Charon?”

Torgal’s tail thumps against the wooden floorboards happily – Charon often has a bone waiting for him behind her counter in the evening.

“Good boy.”

Clive heads back towards the alcove with deliberate footsteps, wishing to announce his arrival. The blanket has not moved, still in the place where he left it. From what he can see in the evening light, your trembling has appeared to ease up from Torgal’s visit at least.

“I am afraid we have run out of stew, but Molly’s put together a selection of other things for you – including the lemon tart I mentioned earlier.” Clive places the bundle down carefully upon the blanket, before moving the waterskin besides it.

He waits a moment or two to see if you might lift your head before continuing, but it remains fixed in place.

“I think you might feel more at ease if you eat something, my lady, even if it’s just a little. I will leave you be and bid you a good night, with a sincere hope that you emerge anon.”

He gets back to his feet again, swallowing back down a sigh and, reluctantly, heads back into the warmth of the Ale Hall.

--

Clive finds himself restless later that night, tossing and turning before settling to stare up at the ceiling of his chambers. His mind is whirling with thoughts of what he needs to accomplish tomorrow, the missives he has yet to reply to, the Mothercrystals that still reside – though an opportune moment was still to present itself – the next lot of Cursebreakers who would be undertaking the removal of their Brands…

..and you, the scared Bearer, hiding in an alcove off the main deck.

He sits up with a huff and looks towards the balcony.

Fresh air – despite how drafty his chambers already are - will help, he thinks.

He gets out of bed, pulling on his earlier discarded trousers and boots to go with his night shirt and heads over to the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air.

The blighted lake waters are still and the moon casts a warm, white glow over the quiet deck. Clive takes a deep breath and then another, when something catches his eye down below - a lone figure heading across the boards on unsteady legs, towards the end of the dock.

You.

He turns on his heel and hurries out of his chambers, his footsteps echoing around the Ale Hall as he descends both sets of stairs two at a time. He pulls the lever back to call the lift back up and waits, impatiently, when he sees the blanket and bundle of food he’d left earlier, pushed aside in front of the alcove.

He grabs the bundle as the lift reaches the dock and hurries inside, slamming down the lever and descending below, praying that he’s not too late.

--

You were sure you hadn’t heard anyone for hours since the sun had dipped below the horizon and stars had slowly started to emerge in the cloudless sky. Cautiously, you’d pushed the blanket forward, only enough so that if someone was lying in wait for you to emerge they would pounce.

Nothing.

You wait another while before you inch it forward again, a pause, then a little more until the entire blanket is now out of the alcove. Your hands are shaking as you pop your head out, just slightly, but the deck appears empty. After waiting another few moments, you crawl over to the railings to peer below. The skiff you’d arrived on is docked up at the end of the pier – an escape route. Without much further thought, you pull yourself up on unsteady legs and walk into the goods lift, pulling down the lever to descend.

You find yourself at the end of the dock, frozen in fear. What were you thinking? You don’t know how to sail. You don’t know how to swim either, so that’s also out of the question. Even if you could, you surely wouldn’t have the strength to swim across an entire lake.

You flex stiff fingers experimentally. Maybe you could muster up enough aether to conjure some wind – would that be enough to sail the skiff? You wished you’d paid more attention on the journey over…

You’re getting ahead of yourself. Where would you even go? The brand inked on your cheek made it so you’d never have a normal life, you stand out immediately in any crowd. If an imperial soldier caught you on your own, you’d be thrown into the cells…

..or even worse.

Maybe… Maybe you could go back to your master? Your stomach swirls again with anxiety at the thought. There would be a punishment, surely, but if you came back that would count for something, wouldn’t it?

Your thoughts are interrupted by pounding footsteps, your heartbeat soon matching their pace as you turn to see your pursuer. It’s the broad-shouldered man from earlier – Clive – hurrying up the dock with a look you can’t identify on his face and a bundle of cloth in his hand.

You take a step back as he gets closer, hurriedly followed by another, then another. There’s an apology on your tongue but the world suddenly jerks when there is no longer anything to stand on. You’ve stepped too far, ran out of dock-

There is a gust of warm wind and an arm wraps around your waist, pressing you close into an even warmer chest. Underfoot, you feel the boards of the dock again - Clive has stopped you from falling into the depths. He guides you forward another half a dozen strides before dropping his arm once he’s sure you’re a safe distance away from the edge and then takes further steps back himself.

“I apologise for touching you without your consent, my lady, but I could not let you fall into the water. Are you all right?”

You don’t take in his words at all - your legs giving up as you drop down on the deck with a thump.

“I’m s-sorry.” Your words are soft, but Clive hears them in the stillness of the night. “Please – I’ll…” You swallow back a sob – crying never helped, would only make punishments worse. “I’m sorry. Please… don’t hurt me. I’ll obey. I will.”

“I will never hurt you, my lady, nor will I ever command your obedience. This is my vow.” Clive responds, equally as soft, as he kneels down to match your eye-level. “I just wish to see you safe and well.”

He sounds sincere, which is unsettling. You realise he doesn’t have his sword, nor the hound at his heels. He’s not even properly dressed - leather trousers and an unlaced white shirt, overall softening his appearance.

Clive takes advantage of your silence to press on.

“Will you join me in a midnight feast?” He places the bundle of cloth down before him, swiftly undoing the knot all whilst you stare, trying to guess the trick.

“I used to sneak into my younger brother’s chambers with things I’d swiped from the kitchen. He was often ill and prescribed a rather bland diet, so I hoped a midnight feast of more appetizing fare might cheer him up.”

He busies himself laying out the food on the patterned cloth, a little further away from him than could be comfortable having to stretch out so far. There’s a few bread rolls, apples, biscuits and something that smells tantalizingly sweet.

“This,” Clive points out a round pastry in the middle, some sort of glazed curd on the top, “is Molly’s fabled lemon tart. The best in Valisthea, I assure you. Please – help yourself.”

He leans back, propping himself up with his elbows, again trying to give you space, and forces his gaze to the sky. The moon illuminates the side of his face as you keep your eyes fixed on him, revealing a mark you hadn’t noticed earlier that day - an almost familiar one.

It’s torture having the food laid out in front of you, the second time that day. You don’t know if you feel sick from hunger or from nerves, but your resolve finally cracks.

You reach out with a shaking hand, waiting for Clive to strike.

He keeps focused on the skies above, his hands firmly planted behind him.

You pick up the roll.

Still, he does not move.

You take a tentative bite and chew, whilst Clive stares up at the stars.

Slowly, but surely, you finish the entire roll. Be grateful – your master’s voice rings around your head.

“T-thank you.”

Clive moves his gaze from the skies to yours, a warm smile on his face. “No, thank you, my lady. This is all I want for you – all we want for you – to be safe and well-fed.”

You dig your nails into your palms. “Why?”

“Because Bearers do not deserve to be treated how they are – we should be able to live and die on our own terms.”

“We?”

He nods, sitting up and turning his head to the side, pushing back his hair a little to reveal the scar on his cheek.

“I was Branded once. Tarja – she’s our healer – removed it, only so I could travel Storm safely and help others escape their fate. The Cursebreakers have all had their Brands removed as well for the same reason.”

“No, they said it can’t be removed – the ink contains poison.” You don’t know where this tone of defiance has emerged from, but there is no flash of anger across Clive’s brow.

“It is risky to remove, yes, but not impossible. And we will not ask you to undertake such a risk – that would be your choice.” He adds, quickly, worried you may take it the wrong way.

“You remember Molly, who brought you the stew?” You nod. “There are many others like her who have chosen to keep their Brand, but it does not dictate their lives in the Hideaway. And until you can live the life you deserve to, one where that mark on your cheek will not make it unsafe for you to do so, I sincerely hope you will find a home here.”

“A home?”

“Mm. Safe, fed, and never need to use aether again, my…” He pauses in realization. “My apologies - may I request the pleasure of your name?”

You shake your head, feeling foolish. “It’s silly, but I… I don’t remember it. Such a simple thing to have forgotten, but master didn’t use it.”

Of course the bastard didn’t - Clive feels a frown forming, but restrains himself. “I am sure it will come back to you with time.”

His eyes fall upon the pastry in the following silence, wishing to change the subject and he picks it up, placing it on the flat on his palm and offering it out to you. “Please – have some more to eat.”

Clive has a shy smile on his lips, a genuine and sincere look in his eye. It is the kindest look someone has given you in all the time you can remember and with that, your fingers brush across his open palm as you take the offered treat.

It is small – only two bites – but it is the most wonderful thing you have ever tasted. The pastry is crisp, thin and sweet, whilst the lemon curd is tart, the flavours dancing over your tongue.

It makes you want to cry at such a simple pleasure that has been denied to you for so very long.

The moment of euphoria is interrupted as a particularly cold wind gusts across the lake and causes you to shiver, unconsciously pulling your limbs closer to your body to try and preserve heat.

“Thank you for trusting me, my lady. I cannot imagine how frightening and worrying it must be – I truly admire your bravery. May I be as bold to request you trust me once more this night?”

You nod – the tiniest jerk of your head down – but it’s a nod all the same.

“Would you allow me to escort you to the infirmary? It has warm and comfortable beds where you can rest - properly.”

The question makes your stomach squirm with anxiety – the food sitting too heavy now in your stomach, but one look into Clive’s eyes almost settles it entirely once more.

“And in the morning, if you feel up to it,” he clarifies, “our healer would like to give you a check-up, but you do not have to make a decision on that right now.”

“A-all right.”

“Wonderful.” He keeps his tone measured, quickly wrapping up the food in the cloth and securing the top with a knot before he gets to his feet and steps back as you get to yours. He gestures forward a moment, quickly second-guessing his actions with a frown.

“Mayhaps you would be more comfortable following me?”

A small nod again.

You can’t be backstabbed if you’re facing his back, after all.

“Of course. Follow me, please, my lady.” He bows ever so slightly, before turning and heading back up and along the dock.

Clive’s heart is pounding as he walks away, worried that you may take his retreat as a chance to take the skiff and sail away or plunge yourself into the lake, but he dare not look over his shoulder in fear of frightening you.

Instead, he strains to hear any footsteps bar his own.

It is only when he reaches the goods lift that he catches sight of you in his peripheral vision that he releases a breath. He’s sure to stand in the furthest corner besides the lever, only taking one look over his shoulder to confirm you were safely within the confines of the lift before he pulls down on the mechanism.

He walks along the main deck, up the stairs to the mess, past the long tables and the hunt board before he pauses at the bottom of the next set of stairs. “It’s just up here and to the left.”

He opens the door to the infirmary with measured strength – aware the other Bearers will be resting within. The first two beds are occupied by faces you recognize – the two you’d been rescued with – and there is a man sat by a desk. Clive nods to him in acknowledgement and heads towards the other side of the room, sectioned off by a large bit of fabric. Both cots back there are empty, so he walks over to the one closest to the window and pulls the blanket down, then stepping back to the other side of the room and gesturing you forward.

“Here.”

You hesitate. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The stranger the other side of the curtain has unsettled you. It had been easy to forget about everyone else for a moment when it had just been Clive and you on the dock, but now you are inside… Who else would come when dawn broke?

Clive picks up on your hesitation, noting the way your eyes flit between the window and beyond the curtain, annoyed with himself he did not warn you of Rodiguez being on duty that night.

“If it would be all right with you, my lady, I would like to stay in order to make introductions in the morning with Tarja. But I will only do so if you are comfortable with me – I will set up a chair over there.” He points back the way you came, to the gap between the fabric and the wall.

“P-please.”

“Of course.” He nods, picking up a chair immediately from the side and moving it to where he had said. It is only then that you sit cautiously on the edge of the bed, slowly lifting your legs up and tugging the blanket up to your chin.

Clive settles himself on the chair – he has slept in far worse places, after all – and it is not long at all until sleep claims you.

--

Months pass. At first, your circle remains small – Clive and Molly at first, followed by Jill before you slowly begin to open up to those among the Hideaway. You will never forget the smile on Clive’s face when he introduced you to Torgal properly – the hound immediately rolling on his back, titling his head at you inquisitively as his master explained he wished for you to rub his fluffy belly.

You are still easily startled by loud noises, unexpected movement or when Gav swears out of excitement, never the loudest in conversation, but everyone is so very welcoming.

There is plenty to do, but there is no expectation of you to contribute unless you want to, especially as some among the ranks are too stiff from the curse. Jill and Hortense teach you how to sew, you spend a few days in the Backyard learning about the plants, Charon teaches you how to take a stock inventory, Gav tries to teach you how to drink a pint in record speed and, of course, Molly teaches you how to bake.

You are always first to greet new Bearers with a soft word and kind smile, telling them how scared you were, how you hid in the alcove on the deck…

Clive is often busy whilst in or out the Hideaway, but he always makes time for you, seeking out your company immediately after he has given Otto the latest, wanting to know what you’ve been up to before he’ll even speak of himself. He even picks up little trinkets that he thinks will make you smile – lined up on your windowsill in your bunk.

You knock gently on Clive’s chambers – his call for you to enter soon following. You hold the basket behind your back, a piece of cloth tucked over delicately over the contents within as you slide open the door. He is sat behind the writing desk, looking over a pile of missives, dressed in his usual leathers.

He raises his head and offers you the warmest smile, getting to his feet immediately in polite greeting. Seeing you always seemed to brighten his day – there was something about your smile that revitalized his spirits, a reminder of how far you’d come since that first day.

“My lady.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” You say, softly, sliding the door closed behind you.

“You are never an interruption. Please, sit.” He gestures towards the bench opposite his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Before I sit, I have some gifts.”           

“Gifts?”

“Mm. For you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have.”

You place the basket gently down on his desk, ignoring his comment. He pulls back the cloth to reveal a pile of six lemon tarts nestled within.

“Did you make these?”

“I did.” You nod, proudly. “Molly supervised, so they should be edible, at least.”

“They’ll be more than edible, I assure you.” He picks one up and bites into it, humming happily as he chews, the pastry melting on his tongue. “They are exquisite – truly.”

“Really?”

He feigns a pout at your question. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You shake your head with a shy smile.

“Then I would hardly start now.” He takes hold of you hand for a moment and squeezes. “Thank you.”

You bite your lip before continuing. “There’s… something else.”

“I am hardly deserving of this gift, my lady, let alone more-”

You interrupt him with a name – your name.

His eyes widen for a moment before he murmurs it back to you – sounding all the more wonderful on his tongue - and you nod, excitedly. You’d been reluctant to choose a new name, despite some suggestions. The inhabitants of the Hideaway had instead picked up on Clive’s term of address instead.

“I remembered, like you said.” You wring your fingers together. “Well, in a way. Tomes was reading a story to the children and there it was, after all this time.”

“It is a beautiful name – I am honoured to learn it.” He takes your hand with a bow, pressing a kiss against your knuckles and saying it once again.

When he releases your hand, you press a quick kiss against his stubbled, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”

Clive’s cheeks redden at your kiss, seemingly speechless for a moment. He smiles, almost bashfully, as he looks down at you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“May I give you something in return?”

“Clive,” you look down as you protest, feeling your own face warm under his gaze, “you’ve already given me plenty. You-” He inadvertently cuts you off as he tilts your chin up with two gentle fingers, determined to meet your gaze.

“You do not understand, my darling. I would love to give you so much more, if only you’d permit me.”

“Oh…”

Clive moves his hand to caress your Branded cheek with calloused fingers – worn from his time of handling his blade – but his touch has never felt so soft.

“May I?”

You nod.

Clive presses a kiss to your lips - gentle, chaste and far sweeter than any lemon tart.

--

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[bullet-prooflove]

Pedestal: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989 @buckysteveloki-me

References to Manny & Sara

Companion piece to:

Roses - A bouquet of roses sparks an act of revenge.

Inspiration - Terry helps you find inspiration after you run into your ex.

Mine (NSFW) - Terry needs you to remember exactly who you belong to.

The Red Room - Terry takes care of a threat.

Poison - Terry takes action when he discovers there's a nude painting of you.

Bullet In A Gun - A perfect night turns into a nightmare when JP finally catches up with you.

The Devil Himself - Terry fights for his life after being shot in the chest.

Raspberries - Terry wakes up in the hospital after the shooting.

It becomes abundantly clear throughout Terry’s recovery that you don’t want to talk about JP. You avoid the topic whenever he raises it, distracting him with teasing kisses or feigning busyness. The worst part is Terry lets you get away with it because he’s not ready to face the reality.

Violence, it’s against your nature but it’s certainly in his.

And he worries that he’s tainted you.

He bides his time collating information. He learns that after JP was taken into custody, he was arraigned and denied bail. Hours later he was discovered in lockup, face down in a pool of his own blood.

Frankly you don’t have the connections to pull something like this off but there are people in his life that do, that would have no problem taking advantage of his wife so that Terry would owe him a favour. He can see exactly how this played out. Him at death’s door, you alone, vulnerable. They would have presented a solution to your problem and he knows you would have taken it.

“Georgia.” He murmurs one night, drawing you into his lap as he sits on the couch. “I need to know what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.” You tell him trying to pull away but Terry’s grasp tightens, keeping you captive.

“But you know who did.” Terry says firmly, clasping your chin and guiding your gaze back to his so you can read the seriousness of this situation in his eyes. “And that makes you complicit, which means they have something on you, that they could use it to hurt you-”

“They won’t.” You cut him off and the surety in your voice reminds him of just how naïve you really are.

“Georgia.” He says firmly. “You don’t know these people, you’re too innocent-”

“Terry.” You say sternly, placing your hands upon his shoulders. “You need to stop this, you need to stop putting me on a pedestal, I know you see me as this sweet little thing but I’m not. I’m just like you. I will scorch the fucking earth of anyone who dares hurt you, I would grind their bones into dust, I would spit on their corpse, I would-”

“Have them murdered in their jail cell?” He ventures and your jaw tenses, your eyes ablaze.

He’s seen flickers of this before, the embers that burn beneath the surface of his angel. It usually comes out to play in the bedroom when another woman approaches him. You get a bit of the devil in you and Terry, he gets fucked three ways from Sunday because you’re just as possessive as he is, the difference is you’re classier with it.

“He tried to put a hit out on you Terry.” You say finally, your hands bundling into fists, gripping his shirt. “When he found out he hadn’t killed you, he started asking around for someone who’d finish the job. Word got back to Manny and he took care of it, no strings, just done.”

Manny, Sara’s life partner.

The person that places family before anything else, who is president of a motorcycle chapter, one that’s turned legit in the past five years under his leadership. He’s friends with that man, good friends. He finds him innovative, insightful and fierce, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. It’s something they’d bonded over whilst drinking top shelf whisky and smoking cigars on the balcony. Him taking his revenge on the photographer that stole Sara’s innocence and Terry almost murdering JP in the Red Room.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for Georgia.” Manny had told him that night as he leaned against the railing, taking a long pull of the cigar. “She’s the only one that gave a shit about Sara, who saw that she was hurting, who pulled her from the brink. If they hadn’t met…”

He trails off but Terry catches the drift.

Manny can’t imagine a world without Sara, the same way Terry can’t imagine a world without you.

That’s how he knows that this was done as a gift, that there’s no debt to be paid, no surprises down the end of the line. This is a man protecting his family, and Terry would do the same in a heartbeat if the shoe was on the other foot. There aren’t many people in this world that understand the darkness in Terry, but Manny does, he has it too.

“I’m not taking you off that pedestal.” He says finally, his thumb chasing over your cheek. “You’re a goddess in my eyes, a beautiful, vengeful one who snatched me right out of the jaws of hell so I could worship the ground you walk on.”

“The doctor said no worshipping for another few weeks.” You remind him, your fingertips playing over the spackle of bullet holes underneath his shirt. “And I take his advice very seriously.”

“He said no strenuous activity.” He counters as he shifts positions on the couch until he’s lying beneath you. He props a cushion under his head to support his neck before he taps his chest, indicating for you to straddle his face. “Now come to daddy kitten, let me worship at that alter.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[would-you-punt-them]

Your technology curse is my roman empire.

Honestly, for the past couple of months I've been having more tech problems than usual, and if anyone has an explanation for this I'd love to hear it.

It started last year when my desktop finally stopped working; it would power on, attempt to start up, and then immediately shut itself down again.

I decided to just leave it, because for as long as I can remember it's always kinda done whatever it feels like. Like, I have to unplug it when I go to sleep because it likes to turn itself on in the middle of the night for literally no reason.

I thought maybe if I just left it alone, there was a chance it would eventually decide to wake itself up on its own. But after a while it became pretty clear that this really was the end. I mean, the thing was pretty old and already barely functional, so it was bound to die sooner or later.

I left it at home collecting dust for a couple months until I went back for the holidays. When I got back, I tried it again, and still nothing.

If modern technology had failed, then clearly the only reasonable solution was to tap into what little vestiges of dark power I still possessed to summon its soul back to the material plane in a profane ritual. Also I was super bored and didn't have anything else going on that day and desparately needed something to do.

So, I spent that afternoon using salt to draw out what I imagined a magic circle might look like, put the computer in the centre, covered all the windows and then spent two hours in a dark room pretending to commune with its machine spirit dwelling on the other side or whatever.

I swear to god, two days later the stupid thing turned itself on at like 1 in the morning for the first time in three months. Then the next day the lights in my room stopped working with zero warning.

For some reason ever since then my life has basically operated on the law of equivalent exchange; whenever one thing is miraculously fixed, within 24 hours something else will inexplicably break.

Someone came round to fix the lights, and later that day my electric razor (which was pretty much brand new) randomly stopped working. About a week after that, my night light that hasn't worked in forever magically became functional, while my kettle immediately broke even though it had been fine that same morning.

Just to prove I wasn't going crazy, I went and dug out the oldest thing I could find, my 3DS that's been broken since like 2018, and tried to get it to work, which should be straight up impossible. Except it now works fine, and like clockwork the next morning my toothbrush wouldn't turn on. This shit just keeps happening and I'm not sure what I did to deserve it.

Anyway, my phone has started going on the fritz, so who knows, maybe it'll shut down in a week and bring my fucking Bop-It back to life.

[ikilledmyhamster]

Okay listen, what I love about BTD kid au is that Strade, rire, & sano were friends ever since childhood. I mean it's adorable if you actually think about it 😂

I do have a headcannon story that I would like to tell you all so feel free to read this!

I still don't know how the three met, it's kind of like that one trio where they don't even know how they met each other in the first place so let's just go with that. But I'd figured it would go something like this.

Story: Strade was an only child and had no friends due to his behavior. He met sano when he was around probably 6-7 who was stuck in a pond with ropes around his tail (Sano). Strade upon seeing a young boy with a snake tail, was curious and decided to help him...but the two ended up in the rope and it took 2 hours for them to get themselves free. Strade and sano became friends after that and strade didn't even bother asking about why sano had a tail.

The next part is where the two met rire which is kind of in a weird way. Strade got home from his kindergarten and decided to play with sano as the two were close, sano has an idea to summon a demon, which wasn't normal for a child to say that but hey, he's a naga demon so what do you expect? Anyway, they summoned a demon and you might be asking how and why they did it. Well one; They were pretty dumb kids and also just curious, two; Sano found rire's 'symbol' online for odd reasons and decided to try it. They successfully summoned kid rire but...they interrupted his tea time which made the demon prince angry (Btw he's a prince because his family is still alive, so he ain't the demon king yet). After a full on rampage that goes on for about a few hours, they were able to come into an agreement to become friends.

Childhood Moments: Strade, Rire, & Sano would build their own treehouse in their old neighborhood where they used to live, and they would make the treehouse pretty big. Of course the three had their own rooms and storage for their own stuff, by this time strade had an old camcorder, so he used it to create videos and/or memories of their childhood.

The three would go on adventures and weird places or even terrifying ones. Strades parents never really paid any attention to him so they didn't care if he left the house. Strade likes to draw or doodle in his free time, so he draws a lot of art of him, rire and sano. Sano and strade likes to pull pranks on rire. For example one time, they did a water bucket challenge but instead of it being normal cold water, it was holy water which burned poor kid rire skin. Of course he was not happy, but don't worry...he got his revenge.

Another childhood memory is that the three would occasionally watch horror films like slasher films. Especially paranormal activity, every time there is a demon or spirit that is possessing a person, sano and strade were pretty much scared while rire happily watches the scene. BUTTTT, when it comes to the exorcist scenes...Rire would immediately hold his friends with his tentacles while hiding behind them😂😂 (inspo from the photo above)

Another time, sano and strade did a research and they read that in old Russian ancient times, there used to be a saying that brownies could scare off evil spirits or demons. And so...they tried it on rire, the results did not disappoint them. The moment they bought a brownie cake and placed it on the table in front of rire...the poor boy disappeared. Which confused the two at first, but then they realized it actually works! Rire would stay in hell until he knows for sure, that the brownies were gone.

Treehouse: The treehouse that they built in the forest is still there standing stable till this day, and that treehouse holds a lot of childhood memory. Strade Sano & Rire would often sleep in that treehouse as their comfort zone and also since it's the place they mostly hang out in. They carved their names on the treehouse door, something like this; "LR+SK+S" Which obviously means in order; "Lucien Rire+Sano Kojima+Strade". Of course soon strade had to move out of his old town and so did sano and rire. They left their old treehouse but kept their stuff there.

Present: Whenever Y/N is free they sometimes go to the Kojima brothers house just to hangout or sleep over. One day they stumbled upon an old photo of the main trio. Rire in the center, strade on his left side and sano on his right side. The photo looked like it was taken a few years back and Y/N was able to open the frame and found a note attached to the back of the photo which had coordinates, which if your guessing correctly; Leads to their old treehouse. Akira & Y/N visited that place and found the treehouse with all of their stuff still there in the same places where they left it. And if they went all the way to the back, they would find a wooden box container which is filled with many cassette tapes and writing of dates. Strade would record those childhood videos and put them on cassette tapes so there was a lot of them. Of course, Y/N & Akira ended up watching some of the videos in the end and didn't bother telling sano, strade, or rire.

Anyway that's pretty much my version of the BTD main trio kid AU. Let me now which one should I do next down below here ⬇️⬇️⬇️

(Btw, credits to the art above belongs to @darqx)

[avonne-writes]

would love to see nr. 18 nr. 22 and 37 from the prompt list together!! «truth or dare» with «secret relationship» where their relationship get exposed bc john gets dared to kiss someone else, and gale is possessive

After such a long wait, I finally had a chance to write this. Thank you for the prompt! 🩷 Teenage awkwardness ahead, from an outsider POV.

Truth or dare - HS AU, beginning of Year 10

Why is it that the jocks at Olivia's school throw the lamest parties ever? Her older sister always used to brag about how much fun she had at these things back in the day - two years ago - but Olivia's just bored. Like, it's an absolute snoozefest. Putting on makeup for this wasn’t worth it. Not to mention the two hours she spent straightening her hair and looking for a top that complemented her green eyes. With the shit music they're playing, the whole thing was just a waste of time.

They’re all sitting around in a cramped living room that smells like her brother's socks and the P.E. locker room, and most of the boys are not even cute at all. They all have such bony arms, ugh. Olivia is attracted to real men, older boys. At least two years older. That's where she draws the line. The guys in her year are way too immature for her attention.

Okay, fine, if she really had to choose, Gale Cleven isn’t half bad. He’s kinda fit, more muscular than these soccer boys who can’t stop talking about Messi or whatshisname. He’s got beautiful blue eyes. A piercing stare. Zapphire orbs that glitter with interest when they meet Olivia's… She sighs, taking a sip of her soda and taking a furtive look at Gale where he's sitting cross-legged on the floor across from her. She likes boys with an actual personality. Gale has shoulder-length blond hair, which is pretty unique, but he’s a bit too quiet. What if he's boring too?

Plus, dating Gale would come with the unfortunate side effect of having to spend time with Bucky. Olivia had a crush on him last year, but it faded after a while, and she hates him now. She doesn’t get why he's so popular when he's just a stupid player. He flirts but never actually asks you out. Her past self was dumb for falling for his bright smile and loud personality.

Maybe, going for someone quiet is just what she needs. No, not quiet - mysterious. Yes, that's a better word to describe Gale. He’s smart and sweet and fit, and he wears neat clothes, not just plain, wrinkled t-shirts like Bucky. He takes care of himself. And he doesn’t have acne either. She bets he smells nice. Probably like - like cedar and sandalwood and an earthy, musky scent that she would still smell on her clothes hours after kissing him…

Suddenly, Gale's gaze flickers over to her, so she looks down for a second. Heat rises to her cheeks. But, she read somewhere that if you can keep eye contact with a guy for at least 5 seconds, they will begin to like you, and if it goes up to 10 seconds, they fall in love with you. It sounded like a good method, so she has decided to go for it every chance she gets. Telling herself that she's a bold and pretty girl, she looks up and finds Gale's eyes again. One, two, three - Ah!

It was so close! But Bucky had to choose that moment to tug at a lock of Gale's hair. Can’t he just leave Gale alone? Why does he need everyone’s attention all the time?

Disappointed, Olivia turns back to her conversation with her friends, but she makes sure to glance at Gale every now and then, to give that eye contact another chance. For the most part, Gale doesn’t return her gaze, but she can understand why - Bucky's constantly talking to him, his pale face flushed, sweat on his neck and a permanent smile in his eyes. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so annoying. Like, obsessed much?

She wonders how those two get along so well. Gale is a sensitive boy, a romantic soul, she can tell, and Bucky's all about video games and whatnot. And the way he's sitting is so irritating too, can’t he close his legs? His thigh is brushing Gale's knee. It’s clearly making Gale uncomfortable, because he fidgets and bounces his leg a little. Trying to make Bucky catch on that he’s way too close, no doubt. He gives Bucky an awkward smile, looking at him from the corner of his eyes, and instead of realizing how overbearing he is, Bucky just hands Gale his own drink. As if he expects him to hold it for him or something. Ridiculous.

“Dave!” One of the soccer boys yells at their host over the thumping beat.

“What?”

“I'm fucking bored, man!”

“Go fuck off then!”

The boys flip each other off, and some of the others laugh as if it’s the funniest thing they've ever seen, even though this happens every single day at school. Olivia rolls her eyes. Is it some weird male ritual to insult each other over literally nothing while the others laugh like a pack of demented hyenas? This is why she has given up on these dumbasses.

Sweet Gale would never act like this. He’s a gentleman. The kind of man who'd give his lady a thousand red roses on Valentine's before telling her he loves her. Olivia can feel this in her heart.

When she looks at him again, she sees him pull his knees up and rest his elbows on them, then his head on his folded arms, looking at Bucky. With his usual clueless grin, Bucky says something to him that Olivia doesn’t catch, then he bends one of his knees to bump it into Gale's.

Oh my God, Olivia thinks, this boy really can’t take a hint.

She has suspected for a while that Bucky is socially impaired, not in the introverted weirdo way but like, he’s too much and he doesn’t realize it. How his friends put up with it, she has no idea. But it's clear that Gale is pulling back now, because he pushes Bucky's knee away, and when Bucky grabs his wrist in retaliation, he starts scuffling with him with one hand.

“O-kay, who wants to play spin the bottle?” Dave calls out. A mix of cheers and boos follow.

Excited, Olivia perks up. Gosh, this would be the perfect opportunity!

Her mind speedruns a daydream for her. She imagines Gale spinning the bottle, biting his plump lip nervously as he waits for it to slow down. When it rolls to a stop pointing at Olivia, he’d relax though. He might have been hoping for this, for a chance to get closer to her. He might even give her a shy smile. As everyone watches, he’d take her face in his gentle hands, wait for her to nod to make sure it's okay, and then he'd lean in ever so slowly and press a tender kiss to her lips. He’d pull back an inch after a second, but he wouldn’t be able to let her go just yet - he’d close the distance again, not able to hide his passion any longer.

Pleasepleaseplease, she chants like a mantra, curling her legs under herself to sit as attractively as one can on an ugly IKEA rug, leaning against a couch. Her best friend shares a look with her and giggles as Benny DeMarco chugs down half a bottle of Fanta just to have something they can use to spin. That one's going to be an alcoholist, Olivia has no doubt. And he doesn’t even have blue eyes. Not her type.

As Dave lowers the volume of his trash music - finally! - some of the other girls start protesting the game choice. Olivia narrows her eyes at them. She doesn’t mind giving a quick peck to a couple of clumsy fuckboys if she gets to kiss Gale in the end. But if these girls ruin this for her -

“Fine! Fine, Jesus.” Dave raises his hands in surrender, and the girls stop whining. “How about truth or dare then?”

That seems good enough for everyone. Spin the bottle would have given Olivia a bigger chance at getting to kiss Gale, but whatever, truth or dare isn’t so bad either, and some of the questions might be funny at least. Again, she tries to catch Gale's eyes, running a hand through her long brown hair, but he’s looking at the floor and smiling at whatever Bucky's whispering in his ear. After a moment, he laughs and tells Bucky to shut up.

Glaring at Bucky, Olivia wills him to listen this time.

The game is pretty tame at first. A few people are asked if they have a crush on anybody, Dave is dared to show them his underwear, which is something Olivia will have to scourge from her mind, then her best friend has to tell them her most embarrassing memory. It’s quite funny. As they get more into the game, the questions start getting better too, until finally, the bottle lands on Gale. Olivia can feel her cheeks burn with excitement. Predictably, he chooses truth first - but that’s okay, because he, too, is asked the usual question:

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

Some of their classmates groan, and Dave throws a handful of chips at the person who asked this lame question again, so the boy adds, “In this room?”

Olivia holds her breath. She tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter if Gale says no, it’s not like he’s the only guy in the world, but her heart still races as Gale's lips twitch into an unreadable smile. So sexy and mysterious!

“Yeah, I do.”

A few whoops and laughter follow, and Bucky, obnoxious as ever, whistles. Something about that makes Gale laugh. The way his nose crinkles is the most adorable thing Olivia has ever seen. Suddenly, she wonders if the knowing looks Gale shares with Curt and DeMarco are a sign that the boys know who the lucky girl is. It has to be a sign. She tries to see if any of them look at a particular girl, and she flushes when DeMarco's eyes land on her. She tries to read his gaze for long seconds, but when he smiles, she glances away, embarrassed. If it’s her, she'll know soon enough!

They play a few more rounds without anything interesting happening. When it’s her turn at last, Olivia chooses dare, but her task is to drink a sip from a disgusting concoction they mix for her using ketchup and soda. The smell alone is enough to make her gag, but she pinches her nose shut and does it. It's absolutely vile, and she hates how it lingers in her mouth.

Washing it down with water doesn’t help much either. She's on the brink of getting upset about it, when, like a literal knight in shining armor, Gale reaches across the space between them and offers her a bubblegum.

“Oh.” Olivia blushes, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as she looks at Gale’s kind expression. When she reaches out, her fingers brush Gale's. “Thank you, Gale.”

Even saying his name makes her heart flutter. And then the way he smiles at her in return!

As she pops the gum in her mouth, he also puts one in his, and at that moment, she feels a synchronicity she has never felt before. It’s an incredible feeling to be so attuned to someone that without talking or practicing, you just mirror each other instinctually. It can't be a coincidence. Even if he's not doing it on purpose, Gale is connected to her, she can tell.

Gosh, what if it really happens tonight? Most of her previous crushes ended in disappointment - khm, Bucky - but this time, she has much higher hopes. She knows her senses are getting better, that she can pick up on all the signs easier. Tonight might just be the night.

She feels giddy from this thought, right until it’s Bucky's turn to play.

“Truth or dare?” Curt asks him with a mischievous look in his eyes.

Bucky's trademark cocky grin makes an appearance. “Gimme your worst, Biddick. Dare.”

Curt’s smile widens. “Take Buck's bubblegum out of his mouth and put it in yours without using your hands.”

“Ewww!” Most of the room alternates between gagging, laughing and looking at Curt in awe for coming up with such a disgusting task. Even with her small crush on Gale, Olivia wouldn’t do it, it’s too much. Although… Actually, if it got her a kiss, maybe she would.

As she goes through this thought process, she comes to the horrifying realization that Bucky would have to kiss Gale to complete the dare. She blanches. It wouldn’t mean anything, of course, but poor Gale, this isn’t even his dare.

One of the girls takes out her phone and starts recording. Bucky just winks at her like he’s not fazed at all by the dare. He’s such a fuckboy, honestly. Olivia hates how that behaviour still makes something in her belly stir. She watches with her eyebrows trying to disappear under her bangs as Bucky leans into Gale's space, looks at his lips, then bats his eyelashes at him in an over-the-top gesture. Gale just looks amused.

“Can you please give me your gum, Buck?”

“Hey!” Curt tries to interrupt through a surprised laugh.

“You didn't say I couldn’t use his hands.” Bucky shrugs, still grinning, and opens his mouth. His tongue sticks out.

To Olivia's astonishment, Gale doesn't protest. He snickers, then reaches a hand up to his lips. In front of their disgusted eyes, he takes the chewed-up gum out of his mouth and puts it in Bucky's.

“Fuck, that's disgusting.” Dave chortles gleefully as Bucky leans back on his hands, chewing away with a smug expression on his face. The rest of the room gags, cringes and laughs until Bucky spins the bottle, then they move on to the next round.

Olivia watches Gale's face for discomfort, but he seems to have found the dare funny. He shakes his head at Bucky fondly. When his eyes find Olivia's, he gives her a sheepish smile. It makes the butterflies in her stomach go crazy with exhilaration. She grins back.

Although it started out as a total flop, the night feels like a dream now. And in dreams… well, anything can happen, right?

The game picks up after that. The dares get more challenging, the questions juicier, and even though Olivia doesn’t get the kind of opportunities she's waiting for, she finds herself having fun. Being as attentive as he is, Gale always watches the person whose turn it is, not Olivia, but she finds that endearing. She wishes he'd catch her eyes more often, but it's okay, quiet boys usually struggle with eye contact. Except for DeMarco, apparently, because anytime she glances his way, he’s looking back. She wonders if he's just zoned out or something or if there’s something else there. He’s not that ugly, if she thinks about it…

Another ripple of laughter pulls her out of her thoughts. The bottle lands on Bucky again, and he says dare before Dave has even finished asking the question.

At Bucky’s response, Dave wiggles his eyebrows. “Kiss the hottest girl in this room on the lips.”

It's simple enough. And surely, for someone like Bucky who - according to the gossip Olivia heard - can’t go without a girlfriend for more than a month, this can’t be too hard to complete. A part of her aches in the hope that it's her. Not that she wants Bucky Egan, dumb jock extraordinaire, to kiss her. It’s just nice to be kissed, that's all. And it would be flattering if he chose her as the hottest. Better yet, it might make Gale jealous.

Oh Gosh, wouldn’t that be perfect? What if Bucky started leaning in and Gale pulled him away at the last moment just to lean in himself and claim the prize? Everyone would be so shocked!

Widening her eyes innocently, Olivia watches Bucky's face for a sign. She ignores the wave of feelings that take her back to last year when she had that ill-advised crush on him. She waits for him to notice her, but he seems unable to look away from Gale’s eyes. This time, they aren't smiling. Something serious flickers between them. Bucky's eyebrows draw together in a way that makes him look like a puppy with gangly legs and arms. To Olivia, Gale's expression is unreadable, but when Gale’s lips purse, Bucky turns back to Dave.

“Sorry, man, gotta forfeit.”

“Aww, what, you getting stage fright?” Dave laughs at his own lame joke. “I was going easy on you!”

“Dude, you were just not inclusive enough.” One of the other boys pipes up. “Should’ve said hottest person.”

“Oh, right. You just want to kiss me, huh, Egan?” Dave makes an annoying kissy noise.

Bucky grins again, his previous discomfort gone. “In your dreams, Davey-boy.”

“You bet.” Dave snorts, then gestures at the circle of them sitting around. “Okay, I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room.”

Again, Bucky hesitates. It's confusing. Olivia doesn’t know what to make of that. It’s as if she's missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, something she should have noticed already but ended up overlooking. She's still trying to make sense of it when her night comes crashing down around her like a sudden storm that leaves you shivering and cold to the bone.

Bucky reaches up with a loving but sure hand, cups Gale's cheek and pulls him into a kiss like it’s something he has done before.

Their lips meet and part with a soft, damp sound that feels loud in the sudden silence that descends on their group.

It might as well be the sound of Olivia's heart being torn apart. A deep ache blooms in her chest where her joy was planted earlier tonight. Her mind refuses to accept what she's seeing. It’s not a first kiss. It’s sure as hell not a kiss forced on two boys by a dare, it’s not a prank taken a step too far. They've done this before. A dozen, a hundred, or a thousand times. They know which way to turn their heads to make it comfortable, how to tilt their chin for the sweetest contact, how to stroke the other's hair to earn a smile.

They know how to kiss each other and they enjoy it.

With a small smile, Gale draws back an inch, but Bucky doesn’t let him go too far - he pushes forward to chase Gale's lips. Right in front of them all, Gale returns this by opening his mouth, and Bucky takes the chance to lick inside and kiss the taste of bubblegum on Gale’s tongue as if he forgot they had an audience to watch it all.

A cacophony erupts around them, everyone talking over each other in excitement and confusion.

Please tell me this was just a dare, Olivia's breath hitches in pain. Shocked into silence, she starts fidgeting with her hands in her lap. Only parts of reality seem to reach her consciousness - the words boyfriend and 8 months, and the sight of Gale's hand in Bucky's, thumb stroking back and forth. How? When did this happen? Why didn’t she notice it all this time? It's so pathetic that she wants to laugh at herself. She managed to develop crushes on two boys who were secretly dating each other.

Universe, is this supposed to be a sign?

Oh, how it hurts that she's always the one who turns out to be delusional.

As she mopes there quietly, watching the sweet smile on Gale’s face, the sudden warmth of a shoulder pressing to hers draws her attention away. When she turns to look up, her green eyes meet brown.

“You okay?” DeMarco asks. The concern in his gentle voice sounds like a balm to her broken heart.

She takes a deep breath and musters a smile. He feels warm and solid, someone you can rely on.

Well. Maybe Benny DeMarco isn’t such a bad option after all. Bucky and Gale can have each other, Olivia's probably better off like this anyway.

The next party can only be luckier than this, she's sure.