#i like to see how it works. what makes it tick. how one thread connects to another

[crowsent]

to be perfectly frank this is none of my business. im not the one behind the screen. not the one with the controller. not the one who likes to play the game super conservatively healin every other turn wastin what could be a potential attack

literally have no business in this

but my god how can one human bein suck this goddamn bad

i am physically cringin at how ineffective he is

the only numbers he pays attention to is level and health. disregardin how op magic can get. disregardin strength. disregardin the mechanics of a game he claims to love

how can you truly love somethin without attemptin to understand it? if you only play it for some sick twisted sense of nostalgia? if you constantly compare it to the past without ever acknowledging what makes it different makes it beautiful

he doesnt play the game. he goes through the motions. he presses buttons bc thats what progresses. he isnt IN it. he isnt there. hes jus doin it to do it and i just

why bother playin the game then

why bother sinkin time and effort into it if you wont be THERE????????

[fraugwinska]

Minors DNI - 18+ - Explicit Sexual Content - 4,6k words Attention: Mentions of fictional Witchcraft and Voodoo (I know this is a very sensitive topic, which is why I threaded very vaguely and lightly. I mean absolutely NO disrespect to either of those spiritualities)

Master of Puppets

You paced nervously through your room. The clock ticked the safe seconds away, the seconds Alastor where wasn't here. The seconds where Alastor didn't know.

He liked you, of course. At least enough to experiment with you, that much you could say with confidence. He had shown interest in the little witch inventor that joined the hotel, sharing the same proficiency in magic as himself. Although, unlike him, you had been an eclectic witch in your lifetime, and used more traditional western magic, whereas Alastor wasn't familiar with that, relying fully on voodoo practices he learned from the women of his family. So, you taught him and he taught you, and over the shared hours of lessons, discussions and practices, things got more and more... handsy. Until one day even the last gap between you was closed, and before both of you knew it you were sharing a bed more often than a book on sigils or rituals.

It was a mutual thing. You were insanely attracted to him, and he liked you well enough to indulge in activities he'd normally frown upon. Which made you feel special - It didn't soothe the nerves though, as you fumbled around with the little objects in the black carved box, making sure everything was perfect, before hastily slamming it shut when you heard knocks on the door.

"Yes?" you said, as if you hadn't been expecting him, as if your heart wasn't trying to leap out of your chest.

"Darling, it's me! May I come in?" you heard him say, and the door opening before you could answer. "I hope I'm not too early."

You turned around, giving him a shy smile after glancing at the clock on the wall. "You're right on time, as always."

"Punctuality is one of the only virtues I try uphold." He took a few steps towards you. "Is everything alright? You look nervous."

"Do I? It's... Nothing. I just have... I'm excited for something to show to you."

"Really?" He was intrigued, leaning in a little. "Well, now I'm curious. Is it the skinning spell you've been working on? I might have some test subjects in mind, if you are already finished."

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beating painfully in your chest. "Not quite. I made something new, though."

"Oh?" he said, tilting his head to the side. "What is it?"

You fidgeted, not knowing how to start, how to ease him into it. He was a man that didn't appreciate if one beat around the bush, so better to rip the band-aid off in one violent, leap-of-faith-kind of way. You went to the black box, fingers trembling as you lifted the golden hatch, and before you could change your mind and call the whole thing off you scooped the small voodoo dolls out and held them out to him.

"I made these. For you... Us."

He was taken aback for a moment, not saying anything as he stared at the two little cloth figures, then down at you. They were intricately made replicas of you both, you had spent hours and hours sewing them, even going so far as to design and make identical outfits for them. He took both of them out of your hands, turning them slowly in his own, examining them with a frighteningly unreadable look.

"So you solely tried your hands on my profession I see. Why?" his eyes were boring into you, the smile on his face tight and tense, and you had to fight yourself not to stutter.

"I-I figured..." You swallowed hard. "I thought it could help us to... to be closer. More connected, in a way. And I thought you would like to... try this."

He blinked slowly, and the grin he wore stretched a bit further, the static getting louder in your ears. You were starting to think he didn't like it. You were starting to regret this.

"It is an unusual gift." His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity, but you still couldn't relax. "Quite a surprise, too."

"Is that good or bad?" you asked, and he chuckled softly.

"I don't know, darling. That depends on how it will be used." He holds up your miniature, his brows raised expectantly. "Tell me how it works."

"Uh... Well, it's more of a mix between your and my magic. T-they have some of my spells sewn into them, and then I enchanted them on your altar. All that's left to do is to tie a hair around the neck of it and offer a drop of blood, and... we will be able to feel anything that's done to the doll."

"Feel?" He cocked his head to the side, eyes gleaming with dark excitement.

"Anything." Your throat was dry, the words almost catching there.

"That sounds positively delightful."

Your heart did a flip in your chest as his voice lowered into a purr, his eyes fixed on the tiny you, the static rising around him. He was captivated, but also suspicious, and that didn't make your anxiety lessen one bit. More so as he found the red stain on your dolls chest and the shimmer of a hair around its neck. Your version of a peace offering.

"It seems this little thing is already prepared and ready to use, isn't it, dearest?" he hummed, looking at you, the smile stretching wide and showing his sharp teeth.

"Yes... if you wanted to... see how it worked first. To decide whether you want to give it a try."

He laughed, and the sound made you shiver. There was no humor in it, but sheer anticipation. Hunger. "Well then. Better not waste such a generous opportunity."

He sat his own replica down on the nightstand next to your bed, and settled down on the mattress, patting the spot next to him for you to join. You did, sitting as stiff as a board, your eyes trained on him as he looked down at your little doll. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before running his fingers across the doll's body, and you gasped.

All your hard work evidently payed off - The touch felt eerily real. Warm, like the heat of his hands was spreading all over you, a soft caress up the middle of your stomach, a tickle around your waist. His fingertips traveled upward, pressing softly against your chest, and your breath stocked in your lungs.

"You've really outdone yourself with this one darling. So receptive..." Alastor's smile widened into a full grin, and the fact that he didn't need to touch your skin to see the blush creeping across your cheeks was one detail he seemed to particularly enjoy. The rough feeling of his claws grating against you was replaced with the hot touch of phantom lips, pressing gently against your neck as he pulled the small shirt collar aside, his tongue licking across the doll's shoulder.

The sensation almost felt out of place in comparison, making you fall onto your back with a gasp, into the soft covers of your bed, unable to maintain any sort of composure. Instead of feather light touches, his mouth felt way heavier on your skin than it should. Warm, wet... As he scraped his teeth along the little doll's neck, a low moan slipped between your lips.

"And what attention to details. It's almost a shame to ruin your hard work, but oh well."

His eyes stayed on you as he hooked a fingertip under the dolls garments, cutting it clean off of it, and even though yours stayed fully intact - what you were feeling was a whole different story. Your eyes betrayed you: Even fully clothed you felt the cool air of your room on your skin, you felt exposed, bare and utterly vulnerable. It made your skin break out in goosebumps and your lips part in an unstifled sound of arousal.

"Gorgeous, darling... Absolutely wonderful. A truly masterful piece of magic." The tone of his voice was tingling all over you, a mixture of warm affection and dark cravings. You had never been one to enjoy being praised by a man, but it made you close your eyes and squirm with absolute and desperate need when it came from Alastor. Mouth already open to say something, the words died in your throat, replaced by a high whine when you felt a wet sensation traveling over your stomach down to the inside of your thighs. Your eyes snapped open, finding Alastor's again, his irises practically glowing and locked on you as he ran his tongue all the way across the small body. Teasing. Playing. He narrowed his eyes and traced every curve with the same meticulous patience you knew him for, the sensation sending shocks of excitement and adrenaline through you as it circled the dolls skin, drawing closer and closer to the most intimate parts, until there was nowhere else to trail, nowhere else for it to run to. He stopped, leaving you flushed and panting and shattered next to him on the bed.

"My, my, sweetheart..." he cooed, poking the little doll in his hands into it's side with the softest touch, making you jerk into his side. "At this rate, this seems more like a gift for you than for me."

The blush on your face deepened and you averted your eyes. "...You're probably not wrong."

"No, I'd say I am absolutely right," he chuckled, shifting closer and tracing a hand up your body and to your throat in a smooth motion, and your body arched into the touch with the ease of a moth to flame. For a moment, he didn't move, resting his claws wrapped around your neck, his fingertips heavy on your skin. He seemed to weight his options, deciding on how to proceed. Finally, he leaned into you, bringing his lips closer to yours and when he spoke it was barely a whisper.

"I'll trust you to rectify this circumstance then."

Your eyes widened when he stood up, gently placing your doll down and switching its place with his own. You sat up, watching how he carefully plucked a hair from his head, wrapping it tightly around the neck of his miniature alter ego. It looked almost sinfully elegant and downright seductive, how his long fingers tied it tightly, before he turned back to you, his grin splitting his face in half. There was something in his expression you haven't seen before - hesitancy. It was only a second, but you still held your breath as it passed, and he chuckled as he bit his lip, dark, almost black blood dripping onto the chest of the doll in his hands.

"A rare occasion for me to spill blood. I hope you'll make it worth it."

You swallowed heavily and he grinned, reaching for your hand and gently putting the doll on your palm, giving you a stern, commanding look. "My turn."

You nodded as he settled himself on your bed, now stretching himself fully on the mattress. Lifting your other hand you carefully laid one finger on top of his dolls' throat, before drawing your fingers across and down, over its chest and its sides, making his form shiver and his ears twitch. As you undid the small coat and shirt, dragging your nail gently over the dolls abdomen, Alastor gave a resounding, pleased sigh. You stared at him in wonder of your own work, silently asking yourself if your touches on the fabric in your hands felt as intensified as his did on yours before.

With a spark of nervous excitement you followed a whim of insanity, a quick glance confirming Alastor had his eyes closed. He had never before allowed you to touch his ears - now, their artificial counterparts were at your fingertips, and with a racing heart, you drew a stroke from the base of his ear right across its entire length, all the way until the fine point. A loud, drawn-out groan filled the room and your cheeks burnt crimson when his back arched and his hands twitched towards you, the knuckles white as he clenched them into fists, a tremor going through his shoulders. The groan ended in a long whine, the eyes snapping open and locking right into yours, and your breath hitched as you saw the smoldering embers. His grin grew tighter, strained, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, and the intensity of his gaze made your stomach drop, your whole body feeling exposed and naked despite still being fully dressed.

"Testy little thing. Always going for most dangerous experiments..." He shook his head as he exhaled slowly, his breath ragged and labored and in the soft illumination of your bedside lamp his neck was dusted a light pink. You marveled for a second, mesmerized. That was, until his tone dropped an octave, making your body snap back to attention, your nipples hardening painfully beneath your clothes. "How about another then, darling. You do that again..." His shadow tendrils shot out from nowhere, wrapping around your waist and thighs and lifting you over his face as you yelped and almost let the doll slip from your hands, the hem of your skirt pushed aside and heated core right above his watering mouth. "...while I do this."

With no time left for a reply, you felt your flimsy panties flicked aside and your body lowered onto his waiting tongue, all thought replaced by a sudden wave of blinding ecstasy. There was something truly addicting about the heat and hunger of his lips, the way they locked around your clit and sucked you down in the best form of torturous pain like life depended on it, his nails digging into your hips with force, while your brain was practically erasing every input but the burning sensation below. The doll in your hands, pressed to your heaving chest, was long forgotten as your head fell back and each swipe of his cursed appendix sent a shockwave through your spine. You groaned, you whimpered, and Alastor could taste the waves of delicious agony on his tongue. When he withdrew, the loss of his wet heat and the chill of the cool air against your slick folds made you almost break out in tears.

"Focus, dearest, on the task I gave you. Or do I have to repeat myself?"

The growl in his voice snapped you out of it and made you take a shaky breath before you finally composed yourself. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the tips of the dolls ears again, your movements almost trance like as your whole body yearned for it to return onto his lips. Alastor's brows furrowed, lips pursed for a second as you drew a slow, sensual line up the miniatures length, stopping and softly kneading at the pointed tip.

"Good girl." he murmured, voice breathy, and for a second you could have sworn you saw his eye twitch, though his grin stayed firmly plastered onto his face. His words sent an instantaneous warmth pooling in your lower stomach, and your chest fluttered as you tried to swallow down the intense elation that shot through your veins at those words - the same words Alastor used when you mastered one of his magical exercises, and although the praise was always flattering, in this context it felt downright lewd and utterly divine to be called that. When your hand lowered a bit, massaging the base of the dolls ears, Alastor's noises became low growls and deep purrs around the wet skin his lips devoured. The black vines on your waist and legs tightened their grip as well, pushing you deeper down onto his mouth.

You hadn't even registered what happened, but with a snap your top was ripped in the front, the clasp of your bra followed, and the familiar humming sound of his static made you squeal in surprise when his voice was suddenly much louder, his tongue shoved into you as far as he could go and his shadows ripping your clothes off at lightning speed. With both hands stroking, massaging and pulling the dolls ears now, the pure pleasure hitting you was almost too much, but as much as your hands ached for the real thing, to run your nails over the red fluff and trace the soft curves and edges of the dark antlers growing on the sides of his head, all you could do was imagine, with all your fingers on the dolls soft material instead and moving furiously up and down its head, to do exactly the same thing.

Alastor growled underneath you, the sound deep and rumbling, sending vibrations through your trembling thighs and against your sensitive skin, and it sounded so much more desperate and disoriented than you had ever heard from him before. Had you been looking down, had you been able to see anything beyond the mind-shattering pleasure, the wide blown pupils and the unfocused gaze in the glowing red irises, you might have wondered why that was - Alastor's control was slipping, and his smile finally was showing that.

In an instant your body was turned and placed on your back, your limbs shaking in the grip of his shadows and body utterly at the mercy of the tall red man leaning over you and undoing his bow tie with the rapidity and precision of a professional magician. His hair had gotten a little ruffled in the process, and his red shirt hung open and wrinkled against his skin.

"A compelling exercise indeed, my dear." he spoke, the rasp in his tone and the ragged breath accentuating his words. With a swift movement his jacket joined the shirt and harness that already had been thrown onto the floor somewhere, and then the shadows were back and prodding against the soaked cloth, the only thing left around your hips. They snuck into every slit they could find, exposing more and more of you, while their owner's gaze hungrily devoured every bit of exposed skin. The stretchable fabric made for easy work, but you had the distinct feeling they wouldn't have needed it at all as the shadows literally dissolved every thread they encountered. Alastor reached for your replica again, seemingly collecting himself and catching his breath.

"You are quite talented, and it'll be a joy to discover what other marvels your mind can come up with." His claw dragged down over the dolls' hips, one set of real, the other set of simulated hands following it a millisecond after, right along your bare and barer sides, sending waves of anticipation down the inside of your thighs. In an instant, two very corporeal, long fingers were back between your folds, knuckle deep into your seeping core, and Alastor chuckled lowly at your surprised whine, the smug and devious purr rumbling in his chest as he took note of every twitch your body made to the tune of his strokes. "But I think it's about time to return the favor though, don't you agree?"

Still stroking that sweet spot inside of you with his fingers, the hand that held your puppet glowed in bright green, and in between your moans and pants your wide eyes can't tear themselves from the strange symbols that appear around it, swirling and sparkling. You've seen Alastor perform magic countless of times, have watched and marveled at every spell he cast and his flair for the dramatic was only matched by the elegance of his every motion. But this? This was something else. The nonchalance with which his fingers pumped in and out of you, working meticulously, tactically, teasing you and working you into a mess with such a proficiency while he traced symbols with his free hand and the script, the raw power of it, the surge you could feel radiating from him, all that and his unflinching composure drove you mad with both desire and fascination.

The light and the symbols faded, and in his hands - the puppet, similar yet not quite. It felt off, almost lifelike, the fabric more skin-like, and with a gasp, you saw..

"Let me now see, if my own little contribution can be counted as an improvement, my little witch."

If someone asked you later on what had actually happened, you couldn't have said a single word - it was too salacious, too outrageous, too much outside of what you had ever expected from Alastor. How could you ever recount the way he pulled his throbbing cock out with his free hand - thick, dripping with precum and inhumanly beautiful. How his fingers were guiding your tiny copy to align with its tip, while he never left your eyes, smile almost manic.

He made holes. And seconds later, when he slowly pushed the doll onto his length, with his fingers still buried deep inside you, you knew that they worked. Oh, and how they worked.

"Oh m-my... god..."

It was heaven and hell. Bliss and torture, the feeling abhorrently delicious. The magical connection allowed every ridge, vein and vibration of his cock to transfer perfectly through the dolls body to you, making you shudder and keen at the intensity, the sheer tightness, and simultaneously Alastor groaned - a broken, rugged sound, loud enough to make you glance up with misty eyes from your debauched position. Your insides clenched hard around his fingers and the ghost of his cock, your toes curling as you whimpered, a picture perfect representation of how utterly sinful he looked with his dark lashes resting on his red cheeks, eyes shut and the mouth agape as his chest was rising and falling, breaths coming hard and labored.

He noticed your raptured gaze, looking down at you through hooded eyes, his smile positively obscene.

"Mh, I like the way you pray on me instead of one of your silly deities, darling. But you can call me Alastor."

And oh, how it felt, when his hand closed tightly around the little voodoo doll that was stuffed so full of him. You arched your back and writhed against the firm hold the tentacles had on you, pressing your knees against the pillows as he pulled his drenched fingers out of you, bringing them up to his face to lick them clean. He groaned at the taste, closing his eyes and making an effort to concentrate, his control crumbling in tiny pebbles around you, and his hips started to snap, sheathing the miniature you further on his cock, thrusting in increasingly fast paced movements. A string of whimpers escaped you, his name spilling throughout them like a mantra, as you were unable to do much more but twitch, shake and tremble as his ministrations came faster, harder, and Alastor let his head fall back, baring his neck and swallowing.

"You're so-" He groaned, squeezing your dolls body, forcing it closer against him and sliding it off and back on at an excruciatingly slow pace, your moans climbing and escalating with every inch that moved through the magic veil and in and around your sopping center. "-goddamn perfect, perfectly made for me." Your body didn't know how to react anymore, you stuttered incoherently, everything full with his praise, with this cock that wasn't there but was, the heat that shouldn't have been possible to fill you but did. You felt every bit of skin and fur and sweat and the realization only dawned on you when it was already too late: That you were about to come harder than you ever did, and that Alastor was losing his mind just from watching your reactions to his assault on your doll.

"S-So tight and needy. What a perfect... little... toy you are." If they were meant for you below him or the doll in his hands - you didn't know. But the panted words and almost dirty, explicit praise spilled from his lips in a flurry, every syllable seemed strangely calculated, aimed like a dart straight into you and tearing down all defenses as your pussy twitched helplessly around the sensation of being stretched and fucked open on the image of his cock. When he chuckled and sank your doll to the base, grinding your little figure against him so the head of his cock poked and prodded you where it had never reached before, you all but screamed his name as you came, and your pathetic cries pulled a harsh string of groans and grunts out of the demon towering over you, his breathless cursing and rambled obscenities underlined by the vicious snaps of his hips as he used your simulacrum like a glorified sex toy. His nails pierced the outer layer of the doll as your walls constricted and contracted around the thick nothing as he finished you and himself off into the realm of oblivion.

Everything went white for a moment and when your senses returned, Alastor was carefully cradling you into his arms, the little replica sitting next to his own on your bedside table, their heads almost tenderly leaning on each other. He was gently raking his claws through your damp, disheveled hair, placing little kisses down the back of your neck and on the thin skin behind your ears as he mumbled silent praises against your skin. He kissed along your jaw, gentle as anything, a soft thumb grazing along your lips, cheeks and your temple as he traced the lines of your features until he found the pulse on your neck. The cold touch of his lips was a nice contrast to the hot breath, and you moaned softly at his affectionate gesture.

"It's never a disappointment with you, love, quite the contrary." He hummed, scraping his sharp teeth almost teasingly along the crook of your neck before kissing it, covering your skin with static electricity. "What a marvelous surprise you prepared for me, my dear, truly magical." His lips pressed into yours in a rare kiss, and you leaned back into his naked embrace and smiled, the giddy feeling of accomplishment spreading in your belly and mixing in beautifully with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I'm glad... you liked it."

"Oh, that is hardly the phrase I would use," Alastor chuckled as he pulled back, making you blush as his red iris glowed dangerously. "But you, my dear, will have a little work to do, seeing as I'm positively spoiled after this gift. You have no idea of the things I'm thinking about, all the possibilities of what we can accomplish if we put both our minds – and magic - to it."

Alastor pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing his chin and cheeks across your scalp and shoulders, coating you with a generous amount of his scent as if to mark you before pulling the blankets up and covering the two of you as his arms locked around you possessively, letting you settle against his chest as he hummed a melody you didn't know. But you knew him well enough to know that it was a clear sign of him being absolutely pleased and content.

You smiled, his good mood infectious, and as you glanced to the two dolls that sat together like a matching pair, stripped of their clothes and as close together as you and the real demon were now under the sheets, it made you feel like the cat that ate the canary. The cat had been fed by Alastor, sure. But he had also had his fill and then some, and really... that was all that mattered to you.

[familyagrestefanblog]

Sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.

You know what's shit?

That I always come back to work on my explanation posts on why Alya, Plagg, and Emonette being treated unfairly and being disregarded by Maribug's writing is by now pissing me off to similar degrees as her bad treatment of Chat Noir

But that always ends in a domino effect of me putting together more of the overall narrative that ticks me off so much cause my ADD brain can't NOT look for the continuous string of the writing pattern I follow once I'm at it.

You probably can imagine that this isn't very good for my mental health and the only reason why I'm still doing it is because I have a strong suspicion on what the new story arc will do with Cerise after this agonizing hiatus, and only once the actual new story arc proves me wrong can my ADD brain let this emotional investment of 7+ years in my "comfort show" since I was a 16 rest in peace.

Being neurodivergent is exhausting of FUCK...

So I always stop writing any of the posts about the other topics and come back to my Adrichat corner because that's the "safe space" my brain is the most familiar and comfortable with by now since season 4 to make a post AT ALL that isn't running the risk of leading me down 7 new rabbit holes I can't unsee anymore afterwards...

I MISS looking into several narrative threads in this show and voicing my opinions on them. In hindsight, I regret not having done it more when it was still possible, but I feel like it should have been alright in any other normally written show to have a fan blog dedicated to a specific part of the story. I feel like I shouldn't be the one in the WRONG for having done that.

Anyway, I honestly MISS the time where I knew that Maribug's benefit and comfort weren't the only things accepted as "valid" readings of the story. From both sides. Supporters and critics/salters.

Where saying anything that isn't immediately connected to Marinette's benefit and comfort didn't need a full-blown 20 page essay post going into any detail possible to fight for the right to even be taken seriously as a realistic reading of the story at all.

I know I'm not the only one upset at this, but I wonder how many people really realized by now how batshit insane this is right now. That only the most vanilla and vague-ass posts that do their best to not in anyway say something that would be "mean" and "non-validating" to Marinette can be posted now without it automatically being categorized as at least "critical" or running the risk of getting perceived as salt or wishful-thinking.

You can't point ANYTHING out anymore without at least one person running in and either saying "You just HATE Marinette and want to see her punished! You people never care about HERRRRRRRRRR (regarding a topic that isn't about her or is her fucking JOB as a narrative tool to DO)" or "Yeah, nah, the show would never let that happen because of the Marinette bias lol"

You can't even say anything anymore about Adrien's abuse without it being either undermined to all hell because of Marinette having been bullied and needing to be a girlboss who does to others what she's declared "tortured" for, or Félix "hypocrite and victim-blamer" Fathom. Gabriel being abusive was once the most basic ass thing to talk about, what the fuck happened?? (don't answer that, I know the answer...)

The whole analysis' side of this fandom that isn't catering to Marinette was either killed or basically exiled into the "critical" or outright "salt" tag because you can't even be interested in world-building anymore without having to fight for the post's right to be taken seriously under the crushing weight of Marinette's narrative benefits and comfort.

Because mademoiselle ain't fucking interested in ANYTHING lore wise beyond what's convenient for her (not to mention the retcons), so talking about the Guardian and Kwami lore for example counts as SALT now because it automatically implies for people that Marinette isn't all that matters and her flaws of not being interest in ANYTHING might actually COUNT as flaws she should work on. I know, the fucking HORROR! 😱

I MISS writing theories, analysis posts, and speculating about this shows future plots in even the most basic "set up and pay off" manner but I know I can't because my default approach is always complementary to the main character - meaning what challenges them and the narrative the most to grow, expand, and develop. This isn't a Marinette specific thing, I ALWAYS do this.

And contrary to popular belief in this fandom, I get by perfectly fine doing that for the majority of other pieces of media I consume. It is MIRACULOUS and this damn Fandom that now genuinely did it's best to convince themselves that this level of main character centric morality and revenge porn level writing is NORMAL when it's seriously NOT.

There is a REASON why this show hardly ever gets recommended on social media the way one would think despite its success. Or why the Fan backlash is so enormous despite a solid part of the Fandom already having left long ago and the young target demographic not uniformly having a voice in the social media discourse.

Or why people actively advise others AGAINST watching the show, AGAINST forming an emotional investment, and AGAINST going anywhere near the Fandom.

Cause no fucking shit, this isn't normal.

[luvmelikelluvu]

Behind the Bench

Chapter Eight Crossroads

Kirby stared at the puck skating away from him, frustration tightening his chest as he watched the play slip past. He skated to the bench, catching his breath as he glanced up at the scoreboard, his pulse matching its ticking seconds. Another missed opportunity, another reminder that his focus was starting to waver. His mind drifted to Ophelia, their hidden nights, her laughter echoing in his thoughts even as his coach’s voice pulled him back to the rink.

The game ended in a loss, and Kirby couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting himself down. He knew he should be all in, but keeping his relationship with Ophelia a secret was eating away at his concentration. At the rink, he felt his commitment splitting in two—between his team, his career, and Ophelia, the one person who made him feel like himself.

Later that night, Kirby sat in his empty apartment, staring at his phone. He wanted to text her, to feel a connection after the silence that had weighed on him all night. But he knew it wasn’t that simple; their relationship came with so much risk, so much care to keep things quiet.

Across town, Ophelia sat at her desk in her office, the soft glow of her computer screen illuminating her face. She was sorting through patient files—case studies of children struggling with neurodevelopmental disorders and cognitive delays. Her job as a neuropsychologist demanded full focus and empathy, but lately, she felt a tug, like a thread pulling her attention away. Her mind wandered to Kirby, and she couldn’t help but think about the sacrifices they were both making. Between the demands of her work and the need to keep their relationship hidden, she felt a constant tension, like she was walking a tightrope without a net.

The next day, Kirby’s struggles became more apparent. During practice, he was slower, more hesitant, his mind clearly elsewhere. His teammates noticed, and his coach pulled him aside after a missed shot.

“Look, Kirby,” coach Bennett began, his tone firm but not unkind. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re off your game. Whatever it is, handle it. We need you here, one hundred percent.”

Kirby nodded, swallowing hard. He knew he had to refocus, to find a way to balance everything. But he couldn’t shake the image of Ophelia, the quiet café where they’d stolen a few hours together, and the feeling of peace he only ever found with her.

Later that night, as Kirby sat next to Ophelia, the weight of their shared secrecy felt heavier than ever. Ophelia could see it in the tension in Kirby’s shoulders, in the way he tapped his fingers on the couch.

“You look tired,” she murmured, reaching for his hand.

Kirby let out a small sigh, squeezing her hand in return. “I just—sometimes it feels like I can’t keep up. Like I’m dropping everything trying to keep this together.”

Ophelia felt her own heart tighten. She knew the risks of their relationship went beyond just their reputations; their careers were at stake, their futures. And yet, sitting here with him, she couldn’t imagine letting him go.

“Maybe we just need a better plan,” she suggested gently. “Some way to keep this… balanced.”

He looked at her, his eyes softening. “You’re worth it,” he said quietly. “No matter how hard this gets, I want to figure it out. With you.”

Ophelia nodded, her resolve strengthening as she held his gaze. They both had careers to protect, lives to build. But for the first time, she felt like they might just be able to find a way through the maze they’d created—together.

[dilfdoctordoom]

It’s really frustrating how Gamora wasn’t given proper nuance in the first two movies because then vol 3 might’ve been less frustrating. If her issues had been explored in depth (in vol 2 especially) her being feral for 90% of the film would’ve been interesting enough on its own, but because the first two films focus so heavily on Quill and the third on Rocket we don’t get enough time with either version of Gamora to see what makes her tick.

Ooooh boy I've got a lot to say on this.

The personality that Gamora has in Vol 3 is one that we have seen before... in the deleted scenes of Vol 1. Since those never made it to the final cut, the majority haven't seen them, don't know they exist, and I wouldn't count them as canon.

It makes her Vol 3 personality jarring, to say the least, which is an in issue. Vol 3 Gamora is the first time MCU Gamora has been anything really like her comic counterpart. Gamora's... very sharp, very volatile and doesn't tend to be the nicest person in the room. Gamora in Vol 1 & 2 was put into the "team mom" role which really isn't a place she should ever hold. At best, it should be like Infinity Watch, where she just thinks she holds it because she's decided she's the most responsible when in reality. she's fucking crazy.

Vol 3 also doesn't fit the established beat of the past two films; Peter is our clear protagonist, Rocket is the secret protagonist, and Gamora is the female protagonist. She gets things moving. It's her thoughts, her wants, that ultimately drive the films forward. She wants to save Xandar, she wants to escape Thanos, and it's those two things that push the first film forward. It's her want for familial connection (that she finds with Nebula eventually) that leads her to encourage Peter to go with Ego; if she hadn't been looking for that herself, I doubt she would've ever told him to go.

It also drops the sister dynamic between Gamora and Nebula, literally the one thread that links the Guardians appearances consistently through Vol 1 right over to Endgame. It's the beating heart of it all and shown time and time again to be important and then.... nothing. Vol 3 doesn't dare address that they've both lost the only sister they've known and what stands before them is essentially a stranger. It doesn't address that both of them know there's a version of them that is dead and has lost their future (and they both know that the future that version of them lost was a GOOD one). There's so much to work with, and it never gets picked up on at all.

Gamora's the moral center of the team, it's beating heart. She's always been the driving force of the plot, even in Infinity War, and she's central to most of the Guardians appearances in Endgame.

In Vol 3, she's there, I guess.

And even back then, even when she's so important to the films... like all women in the GOTG franchise, she's not nearly as delved into as the men. Don't get me wrong, she's a hell of a step up from Mantis, but... it's not as much as it should be.

It's an issue that feels especially because, as much as I adore Rocket & how well done his side of things was, Volume 3 needed to be Gamora's movie.

How Infinity War left her was bad. How Endgame left her was also bad. How Volume 3 chose to present her was worse.

This movie needed to have at least some focus on fixing what went wrong but we somehow ended up with Cosmo & Kraglin getting more development & Yondu getting better treatment than dead Gamora.

I get that Rocket is Gunn's favorite and Gamora is not, but honestly? Not a good enough excuse.

A woman of color got violently fridged to make her abuser more sympathetic. Something needed to be done to fix that and that was sacrificed to... further a raccoon's story & downplay the abuse of two major women (Gamora&Nebula) in this franchise. I don't care how much Gunn loves Rocket, he should've done every damn woman in the franchise better.

[thevindicativevordan]

Comics this week, especially Wonder Woman's relaunch under Tom King ?

Wonder Woman #1 -

Wondersisters we're fucking back! Fantastic first issue from King and Sampere. It's a very tight compressed read, King wants to make the reader feel as blindsided by how quick everything goes to hell as Diana no doubt does. Sovereign looks like the King Washington from AC3, and I love his design. Connecting him to WW through the lasso mythology is a great concept. Despite the lasso being her iconic weapon, we really don't know a lot about it. King wants to write Superman so bad he gave Wonder Woman her own bald evil genius/mastermind to fight. Seeing Sarge Steel kill an Amazon in front of her own wife and child is a hell of a way to set the stakes. Some people were upset about that, but WW has needed to increase the feeling of danger in her books for a while now, and this accomplished that. Themsyacria itself isn't in danger, but Wonder Woman's mission in Man's World is, and that's a set up that works for me.

Love how Diana casts a huge shadow despite it being a while before she actually appears on page. We see King have her do all the actions you'd expect and then King shoots them all down as ineffective. God I love that scene where she sends her sword back to Nubia because she doesn't want to be tempted, sells the hell out of her being furious. And her dressing down of Sarge Steel? Peak Wonder Woman right there.

Steve is in a potentially very interesting place. Usually he's just Diana's wholesome and supportive boyfriend, this is a chance to put the screws to him and find out what makes him tick. He swore an oath and is technically committing treason by helping Diana, which he points out, but he still helps her all the same. Now I get we don't want to focus too much on a man in a WW book, but as her most important male supporting character, I argue that Steve needs fleshing out to bring him up to the level Lois and Selina are at.

My only qualm is I wish we get a page dedicated to the reaction of the other Wondy Rogues at this new player making moves. What does Circe or Cheetah or Cale make of this? Grail is going to show up, what's her angle? Definitely could see Psycho jumping for joy. While I doubt Sovereign can actually be Wondy's arch, I do like him as this new major player who upends Wondy's status quo, and I want to see where the other Wondy Rogues fit into his plans.

Superman #6 - Quick read but at least next issue is the oversized one. Livewire remains an ass despite working at the Daily Planet and that makes me deliriously happy. Having her as the anti-Superman voice at the Planet is a great gag, hell you could even have her livestream her fights with Supes to boost the DP's sales as a way to profit from being a villain even when she loses. AI Lex insisting on calling Superman "son" remains hilarious, Clark is clearly fed up with Lex's bullshit. The Chained seems to be a powerful telekinetic, was hoping for a more creative powerset, but at least he has hair. Saw that reference to Master Jailer helping Lex build the prison that held Chained, please let that be a tease for Jailer to make his return soon.

World's Finest #19 - Meh. Far as first meetings between Superman and Batman go, this one is down near the bottom. Jax is every bit as boring as I thought he would be, and Waid just pays lip service at the end towards the idea of Batman not trusting Superman. More fuel for the speculation that Waid is taking over Action with "Aethyr" showing up. What a boring look and design, not at all the Lovecraftian god in the vein of Gerber that PKJ had been building up. If Waid is really taking Action I have zero hope he delivers a satisfying conclusion to whatever plot threads PKJ himself doesn't wrap up. Waid is simply too stuck in the Silver Age. Let's hope Kingdom Come gives this book the shot in the arm it needs.

Nightwing #106 - Without Redondo the book's paper thin nature is front and center. Still, far as continuity goes, this does use the Ric era in a good way. Taylor of all people being the one to do something interesting with that time period surprises me.

Green Lantern: War Journal #1 - My grandma has dementia and I teared up at that scene where John makes a construct of his sister for his mother who has it. Caring for relatives with dementia is just trying to keep them happy even when it breaks your heart. If PKJ is really losing Action, at least here he can continue the United Planets plot threads with Thaaros. John put that fraud GL in his place and it was badass. If the Radiant Queen can body hop, maybe the people who speculated she's an alternate version of Katma are right and the body she's been in isn't her original.

Vigil #5 - It's good! Castle is more than a little shit.

Loki #4 - Damn good mini that I can only assume is being totally ignored by Ewing given the ending has Loki seemingly embracing his status as the God of Lies again. Or is that actually setting up Ewing Loki, who is openly apologetic about how he's going to fuck over Thor if it makes for a good tale in Immortal Thor? Watters needs to get more work.

Captain America #1 - Solid character beats and interactions, but it lacks a big "hook" as it were to keep me reading. I am amused to see JMS' big return to Marvel monthlies involves someone trying to make a deal with the devil.

[misakialter]

Omega And Season 1

This is a "Everyone Dropkick Misaki Before They Don't Stop Talking" post. So I'm gonna open up by saying thank you for reading if you're here to listen to me.

Anyhow...

Not content with giving it some time of the day on my Media Thread on Twitter yesterday, I wanted to fully go off about Saint Seiya Omega (The First Season) because it sure is a series I did not expect to like as much as I did in spite of it having some serious shenanigans which are so hard to get behind.

To know what I'm talking about in case you don't know about it, here's a quick summary:

The series is about a group of warriors serving under the reincarnation of Goddess Athena who strive to protect the world against great evils who wish to take Earth for themselves or even destroy it.

Set after the main series as a sequel, our story tells the tale of Koga, the new bearer of the Pegasus Cloth, who was raised by the current Athena herself, Saori Kido. After her kidnapping by the powerful god known as Mars, his journey is set into motion and along his upstart Bronze Saint companions are pitted onto a grand scale battle for the survival of Earth with all odds stacked against them.

They are some key aspects it shares with it's predecessor but unlike other series who are perfectly content on tidying up what already works, Omega instead pitches brand new things, for better or worse, to see what sticks.

Omega and Legacy

Right of the bat we tackle gracefully the involvement of the previous main cast while also not diminishing the role of the past protagonist and previous Pegasus, Seiya, the only one who remains a little more of an active participant. They are mostly absent with a good excuse from the story's part, but also offer a passive involvement as mentors to the new generation of Bronze Saints, so they are not wasted. They also play a huge part on the legacy and lore the series are set in through their connections through the villian and their confrontation with them.

I mention it here because this is part of the foundation of this world, something that makes everything tick and have a place, making much of the original series feel appreciated without needing to pave the way so hard to the new one as to spit in the face of it. It's something that a sequel series often tends to miss with, instead of properly reading the room.

The series also makes sure to play with said expectations of the original lore and play with it — There's deadass a fight which is a copypasted homage but the outcome is different PRECISELY because of it's context. It can be safely said that nostalgia is weaponized by Toei in a rather interesting manner compared to other sequel series.

This is probably one of the strongest aspects of the series on a fundamental level so whenever it does something like say, the Sanctuary Arc again, it doesn't feel eye rollingly whack we're doing this again on yet another series because there's more than enough to avoid it holding up entirely by nostalgic feelings.

Of course, now that we're getting to the plot, we're starting to see the more obvious cracks in the armor.

Omega and Storytelling

Let me tell you a horror story in one sentence:

WEEKLY SCHEDULED ANIME EPISODES ON THE 2000s

So you know, it's felt in a lot of places, here included.

Our first episode leaves a good hook for the series which is soon a little muddled in the following ones. Key introductions for some characters are made but the decision of having the Palaestra, a school of Saints, might sound way too much of a generic setup, followed up with a tournament too.

Fuckiiiinnnn uuuuuuhhhhhh—

— And then it's thrown away almost immediately. The deceptively generic first few episodes kick into gear eventually and now we meet Aria — a character who is gonna remain super important this season — broaden the scope of the conflict, get to see EXACTLY how dire this is, increase the amount of intrigue and deliver a lot of promise for the future of this sequel.

...

What you just experienced here is the first sudden peak this series felt like having.

Continuing with the road trip, we suffer a bit of filler, a bit of inconsistency, and it takes a while until the ideas begins to flourish. It's clear that the format is unfit for the things they wanna do in the series, and as they cannot find ways to stretch things, plotlines can become dormant or episodes take a bit before they stop feeling just okay. And thus, much like the characters in the series in terms of power ups, it bursts sporadically into some truly spectacular heights.

Koga (To an extent), Aria, Eden, Sonia, Soma, Mars and some of the Gold Saints' development prove to be constant highlights of the story and promises that are delivered on with extreme efficiency and are set up as early as they are introduced, which feels like a reward to one's faith into these ideas and are probably your reasons to stick by.

That is not to say that is free of sin and makes it easy to do so: The element mechanic being quickly dropped, some fights kinda blend with the rest and are just serviceable, the aimless nature of the roadtrip that could've made it drag on, the lack of focus on some of the main characters I hadn't mentioned (To the point Haruto is like, disappearing between episodes sometimes) and so on, so forth. They are notable points which hold the story back, and it truly doesn't fix it as it keeps going.

As we segue into Omega's own Sanctuary Arc, it does everything in it's power to do good on it. While not perfect, this last portion of the season shines as brightly as it can and peaks the hardest — To the point of making me feel A LOT. Like it got me for real.

And even as we got the finale the series closed off spectacularly, and in a way so definitive I could confidently list my feelings about it. So even as I list the drawbacks, I find myself highly hesitant to call it a bad season overral, especially because I had fun. Mid feels like also selling it short. But objectively, it's not like I can call it the best thing ever.

It is very well able to fool me into doing so, however, and that is the biggest compliment I can give it.

Omega and Presentation

And that's the biggest compliment I can give it I guess.

As I said before, the curse of being a weekly means that it's cursed with being animated weakly. Some key episodes get to pop off with fantastic shots and amazingly detailed drawings but there's also moments of low budget where a still drawing gets zoomed in and stock footage is reused. The writing has to carry a lot of this but a lot of this is also not helping a ton unless it's a very important moment in the story. So much like it, it stays middling until it peaks.

The action is also the reason why the armors were redesigned into these new, simpler and smoother looking ones, the intention was to make it look good in motion, and it does! But it's not as often exploited as it can be.

Here's the thing:

The reason why the classic Saint Seiya was fine with the bulk was mostly due to there not being a need for dynamic and smooth flow with such static but to the point action — They ARE metallic armors after all — And yet it still made a point to change up the designs when bringing it to an Anime to something easier and modern looking, to put it into motion which was a necessity.

With Omega this core idea is a hit or miss. I like the armors, but at the same time, these characters do not feel armored. Some fans are outright aleniated by them but in my honest opinion, the issue with it is more about the fundamental usage being heavily underplayed when that was the whole point, and not so much the fact that they look like this, considering these are STILL neat looking designs especially in this artstyle and in motion. Getting the job done is at least something they accomplish fine.

Either way, let's end up with an amazing positive: The OST. Dear lord, the music was fucking fantastic in every way. The tracks it borrows from the original are done great justice while new tracks fit the scale of the story perfectly, and it is hardly misused or jarring. It doesn't reach the peak of Saint Seiya's original soundtrack but it is an incredibly worthy successor, giving Omega a standout identity on that aspect. And when they made a second opening after their rendition of Pegasus Fantasy for the first... CHRIST, now THAT'S understanding your series.

...Oh, I'm still talking about the music, not Omega as a whole, don't worry. Don't want to give you a heart attack after all.

Omega and Saint Seiya

When you have to follow up an original work, especially a classic to many, you're set up with some insane expectations. Not being able to deliver them is also kinda crushing, it can be disappointing to give it any sort of chance. Change, new ideas, different stories, all become taboo if you cannot find your footing or appropiately pitch them with conviction.

A sequel series is a difficult thing to make, let alone have it stand out on it's own.

And I fully believe Omega managed to pull it off with this season... After falling down the stairs for a couple times IT'S NOT PERFECT GUYS IT'S JUST A SILLY LITTLE THING IT'S OKAY IT KILLED NO ONE UNLIKE THE NETFLIX SHOW.

To it's detriment it's one of the most unique amongst the sequels to Saint Seiya and the one whose best ideas shine through spectacularly in spite of all it has to go through to commit to the good ones. Objectively it's got some notable weaknesses getting in the way but beyond animation, it was personally fun to experience and I do not regret it in the least when the worst it could offer me is Mid™ rather than a complete waste of it's potential.

Overral, the series stumbles, but does not fumble. I had a lot of fun with it no matter what the issues were. I am ready for whatever the fuck is supposed to be at Season 2.

And as always thank you for reading, hope it was fun.

Later!

[crimsoncadaver]

Sometimes, I wish life was more succinct. More compact, that you could wrap up eras of your life with neat little bows and think, "Yeah, I think that ended okay." I wish life was in segments, that when you looked back it would be like recounting a TV show spanning several seasons. Instead, life is made of thread. It's constantly being spun into a tapestry that we may never understand. Every action predetermines the next in a way that you can't predict. You can wallow in the present and try to grasp the thread that is your life, but you'll never be able to because it's so tangled between itself and the threads of others. Even if you could grasp it, it wouldn't tell you anything about the future. It's just thread. It doesn't have the inscription of your life written in a way that you could conceptualize. Trying to unravel the past can lead to more tangles in the present. Trying to predict the future only serves to make you feel trapped in whatever moment you're in. And no matter what you want to do or how you want things to work, time moves forward. Even as I'm typing this, the seconds tick by, disappearing beneath me, my thread growing longer telling a new story that I'll never get to read. My thread grows and gets woven into a tapestry I cannot see, that I don't even know if I'd want to. I wonder what the tapestry looks like. Does it look like a galaxy? When we look into the sky, is the tapestry of our lives gazing back? Do humans think our souls turn to stars because the galaxy is one of the most magnificent things we're able to grasp? That we're able to see? Maybe our tapestry is made of so many colors that the human eye wouldn't even be able to perceive them. Maybe our tapestry is made of music, every thread, and every story, a new note or instrument being added to a symphony lurking in the background of our lives. Connecting us in ways we don't realize or don't expect. I think I'd like that. I'd like it if my thread of life played a part in the musical of the universe surrounding us. I don't know. I wish life was in segments that were easier to digest. That wouldn't cause so much disruption in the present. Wouldn't cause so much fear about the future. Could be wrapped up in neat little bows, and that I could say, "Yeah. I think that ended okay."

[winteringthesnow]

The Red String of Fate - Sun Wukong

We’ve all heard the legend of the red string of fate. In the Chinese myth, an invisible red string is tied around the ankles of everyone. Two people connected by a thread, who are destined to be lovers. It may stretch, it may tangle but never break.

In this drabble, fate works in numerous ways with different people. Today, you will embark on an encounter with the great Sun Wukong. 

I had fun writing this and I might consider making this as a soulmate au drabble series with other characters

Gender Neutral reader

Sun Wukong hated it. There he was in front of a river in Flower Fruit Mountain, he rested with his tail swinging behind him. Watching the stream as his reflection stared back at him. He hated having to see it every time he looked in his reflection. A reminder of his troubles. A clock. A stupid ticking clock emblem on his neck. A countdown to be specific. The countdown used to be an hourglass but slowly as civilization changed, the little tattoo altered into a miniature clock along with it. It was said that a countdown would be placed on the right corner of your neck and the moment the clock ran out would be the moment he would meet the love of his life. Oh, What utter bullshit, he thought. 

Although he wasn’t one for cheesy romances, he’d always been teased about it by his fellow generals who would tease him about it, but he knew better than to fight with them since he'd get wrecked. So, he’d laugh it off along with them. His spiteful self wanted to say that love is pointless and useless. He knew firsthand what attachments lead to. He knew what would happen if he got close. He doesn’t plan on it, might as well not expect it. He’s supposedly used to being alone. He should be used to it, especially what happened thousands of years ago with his fellow brothers and master.  He didn’t want to admit it, this is what he had wanted ever since he was forced to join the west. He should be content where he is, back at flower fruit mountain with his monkeys. That's what he wants to say anyways. That is what he would say. 

But it would be a lie if he didn’t envy, even the slightest bit when he saw humans that he knew nothing of, meeting their beloved and that his own monkeys were able to find mates of their own. Don’t get him wrong, he's happy for them, truly. But the thoughts don't stop themselves from engrossing his mind. Making him wonder what it would be like if he found one of his own, of having someone that's meant just for him, to love him despite all of the flaws that have always held him back from connecting to others before. 

Yet, that stupid clock just somehow always shoved it in his ass that it was just mere fiction. It felt like the Buddha himself cursed him and this was surprisingly worse than being trapped under a mountain, or being cooked alive in the furnace and he hated that. He hated that in some way it did feel worse than being trapped under a mountain. The one thing he despised that ever happened to him. 

Lord, if his clock can’t function how it’s supposed to then what is the point? If the stupid timer couldn't decide when it’ll finally stop, especially when each second the numbers keep shifting and as a blue hue illuminated around his neck.  If every hour and, every minute and, every second, changing and changing as random numbers would appear on his neck before switching to a new one, then what is the point? He didn’t know how or why but maybe this was a way to pay for the crimes of his past, maybe he has to live with this forever, maybe this was his fate. 

Truth is, he never knew love. He never knew how to love. He never had an ounce of experience and the ones that he did care for were lost and he’ll never know. So, what’s the point in trying? What’s the point in hoping, if fate already decided for him? Might as well start getting comfy while he can. 

The great sage summons his cloud and hops onto it. In a blink of an eye, he immediately zooms out of sight from his little monkeys. The wind muffles his hearing as his hair flows behind him. In only less than a minute he had already arrived at his destination, his sacred temple. With a little entrance, a fog of dust surrounds him due to the impact on the ground. His little monkeys crawl at the sight of their king and cheer for him with coos and chirps. 

"Hey, guys" He waves, but a few run to his shoulder while others jump in front of him, frantically fluttering their paws, chittering all at once making it hard for him to understand "Whoa, whoa! One at a time"

Before any of them could explain further, troops carried someone with rope wrapped around their frame. There you were, a tired look on your face and a peach gaging your mouth, preventing you from speaking. Some monkeys climb onto your shoulder and start to mess with your hair, looking for something in particular.

The golden simian blinks a few times before looking at his monkeys. "Who is this exactly?" He looks at the ones on his shoulders. They chirp at him, explaining what happened an hour or so ago.

"So they broke in?" He mumbles before looking at you. In your slouched position, you notice his stare before straightening your back a bit. His stare wasn't deadly but it was a stare that you couldn't really decipher. Nonetheless, it made your stomach squirm and prepare yourself for the lecture you expect him to make. 

With his tail, he takes out the peach from your mouth as saliva glistens and seeps through your lips,  to which you immediately wipe with your shoulder. He let the peach drop to the ground and wipe his tail on his pants. You saw some monkeys running, fighting over the fruit. 

Your attention is brought back to the simian now crouched in front of you, close and personal. You look up and down at him and notice a peach-colored marking around his eyes, from his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. You lean back to get some space of your own as he sniffs you. 

"Umm, Hi? Sorry, do you live here?  I'm so sorry I didn't know and Uhh..."

"Do you not know who I am?" He steps back a bit but is still fairly close with one brown raise.

You blink a few times, cringing at the question "Am I supposed to...? I mean I've never met you before... I think"

He audibly gasps and seems baffled at the response "I am the almighty great sage equal to heaven, Sun Wukong! Have you not heard of me and my great quest, journeys, and battles??" 

You could only smile awkwardly. He purses his lips at you and furrows his brows while crossing his arms 

"Hmph. Where did you come from? And how did you get here?" He interrogates.

You look away to try to remember what exactly happened "Uh, Ok. Um, I guess I could owe you an explanation. I live in a village nearby. I mean not really since my grandpa lives there, not me. But I visited and strolled around. Then I saw this place and I was like 'Imma check it out and I thought no one lived here so~ I just let myself in..." you rambled, thinking a bit if you missed anything that you could add. 

You could almost confirm that there is nothing to add until you notice some monkeys not far ahead playing with your phone. "Hey! Be careful with that!" You call but the only response is them sticking out their tongues. 

You groan and purse your lips a little bit. 

"What were you doing here?" He asks again. The monkeys hand the phone to him,  which he only observes (not knowing how it works) 

"I just took some of the pictures, that's it. I didn't take or steal anything"

The sage eyes you suspiciously at the mention of the last part, to which he only glances at his monkeys for any confirmation. They chirp back while you look at them awkwardly, sweating a little. After their little talk, he side-eyes you and squints his eyes, trying to observe you. 

He stands up with his arms crossed. "Hmm, If that's the case then I guess I won't be giving you your phone then"

You look at him with wide eyes at the announcement. "What?! Why- why not??"

"Because one! You took pictures of this place and I can't have people knowing about it” 

“I didn't take that many!” 

“Two!,” He interrupts “You don't know me and that is a great offense to the great Sun Wukong” 

“How is that a great offense if you don’t even want people to know you” 

“Three!” He interrupts again, his words a lot harsher than intended but immediately replace with a calmer tone “You stole my chips"

"It was already open, I couldn't just let it go to waste"

"You still ate it nonetheless, so in my book that's considered stealing"

"But-" A tail props up on your mouth, interrupting you. You flinch back and spit out a few that cascade in your mouth. But before you could even finish a completely new fruit is shoved into your mouth again. 

"No more talking" 

You deadpan, this time you spit out the fruit and struggle at the hold of the rope. "Ugh, can you get out of this rope" 

"No"

"Oh come on, please"

"Hmmm. I don't know" He places a hand under his chin as if to say that he was thinking when clearly he wasn't and there wasn't a single brain cell on that big forehead of his. 

"Uh... I'll delete the pictures. Just let me out of this"

"Hmmm"

"Monkey, Please!"

He freezes. "Did you just call me a monkey?"

"Yes! And I'll keep calling you that I'd you don't let me out!"

"Ughhh~ ok fine. If that shuts you up" he snakes his tail behind you to pull on the rope. 

The moment you are out of its grasp, you gasp for air. The little monkeys tied it too tight on your body and you could see red straight line markings on your elbows for proof. You ran a hand over it as the simian silently observed 

"Huh, so that did shut you up" He breaks the silence. You whip your head at the comment and furrow your brows, which only bought a snicker out of him then walk in the direction of his dwelling. You immediately scramble up from the ground and run to him while also patting off of dust from your pants.

He looks over at you while you hand your palm out. He only looks at it before looking at you, inquiring you to explain. 

"My phone"

"Uhh, yeah about that. I'm still not giving it to you"

"I said I'll delete it!"

"yeah~ but I still don't trust you"

"Well, you can delete it"

"I don't know how~" 

"Are you kidding me?!," You stomp your foot, cursing under your breath while running your hand to your hair. He watches with a slight smirk. You notice and scowl. 

"Oh? You find this amusing, don't you?" You spat

He replied with a sly grin "Very much"

You groan before taking a deep breath and sighing through your nose. This monkey was aggravatingly stubborn and gosh darn annoying. But you didn't want to give up. You need that phone. It's your life support, without it you'd mentally die. 

So you spent the rest of the day trying to be sneaky and take your phone without him noticing, which failed obviously. It ended up turning into a game of tag. His being surprisingly flexible and agile while you were getting your ass owned, stumbling around like a ragdoll. You ended up storming out of the temple with him dumbfounded. 

He cackles at your outburst before settling himself down at the ledge of the cliff. He was already having fun, he never felt that thrill in a while now, not ever since he went to heaven and challenged everyone there. Too bad you were being petty, the little game he started could have lasted longer. He shakes his head at the thought and places the phone in his pocket. 

The sun setting as the ever-lasting skies reflects the orange hue the sun emitted. His little ones join him soon while the others play with each other. Some climb to his shoulder and he scratches their chin. The little one only coos, closing their eyes and leaning in. Suddenly they notice something. Underneath the sage's scarf, a light glow blinks. The monkey chirps to their king, which caught his attention. 

"What's up?"

'It's glowing'

"Glowing? What's glowing?"

'There!' The monkey points at his scarf. Sun Wukong looks down at the side and sees it. A hue of blue glows brighter than usual, blinking. No, It couldn't be. There was no way.

He stands up which makes the monkeys scatter but right he is only focused on getting a mirror, anything to get him to see. He runs around in his house to get something to look at so it'll reflect on his face. He wasn't desperate, no. Of course not! He just... wanted to see and check for sure.

He then faces his TV and immediately races over to it. Other monkeys were sitting on the couch watching Monkey King: the animated series. He plugs off the TV and couch in front of it. A series of cries and screeches could be behind him but he didn't care and drowned out the noise.  

He desperately pries off his scarf. The sight made him suck in a hard breath. He almost forgot how to breathe as his shoulders dropped. He couldn't believe it. The count down stopped. It’s legitimately 0:00 present on his neck as it flashes blue. He places his hand over his neck, feeling the marking while letting the information sink in. 

It takes a moment for thoughts to be formed as screws bucks in his mind. The clock was zero. The clock is zero. It's zero. 

"It's zero!" He leaps up before running around the living room, getting his monkeys rilled up and cheering along with him (even though they didn't know what they were cheering for) they’re happy nonetheless for their king. The Monkey chants zero over and over again enthusiastically before sitting down on the couch.

He huffs out a staggered breath, calming his racing heart. He just met his soulmate. He just met them and he had their phone. Realization struck him as he straightened up before rummaging in his pocket to check for the phone. He picks it up and lets out a relieved sigh, seeing that it’s unharmed. 

He hovers a light thumb on it, only realizing the multiple cracks across it. A few on the top of the phone but as he lightly touches it he couldn't feel the sharp cracks. He accidentally opens it, although he didn't know how. The wallpaper on the lock screen is some blue guy? With a bald head and was extremely close to the screen, with the text above saying 'No bitches?' 

He raises his eyebrow at the weird font on your phone. He tries to do something and swipes up to see a password. He tries to do something but stops after the first failed attempt. 

He lay the phone down, still trying to process everything that happened today. He can't believe that he just met the person he'd been waiting to meet. For all his life he'd always thought that it was never going to happen, giving up hope. He gave up trying to even look for it. One might even say hated at the mention of it or at least gag at it. He really wanted to believe that he didn't need it. Trying to forget about it. Trying to ignore it. He didn't believe need someone. But then hey, for once something actually worked for him. 

And he still can't believe that you didn't know him. It really was something for him. How could someone not know the monkey king? He of all people. How dare you, he thought. You also stole his chips! His precious chips. 

A slight smile appeared on his face while looking at the phone. Well, at least he knows that someone does exist, just for him. Somehow for some weird reason, it was reassuring. 

Bonus!  

You stomp back to your grandpa's house. You walk in and slam the door harder than supposed to, which caught your grandpa's attention. "Háizi! What was that!"

"Nothing, gramps" you grumble before heading to your room, this time you close the door normally. Fuming was an understatement. One you didn't have a phone now cause it’s with some dude who's a monkey apparently, petty and stubborn. You just want to punch that guy in the face with his stupid smirk. You could have just felt bad breaking in there. Say sorry, leave and probably overthink about it later but no~ he just had to be annoying, he just had to take your phone.

Mid rant, you change to your house clothes before noticing something in the mirror. An orange hue blink on your neck. You take a closer look and freeze. 

"HE'S MY SOULMATE??"

"HAIZI!"

"SORRY!" You yelled back while silently cursing under your breath. 

"I have a monkey as a soulmate?? An annoying one at that?? Great! This just keeps getting better and better" You lay down in your bed trying to calm yourself down. Until you realized 

"SHIT, I FORGOT MY BOARD!" 

"HÁIZI!"

[bratkook]

come over. (m) jjk

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. smut, pwp,  warnings. jungkook is a self proclaimed pervert, smut in forms of: mutual masturbation, voyeurism through bedroom windows, rough sex, oral (m receiving), jungkook is a lil mean but just a little, dirty talk, use of vibrator, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, overstimulation, unprotected sex word count. 7.2k summary. the guilt of being a dirty peeping tom eats Jungkook alive, not knowing this was all part of your elaborate plan to sleep with the new neighborhood eye candy. author’s note. #84 requested by @taestybae​ from this promp list! ty for sending this in bby 🖤 (requests now closed)

Jungkook knows it's wrong, god does he know it's wrong. Acting as if he didn’t mean to leave his blinds cracked open, tilted at just the right angle that allows him to still be able to see out, the view he’s granted being your own window a few feet away. 

It’s funny now, how when he had first purchased the town house he had hated how close his neighbors were to him, and now here he was, an absolute pervert who was thankful for the narrow distance between your buildings.

The self proclaimed pervert simply sits at his desk, mindlessly going through work emails while his eyes continue to drift up, staring through his blinds for any sign of movement. 

Jungkook’s chest feels tight as he waits, eyeing the ticking clock in the corner of his screen and seeing it was nearing nine at night. Maybe you had plans tonight, going out with your friends, mind too preoccupied to indulge the filthy fantasies Jungkook had swirling in his head. It had become his favorite daily activity, sneaking a peek at you, sometimes doing simple things like relaxing with a face mask, or having a dance party. 

Of course those moments were all adorable but his favorite moments were the ones where you would walk around topless or lather lotion on your body after a shower. Sometimes you’d take the teasing a step further, blinds fully opened with only the sheer curtain coming in between him and your shadowed silhouette, caught in the act of what he could only assume was you touching yourself. 

Jungkook used to think it was purely accidental, just a careless neighbor who had no idea his bedroom had the perfect view, but he swore you had made eye contact with him far too many times for this to not be intentional.

Before his mind can spiral further, there’s suddenly a flicker of light and like a magnet, Jungkook’s eyes lock in to their target, seeing you walking into your room with a small towel draped over your shoulder, sports bra and tiny workout shorts showing him how your body was glistening in sweat. 

Pushing off his desk, his chair rolls and squeaks along his floor so he could get a better view, completely invested in seeing the way you get comfortable after your trip to the gym. Call it creepy or call it attentive but Jungkook had grown to know your schedule, you were his neighbor who enjoyed giving him peep shows so it was sort of hard for him not to realize the usual routine you had. However, this was the first time he had seen you come back from the gym this late. 

Jungkook groans now at his realization, palm coming to rub down his face as he hears his own thoughts, behaving like a man who had a notebook where he jotted down your schedule. 

He didn’t, but still, he felt like a creep. A dirty fucking creep. 

With his eyes screwed shut he shuffles the chair back to its rightful spot like a child in time out, angling his body to prevent his wandering eyes from looking through his window once more, the shame once again eating away at him like it did every time. 

Did you really do this on purpose? 

Of course you did, you weren’t stupid. 

The second Jungkook moved into your neighborhood he became the talk of the street, suburban house moms, young teenage girls, even your elderly neighbor had begun to wonder who the cute boy who went jogging down the street was. He oozed sex appeal, not even realizing how swooned he had everyone with his morning workout, he just thought everyone waved and smiled at him out of pure friendliness. 

Although he had no idea how hot he looked, you were blessed with the gift of vision and common sense. It only took you one glance of him exiting his house, long hair partially tied back, running shorts hugging his thighs so beautifully and you were sold. 

The minute you realized he was your next door neighbor it was like a lightbulb went off above your head, it was a blessing in disguise and you were not about to pass up the opportunity to have this go in your favor. Giving him a front row seat to you and everything you had to offer was the cards you chose to play and so far it had been going well. 

That is until you exit the shower, excitement coursing through you, already wondering how you’re going to tease him tonight. With your towel loosely hanging around your chest, you’re ready for the small show, but as you get into your usual position you notice that his blinds are now tightly closed, no gap between the shutters to allow him a peak of you. 

It’s a sudden and very unexpected chain of events. With a small huff of disappointment you perch yourself onto the end of your bed, directly facing your window as you sit in thought, your saucy plans for the night being ruined. 

Wondering just what could have made Jungkook flip a switch like that kept you up at night so when you see him coming in from his run the following morning as you leave for work you don’t think twice about speaking up. 

Your neighbor flinches when you greet him in good morning, not expecting to hear your voice so close to him but he could thank your connected driveways for that. 

“Oh, good morning.” he smiles politely, pulling out his airpod and pausing his music entirely to give you his full attention. The small nerves of being called out bubble up inside of him, only having talked to you once prior he wasn’t really sure where this conversation would go, were you about to call him a disgusting pervert?

“Did you call it a night really early last night?” You bite instantly, soft smile not giving away your true intentions but he knows, the way his eyes widen slightly make it obvious. 

“Yeah,” he sputters out, wiping his sweaty palms on his black shorts, nerves already making his heart skip. You knew, there was absolutely no way you didn’t and this solidified it. He had assumed you did, his guilty conscience making him believe what you did was intentional in order for him not to feel like the peeping Tom he very clearly was, but hearing you sneakily admit to knowing he hadn’t watched you last night made him feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. 

“Haven’t been getting much sleep lately so..”

You simply nod along as he trails off in a lie, lips spreading out into a smirk as your eyes very obviously give him a once over, focusing on the deep cuts of his sleeves that expose his sides and art filled arm, how the shorts he wears hit above his knee and leave his glorious thighs out for you to see. He was truly blind to his good looks. 

“Sorry I haven’t really given you a proper neighborly welcome, can I have your number?” Already fishing your phone out of your pocket because you knew he wouldn’t say no, still you tack on a helpful lie to make your flirting a little more subtle. “The neighbors have a group chat, I’ll add you to it so you can get all the hot gossip.”

If he knows you're lying he doesn’t show it, instead he looks a tiny bit disappointed that you wanted his number to add him to a neighborhood group chat. Regardless he recites his number with a smile, his phone instantly vibrating in his palm with a text from you, a friendly ‘hi neighbor’ with a waving emoji at the end. 

As he starts to save your contact you open up your car door, grabbing his attention once more. “I’ll text you if I ever need sugar...or other neighborly things.”

The suggestive teasing in your tone isn’t lost on him now, his cheeks flushing at the implications behind your words. “Yeah, whatever you need.” 

He’s admittedly even more disappointed when your message thread runs dry, not even being added to the gossip group chat that he was sort of curious about. You hadn’t even given him a show since the night he shut his blinds but it was all part of your plan, expertly crafted to go in your favor. 

While you’re at work you get the email that sets everything in motion, a notification of your package being out for delivery. A very cute baby pink wand would be placed at your door step in discreet packaging and if things went the way you anticipated it would be making its proper debut tonight, hopefully with an audience of one. 

Jungkook is pulled away from his computer screen when his phone vibrates against his desk, your name illuminated on his homescreen. He pauses for a moment, wondering if this was simply a text initiating him into that damn group chat that he had no idea didn’t actually exist, but when he unlocks it and opens up the thread he sees it's just you. 

Y/N 3:48pm : hi jungkook, sorry to do this but im getting a suuuper important package delivered today could you please keep it safe until i get home later tonight? 🥺🖤

You wanted him to guard a package, just neighborly things, exactly what you said you would text him for. 

Jungkook 3:49pm : sure, what is it?

He feels stupid immediately after hitting send, fingers curling together into fists as his eyes glare at his screen. Why the hell would he ask what the package was? Being a peeping Tom was clearly not enough, no he had to know about your online purchases. 

Y/N 3:52pm : just something for sore muscles 😅

Just like a typical horny boy would, his mind wanders to what exactly could be in the box, quickly texting you an ‘okay!👍🏻’ before locking his phone altogether. He was going to lose his mind. 

All according to plan. 

Jungkook guards that package with his life, placed delicately on his kitchen counter, exactly where he left it the minute he saw the postman drop it off. He’s been glued to his couch since then, regularly looking over his shoulder to ensure the brown box wouldn’t spontaneously disappear. 

Just as he feels himself getting antsy the gentle knocking from his front door has him springing up from his couch, pausing a few feet away from the door as he eyes the knob before looking back at the package. Should he greet you with it in his hands, or would that seem like he was trying to rush you away?

When you knock a second time he opts for just opening the door, seeing you standing there with that friendly smile, a small tweed skirt and matching top showing him you had just got off work, his eyes focusing on your exposed legs for a moment too long until your voice snaps him out of it. 

“Hi Jungkook,” you greet him with that honey sweet voice, the tiny glimmer in your eyes betraying you but he doesn’t spot it. “Did you get my package?”

“Hey, yeah I did.” Leaving the door ajar, he steps further into his home, quickly retrieving the light box and bringing it to you, still patiently waiting with that polite smile as if you didn’t know what was packaged inside that box. 

“You’re a lifesaver!” you cheer, holding it close to your chest with a small sigh, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if this got stolen.”

Jungkook can feel his face warm up, not able to stop his mouth from running on autopilot, unintentionally outing himself as an extremely observant neighbor. “You must be really sore from going to the gym all the time huh?”

There's a silence that falls over you both as you eye him curiously, gaze flickering with the same mischief from earlier, something he can easily spot now and he desperately wants to shrink into himself. 

“Definitely,” you agree with a laugh, “thanks again, have a good night!”

And just like that you’re gone, leaving him with his forehead pressed against his front door as he feels like an idiot. “Really, you must be sore?” He mocks his own voice, rolling his eyes before standing up straight and retreating back into his room to finish the work he had neglected in favor of protecting your package. 

The same package that you were currently clutching onto as you bolted up your stairs with a pair of scissors in the opposite hand, debatably not the safest choice but it had to be done. You feel like a crazed woman as you stab into the clear tape to break the seal, peeling back the flaps and letting out a giddy laugh when you spot the sleek white box, a photo of the device printed on the front. 

With steady hands you pull out the prized toy, carelessly tossing the empty boxes to the side, hearing them land with a light thud. The soft silicone against your thumb fills you with anticipation, a silent click against the first button dulls down the excitement when it refuses to turn on. 

“Stupid fucking chargers.” you grunt, setting the device down and making your way back to the discarded boxes, pulling out the tiny white cable to plug it in. 

The provided pamphlet states a full charge in one hour, plenty of time for you to get a grip on yourself, the last thing you needed was to rip open your blinds and come face to face with your hot neighbor with the crazy eyes you’re sure you were sporting earlier, you really didn’t need to scare him off before the main event. 

Jungkook is none the wiser as he mindlessly scrolls through the endless data in front of him, eyes floating through the numbers in a dazed manner, his mind far too occupied with that stupid package. He knew exactly what it was, proudly deciphering the code of something for sore muscles to spell out vibrator for him in giant neon letters. 

Were you using it now, in your bedroom a good feet away from his own, laid out on your bed directly in his line of sight?

His mind continues to play out salacious scenarios as you finish applying your favorite lotion after the small body shower you took, the silk robe hanging off your shoulder as you bend forward. Your pink toy lays on your bed, the buttons now blinking to indicate a full charge, your plan was now back in motion. 

As you step back into your room and slowly crack open your blinds you realize Jungkook’s are still tightly shut. Looking up into the slowly darkening sky you notice the clouds beginning to loom overhead, a smile spreading on your lips as you think of a way to get Jungkook to open up his blinds for the show. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes with a text a few seconds later, eyes widening slightly when he realizes it’s from you. 

Y/N 7:02pm : lol does it look like its gonna rain to you?

His head tilts in confusion at your question, nonetheless he stands from his desk, fully sliding up his blinds to stare up at the sky. When he notices the grey clouds he looks down at his phone to start to type, the small flash of movement from across the way making him freeze, looking directly through your window once more and seeing you innocently sitting on your bed, staring right at him with a smile. 

Jungkook can feel how wide his eyes get as he stares at you, leg crossed over the other as you rest back onto your palms, head tilted as you wave at him in greeting. Right where you want him. 

His hand raises up to wave back at you, the voice in his head screaming every obscenity he could think of as he attempts to smile, the grimace in his face making it hard for you not to laugh. 

You start slow, wanting to give him enough time to shut his blinds if he really wants no part in this, your hand coming up to begin pushing the robe off your shoulder further, the first sliver of skin being exposed to his eyes. Jungkook wants to scream, bang his head into the glass as he sees the way your skin glimmers, already knowing you had lathered on that damn lotion of yours. 

When he doesn’t move you let the other sleeve fall down, the swell of your breasts holding up the soft material, shielding them from his sight for another moment. Your eyes never leave his face, needing to see his reaction when you sit up straight and let the material pool around your hips, tits fully exposed for him to see. 

His reaction is well worth it, jaw dropping slightly as he spots the way your nipples harden in the exposed air, forehead nearly ramming into the window when you bring your hand up to pinch and twist at the pebbled buds. He feels his cock stirring in his pants when your head drops back, lips opening up to let out what he knows is the prettiest moan, head leveling out as you bite your lip and stare at him once more. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do as he watches you, champagne colored robe still hooked around your elbows as you reach behind your bed and pick up the pink toy you had bought today. The metallic capped bottom shines in the light and he feels like he’s caught in a trance as you showcase it. 

For a moment your attention drops down, landing on your phone as you quickly type out a message before setting it aside once more. His phone comes to life in his hand, nearly scaring him with its vibrations. 

Y/N 7:18pm : touch yourself please

He swears he’s gonna bust his load then and there, typing out a quick ‘okay’, a message you ignore entirely in favor of turning on your toy. The excited look in your eyes is clear as day when the device buzzes in your hand, Jungkook’s eager fingers unbuttoning his jeans as you start to trail the vibrating head along your body, passing over your nipples and gasping at the ticklish feeling. 

Looking across the way once more you see Jungkook’s gaze locked onto you, his body fully illuminated by his bedroom light, allowing you to see his hands start to push his pants down, taking his black briefs with them. Your teeth bite down onto your bottom lip as he raises his palm up to messily spit into it before coming back down to fist his slowly hardening cock. His covered chest rises and falls as he huffs out a breath, slowly squeezing his shaft as he glides up towards his head, coating his palm in the stray beads of precum that drip out of it. 

This further solidified that Jungkook was a pervert, at least in his own mind, who else would be so eager to jack off to the sight of their neighbor this easily. You didn’t think so though, knowing every one of your actions had a purpose, Jungkook wasn’t a pervert for being a predictable boy, he was doing exactly what you wanted him to do. 

As the head of your toy trails down your chest you take your time, circling your navel before reaching your hips, sliding down your thighs as you lean further back and begin to spread them apart. In a slow movement that Jungkook can’t look away from, you finally reveal yourself to him, folds glistening with your arousal, coating your inner thighs, allowing the toy to glide with ease. 

Jungkook groans loudly as you pass the buzzing toy over your clit, a featherlike touch that makes you twitch and moan, his hand tightening around his cock as he twists on the way up. You were absolutely sin personified, giving him a show as you tease yourself, mouth dropped open as you finally press the toy against your clit, fingers slipping into your entrance and pumping inside of you. He can only imagine the way you sound as you stretch yourself open, hips rolling up into your hand as the pleasure jolts through you. 

Fuck, what he would do to be able to touch you, hear your moans, be the one to hold that toy against you until you were writhing around. 

You can see it in his eyes, the want clouding them as he watches you, his hand steadily pumping his length, quickening up each time your body twitches. When you pull the toy away his brows furrow, releasing his cock as he places his sticky palm against the window, wondering just what you were planning now as you reach for your phone once more. 

It only takes you a few seconds to type out the message and hit send, looking up at him with that same predatory gaze you’ve been wearing all night. As he unlocks his phone again you stand up, letting the robe fully slide off your body, pooling around your feet as you step closer to your window, arms crossed under your chest to push your tits out further as you watch him. 

Y/N 7:32pm : come over

He rereads the message three times, cock still out for you to see as he contemplates his options, finally looking back up and nearly choking when he sees the way you’re almost pressed against your own window, a sweet smile on your lips as you wave him over. That helps him make his decision, locking his phone and groaning as he slips his cock back into his briefs and shimmies his pants back on. 

Your eyes gleam as he turns to exit his room, the light dimming off as he bolts down his stairs towards his front door. When he steps out onto his porch he sees the ground is damp, small droplets now falling from the sky, the chill creeping through his thin layers as he navigates across your connected driveways with his palms covering his extremely prominent bulge. 

“Please be unlocked,” he whispers under his breath when he gets to your door, turning the knob and sighing in relief when it unlocks. Jungkook doesn’t care about manners as he steps in, locking the door behind him and instantly climbing the stairs two at a time, already knowing where your room was since your house was a mirror copy of his own. 

When he finally pushes his door open he finds you perched on your bed, fully naked and waiting for him with that same toy trailing up and down your torso. The need for introductions are thrown out the window as he crosses the room, immediately settling beside you, his large hand cupping your cheek to pull you in for a kiss. 

It catches you by surprise, the normally shy neighbor who got nervous whenever you caught him staring, never expecting him to be the type to go after what he wanted like this but the way he takes control makes you lean into his touch. His lips are tender against yours, hand guiding your face closer as he slowly licks his way into your mouth, a moan of approval leaving you as his warm tongue tickles yours. 

You’d often fantasized about kissing him, wondering if he was the type to tease, to pull back and leave you wanting more but the desperation guides his movements, stops him from not fulfilling his own desires. Jungkook kisses you with passion, hunger leading him until he’s pushing you flat on your back, hands dropping down to gently hold onto your neck. 

The toy is cast to the side, your own hands sliding through his long hair as you sigh into his mouth, the wet smacks of each kiss filling your ears. 

“Take it off,” you mumble against his lips, trailing your hands down his back and tugging his shirt up, determined to rip it off of him to finally see the glorious body you know he has. Jungkook presses a quick kiss against you before kneeling up and pulling his shirt off by his neckline, each inch of exposed skin making your mouth water. 

The way his muscles rippled, pulled taut as he stretches out and tosses the black long sleeve aside, bulging out when he finally relaxes, you can’t help but let your fingers trace each ridge on his stomach. Jungkook lets you take him in, not opposed to the lust swirling in your eyes, your tongue licking over your lips as you admire him, following the lines of each tattoo up his arm until you reach his face. 

“Like what you see?” he murmurs, looking down at you with lidded eyes, letting them roam along your body, the swell of your tits that rise with each breath, how your hips can’t keep still, searching for any bit of friction you could find. 

“You’re fucking unreal.”

He holds his breath when you begin undoing his pants, in a hurry to see his cock without the distance between you. “This is what you wanted isn’t it?” he realizes, the completely unphased look on your face, the perfectly executed texts and package delivery, just knowing that he had done everything you wanted him to do. 

“It was fun though wasn’t it Jungkook, tell me–“ he helps you tug his jeans down, his briefs going with them and joining his shirt on the floor, “What did you like more, seeing me do everyday things or watching me play with myself?”

A choked groan slips past his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock, slowly sliding up his length as you question him, enjoying the way he struggles to respond. “God you’re filthy,” he grunts, jaw slack as you sit up, face now level with his cock as he rests on his knees. 

The sly smirk you give him shows that you know this, know exactly how filthy you are, using it to your advantage to get what you wanted. With bated breath he watches the way you inch forward, tongue sticking out to gently lick the swollen head of his cock, the salty bead of precum picked up by your tongue. 

“Can’t help it.” You sink onto him as the words leave your mouth, lips wrapping around him and he sighs at the warmth that envelops him, the wetness of your tongue circling his tip making his stomach tense up, muscles flexing to keep himself from thrusting into your throat. 

The small moan you let out as he fills your mouth makes his body rattle, the feeling of his dick heavy on your tongue as you slide further down, wrapping your hand around the base to steady yourself. This was much more satisfying than seeing him play with himself a few feet away, the sighs of appreciation that float in the air each time you pull back make you keep going, wanting to see him fall apart. 

Jungkook doesn’t know when his hands tangle themselves in your hair, taking it upon himself to guide you up and down his length, starting a filthy rhythm that lit his body up. He urges you down more, hands coaxing you, pushing you further onto him until you’re choking as he fills your throat. He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier, eyes full of tears, nose pressed against his stomach as you hum around his cock. 

He pulls you off of him a few seconds later, the wet gasp you let out ripping through the air as you catch your breath but that sly smile remains on your face, eyeing his messy length, bobbing slightly as he moves around. 

Leaning over you once more his hands cup your face, thumb rubbing under your eyes where he spots the unshed tears threatening to spill over, collecting against your lower lashes. “Fuck, I bet you’re pretty when you cry.”

The rasp in his voice makes your stomach flip, more wetness coating your thighs and further ruining your sheets. “Make me,” you whisper, smiling when his eyebrows raise in question. “Make me cry Jungkook.”

His cock throbs at your response, wanting nothing more than to do what you want, turn you into a crying mess as you beg for him like he often thought about. “You sure?”

With a small nod you’re crawling backwards, flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees, arching your back for him as he eyes your exposed cunt, sodden folds shining when you wiggle your hips. “I’m sure.”

Jungkook fists his cock as he approaches you, slotting his knees between your thighs, inching forward until he’s circling your entrance in a teasing motion. Flashes of the way you had spread yourself open minutes prior play in his mind as he slowly breaches your entrance, the first feeling of you taking his breath away, eyes falling shut as you let out the first moan. 

Your hands fist the sheets as he stretches you open, his size filling you up so deliciously, inch by inch splitting you open. He can’t look away from it, mesmerized with the way you take him in, molding around him like he was meant to be there. 

A whimper leaves you as he presses his palms onto your ass, holding you still once he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against you, walls fluttering around him as he gives you time to adjust to his size. 

“This is–“ you groan when he slides back a little, “this is just how I pictured it.” The laughter laced in your voice piques his interest, leaning over your body to see you with your face pressed against your sheets, a teasing smile on your face. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook questions, tightening his grip on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, no doubt marking them for you to see later. “You pictured getting fucked from behind by your neighbor?”

“Mhm,” you squeal out, giggling when he starts to fuck into you, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, the small smack of your skin mixing in with your laughter and moans. 

“I knew it,” he grunts, trailing his hand up your spine, around your neck until his palm was pressing your face into the mattress, holding you down as he ravished you, stretched you apart and turned your impure thoughts into mush. “Knew you did it on purpose, fuck, do you know how guilty I felt?”

Your walls tighten around him and he moans out at the feeling, the warmth sucking him back in each time he pulled out, the wet squelch of you soaking his cock getting louder each time. 

“S-sorry.” It's quiet, but he knows you don’t mean it, knows the words are lace with trouble as you start to rut back onto him, the playful smile felt against his palm spelling it out for him. 

“Oh you’re sorry?” Jungkook picks up his merciless pace, knowing he found the right rhythm when you let out a cry of surprise, arching further for him and keening as he nudges against your sweet spot, the first sparks of your orgasm flashing within you. The fact that you were getting what you want sending you closer to the edge faster than expected. 

“No, I’m not,” you admit, shamelessly moaning with each thrust. There was no way in hell you were sorry, if this was the outcome you’d do it all again the same exact way. Jungkook wouldn’t argue with that, the earlier guilt he felt long gone, replaced with pure hunger, only increasing when your moans start to get breathier, the panting felt against his hand, hot and heavy as you whimpered. 

“I know you’re not, you love putting on a show for me huh, knowing I was watching you from my window while you fucked with me.”

His words make your mind spin, the intoxicating roll of his hips dragging you under into the same state of desperation he was in, weeks of mindless torture fueling the both of you with more than enough sexual frustration. 

“I loved it,” you whine when he pushes your face harder into the sheets, the roughness he’s displaying making your stomach flip, thighs spreading out further for him and you let out a trembling moan when he sinks deeper into you. 

You were going to cum, he recognized the way your body tightened up, walls clamping around him, making him curse as he continues to rut into you. Jungkook smiles as you cry out, chest pushing into your mattress, hands pulling at your sheets in desperation until suddenly, you’re cumming with a shout of his name, the feeling taking you completely by surprise. “F-fuck, Jungkook.”

He gasps as you gush around him, dripping down your thighs, creaming his cock until it's slick with your arousal. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time pulling out of you, needing to see your face as he sank back into you, now on your back with a dazed out smile. 

A soft groan drips off your tongue, thick and needy when he bottoms out once more, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he starts to rock into you, forehead sweaty with his long hair falling around his face. It frames him perfectly, a simple curtain letting you see every expression he gives you, a private show just for you to witness. 

“Wanna make you cry,” he confesses, bending down and kissing your chest, his right hand mindlessly swatting at the bed until he finds exactly what he’s looking for, that damn vibrator he had guarded with his life earlier. 

The second the small vibrations meet your ears, your eyes go wide, catching the evil smirk on his lips as he holds the toy between you, fidgeting with the settings until it’s low enough to start. “Wait Jungkook, I’m sensitive.”

He leans back enough to trail the head down your stomach, taunting you as he circles your hips and reaches your mound. “You told me to make you cry though didn’t you baby?”

The excitement rushes through you once more, letting out shaky gasp as he just barely touches your sensitive clit, your body jolting and squeezing around his cock. Jungkook shuts his eyes at the feeling, bringing it back to rest against the tiny pearl, the low settings making a hum course through you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“Ah, Jungkook,” you cry, chest heaving as he starts to fuck you again, hips swirling around, unsure if you want to retreat from the toy or press against it harder, the slight sting of pain morphing into pleasure the longer he keeps it up. 

“What?” he mocks, raising the settings until you’re shouting, a delirious laugh following suit as your thighs tighten around his waist in reflex. Jungkook knows you love this, your teeth biting down onto your bottom lip as you stare at him with glassy eyes full of tears, urging him to fuck you harder, begging him for more. 

He does what you ask, pistoning his hips into you with enough force to jostle your body, the head of his cock just shy of hitting your cervix, waves of pleasure mixing in with the vibrations against your clit. Jungkook can feel his own orgasm creeping up on him, crawling up his spine, goosebumps flaring out on his skin, each wet thrust and cry from you only pushing him closer. 

Jungkook watches you carefully, lost in his own pleasure but focused enough to see the way your eyes well up further, the needy sobs you release as he fucks you just right wrapping around him and urging him on, not wanting to hold back when this is what you’ve been wanting. 

The small inkling to be mean and actually see the tears fall spurs something inside of him. With a few more clicks the vibrator hits the highest setting, buzzing intensely against your clit and you nearly thrash at the sudden feeling, back arching up as you gasp. 

Jungkook chuckles, the low timbre making you whimper as he presses the head of the toy harder against you. “You gonna cum again, make a big mess around my cock?”

“Jungkook,” it’s a choked cry of his name, your arms seeking purchase around his frame, needing something to ground you as you start to float off. 

“C’mon, wanna see you cry.” He watches in awe as your body tenses of for a moment, the pleasure catching just right to push you over. 

“Fuck, fuck–“ you chant, words slurring together as a second orgasm is pulled out of you, eyes rolling back when the euphoric feeling crashes over you, tears finally spilling over and body turning limp as he continues to fuck you through it just like the last one. He feels like he won as the wetness pools under your eyes, brows furrowing together as you mewl at the feeling of your orgasm cresting, heartbeat slowing in your chest as you come down. 

“So good,” he mumbles at the high vibrations felt against his cock, the flutters from your velvety walls keeping him from turning it off, sliding it down a bit closer to your entrance until he’s gasping as well. 

“Too much,” you plead, eyes misty as you stare at him, mouth dropping open in a quiet moan when he ruts against you in search of his own release. His free hand reaches up to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that had fallen against your skin. 

“I knew you’d look pretty when you cry.” He sighs, shutting his eyes when you pulse around his length. “I’m almost there, you okay?”

His concern makes you smile, nodding as you place your hand over his own on your face, dealing with the oversensitivity for him to get his own release. “Yeah, cum inside me please.”

Jungkook groans in response, sliding the vibrator further down until it rests against the base of his cock, gliding along his length with each of his thrusts, the buzzing making his body tingle. 

“Shit,” he grunts out, hips fucking you with more urgency, rutting against you sloppily, eyes opening up to stare directly at you and the lustfilled look you give him is what pushes him over. A choked groan dies in his throat when he sinks into you as deep as he can, spurts of his cum filling you up as his face twists in pleasure, mouth dropped open to release a soft moan that you swallow with a sweet kiss.  

You hum against his lips when he thrusts shallowly a few more times until finally coming to a halt, turning off the toy and chucking it aside with no care before collapsing on top of you in pure dramatics. Jungkook has no qualms about how much he weighs, making himself right at home as he nuzzles into your chest, sighing in content when you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“I feel sweaty, and I know I made a mess on your sheets.” Jungkook mumbles out, cheek pressed against your tits, eyes slipped shut with his slowly softening cock still inside of you. No doubt would your sheets be damp with an unholy mixture of the night's debauchery, something you would surely deal with later. 

“It’s okay, I like the mess.” Your words are meant to be joking but the way his cock twitches inside you shows he takes everything you say seriously, simply rolling your eyes with a smile as you tease him further. “You’re a pervert.”

Jungkook scoffs at this now, taking full offense as he pulls out of you with an accusatory glare, eyes zeroing in on your evil smile as you prop yourself up against your headboard. “I’m the pervert?” When you nod he laughs loudly, finger pointing at you in a less than threatening manner, “Says the one who gave me free shows every night!”

“It’s not my fault you’re easy to rope in, you were hooked the second you saw me have that dance party in here huh?”

He nods instantly, knowing exactly what night you were talking about, it was the night he had moved in, before you had even realized he was your neighbor, having a full on dance party to some top 40’s from the 2000’s playlist you found. That was the first night he ever saw you and ever since then he had left his blinds cracked just to see a glimpse of you, not knowing what lewd ideas you had planned. 

“Was it the facemask that did it for you?” You laugh, playfully nudging his side with your foot as he glares, the small smile on his face showing you he wasn’t taking this seriously. 

“No, it was those sexy ass boyshorts you had on, I think they were grey. They made your ass look nice.”

He laughs with you as you squeal, knowing exactly what pair of underwear you had on, the oversized shirt doing nothing to hide them as you danced around like a lunatic. 

“Is this gonna be a thing?” he wonders, taking it upon himself to enter your bathroom to grab a towel, the least he could do was clean up the mess he had caused between your thighs. 

“What?”

“Should I text you about the weather tomorrow, call you over to mine this time? I’ll let you choke me if you’re into that.” He says it so casually it catches you by surprise, a cackle leaving you as he finishes cleaning you up, handing you your robe to cover up as he slips back into his underwear. 

“Are you into that?”

“I could be,” he winks, flopping onto your bed beside you, letting his hand trail up your thigh until it reaches the hem of your robe, tracing the goosebumps that flare up because of it. 

That was definitely something you could work with, mind already planning out the next time you’d torture your neighbor, wondering just how your hands would look like wrapped around his thick neck. Maybe you could see if he looked pretty when he cried. 

He spots the mischief in your face instantly but before he could indulge you further, there was one thing absolutely eating away at his mind. “By the way, you never added me to that gossip group chat.”

Your lips purse into a tight smile as your fingers return to his hair, twirling each strand as you hold back a laugh, knowing it absolutely did not exist. You weren’t in the mood to crush his spirit, knowing he desperately wanted to know the ins of the neighborhood gossip so you simply shrug in faux apology, telling yet another white lie. “My bad, I’ll add you tomorrow.”

It’s good enough for Jungkook pressing a kiss against your thigh as he thinks of what the following night will bring, his mind also picturing just how cute your hands would look around his neck. 

[pingutats]

be this close, forever and ever

you and harry have been together for a while. your nights at home are quiet and comfortable, and, well, you’re both just so in love.

warnings: sexual content (soft giggly sex), mostly fluff

word count: 2.5k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

Living with Harry, the two of you start to fall into the same rhythm. It’s not easy with his schedule as chaotic as it often is and your lives so profoundly different, but the nights when he’s home are the quiet sanctuary you need from all of those stresses. His little rituals seep into your own. The evenings are for being together, enjoying each other’s company without distraction or pressure. It’s just you and him, and the routine you’ve constructed so delicately together.

It starts with a face mask. Just because he’s so famous, he receives packages from different companies hoping for endorsements. He doesn’t really do those but he keeps the boxes anyway and most nights the two of you pick out one to try. He reads through the ingredients while you wait for the prescribed fifteen minutes to pass: pumpkin extract, baobab oil, a white flower extract.

“Which white flower?” Harry asks, looking up at you. 

His mask is wrinkled between his brows where he’s frowning and you reach up to smooth it out again, your hands coming away sticky. You wipe them on his sweatpants, which just makes him frown again. “Dunno,” you say, “but it must be a pretty powerful flower if it—” you snatch the packet out of his hand “—de-puffs, hydrates, and brightens our skin.” You scan the printed text for a moment. “I think this one’s supposed to be used in the morning.”

“Oh, fuck. The moon’s out. Was this all for nothing?”

After peeling off the masks carefully in the bathroom, you coo over each other’s soft skin ridiculously and move back into the living room for the next unspoken event of your night. Harry is borderline religious about meditating, somehow possessing the discipline to do it for twenty minutes day and night. You aren’t like him, but sometimes you join in. It is good for you, after all.

The two of you sit on the carpet, legs crossed and backs straight, side by side and within arms reach. The itch to reach out and touch him or lean over to put your head on his shoulder is strong, but you know it annoys him when you do that. He is so serious about it — “It doesn’t work if you keep poking me, the point is to be completely focused” — and even if you’ve never reached his fanaticism about the practise, you respect it so you keep your distance. Two minutes in, though, you’re starting to get bored. He can meditate for ages: twenty minutes is his standard, and you simply don’t have it in you to sit still for that long. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, you uncross your legs and stand up, padding across the soft carpet into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

When the soft alarm he’s set on his phone rings and brings him back to reality, he blinks open his eyes to see you in front of him, holding two steaming mugs. It’s the tea he buys especially to have before bed, something a friend recommended to relax him. You aren’t sure if it really does anything, but it tastes good so you always have a cup too. When you think about it, you do almost always have a good sleep the nights that you drink it. Those nights are the ones you’re sleeping with Harry, though, so maybe it isn’t the tea. You set the mugs on the table nearby. 

“Thank you, love,” he says softly. He reaches to take hold of your hand and then suddenly drags you down to the floor, a tangle of limbs as you collapse on top of him. 

You giggle and then shriek as his fingers find the ticklish spot along your ribs. “Harry! Get off!”

His attack ceases very quickly when you accidentally elbow him in the stomach in your attempts to escape.

“Sorry, H.”

“’S alright. Probably deserved it.”

“You did.”

But he’s mostly quiet in the evenings — doesn’t like to talk too much as he decompresses from the busy-ness of his days, so he shows his affection more through his actions. As the two of you sip your tea (still on the floor, because with the plushy carpet he has it’s just as comfortable down here as on the couch) he reaches out to drum his fingers over your knee while he tries to remember all the things he needs to do tomorrow. He’s always written himself to-do lists and he got you hooked on them too. You were sceptical at first, but they do make life easier. The little thrill of ticking off boxes in your black notebook with your initials monogrammed on the bottom right corner (Harry’s gift) is a bonus. He’s less driven by those superficial rewards, so he chooses to keep his on his laptop, which is rose gold. His hand leaves you only to type the next line of his to-do list, then he’s back to tracing patterns over the fabric of your borrowed sweatpants. He emails the list to himself when he’s finished. You’ve always found that funny, and you tease him for being grandpa-ish, but it’s just another one of his eccentricities that makes him more endearing.

You probably wear his clothes just as much as you wear your own. He loves seeing you in his stuff. He’s practically throwing t-shirts at you as soon as you walk into the house. He’ll take your stuff, too, sometimes. Dating Harry comes with an unspoken agreement to merge your wardrobes. There are a couple of pieces — a hoodie or two, sweatpants that are too big for either of you, a pair of extremely fluffy socks — that have been passed between you for so long that you can barely remember who owned them first. The sweatpants you’re wearing right now (paired with just a sports bra) are his. The old band tee he has on is yours.

He carries the empty mugs back to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher while you finish the last of your planning. There’s no discussion around it, just like no one asked you to make the tea in the first place. The two of you just now how to work together now, with all the times you’ve practised this routine. Sometimes it’s him who makes the tea, sometimes you finish your list first, but you never really have to talk. Harry usually picks out an album to play in the background over these moments, and that’s the only thing you need to listen to. It’s good. It makes you feel more connected to him, like you understand each other on a deeper level than just being able to talk.  You know Harry like the back of your hand. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. It’s a quiet kind of euphoria, to love and be loved back. You don’t need the fanfares and the grandiose displays. You just need each other.

Later, you pull faces at each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth, bumping hips as you giggle around your toothbrushes. He’s finished in the bathroom before you are, so he lies in bed  in just his boxers and watches you through the open doorway while you do your last couple of skincare and hair rituals. Satisfied, you switch the bathroom light off and enter the bedroom that you share, decorated with framed artworks you both chose, a bedspread that you picked out together. You quickly change into just a long loose shirt, then collapse into bed with him and crawl under the covers, his greedy arms pulling you to nestle into his side while he presses a kiss to your forehead. He likes to read before he sleeps, but you aren’t in the mood for that. You shuffle down until your head is at his chest and you throw your arm and leg over him, letting him rest his paperback against your bare thigh while he reads with you wrapped around him.

After a couple of minutes of just the sound of pages turning and your soft breaths, you start to sponge kisses over his bare chest. He ignores you at first, but you hear his breathing stutter as you move up to his collarbone.

“Let me just finish this chapter,” he murmurs. “Just a couple pages left.” His eyes don’t leave the page, but he gropes around until he finds your hand and brings your fingers to his mouth, kissing them before he lets your intertwined hands drop.

You don’t reply. You pull your hand out of his loose grasp and run your fingertips up the subtly defined lines of his abs, softened by the way he’s sitting. You trace the wings of the butterfly tattooed over his stomach, then draw a constellation between his four nipples — he chuckles and pulls your hand away, holding it tighter this time.

“Baby,” he says, a little firmer this time.

You kiss his shoulder again.

He sighs, closing the book (he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the page until it’s fully closed and you almost feel bad for distracting him until —

He throws the book on the nightstand and reaches over your body to plant his hand on the mattress, pushing himself up so he’s hovering above you. “You’re a pest,” he says, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours. 

You giggle and bite your lip, wrapping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer to you. “Kiss me?”

He obliges, pressing his lips against yours. “That all you wanted?” His tone is slightly teasing. He’s always liked to see you squirm.

You shake your head, wrapping your other leg around him. You can feel the bulge underneath his boxers against your crotch and it sets a fire in your core. You thread a hand into his hair and pull him down to kiss him again, less chastely this time. You roll your hips against him, just slightly, and smile against his kiss when you feel him twitch.

He breaks away from the kiss and smears his lips over your cheekbone to your ear. “Tell me, angel, tell me what you want you want and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers.

You barely contain a whimper at how deep his voice has gotten. “Fuck me,” you say, gasping as he starts to place hot openmouthed kisses down your neck. When you first slept together, you were too embarrassed to ask him so openly. You don’t get embarrassed around him anymore. “Harry, please fuck me.”

He pulls back suddenly, smiling down at you. “See? All you had to do was ask nicely.”

“Harry!”

He’s laughing as he pulls his boxers down to free his cock, but his giggles fade into a low moan as he takes hold of himself and strokes a couple times. “Ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes into you with one fluid motion, making your eyes roll back. He fills you so perfectly. Every single time he’s in you is better than the last, it never gets old — there’s no feeling that’s as good as how he feels. Sometimes it’s explosive, sometimes he’s brutal in how he fucks you, or passionate and needy, or the both of you get caught up in the roles you make up to play, but you treasure the times like this. The times where he’s on top of you, face-to-face, alternating between kisses and whispers and little giggles — this is where you feel the most love for Harry.

He takes his time, in no hurry to end this moment. The pace he sets is slow but he reaches deep into you on each thrust, his breath coming out increasingly ragged every time he buries himself to the hilt. You have your hands in his hair and splayed across his back — he has one clutching the pillow beside your head to hold himself up, the other roaming over your chest. It’s like he can’t decide what he wants to do with his mouth: he’ll kiss your lips, then along your jaw, down your neck, then back up to your ear where he whispers all the sweet little nothings he can think of.

“So pretty, baby, love you so much, taking me so well, always my good girl, my best girl, my girl, always feel so good…” He chants it like a prayer, his words taking on a firmer tone each time he thrusts in, starting to pick up the pace a bit. “Touch yourself for me, darling, want to see you cum underneath me.”

You moan and reach down between your legs, rubbing little circles around your clit while he starts to fuck you at a faster pace. “Feels so good, Harry,” you say, your words choked slightly by the intensity of what you’re feeling right now.

“I know it does,” he replies, kissing you again, swallowing your moans. That edge of cockiness, the way he knows how to take care of you, when you just need his mouth on you and he can’t keep off you — you love all these little traits. You love him. And he loves you. That’s maybe the feeling to triumph over all the others.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you chant, the hand on his back digging fingernail marks into his skin as the warm feeling in your core rises, threatening to explode.

He thrusts into you faster, his rhythm growing slightly sloppy. “Yeah? Let go for me, baby, let go, I’m right behind you.”

You cum, legs shaking around him and brows pinched as you stare up at him, while he watches you cum undone with an intensity behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. You say his name, over and over, trying to put all you want to say into just that one word. You hope it’s enough. You think it is. He gets you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, words cut off by a pant, as you feel the aftershocks of your own orgasm and the growing over-sensitivity. “You feel so good, baby, gonna cum so hard…”

You feel him spill into you as he cries out, his body collapsing over yours so his entire body is pressed against yours. You thread your fingers through his hair until he starts to come down from his high and rolls off you, his cock slipping out and you hiss at the slight friction.

“God…” he murmurs into the air. “That was so good.”

You giggle, twisting around and propping your head up with your hand so you can look down at him. “You say that every time.”

“It’s good every fucking time,” he says, a smile spreading across his face.

You poke his dimple and he tries to catch your finger with his mouth, biting the air playfully, but you pull it away. “You’re such a weirdo.”

He pouts for a second, but then his features soften. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You drop your head back down to the pillow, watching him stretch his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp. After a couple of swats at the switch, he finally manages it, and brings the same arm back over to drape over your body. It’s totally dark now. “Love you so much,” he tells you, kisses your forehead.

“Love you more. Goodnight, H. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, angel. Sleep well.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

hope you enjoyed -- let me know if u did, i like reading ur replies/tags !! i rlly loved writing this fic, it’s just so domestic and sweet and happy. the meditating and the to-do list (including the emailing !! ) is from the real harry. 

btw !! my ask box is open for requests & general chatter, so come say hi :D

[itsbeaconhillsbaby]

twenty-five and over || tom holland x reader

a/n: what is my work if not slightly belated! happy birthday tom, here’s a little something for you all to celebrate. I am trying to get round to reading and sharing some of the fics that I really love, try to create more love between creators and their work - hit me up with some of your favourite tom writers who I should check out! would love to hear from you! as always, stay safe and big love to you all xo 

word count: 1213 warnings: fluff fluff fluff unless you’re also having a quarter life crisis then this could be triggering (but all very playful) summary: your boyfriend, Tom, is stressed at the very idea of turning 25 and what this next stage of life means

“I’m old.”

You looked up blearily from the kitchen island where you were leaning, scrolling on your phone. It was early morning and you were still half asleep, the surprising warmth of the UK weather having kept you up all night.

“Tom, you’re not old.”

“I’m old.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am. Y’know they didn’t even ID me last night...I always get ID’d.” He mumbled into the couch cushions.

“You hate it when they ID you! Plus, you always forget your ID anyway.”

Your boyfriend was lying on his front, sprawled out on the sofa. His curly hair only just visible in amongst the cushions.

“That’s not the point, it’s the principle of it!” You could hear the deep sigh coming from the couch and put a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. He’d been at this for the past 20 minutes or so.

“Y’know I now have to tick the ‘twenty-five and over’ box when I sign up to things? Like as if I didn’t feel bad about it already, now I get regular reminders?!”

“I mean, on the bright side...at least you’re not the ‘over’ just yet - because then we really would have a problem.”

You swiftly dodge a rogue cushion that was thrown in your direction, and watch as it hit the fridge before falling to the floor with a light thud.

“So what? You agree? You think I’m old too!”

He lifted his head briefly to scowl at you, before planting it face down into the cushions again.

You abandoned your phone on the counter, padding across the wooden floors in your socks and one of Tom’s oversized t-shirts. You kneel on the rug in front of the sofa and rest your chin on the edge.

“Oi, movie star.”

You talk softly, knowing that Tom was sporting a killer headache, his hangover being the very thing that had started this whole conversation.

He moved his head to the side to look at you, pouting.

“What?”

You reached out a hand, tangling your fingers through his soft brown curls placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“You’re being silly. You’re not old. But you are the birthday boy, who I might add, is in very high demand today.”

He sighs again, shifting around to lie on his back.

“Can’t I just stay with you?” He drawled out dramatically.

You laugh, as he moved up giving you space to sit on the edge of the sofa. You shake your head, hair falling out of the messy bun you’d put it in last night.

“Nope. You’ve gotta visit your parents before they leave for Scotland, plus Paddy will want to see you. And then you have golf booked with the boys. You love golf.”

“I don’t want to go. I’ll cancel and rearrange.”

He slid his arms around your torso, squeezing him into your side as he pulled you down to him. You laughed. You adored this side of Tom. He wasn’t so willing to show it off publicly, keeping your relationship away from prying eyes as much as possible but in private he was a massive soft touch, constantly craving affection and attention from you.

“No you won’t, you’ll love it when you’re there. You just have to survive without me until three.”

He mumbled his reluctant acceptance into your hair, his nose sliding down the side of your face as he nestled into you. Delicate kisses littered your eyebrow, then your cheek until he made it to your mouth.

“What was that for?”

“Because it’s my birthday, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You take a moment to just lie there, tangled together. You let yourself enjoy the clenched sun kissed muscles that were wrapped around you, as soft warm breaths exhaled against your cheek. If it were possible to stay like this all day you would. The curtains billowed in the tiny breeze that blew in, the large bay windows glistening with fragments of golden sunlight as the world slowly woke up.

You kept a hand playing with a coiled lock of his hair, twisting it through your fingers, watching Tom’s eyelashes flutter with sleep.

“C’mon Tom, before you fall asleep on me.”

You placed your own kisses on either side of his temples, then his forehead and along his slightly crooked nosed before regretfully sliding yourself out from his embrace.

He groaned at the loss of you. He covered his eyes with one arm, blocking out the bright sun and held the other out to you.

“I’m old, remember? Help me up?”

You laughed.

“Nice try hot shot, up you get.”

Closing his eyes and giving a deep sigh, he rolled dramatically off the sofa and to his feet.

“See,” you said cheerily, “an old person wouldn’t be able to do that as gracefully as you just did. And with a hangover too!”

You heard him mumbling to himself as he shuffled his way through the apartment, bedroom door shutting with a thud behind him.

////

“ - happy birthday dear Tom, happy birthday to you.”

You sung sweetly, placing the homemade cake with purple frosting on the table in front of Tom. He grinned up at you, tapping his knee and threading his fingers between yours as he pulled you into his lap.

“When did you make this?!”

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, counting out the 25 flickering candles and admiring your handiwork as he traced patterns on your bare thigh. You’d just been for a romantic birthday dinner at one of Tom’s favourite Japanese restaurants in the city before coming back to yours for dessert.

You’d spent your afternoon manning your work phone whilst simultaneously baking a surprise birthday cake for Tom, piping out the happy birthday message in swirly blue icing.

“I love it. Thank you.” Tom went to blow out his candles when you quickly interrupted.

“Wait! You gotta make a wish.”

“What?”

“You have to close your eyes and make a wish.”

You watch as he closes his eyes, pauses for a couple moments and then leans forwards slightly, tightening his hands around your waist.

Opening his eyes, he blew out the candles, each one dancing above the melting wax before disappearing with an exhale.

“Do you wanna know what I wished for?”

He caresses your cheek with his hand, brushing a thumb across the light pink blush dancing across your cheekbones.

“If you tell me it won’t come true. How about I share something with you instead?

He gently tucked your hair behind your ear, tilting his head and brought his ear to your lips so you could whisper into it. Your eyes connected with each other instantly, stares intense.

“Oh really?” He questions, as your blush deepens.

Before you had a chance to realise what was happening, Tom stood up from the chair, scooping you up bridal-style as you clung to his shoulders and neck. You let out a slight squeal at the sudden movement before letting out peals of laughter.

“Where are we going exactly?” You ask, running a finger over some of the perfect buttery frosting, dolloping a smidge onto the end of his nose.

Nudging doors open with his hip, still cradling you to his chest, he made his way over to the bedroom, lightly depositing you into the middle of the king sized mattress.

“I’m going to show you what 25 really looks like.”

[ghoste-catte]

I was curious what advice would you give to someone new to writing fics? I've been wanting to get back into it but haven't seriously written something since high school. I hope this isn't an annoying question or anything!

Not an annoying question at all! I'm just a little worried that I won't have terribly good or useful advice. To be honest, I also sort of stopped writing in earnest right as I finished high school, and didn't pick it back up until my late 20s. It's certainly an adjustment! But I think the few things that really helped me get back into writing fic as a hobby and something I spend quite a bit of time on would be:

Write for yourself first, then find your other motivations. My original inspiration in getting back into fic writing was that there just were not that many fics I liked for my favorite pairing, and I wanted more of them, and I especially wanted more with the tropes and characterizations I wanted to see. I think at the very core of anything you need that internal spark that drives you. At the same time, for me at least, if I just relied on my own drive, I would not get much done; I need some external guardrails. So having people send prompts, or writing for particular events, or writing stuff for friends really helps me to get my ass in gear and finish stuff. That may not be the perfect motivator for you, and that's fine! You just gotta figure out what is.

Be open to inspiration. Anything and everything can be spun out into a story with the right tweaking. Obviously stuff like music is a classic inspiration source, but I've also pulled ideas from poetry, from memes, from Reddit threads, from YouTube videos, from rambling conversations on Discord and from real life to make fics out of. So many times, someone will post a silly Twitter screencap, and I'll think, There's a fic in this. And a lot of the time, there is! Research is a wonderful thing, but so is serendipity. If you're out there actively looking for ideas, eventually one that you like will stumble past you.

Find your community. I can genuinely say I never would have finished more than one fic if I didn't have fandom friends to talk to about even stupid headcanons, to bounce ideas off of, and to encourage me (and to encourage them in turn!). Discord has been a godsend, and some of my closest online friends are people I met in the GaaLee discord server. As I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've also joined general writing servers and Reddit communities and have found them immensely helpful on both a motivational level (bingos, sprints, owe-me challenges) and on a craft level (plot workshopping and writing ethics and live grammar help). It's a lot easier to think about fic ideas and hash through problem moments when I have a constant stream of fandom-related chatter coming from the little people who live in my phone! Ao3 is an amazing website, and it's great as, well, an archive, but it isn't social media by design. If you want conversation and human connection and cheerleading, you've gotta forge out and find it.

Make it a habit ... If you want to produce anything longer than a couple hundred words, you really have to set aside time for it. And writing is just like knitting or dirt biking or painting little model figurines: the more you do it, the more easily it comes. When I was first getting back into the proper swing of things, I committed myself to 30 minutes of writing per week. Just 30 minutes. I didn't even hit that goal every week, but there were tons of weeks I got on a roll and went over that amount, and by the end of the year I'd written over 200,000 words. I used to spend an hour laboriously tip-tapping out 200 words, but now I can easily blow through 1k in a 50 minute sprint. It's all about training that muscle.

... But don't make it a chore. With fanfic, you aren't doing this as a job, and you aren't ultimately doing it for anyone other than you. That means you can take breaks when you need them, you can set deadlines and then fail to meet them, you can write stuff and then decide to never post it. When you start getting burnt out, when the practice loses the joy and energy, stop. There's no 'hustle' here. In our capitalist society we're so trained to push past our limits and keep going even when it hurts us, but the hobby you do for connection and relaxation and whatever else shouldn't be like that.

Ignore metrics. Sometimes stuff isn't gonna get hits, or kudos, or comments. There are some basic 'rules' as to the stuff that does and doesn't get traction, but every time you post something it's a roll of the dice. If you're focused on watching that kudos counter tick up, you will get bummed out fast. And any writer will tell you that the stuff you think is your best work will never be the stuff that gets the most accolades. So you have to find something else to give you a sense of success. For me, it's watching my wordcount go up in my stats and those occasional comments where someone has a lot to say and that one person who always leaves me a <3 emoji (and, shout out to @egregiousderp, having someone to have long one-on-one conversations with about the stuff that never made it to page).

Don't strive for perfection. It's really easy to want your first ever fic to be a complete showstopper, the best fic fandom has ever seen, hitting all the tropes and the ideas and the characterization that you just know fandom is missing and would be everyone's top favorite if only it was written. This is a trap. No one fic can be all things. Most people who want to write an epic as their very first venture will not see the end of that epic, because they haven't put in the practice hours to make something on that scale work. That's not to say you can't start out with a big, sprawling multichap, just don't expect it to be the greatest thing since sliced bread if you're just starting out, and be okay with abandoning it for greener pastures if you get to that point. Think of the first time someone makes a vase out of clay or bakes a loaf of bread. That's never their best vase or their best bread. If they keep up with it, they'll make more and better vases and loaves. Likewise, your first fic is probably not gonna be your best fic. See it for what it is: your launchpad.

You can't edit an empty page, but you can over-edit a full one. This kind of spins off of #7, but if the words aren't there, you can't fix them. Daydreams and headcanons are fantastic (and god, how many times have I wished for a speech-to-text engine that projected my falling asleep thoughts onto a Google doc for later perusal), but they aren't fic. If you want to write fic, you've gotta get comfortable with the idea of sloppy outlines and rough first drafts. You can't build a house without a frame and you can't build a man without a skeleton (I mean, you can, I guess, but he'd be one floppy man). The nice thing about fic is that it doesn't matter if that frame is structurally unsound or the skeleton has 18 too many bones, you can clean that up in the editing process. But you can't start hanging curtains and arranging furniture in something that doesn't even have walls. That's the process. But! Also know when to set down the editor's pen and say, "Okay, this is good enough for government work", and call it done. ("Done" doesn't have to mean "posted", but it does mean, "I'm done picking at this for now, and I'm gonna go write some more stuff".) Over-editing can make stuff seem laborious and forced, and it prevents you from actually improving. To continue belaboring the house metaphor, you can spend your whole life rearranging furniture in just one room, but the end result of that is a pretty narrow existence and a room with a lot of footprints and tracks in the carpet.

Write shit down. When you have ideas, jot them down--in a notebook, in a Google Doc, in the Notes app of your phone, in pen on the back of your hand. You think you will remember that brilliant line of dialogue or sparkling snippet of narration or genius plot that came to you in a dream, but you Will Not. Write it down. Write it down. Write it down! There have been so many times when a fic was completely saved by past!me having written down my shower thoughts about what happens next in the fic, that present!me had completely forgotten about and was floundering over.

Have fun with it! Try different stuff. Try stupid stuff. Try experimental stuff. Do stuff you've never done before that you aren't sure will work. It's important to get comfortable with your niche (for example, I know I'm never going to be the sort of person who writes intricate plots of intrigue or super long 100k epics or detailed battles), but you can't find that niche unless you explore lots of different niches! Figure out what you love and what you absolutely hate, and then keep doing the stuff you love.

Okay, so that was actually TEN things, but ... I hope you still found this helpful. Feel free to send another ask if any of this was confusing or unclear. Good luck with your fic writing and, if you want, send me a link to what you've written once you've written it! I'd love to read it.

[ahatintimepieces]

In Want of Stitching

I am delighted to present another little fic for the build-a-bear au by @smieska-draws​‘ and me! Smieska generously offered to let me post her incredible art above^ with this fic where Hattie is reunited with her favorite doll from her childhood! The doll is worse for wear, but Hattie knows just how to help! Be sure to give Smieska your love, and if you missed it, the previous fic is here. Without further ado, enjoy!

Words: 4,180

Hattie kicked her legs as she perched on the table in the breakroom. One hand was propped back, nestled between Dimitri’s bag and her backpack, and the other held her dwindling milkshake left over from dinner. While she waited for her dad to finish up with the last customer before closing, she watched Dimitri fuss with the supplies on the shelves.

He struggled to pull out one of the drawers and the sharp jostle of the handle caused the whole structure to shift. He froze and Hattie’s eyes widened as they waited to see if the cleaning items up top would tumble. While the bottles wobbled like a spinning toy wavering to a stop, they stilled without any avalanche and Dimitri and Hattie relaxed.

“I’m just going to deal with that in the morning,” Dimitri huffed, turning around. “Don’t tell your dad.”

Hattie gave him a thumbs up as she reached the dredges of her milkshake and the straw gurgled as it sucked air between the last of the frosty cream. While he crossed over to the rack of aprons, her gaze drifted down to the floor. The off-kilter shelf had shifted away from the wall, revealing a large dust bunny.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to get a better look at the mound of grey that seemed to cover something else.

“See ya tomorrow, kid?” Dimitri prompted, snapping his name tag against the magnet on the wall.

“Probably!” She lifted her chin.

“Boss says a daycare center has scheduled a trip to the mall, so we might be busy,” he sighed, reaching for his bag. She scooted out of his way and nodded.

“That could be fun. But also noisy,” she offered, glancing up as she mentally noted to warn Belle, Mu, and Timmy that they needed to avoid the food court for lunch. Maybe hide in the café connected to the bookstore.

“Noisy is right.” Dimitri swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Will Dad have to work on the floor?” She lowered her empty milkshake.

“I imagine so,” he paused on his way to the door. When she placed the cup down and blew a raspberry as she slouched, he prompted, “why?”

“It just means I have to keep Mu and Timmy away. They’re trying to prove he’s magic and can blow things up with his mind.” Scowling, she swung her legs a little too hard and the table creaked underneath her.

“Is that why they asked him to heat up their—”

“Lunch?” She crinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

Dimitri sucked in air before bursting into laughter.

“They looked so mad when he used the microwave!” he wheezed, gesturing to the other table with the offending appliance. “Mu’s stink eye nearly killed me!”

“It’s dumb,” Hattie grumbled.

Catching her frustration, Dimitri reeled in his laughter and cleared his throat.

“There’s no harm in it,” he tried. “The boss can be a bit eccentric, and it can be fun to pretend, but I’m sure even Mu and Timmy know he’s not actually able to light things on fire or…” he paused, giving her a curious look, “steal souls.”

“They sure act like he does.” She turned away, cupping her chin in her hands.

“Have you told them it bothers you when they fixate on it?” Dimitri asked sympathetically.

“Yeah, and they ignore it because they think he actually does all of those things.” Her glare hardened.

“You could talk to the boss?”

“I don’t want him to know about the rumors.” After a beat, she looked up to meet Dimitri’s blank expression. “What?”

“He knows,” he said dryly. Her jaw dropped and he softened. “Listen, you might want to just talk with him about the whole Snatcher myth if it’s getting under your skin, but it’s not harming anyone. I think it also gets the store more foot traffic from teens, which isn’t usually our intended demographic. So, in a way, it even helps!”

Hattie groaned, flopping onto her backpack and staring at the ceiling.

“Hang in there, kid.” His shoes tapped against the tile as he walked towards the door. “But just talk to him. See you!”

“Night, Dimitri.” She gave a halfhearted wave as he left. Once the door shut, she fixated on the faint buzz of the lights in the breakroom.

Seconds ticked by.

She heaved herself up, bored with staring blankly and too tired to stew in her frustration any longer. After scooting to the edge of the table, she dropped down with her flipflops slapping against the ground. She intended to toss the milkshake cup and pester her dad while he closed the workshop, but her gaze shifted back towards the shelves. The oddly large dust bunny piqued her curiosity once more and she crossed over.

Crouching down, she prodded the clump of hairs and silver dust. A dead fly was caught in the webbing and bits of dirt or crumbs were suspended on the hairs. But when she pressed down, a firm something lay between her and the tile.

Shifting, she pressed her cheek against the wall and peered into the crack between it and the shelf. Behind the dust bunny lay a small doll, crushed and crumpled.

After a precursory check for spiders, she reached back and pinched one of the doll’s puffy sleeves. The dust bunny tickled her finger, and she crinkled her nose in disgust. As soon as the doll was pulled out into the open, she batted the wad of grey from its mitten hand, and the cloud of minuscule debris floated harmlessly to the ground. She gasped when she held the doll out in the light.

Beneath the grey streaks of grime, a missing button eye, the torn right arm, and a left hand hanging by a single thread, was the prince doll that she had loved so dearly when she was younger. Her heart soared, but the doll’s state soon had guilt souring her joy.

It had been ages. The last time she saw the doll, he had been a bit worn, but still intact. She had been near inconsolable when she lost him. Her dad promised to get her a new, better doll, but she loved the prince doll because of all the memories they shared. Despite all her searching and tears back then, her dad urged her to move on as the doll had continued to elude her. And no wonder! All this time, the doll had been in the breakroom rather than home. He must have somehow fallen behind the shelf at the workshop when she had been playing, only to be shoved deeper and deeper into the dark over the years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, frowning at the frayed threads where a button used to be. When she poked the remaining button, it wobbled, threatening to soon snap away as well. She brushed back the yarn hair, covered in dust that caused the chestnut hue to appear murky. The felt crown looked more brown than yellow, and ashen stuffing dripped from the doll’s arm and broken wrist.

But… it was still her favorite doll. Though it had been years, relief surged through her chest.

“I’ll clean you up!” she promised to herself, gently giving the dusty, dilapidated doll a soft hug.

She knew how to sew, at least! And she had the materials at home. She could even surprise her dad! He always reacted positively when she showed him the hats or masks she made.

Scrambling to her feet, she carried the doll over to the table. She grabbed a couple of tissues to wrap him up, both hoping to keep him protected and intact and to prevent the dust from spreading in her backpack. She was just tucking him safely into her bag, nestled between new fabric she got from her millinery lessons earlier and a graphic novel that Timmy recommended, when the door thrust open.

She turned, noting her dad’s slouched posture as he removed his apron, which was common on days he had to both open and close the workshop. Holding his hand over his mouth, he tried to cover a wide yawn, but his sharp fangs still glinted in the light.

“Time to go?” Hattie prompted while zipping up her backpack.

“Finally, yes.” He paused, glancing towards the shelves. “Did Dimitri refill the sewing kits?”

She shrugged in Dimitri-solidarity when her dad turned back around. He accepted it without further prodding and tossed his apron onto a hook.

Hattie slipped on her backpack gently to keep from jostling the doll as her dad pulled out his hair tie and scratched at his scalp. He grabbed his keys and waited for Hattie to shuffle over.

Once he finished locking up and took her hand to lead her through the dark parking lot, she mentally went through the list of supplies she needed to fix up the prince doll. Neither she nor her dad said a word as their footsteps tapped against the still warm gravel. But that was normal for them. Her dad didn’t usually have much to say unless otherwise prompted by people or work, especially when he was tired. So, she continued her quiet pondering all the way home, staring blankly at the streetlights as the radio played family-friendly tunes at a hushed volume.

As soon as they got home, Hattie dashed into her room. She swept her arm across her workbench to clear away the new beret she was making and placed her top hat on the hat display stand her teacher had given her. Since she only had one, it was her favorite top hat that got the place of honor. Then, she dropped her backpack onto the ground and retrieved the prince doll.

He lay on the tissues that were now smeared with grey. Even just folding back the material caused Hattie to swiftly turn away and sneeze, jostling him as he perched on her palm. She’d need to clean the doll, but the open cuts in his arms worried her. After prodding around, she decided it might be better to pluck out the dusty stuffing, since his arms were closed off from his main body anyway. The loose button, too, she thought to remove to ensure easier cleaning.

She got to work, walking back and forth between her room and the bathroom as she ferried supplies. If her dad wondered what she was up to, he didn’t comment as he settled down in the living room to quietly read.

Setting up a doll bath in the sink by lowering the plug, she submerged the doll into the water with iridescent bubbles lining the porcelain. His one arm threatened to come off and his other hand floated at an odd angle. Undaunted, Hattie stuck out her tongue as she scrubbed the dust and cobwebs from his hair. The felt crown popped off at one point, and while she rescued it, the original gilded color seemed beyond saving so she decided to replace it. But she kept the crown nearby so that she could copy the size and shape.

Once the years of neglect were scrubbed away, Hattie drained the sink and rinsed the soap suds from the doll. The chest felt heavy with the water, even more than the lolling head. But hopefully the doll would dry just fine.

While wringing out the water, she tried to squeeze the doll gently, intent on preserving the fragile threads. Finally, she laid him out on a towel and used another to dab up as much water as she could. Wondering if she could borrow her dad’s hairdryer to speed up the process, she hurried into the living room.

“Da-ad,” she called as she padded onto the carpet. “Where’s your hairdryer?”

“Under the sink in my bathroom. Why?” He turned the page of his novel without looking up.

“It’s a surprise.” Arcing around the table, she peeked at the title. She recognized it as Ember’s latest recommendation from her book club. Curious, she slipped over to the armrest where he reclined. She leaned over his shoulder and identified Ember’s annotations that lined the margins in pencil, confirming that she had loved it enough to lend him the book.

“Should I be worried about this surprise?” he asked, unbothered by her hovering.

“Nope!” she chirped cheerfully as she jumped back to face him.

“Carry on, then,” he muttered, his golden eyes flittering back and forth as he read.

The amber light from the lamp behind him skipped across the strands of his hair, painting the coal-colored locks with flickers of iridescent violets. With his cheek pressed into his palm and his elbow on the armrest, his gaze momentarily flickered away from the book as he used his pinky finger to turn to the next page.

“Need something else, kiddo?”

Instead of answering right away, she hopped onto the couch and crawled onto his chest. He held still as she flopped onto her back, staring up at the book.

“Is the story good?” she prompted.

“It’s crafted well.”

“But are you enjoying it?” She tilted her head back into his shoulder. He kept his eyes ahead.

“Not really.” He sounded calm as he said it.

“But you don’t hate it?” she clarified.

“No.” He turned the page.

She sighed, not expecting anything different.

Usually, it didn’t matter. But she didn’t want the same reaction if she asked how he felt about the rumors of the Snatcher. She knew Dimitri thought she needed to talk to him about it but…

“What would you do if you had magic powers?” she asked instead.

“What?” That got him to look down. He quirked a brow and she shrugged.

“If I had magic powers, I would make my top hat like a bag of holding. I could carry all my stuff everywhere and be prepared for anything.”

“Oh.” He relaxed and lifted his gaze back to his novel.

“So, what would you do?” she repeated.

“Hm?”

“What would you do with magic?”

He hummed, lifting his head and reaching over to help steady the book as he turned the page. Once he settled back, he shrugged.

“I’d use it to heat up my coffee.”

For a split second, she wondered if he was also privy to Timmy’s and Mu’s speculations.

“That’s boring.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m a boring person,” he provided.

She grumbled and he continued to read. Scooting closer to his arm holding the book, she wedged herself into the crook formed by him and the back of the couch. He shifted slightly, but otherwise let her get comfortable. She curled up so that the side of her head pressed against his chest.

There was a muffled crackling sound, like crinkled paper.

“Hey Dad, do you know about the Snatcher?” She tensed.

“You mean what everyone calls me at work?” He managed a snort. “Or do you mean all that talk of soul-stealing?”

She snapped her head up, baffled.

“Y-you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He met her gaze, though from the way his palm squished his cheek and he leaned back, he seemed far from interested.

“Because it’s not true!” She gestured wildly. “Isn’t that something your dumb books talk about? Unfair deformation of character.”

“I think you mean defamation,” he corrected with a sly grin.

“That too!” she insisted.

“It gets us more customers and makes my job more interesting. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.” He started to tear his gaze away, “But speaking of my dumb books—”

“But you don’t snatch souls or eat them!” She sat up, knocking his book back. He huffed as he lowered his arm. She perched on his stomach. “People are scared of you!”

“There are worst things,” he said in a lackadaisical tone. Since he couldn’t read, he swiveled his head in his chin to look out at the living room. He tapped his sharp nails against his cheek pensively.

“But Dad—”

“Hattie, it doesn’t bother me,” he interrupted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t you have something you were in the middle of? The whole Snatcher thing doesn’t matter. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line to keep from pouting.

“But why doesn’t it bother you?” she tried once more after a moment.

“Kid, that’s enough.” He wiggled his arm trapped behind her back to coax her off. “Go run along.” He suddenly sucked in a breath and covered a noisy yawn. The creases under his eyes deepened as the shadows stretched away from the light.

Hattie deflated.

“Fine,” she grumbled, scooting forward.

He grunted when she leapt off his stomach, but his focus returned to reading without another comment.

Hattie retrieved his hairdryer and returned to her bathroom, where the prince doll remained drenched. She turned the setting to no heat and plugged it in. While the drone of the hairdryer filled the bathroom, she zoned out.

All this time, she had been trying to shelter her dad from the rumors but apparently, she was the only one who cared that people thought he could suck souls out with his fangs like some sort of vampire who loved to sunbathe and didn’t mind garlic.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered under the whirling hairdryer. She glared down at the faceless prince doll. His mitten hand fluttered precariously while the gash in his bicep caught air and caused his arm to fluff up like it had stuffing again.

Her features softened as she carefully tilted the dryer back and forth.

She would rather her dad wasn’t upset by the rumors, which is why she waited so long to say anything, but somehow it felt lonelier than ever when she was the only one who cared.

With a slight slouch, she turned the dryer away and then carefully rolled the doll onto his stomach. She finished drying him out and placed him on a fresh towel while she cleaned up. And though she passed her dad as he returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug while she was on her way to the laundry room, he didn’t question her bundle of towels under his hairdryer.

Her step gained an enthusiastic bounce when she was finally ready to fix the doll. She carried him back to her workbench and gingerly set him down. For reference, she carefully pried the old storybook from her shelf and opened to the most crinkled set of pages, worn from love and constant rereads under her covers at night.

“Here it is, Prince!” She presented the first illustration of the kindly character with puffy sleeves greeting bluebirds, bunnies, and deer. She winced at the doll’s blank face. “Whoops. You can’t see. But don’t worry! I’ll fix that!”

She propped the book back against the worktable and used the beret and open sewing kit to pin it open. After she grabbed a handful of stuffing from her reserves in one of the drawers, found a button to match his eye, and sorted through the spools she’d need, she finally sat down.

Now that the doll was clean, his vibrant crimson coat and purple boots looked just like the illustration. But the blush on his cheeks had faded and one of the stitches meant to look like laces on his boots had frayed. With steady hands familiar with detail work from all her hat making, she looped thread through a sharp needle and got to work.

Fixing the boot and resewing the buttons was a bit tricky, but once the prince had his eyes again, his blank features regained the warmth she remembered. She stuck her tongue out as she restuffed his arms. At first, she wondered if she could add a little muscle definition but no matter how she finagled the lumps, she couldn’t get them to look right.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with noodles for arms,” she lamented dramatically, tugging out the extra fluff.

His large button eyes stared at the ceiling.

The final challenge was stitching his hand back on, and only because the mitten hand was so tiny. She struggled to keep it in place as she threaded the needle through his wrist. After having to backtrack and redo the area a couple times, she eventually got the hand snuggly back into place. The stitches lined his wrist, mostly concealed by the edges of his sleeve.

Then, she only needed to close the tear in his bicep and was able to hide the work under the gold band of his puffy shoulder. Once she placed the scissors down after snipping the final thread, she leaned back with an exhale. As she stretched out her back, she appraised her work.

“How do you feel?” she asked, cupping the prince doll and giving his arm and wrist a few squeezes. When she tapped his button eyes to ensure they remained firmly in place, she glanced up at the illustration to compare. She jolted.

“Your crown!” She whirled around, looking for the dull accessory that had popped off during the cleaning. Her head snapped down and she heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed it had fallen onto her carpet.

She grabbed the felt crown and procured a piece of scrap cloth leftover from the bright yellow beret she intended to give to her dad when it was finished. Snipping the dull crown to flatten it out, she traced its pattern on the scrap fabric. After she cut it out, she glued the edges together, careful to keep it seamless as she held the ends with tweezers.

“Perfect!” She held the new crown next to the prince’s head. She found a lump near the base of the yarn hair where the other crown had been glued previously and glued on the new crown its place. Once the glue had dried and the crown remained fastened to his head, Hattie beamed at her work.

“You look perfect!” She leapt to her feet, hugging the doll to her chest. “Let’s show you to Dad!” She darted over to the living room, shouts of excitement welling from her pride, but she skidded to a stop when she found him fast asleep on the couch.

She heaved out a sigh that dissolved into a blown raspberry.

Oh well.

Since even the book flopped open on his chest visibly quivered from his shivering, she crossed over to the wicker basket filled with throws and blankets and grabbed his favorite from the top. She dragged it over him with one hand, but when she reached the book with pages folding at odd angles, she looked from the blanket pinched in one hand and the prince doll cradled in the other.

“Watch him for me for a second,” she whispered to the prince, dropping the blanket and trading him for the book.

Her dad flinched in his sleep at the sudden shift, but she was too busy locating his bookmark on the coffee table to notice. After guessing where he left off, she placed the closed book next to his mug, which still had a puddle of coffee. She turned back around to find her dad twitching.

“Dad?” She reached out but recoiled at how much heat he radiated.

While his eyes remained squeezed shut, his chest jerked under the limp doll. Panicked panting gripped his restless slumber but before Hattie could try to wake him, he turned to his side, flinging the doll away as he twisted. Hattie bent to catch the prince as her dad’s breathing slowly returned to a calmer pace.

She placed the doll back on the table, fretting as she watched her dad’s tight brows relax. His long, spiky black hair tumbled over his sweaty features, but once his exhales fluttered out like a flickering ember, he began shivering again. Hattie crinkled her nose, holding the back of her hand to his forehead covered by hair and then to his clawed fingers.

Almost like ice.

Unsure whether she wanted to wake him after that, she tugged the blanket the rest of the way and watched him for a few seconds longer. He usually felt colder at night, often kindling the image of a campfire dwindling as those around it slept, but his sudden spike in temperature concerned her.

Was he getting sick?

A few more moments passed, and he remained steady. Hattie gnawed on her lip but decided not to worry. If she woke him up when nothing was wrong, he’d just get grumpy. She’d make sure to check on him later, though.

When grabbing the prince doll, she found it trembled in her palm. She tried to meter her own breathing to soothe herself, thinking her dad’s temperature spike had left her more shaken than she realized. She calmed enough to stop shivering after nestling the doll into the plush pile next to her pillow. But as she walked away to get ready for bed, she did not realize that the prince doll continued to tremble on his own.

Slowly, and like a heartbeat that just remembered its pulse.

[echoalyssa]

Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it. 

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead. 

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others. 

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her. 

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears. 

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

[buckyownsmylife]

‘till I get where you are - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky tries to convince you to run away with him.

Warnings: infidelity, reader is the cheater, Steve is the one being betrayed, smut

A/N: So this is the long awaited final part to graveyard. Per @navegandoaciegas​ suggestion, I just had to make our boy steal her away from Steve, even if it did hurt my heart a little bit. I considered writing an alternative version where she stays with Steve, but my muse wasn’t really feeling it - maybe some other time. Hope you guys like this one!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

It had been a weird couple of days ever since Steve caught Bucky and I in the kitchen. No matter how many times I prepared myself for this situation, I did not know what to do or say. But to my surprise, it seemed like the boys had it figured out perfectly.

And that resulted in Bucky immediately leaving me to deal with Steve and Steve pretending nothing had happened as he hoisted me up and took me to the bedroom, where he fucked me just like he did every time we had one of those sinful little sessions that initially began as his idea. 

I felt guilty, just like I had felt right when we first started this. Only back then I knew everything was happening under Steve’s gaze and Bucky only wanted me for my body - actually, I wasn’t even certain of that. I thought Bucky was doing this as a favor to his old pal, because there was no way in hell Bucky Barnes was attracted to me. I could barely believe one super soldier wanted me in his bed, now the other wanted it too?

But as time went on, it became obvious that was very much the case, until it wasn’t necessarily only that anymore. What started as a sexual connection slowly built up into much more, and I was conflicted, because of course I was.

I thought I loved Steve, but could I love him and betray his trust like that?

I managed to fall asleep every night by his side on a technicality. This was what he had asked me for, after all. If he wanted Bucky to fuck me whenever he wanted to, so he could be caught by surprise when he found us, he should have known there would be times when he wouldn’t find us.

The fact that Bucky looked for the times where Steve wasn’t around could not be attributed to my own doing, now could it? 

But I knew it was wrong. I just knew it. That burning acidic feeling of shame and regret bubbled inside my belly every time I had to look Steve in the eyes while his best friend’s cum still dripped from me. 

But he never asked me about it, now did he? He never told me that I should warn him about what Bucky and I did when he wasn’t around, when he didn’t manage to catch us. I could very well push through this, ignore my barrier of morality and pretend everything was fine, if it wasn’t for the fact that I knew my boyfriend like the palm of my hand. And I knew this was affecting him more than I ever feared it would.

For starters, he hadn’t asked Bucky to come over once since his last mission. Ever since we started this little arrangement, three days wouldn’t go by without his best friend being invited at least once into our shared bed.

He was insecure, I could see that. And I think Bucky saw it too. I recognized the guilty look in his eyes whenever we met in the common room for breakfast, because it wasn’t too different from the one I sported on myself.

But still, he restrained himself, abstaining from raising any issues or questioning what should very well be on the table. I knew why he didn’t, though. It was because he already knew the answer, just like I already knew what was going to happen, even if I wasn’t prepared to admit it to myself yet.

I’d warned him about this. When he first approached me with the idea, I wanted to be as open-minded as possible, especially since I cared a great deal for Steve and wanted him to be as sexually fulfilled in our relationship as I could make him. But I needed to let him know how my body and mind worked, and even back then I was well aware - and made sure that he was too - that I wasn’t able to simply sleep with someone without catching feelings for them.

It was only a matter of time, but both Steve and I tried to ignore the ticking clock, pushing through like I was able to only think about Bucky’s weight on top of me when Steve was looking us over, like I didn’t know what his cum tasted like and how heavy his cock felt in my mouth, making my mouth water every time my eyes met his in the gym, like I hadn’t begun to fall in love with him between the silly little compliments he’d whisper against my skin.

And now it was too late to ignore all of that, but still, here we were. All three, pretending nothing was different in our dynamic, like a relationship and a friendship hadn’t deteriorated in all of our joined hands.

I began distancing myself from the both of them, and as much as I could see the hurt in their eyes as they realized what was going on, Steve’s gaze held a little bit of relief in it. Like he was hopeful that the growing space between our hearts would end up tearing that last thread of sentiment that still held the two of us together, without either of us having to pick up a scissor to do it ourselves.

But that still didn’t solve the problem of my relationship with Bucky, and how it would affect Steve even if we did end up falling apart.

Those were the thoughts consuming my mind all day, every day, until I managed to get some sleep next to Steve in bed. But most nights, until I was able to do so, I’d roam the deserted hallways of the tower in search of answers I’d never find outside of myself, until I decided to take a warm shower in the hopes that relaxation would find me.

I was taking off my clothes to get under the water when Bucky joined me in Steve’s walk-in bathroom.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Hi,” she murmured, eyes meeting mine on the reflex of the mirror in front of the both of us. “I was just about to wash up.” I gave a small smile, eyes running across her form, drinking in her figure and the warmth she brought me after so long without being alone with her. I was going crazy without it, the feeling of peace and belonging she brought me. So I didn’t even think before hugging her to my body, hiding my head in the crook of her neck from behind.

“Can I join?” When she didn’t immediately answer me, I knew it was time. We’d danced around the inevitable for too long. We needed to talk about the reality of our feelings, the reality where we had found ourselves in.

“I don’t think that would be best…” I sighed deeply, memorizing the intoxicating perfume of her own skin before finally raising my head to meet her eyes in the mirror again. I knew what I needed - what I wanted to say.

“Let’s run away. Just you and me. I’ll find a cabin in the woods. We can live a quiet life, just like we’ve always wanted.” She doesn’t ask me how I know it. I knew she remembers those midnight conversations as well as I did, long before we even started sharing a bed together. We’d grown close over cups of tea and whispered secrets, it shouldn’t have been any surprise I’d give her my heart without blinking twice.

When she didn’t answer, I turned her around to look directly at me, cradling her face between my hands, both flesh and metal. I was always careful not to hurt her, terrified of seeing any ounce of pain or fear in her eyes, but she never showed me anything other than love and care.

“C’mon, I know you want this,” I urged her, thumbs softly brushing her cheekbones, feeling my chest heavy with each breath by the intensity of the emotions in her eyes. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want us?”

I waited with my heart on my sleeve for her to finally exhale a breathy little “yes” that was immediately swallowed by my lips descending on hers again. I was desperate to have her sweetness on my tongue, to reassure myself that this was real, and not a sickly realistic figment of my deteriorating imagination.

“Bucky, we can’t do this right now,” she whispered against my lips as I hoisted her up on the counter behind her, but I could only keep on pressing kisses against her skin, relishing in the new feeling of possessiveness that took over me as I tasted each inch of her.

“You sure? ‘Cause I can smell you dripping for me, and only me right now.” It was true, I could always smell when she was wet and it was more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever aspire to be. It made my head swirl and my entire body feel more alive than ever before. Ever since the first time I was allowed to touch her, it became increasingly more difficult to control my desires. Now, when I needed her, I needed her. And I needed her now.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I wanted to succumb to him, I wanted it so badly - and I knew my self-control was wearing thin because I wouldn’t usually admit it to myself just how much I craved the feeling of his body on mine. But there was a more important issue here, something we had to discuss, and I knew we should have this conversation now rather than later.

“I feel like I should put on my clothes. We really need to talk about this. You can’t just drop this idea of running away and then fuck me silly so I’ll agree.” That made him smirk against my collarbones, hands slipping under my robe to slowly pry it off my shoulders.

“You know me so well,” he purred, tongue slowly licking from my collarbones up my throat until he was right by my lips again, kissing the breath away from my lungs. I couldn’t deny it any longer. He had awakened the fires of desire inside of me, and I was beyond desperate for him now.

“Is there really anything to talk about, doll? I know you can’t even sleep next to him anymore. And I can’t sleep without you.” His fingers had found my pussy, and without any sort of preamble, two slipped right in, his thumb easily locating my clit and rubbing it. “All of my nightmares are about living without you now. Please don’t make me live in them.”

I melted at the same time that he found my sweet spot, a strangled gasp somehow escaping me, despite how hard I was trying to keep quiet. And that’s when his metal hand came into play.

He covered my mouth and leaned over me, body caging me on the counter as he whispered in my ear. “I love hearing your little sounds, sweetheart, but be a bit quieter, okay? We can’t have Steve interrupting us now, especially since we’re in the middle of such an important conversation.”

I wanted to laugh, but all that got out was a mumbled version of his name, thankfully barely understandable thanks to the hand still silencing me. “Where were we? Ah, yes. You running away with me. Say that you will, baby. I’ll take good care of you. Haven’t I always? Say yes, doll. Please.”

I don’t know how the hell he expected me to be able to form any sort of answer - hell, I had no idea how he was able to speak that convincingly while fingerfucking me to a blinding orgasm, but I guess he knew my body and its limits better than I did, because before I could consciously realize, I was screaming yes over and over again against the cold palm of his hand, body writhing desperately over the counter.

“We’re gonna be so happy, doll. I promise you,” he whispered against my temple before depositing a kiss there, while I dramatically tried to catch my breath. “But right now, I really want to taste this glistening little pussy.”

As his hand left my face, I had to bite down on my own fist to stop the loud moan that threatened to escape me at the mere sight of James Buchanan Barnes falling on his knees in front of me, animalistically licking his lips at what awaited between my spread open legs.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

She looked like a fucking meal, all ready and wet for me to taste. And now she was mine and only mine, forever and ever. “You know…” I started, tracing her outer lips with one of my metal fingers as I watched her juices continuously drip from inside of her, making my mouth water.

“Every time I see you - it doesn’t matter who’s around - I just keep thinking about how I want to have my head between your legs.” My voice was thick with desire as I let her ponder over my confession, tongue slipping past my lips to finally taste her once I felt her muscles relaxing when the anticipation had started to decrease.

“F-Fu-uu-uck, BUCKY!” And now they were tense again. I could feel the solid muscles of her thighs under the palms of my hands as they roamed across her spread legs, forcing her to stay that way for me.

“God, I love your taste, sweetheart. No one - nothing can ever compare.” It was the truth. I loved her juices. Ever since the first time I got to eat her sweet pussy, I craved to be sweeping my tongue over her lips, collecting her wetness all the damn time. It was easily my favorite meal and hobby, and I had no idea how Steve could spend a second of his day without getting on his knees for her.

“It’s just like candy. And you’re so fucking wet, always so fucking wet.” I chuckled against her cunt at the gasps and moans that she tried to contain but failed miserably, relishing every bite of pain that I felt when her fingers pulled on my locks a bit more forcefully. She thrashed and twisted on the marble counter while I managed to hold her open without any difficulty, smiling at each lick I got to give across her pussy.

“Fuck, you look so good like this.” Stopping only to thrust two of my fingers in her, I admired the way her pussy so easily swallowed them up before going back to suck on her clit just the way I knew would make her tighten around me. “Don’t close your eyes,” I ordered when she tried to do just so, recognizing all of the tell-tale signs I’d long memorized that warned me of how truly close she was to creaming around my face. “I want to see you cum for me. Cum for me, baby.”

This time, I didn’t stay to drag out her orgasm this time. I needed her, needed to be inside of her, so the second that I felt her orgasm, I dragged out my fingers and rose to my full height, hands immediately making quick work of my jeans.

“Don’t you ever wear underwear?” She questioned in a lazy voice that made it abundantly clear just how fucked out she already was, and I had to laugh as I made sure to adjust her body just how I needed it to have her.

“Not ever since we started fucking.” It was the truth. Specifically, ever since Steve commented on wanting to step it up a notch, I decided to skip wearing boxers altogether, if only for the time that it saved me where I could be enjoying her before he appeared. This time though, I was particularly grateful for it, since my cock ached in my fist, terribly stimulated without any actual sort of stimulation whatsoever.

“Fuck, you’re so hard,” she sighed, right as I rubbed the head of my member between her pussy lips and started to press in. As always, it felt amazing. It felt like being connected to her, and that was all I’ve ever wanted, ever since Steve introduced me to her.

“For you, doll. Only for you.” She gasped so prettily at my words, and a silly smile took over my face as I started thrusting inside of her, but when she did it again, hands holding onto the back of my shoulders to keep herself up, I got worried.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” The worry in his tone had me smiling against the skin of his shoulder, where I had hugged myself to, before quickly shaking my head to calm his anxious mind.

“No! No, Bucky… You’ve done nothing… wrong, ah!” The second he learned I wasn’t in pain, his thrusts resumed, and each time he bottomed out, he managed to hit that sweet spot that had me struggling to keep myself sane while holding tightly to the man that was driving me crazy. It didn’t take long for him to figure it out. 

“Oh, you like this, huh?” I nodded eagerly, still holding on to him like he was my lifeboat. “Awn, you love how I fuck you, huh, sweetheart? You love that it’s me who’s pounding you inside your ex-boyfriend’s bathroom.”

The addition wasn’t missed. But in the throes of passion, as I felt my toes curl and tried to keep my moans in by biting on Bucky’s skin while he eased my orgasm with his gentle, soft coos, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

Later, when the post-orgasm clarity cleared my mind, I still couldn’t. 

“Look at me, baby,” Bucky begged, out-of-breath and almost whiny and it was enough to have me needy again. So I pushed myself away from his muscular chest, wanting to see his beautiful face when he found his bliss just as much as he seemed to need to watch mine, and the second our eyes met, his pace quickened, the bottles and knick-knacks around us on the counter threatening to fall over and wake Steve up. It was clear that he was reaching the point of no-return, desperation dripping from each and every one of his movements.

“You’re mine, doll. You’re already mine, you’ve been mine for a long time, it just took you awhile to realize it.” The truth behind his words shocked me, revealing parts of myself that I had tried to ignore up until then. But he was right. I was Bucky’s, mind, body and soul. And it was time he came to collect what was rightfully his.

Another orgasm rose up so quickly, it took me by surprise, but Bucky knew me so well by now that he covered my lips just before I screamed my release, alerting Steve of our actions. “Shhh… Keep it in… Good girl.”

My pussy milking him, it was impossible for him to resist much longer. I knew he was about to cum when he looked at me with hazy eyes, mouth slightly open before begging, “Kiss me, kiss me.”

Of course, I did. I don’t think I’d ever be able to refuse him a kiss again, not ever since the first time his lips touched mine.

For a few seconds, it was only the sounds of our thumping hearts and breathless pants, my cunt still throbbing around his release as he cradled my face in his hands. Looking up at him to see the love in his eyes, all I could see, all I could feel was warmth. Like this was right. Like I was right where I needed to be. And it was time for me to admit it, both to Bucky and me.

“Let’s do it,” I broke the silence in the bathroom. “Let’s run away together. I love you. I’m scared, but I love you.” And as hard as it was to admit, the love I felt for the man in front of me left no space in my heart to regret the man I was about to leave behind.