#if you think any of them have a domestic bone in their body u just ....so wrong

[montydrawsstuff]

The chaotix crummy kitchen

It may break several health codes and contain 36 unique molds, but it's home <3

[grippingbeskar]

coming home - simon ‘ghost’ riley

— simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

— warnings - adult content minors dni (18+) mxf, ghost has a filthy mouth, praise kink (?), pretty soft compared to all the ghost s*** out there tbh, slight description of injury and mentions of death. kinda sad ghost but he fucks it out :)

a/n: i have fallen down the ghost hole. just wanted some domestic shit, also the shower description is just something i want in my dream home so it’s self indulgent as fuck! hope you enjoy. xx (also shout-out to @dinahmadanimybeloved for the lil nudge in the right direction!! i appreciate u. xx)

He’s quiet, and that’s how you know somethings off. Most people think it’s just the way he is, being able to count on one hand the amount of words he’s spoken to them over the years. Ghost doesn’t talk unless he has to, or unless he gives enough of a fuck about whoever’s talking to him, which is rare these days. He could go hours without talking when he was away, a fact that always broke your heart a little.

The truth is, you can never get him to shut up. When he’s home, he’ll talk your ear off about anything. The dog he ran past that morning, the way you should organise your socks, how good you looked wearing his shirt. He was talkative, which is how you knew that something was wrong when he came home this time.

Being the biggest guy you knew, it amazed you how he could walk with such stealth. Even the floorboards seemed scared to creak under his frame as he came through the door. You shot up, nearly flying over the back of the couch. He wasn’t due home for another two weeks— you knew because you were supposed to pick him up from the airport. He was home early, and of course you were ecstatic, but then you saw his face, still covered in that bone white mask, and you knew it wasn’t all good news.

“Simon.” You whisper as you walk towards him. He’d closed the door behind him, locking it, but hadn’t moved from there. Usually you were both bursting with energy when he came home, excitement and adrenaline pumping through your bodies at the long awaited reunion. He was looking down at you, and when you finally stood close enough, one of his hands came up, gingerly cupping your face. “You’re home!”

“Hey, baby.” He says slowly, eyes holding yours. The hand he had behind his back touched your side, and you looked down, seeing about a dozen roses in a bouquet, stalks fisted in his gloved hand. “Got ‘em for you.”

“They’re gorgeous. Here—“ You take them, letting the sweet smell fill your senses and move quickly to put them in a vase on the counter— a spot reserved for whenever Simon brought you flowers. It seemed to be a constant thing, and it never failed to have you feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. “I love them. Thank-you.”

“‘Course.” The tone of his voice only confirms your suspicions about something being off, and it has your heart dropping through the floor.

“You should of told me you were coming home. I would of come picked you up!” You smile up at him, trying to gage where his mood is.

“Finished early. Thought I’d surprise you.” His hands come back to your face, holding your head up at the perfect angle. There was a significant height difference between you, so you were in a constant state of looking up at him.

“Did everything go… good?” You ask tentatively. He’d told you some of the things he’s done over there with the 141, but you always try not to pry. You know it’s brutal, and he sees the worst of the world, so when he trusts you with something, you take it to the grave. When he doesn’t, you don’t ask.

“No. Nothing did.” He says, still holding your face up to his. You bend up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to the nose of his mask. “I just needed to see you.”

“I’m glad you’re home.” Your arms wrap around his back, pulling him closer. You press your face into his chest, sinking into the feeling of him being home. After so long, it never gets any easier. Watching him leave, never really knowing when he’d be back. If he was safe. “You want something to eat? I can make dinner.”

He shakes his head, gently pulling your face back from his chest. When your hands snake up his front, he just watches you. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes— still had that black paint smudged across his eyes. He must of gotten straight on a plane after whatever he was doing had come to an abrupt end. Your fingertips brush his jaw, the bottom of his mask, and when you go to pull it up over his mouth and nose, he doesn’t stop you.

“Can I take it off?” You check, feeling how stiff he is under your hands. He nods once, and tilts his head, allowing you to pull it all the way off. “There you are.”

“I missed you.” He says simply, but the words pack such a punch when he looks like this. To an outsider he’s hard at nails, sharp and pointy and dangerous to get close to, but you see him under the paint and the body armour. “Missed you so fucking bad, baby.”

“Prove it.” You see a flash of his teeth, just the smallest hint of a smile, and your stomach does a backflip because it feels like a win. Then, he leans in, kissing you softly, with the care he would hold broken glass— hands guiding you forward and up, thumbs tracing gently along your cheek bones.

You sigh, nearly melting into his body. Your hands wrap around his neck, toying with the short hair that he’d cut while he was away. You always have to fix it for him when he comes home— he just hacks away at any hair hanging out of his mask, mostly getting frustrated and buzzing it off until he can get you to cut it again. When your fingertips scrape lightly along his skull, he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck.” He mutters as you catch his bottom lip between your teeth, careful to only apply a little bit of pressure. You were sure he was covered in enough painful marks as it was— you didn’t want to add to it. He leans down further, chasing your mouth, foreheads pressing together.

“You wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head then dips down, kissing your jaw, nose nudging you to the side to get better access to your neck. Your breathe hitches and you sigh his name, him smiling in response against your skin. You can feel the black smudge of his face paint slowly covering your own, like a trail of all the places he’s touched you.

“I only wanna hear you sayin’ my name like that. Don’t want to think about—“ You say his name again, drowning out the thoughts of whatever happened over there. That wasn’t now— he was here, and safe, and if he needed to be distracted, that’s exactly what you would give him.

“Need you to wash this paint off first.” You murmur, your voice a little lower than normal, making him almost shudder. You drop your hands from his neck, letting them fall slowly between your bodies before you loop your fingers in his belt buckle, walking backwards. “You’ll get me all dirty.”

“I would’a thought you’d like that.” He grabs a handful of your ass, nearly making you trip over as you step back, but he catches you easily and picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He presses his paint covered face to yours, kissing your nose and face wherever he can reach, and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look now, covered in smears of black.

“I do. Just want an excuse to see you naked.” You taunt in his ear as he finally reaches the shower and flicks it on, still fully clothed. “You buzzed your hair again.”

“You know I can’t do it right without you.” He puts you down, quickly ripping off his own shirt before reaching for the hem of yours.

He’s slower with it, the fabric brushing against your sides, giving you goosebumps. It doesn’t matter how many times you take your shirt off in front of him, he always looks just as dazed as he did the first time, and you always get just as nervous.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Come ‘ere.”

He pulls you fully under the stream of the shower. It’s one of your favourite places in your shared house— a giant shower head that let the water fall as fine as rain, with enough space for his giant body not to have to bend at awkward angles to wash his hair (when he had some). It was also well big enough for the both of you, a feature you both utilised every morning and night you spent together.

He works at your shorts next, easily slipping you out of the now wet cotton, leaving you just in a set of underwear. They weren’t particularly cute— like you said, you would normally dress up for him to come home, but he wasn’t due for two weeks. Simon didn’t seem to mind, hands running wildly over your body, eyes on fire. You were starting to see him clearer now, the paint running off his face and down his bare chest in shadowed droplets.

“God, Simon…” You lean back just an inch, seeing the new marks on his chest and shoulder. A new bullet wound in the right arm. A gash that extends all the way up his left side. It still looked like it was healing— the stitches must of only come out a few days ago.

“I’m okay.” He says, kissing your collarbone.

“I don’t like when you get hurt.” You whimper, feeling his strong hands grab your hips, pushing your underwear down. “Are you sure—“

“Let me take your mind off it.” He leans down further, kissing your chest, and then drops completely, landing on his knees in front of you. He was so tall that he still needed to bend lower to kiss his way down, feeling his lips press softly on your hip bones, then your stomach. “Look at you. Such a pretty girl.”

He taps your inner thigh with two fingers, a silent command. You follow, spreading your legs slightly. He’s not satisfied, hooking one leg over his shoulder while the other is pinned between him and the wall. At this point you weren’t even holding yourself up— the display of brute strength making your head feel fuzzy.

“Dreamt about this.” He kisses closer, skin that hasn’t been touched in weeks nearly sparking under his manipulation. “Out on base. Couldn’t keep this pussy out of my head.”

“Simon, please.” You beg shamelessly. You have no pride when it comes to him, not when he’s holding you like this, reducing you to putty in his hands before he’s even really touched you.

“Never leaving this house again.” His words nearly get lost between your thighs. You arch your back to encourage him, but he holds you flat. “Gonna keep you here forever. Right here, just like this.”

“Simon.”

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d say my name all pretty like that and let me do whatever I wanted.” You were nodding furiously, hands finding little purchase in his short hair but it was all you could do to get him closer— “Want you to ride my face. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Okay, please… please just—“

“What, baby?”

“Fucking touch me, Simon. Please.” You know he doesn’t respond to bad manners, so you throw as many around as you can. He smiles between your legs, kissing your thigh once more before you lose sight of his now clean face, burying himself in your pussy. “Fuck!”

He’s no stranger to eating you out— he always tells you how much he loves it, like it’s a reward for him. He always makes you see stars, too, but right now, the way he’s practically taking you apart from the middle out, it wasn’t like anything you’ve felt before. He keeps one hand on your hip, pinning you under him, the other slipping a finger inside of you, working in perfect tandem with his mouth.

You can’t decide what it is, but fuck— maybe it’s the water, how soft it falls on the both of you, combined with the overwhelming feeling of having Simon back early and safe— it was having a physical affect on you. Weak knees that were taking none of your weight in them, choked gasps of his name— your eyes roll back in your head before long, hips bucking wildly against his hold as your whole body shudders with pleasure.

“God— so fucking good for me, princess.” He says, taking a second to pull back and admire how strung out you look before diving back into you. His gaze never leaves you then, watching as your face contorts with every glide of his tongue over your clit, or how every time he moves his hand just right your whole body jolts. He seeks it out again and again, and you can feel him smiling underneath you, watching you writhe as liquid heat spreads all the way through your veins, carrying pleasure to every nerve ending you had.

It was an entire body experience, and you couldn’t even keep your eyes open anymore. You let him get rougher, at some point hooking your other leg over his shoulder, so you were completely suspended in the air. Your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him in position as you neared your high, and Simon only gripped you tighter, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass. He held you hard, in a way that you knew would leave the good kind of bruise, and the image only sky rocketed your state.

“Don’t stop, Si. Fuck— you’re so good, so fucking good, I… ah—“ You cut yourself off when he groans— really groans into you, and you feel him switch gears at the praise. He must like hearing it, how good he is at this. How good he makes you feel. While you still have the ability to talk, you keep going— anything to get him not to stop. “You feel so good, Simon. Gonna make me c— oh fuck, right there.”

You feel the stretch of two of his thick fingers, easing you open, and you know it’s out of your control. There’s an electric feeling in your stomach you don’t recognise, bordering on too much of a good thing. You almost don’t want to fall into it, but Simon, with his talented hands and mouth that’s never satiated, you wouldn’t get much of a choice. Your brain couldn’t move your legs anymore, only able to blank out and take it— take all of what Simon was so desperate to give you, and who were you not to indulge your man?

“C’mon, princess. Let me see you… just let go. Want it so bad, pretty girl.” The pet names, his tongue lapping at your sensitive nerves, his fingers curling inside of you— there was no way to avoid the plummet into overwhelming pleasure, Simons hands being the only thing holding you to the real world.

You cum with a choke of his name, and a string of indiscernible words babble out of your mouth. You hear Simon saying something, but it sounds so far off, your only focus on that feeling. He doesn’t stop, still buried inside of you as close as he can, and he doesn’t let up until your physically clawing at him, flinching away from the lap of his tongue.

You feel wrung out— like you’d just been suffocated and were slowly coming back to consciousness. It was possible you really did pass out, if you were honest. Simon was still holding you up easily, hands now holding your thighs to his shoulders, eyes wide and staring at you in fascination.

“Holy fuck, baby. That was fucking… you are so hot.” Out of breath and energy you manage to burst out laughing at his compliment, feeling yourself slowly sliding down the wall of the shower. Everything felt like jelly, but as Simon bent down to kiss you, your hand brushed against his boxers, and you tugged at them. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

“Mmm.” You hum, body still twitching from the aftershocks of the biggest orgasm of your life. You tug harder at the seam of his boxers, and he kisses your forehead.

“Shh. Take a minute.” Your eyebrows furrow together, feeling a little juvenile in your fuzzy state.

“Please, Si. I’ve waited so long for this. Please, just…” You slip the fabric over his cock, already hard and waiting, and duck your hand under to stroke him gently. He swears, shuddering under your soft touch. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Turn around, princess.” He breathes, and you smile victoriously, getting another laugh out of him. “Fuckin’ insatiable.”

“Only for you.” He helps you get onto all fours, rough palms of his hands smoothing over your ass and lower back.

“Mhmm. Mine, aren’t you?” You nod, feeling him lean down to kiss your shoulder blades before you feel his cock, sliding between your legs and settling at your entrance. He gives you a second or two— it always takes you a while to adjust to the pure size of him when he gets home. You’d never say it, but you hope you never get used to it. A bit of pain with the pleasure he rings from you seems a fair trade for all the dirty things he says when he finally enters you.

You push back against him, making him hiss as a little more of his length disappears into you. He lightly smacks your ass just once and you arch into the touch. He’s never been one to throw you around, not wanting to even think about the possibility of hurting the one good thing he has in this life— but he can’t help but be memorised by the way you react when he treats you a little tougher. He does it again, and hearing your moan is apparently the last thing he needs to bottom out behind you.

You both sigh— finally feeling each other this way. There was something to be said about the first fuck when he came home. It was so much more than that. It was like something from a movie, how they called it making ‘love’. You’d always thought it one and the same— until you met Simon. He starts slow, purposeful as he drove his hips back and forth in a pace that had you feeling dizzy after just a few thrusts. He was so strong without even knowing, you had to smack your hand to the wall to keep from sliding away every-time his hips collided with yours. He hit spots inside of you you never knew you had until you met him, and it was borderline embarrassing how quickly you felt that ball of pleasure in your stomach tighten— preparing for release.

“So tight. Always t-take me so fuckin’ good. Jesus Christ.” Hearing Simon Riley stumble over his words was the ego boost of the century.

“Just like that, Si. Fuck.” You feel one of his hands sliding up higher, touching any part of you he could reach— hands brushing over your side, your tits, reaching up to tangle in your hair. When he pulls slightly it has you squeezing your eyes shut, the combination of his touch all over you making you dizzy.

He starts to come back to himself, talking constantly as he drives his hips harder and faster. Constant praises come out in a low, raspy voice, only interrupted by you chorusing them back to him. It had always been like this with him, the filter between his brain and mouth broken as soon as he got inside you, leading to a string of compliments too dirty to repeat anywhere else— but it was the hottest fucking thing in the world to you.

“C-can’t last much longer, princess. S’feels too good.” He slurs, and you look over your shoulder. His shoulders are completely relaxed, jaw slack and eyes half open, and there’s none of that stiffness from before when he came home. Now, he was in his element, not thinking about whatever went wrong on the outside— he was just here with you.

“Fuck, gonna cum, Simon— just a little m-fuck.” You didn’t have to tell him, he knows your body better than you do, and when his hand slips under your hips so that he can circle your clit in soft, quick movements, your arms drop out from under you as pleasure overwhelms you. This time, you’re pretty sure you do pass out, the only thing you can hold onto in that in-between is Simons voice.

“There it is. Fuck—yes… yes. Fuck!” He swears the whole way through as he cums, and you feel him pull out at the last second, warmth spreading over your ass and lower back. You try to pick yourself up, giving him a pretty picture, but your body is so weak that you just stay right where he puts you. His free hand grips your waist, keeping the backs of your thighs pressed to the front of his.

The water was still running a warm stream over the both of you, and when Simon’s orgasm wrings out the last few jolts of pleasure, he’s just as fucked out as you are. All but collapsing over the top of you, he keeps himself up with one arm, the other wrapping underneath both your bodies. He kisses along the back of your shoulder blades, murmuring praise into your skin.

“Baby… baby. Missed you.” He repeats, and you turn your head, finding the strength to hold yourself up a little to kiss him. Once he knows your starting to come back, he switches positions, using the arm underneath you to hold you to him as he leans himself against the wall of the shower, your back tucked to his chest.

“Missed you more.” You look up, finding him staring down at you. He smiles then, and your still a little dazed but he just looks so good when he smiles— “I love you.”

“I love you.” He repeats.

It might just be the heat of what you just did mixed with the warm stream of water above you, but you swear he blushes. No matter how many times you say it to each other, he still reacts like that. You both sit in silence for a little, your body now tired and slumping against him, held up by his arms wrapped around your middle, holding you tightly.

“You scared me a little, when you came home.” You say softly, your hands tracing along his forearm. “I never know how to make it all okay— I can’t make it okay.”

“You just gotta be here. That’s all I need.” His head dips to lean down, leaning on your shoulder.

“I will be. Always.” You say, never meaning anything more. It’s been years of you knowing Simon, just a little less than that being his, but you know this is it for you. Even when you first met him, you knew you’d always be there when he came home— waiting for him.

“We… we lost some good people this time. Just makes me think.” He hugs you closer, feeling his hands splay out in your sides. “This guy got caught in the crossfire, I don’t know what happened, but I watched them tell his girlfriend. She just lost it.”

You swallow hard, hearing his voice crack.

“The boys said they found her photo in his wallet. A ring, too. Was gonna propose.”

“Jesus.” He nods, head still firmly tucked into the crook of your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I had to get out, come home for a bit after this one. I don’t want… there’s so much stuff I need to do, stuff I want to tell you about, and if I didn’t make it back—“

“Don’t think like that. You’ll always come home. You promised me you would.” Your throat tightens, trying your best not to cry at a time like this. You couldn’t help it when he spoke like that.

“I know, baby. I just mean…” He takes in a long breath, then looks up, tilting your head so he could look you in the eye. “I don’t wanna leave here without you knowing how much I— that I…”

“I know.” You let your fingertips drag softly along his jaw, but he shakes his head.

“No, I… fuck— I’m sorry.” You sit up, a little worried about where this is going. His hands leave your waist, holding your face in the same gentle way he did when he came home. “It just… you deserve so much, and I want to give it to you. The whole flight over— longer than that, I’ve been thinking about asking you something. I just don’t know how.”

“You can ask me anything.” Kneeling between his legs, your hands press to his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. You lean forward, kissing him, telling him all the words you can’t fit into the moment. Whatever he takes from it seems to be enough— because as well as he knew you, you knew him too. He pulls away, and when he does, you don’t see any traces of the man people seem to fear, or hate.

You just see him.

You nearly hold your breath in anticipation, watching as his eyes flit between your mouth and your eyes.

“Simon.” You say again, and his eyes flutter closed. Then he pulls you forward, and utters two words that shift your entire world on its axis.

“Marry me.”

[xatkhe]

enc

s see 1ee 33lets3 skeletons and fetid was made for something new - 11 into the future; the future echoes into the past, in dreams and visions and potentiality. searching for what will be in the bones of what was. in january of 2033, the ³3a states 3emilitary dropped a chemical weapon of ee3ese33ese3e3³3333³³33|3W2 ³l uninhabitable in thee long #e³s33³33 in wor the sake of noaaaeaeething3 but themselves, aaand the sescar still oozes. for @/awhitehead

how do u o0en a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a foor? how do you open a door ? how od you open a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a door? how do you open a dior? how do you lpen a door? how do yoi open a door? hoe fo you open a door? how do you open a dood. how do hoi open a door?

1.

I wake up every day with the knowledge that the only truly moral move I have to take is to become a domestic terrorist.

I spent most of my summer sitting in the heat and running moral calculus on whether or not it is okay for me to turn on the air conditioner. I have been thinking endlessly about how electricity consumption is going to boom across the Third World as air conditioning becomes necessary in the next century and beyond and how that is likely to feed itself further and what an American Life means exported to the entire world. I go on walks in the cemetery and I look at the deer and I listen to the immense rumble of the HVAC of the children's hospital echoing against the hills and I wonder which year will be the last one that I see them prance over graves. Everything ahead is survivable if we start acting now, but are we? Will we?

Videos of dead children and knowing that I'm not doing enough and knowing that I'm somehow doing more than most and videos of dead children and videos of dead adults.

The present moment is a test, and we're failing it like we've failed every moment before. Americans are uniquely poisoned in their faith that having the right opinions means literally anything at all. I want movement. Action change dreaming growth, an open door - I have been getting claustrophobic lately, especially when I smoke, even outdoors. I think about the heat and pressure and proximity, crammed into a jail cell or a train car or a bus, unable to escape things touching me, my skin touching my muscles touching my bone, the death of escape.

I don't think I'm supposed to feel this trapped in my own body nearly eight years on HRT.

Is this sustainable? Is this moral? Is this sustainable, is this moral - this mix, this computer, this software, these synthesizers? - I've been wearing shoes with holes in them for over a year and that is certainly my moral OCD personified (christ this entire screed certainly is but man look at where we live and how we live and what is done so that we can do this and tell me we shouldn't all be a little more OCD about our position in the world, for fuck's sake), but the frequency with which I see "you are allowed to want nice things" repeated and sloganized and embodied makes me nauseous with the desperate expanse of absolution it encapsulates. What nice things and how much and to what ends - I am anti-"let people enjoy things" and could write an essay on how vacuous of a statement it is - this laptop was $600; the combined synthesizers, just under a thousand and that's only because I got them all used and one of them for free. Who could that have fed? - who could my fucking tuition (for a bullshit comp sci degree at a rich kid school whose only application is evil military shit or evil finance shit or evil big tech shit) have fed?

I think about every time I told a homeless person that I didn't have any change (which is usually true) instead of taking five minutes to buy them some food from a corner store; doing some vulgar karmatics with all the times I have I think I tend to land net positive, but then I remember, I'm an American, there is blood on my hands, there is blood on your hands, there is blood rising up from the keys that I'm typing on, there is blood pooling at my feet and in the soil and in my veins like so much microplastic, and I think I've started so far in the negative that all I can do is desperately try to crawl my way towards zero.

"Not being bad" is not "being good."

I started believing in hell on Friday and while I can't find room for the idea of eternal damnation within my conception of God, there is plenty in each of us that will need to be burned away before passing on to whatever's next; I have never directly ended the life of a child, but I have not done enough to prevent the infanticide that lies downstream of gas being $3.75 a gallon. Even while I try to balance the debt, I find comfort in awaiting my own accounting.

I think I need to stop smoking and go plant some flowers in the vacant lot on my street. I will not feel good until I see the White House on fire.

A better world is possible but no one else will build it for us or me or you.

2.

I've been thinking lately of entities, objects, concepts, ideas, being not split or located among a binary spectrum between Reality and Fiction, with Lies being located between the two, but instead located within a triangle of Reality, Fiction, and Magic. This has the effect of situating Magic directly opposite Lies, which provides an easy negative definition of Magic. You could, in fact, redraw the triangle as two parallel and exclusive spectrums:

Magic is the thing that is neither exclusively Reality or Fiction, nor is it a Lie. If it is not a Lie, then, it follows that it must be a Truth, but not in the same way that Reality or Fiction are alone. In this parallel configuration, the intermingling of both is considered to not destroy the truth of either but to instead transcend it - much as Lie transcends truth in one sense, Magic transcends it as its opposite.

To return to the triangle: the midpoints between the three poles then become Lies, between Reality and Fiction; Imagination, between Fiction and Magic - that which is emphatically not Reality, but contains some element of reference to its form of truth through connection to Magic; and Faith, between Magic and Reality. Magic can be understood as a derivative of Faith and Imagination just as much as it could be their antecedents. To complete the hex fusion, what lies at the center of Faith, Imagination, and Lies -----?????--------?---?-----? I don't know like God? THE MYSTERY? It feels tryhard to even write this. It seemed less so before I smoked.

I had what I'm choosing to regard as a spiritual experience in April. It lasted maybe three weeks, with a peak of about a week and a sudden, sharp fall off at the end. All of this made even more sense then. Everything made sense, even what didn't, and I felt Possibility and Magic - partial synonyms - more deeply than I ever have before. Desire, above all, was suddenly true - counter to an entire life of constraining myself and what I want within the boundaries of what is expected of me and what is okay to want, the world opened up. My sister gave me a locket with a rabbit engraved on it for Christmas and inside is a bent embroidery needle. I held it and I could see the million potentialities of Mes I could be stretching before me and all of them felt like they could've been real. Life felt worth living for it's own sake, not just out of duty to my loved ones. I woke up happy to be alive. I dreamt of the future. It was nauseating and terrifying and demanded the world of me and I have despaired deeply of ever experiencing it again, and I have come to realize that my inability to identify and name it to anyone but myself - to acceed to its demands - is part of why it left. I hope that when it comes again, I'll be better equipped to shelter it. But it's been a long time, and my apostasy often feels coldly inescapable. I still flinch every time I try to open that door again.

3.

4.

I have no idea how to thread the needle of desire and duty. I do not know where loving yourself ends and wallowing in yourself begins. I do not know where wallowing in yourself ends and autodevotion begins. I do not know where autodevotion ends and devotion to the world begins. I think that there is some degree to which none of these things are fully inextricable from each other - I think that maybe they're mutually supportive - I think that loving other people requires you to first love yourself and that loving yourself first requires you to love other people - I think that my flinching away from desire is downstream of this country and its culture being based on and within puritanism - I think that my flinching away from duty is downstream of this country and its culture being based on and within individualism and atomized pursuit of self-interest at the expense of everything else.

<redacted: like a week.>

5.

there is no future that looks like This. there is no future that looks like industry and consumption and data centers and modernity. ted k was right!!! a mode of government that produces genocide demands its destruction, and a mode of living that produces ecocide demands the same. no amount of solar and wind and wave and nuclear can change the fact that the future WILL NOT and CANNOT be eco-modernism cyberpunk disposable food grown on the other side of the world hi tech extractivism productivism laptops smartphones synthetics streaming virtual reality artificial intelligence gaming vsts graphics cards; the only question is if that'll be because we've built something better or killed ourselves off in the process. i don't want to live in the world where i watch the latter.

6.

i hate this because i want to do nothing but make my music - i played live for the first time last month and it was incredibly wonderful and affirming but is that compatible with Something Better??? is it REALLY?????? no vibes, fuck off - is it really? - is any of this? writing this is the first time i've opened my laptop in like a week and the heat pouring off of it is making me sick. maybe the answer is only hardware but can we square that anti-extractivism??? maybe we just never make synths again - and what i have now is what i have, that's it, forever, if it dies it dies. maybe the music im sitting on right now is the last stuff i ever release. maybe the ephemerality of what i write or perform in the moment is what makes it beautiful. maybe the only writing or art i ever do is pen/cil on paper in notebooks that only ever get shown to whoever asks. maybe, maybe, maybe.

7.

Oh, I want to play. I want to PLAY!!!!!!!!!!! I want to play, I want to dance in my little worlds and fuck in the street and bathe in the cool grass and love reflection again, I want to know myself, I want to feel the divine spark, I want to touch myself and touch my Self and feel how nothing it all is - ! I want, I want, I want. Everything feels real. Nothing feels real. Jokes about the Demiurge are not quite just jokes anymore. The magic will come back, the Frenzy will return, the sister of my soul will speak to me again if I only let myself want her to!!, but!!!; what I also want is, still, the white house in flames, the steps of the capitol bathed in the blood of world-killers, and faith that there will still be a world in five, ten, fifteen years, on the other side of groundwater depletion, topsoil annihilation, 3-then-5-then-8-celcius and the dozen tipping points along the way and the DNC's tools of massacre aimed at the border should anyone come seeking shelter or revenge (either of course more than justified). Always always always always the question is if and how I can get both - does the Revolution need another unstable tranny choosing to lean harder into the glimmers of unreality that dodge at the corner of my vision, words whispered in my ears at the rising and setting horizons of sleep, mirror waiting for me to laugh first? Would dropping in or dropping out be a grain of sand missing from the shore or the straw breaking the back of civilization? Is autolumpenization revolutionary or just bourgeois ideology bubbling up from my veins to keep me from being bored knocking on doors for like PSL or something?? Or are either eclipsing the awful truth that the only people of real courage in the moment are willing to kill and die for a better world most of us don't dare to really really REALLY REALLY REALLY dream of????

I overestimate my own importance for sure - but, well, someone has to.

8.

Risk is necessary - safety is a curse - we are either going to live ourselves to death or die our way to life - AND WE ARE ALL ALREADY DEAD -

life is waiting to be built.

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

[whosjunglejim4322]

warnings: sleepy sex, switch Jongin, cockwarming sorta? you fall asleep after he nuts in you, theoretically u r on the pill bc I am nasty, (soft?) choking, riding

It's just ten minutes past two a.m when Jongin rolls over with a guttural, sleepy groan, arm snaking its way around your body that's hidden underneath the covers, warm cheek pressing against your shoulder blade.

You're just about to drift off, too, having stayed awake for most of the night due to your boyfriends restless tossing and turning. He's not one to wake up like this, usually down for the count due to the exhaustion that throbs in his bones after a day of constant moving.

But the way he burrows himself further against your figure, supple hands and nimble fingers ever so slightly caressing any bare skin they can reach without being too obvious; your body wakes you up without a choice.

You remain in the same position, however, legs shuffling as to let him know you're not asleep just incase he happens to be clingy in a state of half conciousness. You're still not sure wether or not you're the one being suggestive.

But, this is Jongin, your boyfriend whom you know the insides and outs of at this point in your relationship. His voice is as seraphic as his features, jubilent smile and the crinkles by his warm eyes displaying the likes of someone who is more or less, innocent in nature.

But you know better than anyone just how carnal he can be, how he touches you when the two of you are alone. He allows glimpses of himself to be seen like this whenever he performs, passion running through his veins like hot liquor, eyes lowly lidded. It'll always leave you breathless, awed.

Just the thought has your belly swarming with recurring butterflies. 

But it's another thing completely when it's just you and him, a specific type of unequivocal touch that can only be described as innately Jongin, and it's this knowledge that leads you to believe your boyfriend isn't just craving closeness in a half cognitive state.

His intentions become clear when his ring finger traces the crease of your thigh, teetering against the seam of your underwear as he ascends to your navel. You try not to quiver, and he hums inconspicuously when you roll over, stretching your limbs.

"Why are you up bub?"

He paws at your hip and your thigh brushes the half hard erection that is growing in his shorts. You're too sleepy to be surprised, however you wonder if he can see the glint in your eyes as he lets out a soft, almost inaudible groan from the contact.

You reach out and move some of his tousled hair from in front of his forehead, the tips of your noses touching, his puffy lips brushing past yours while he speaks.

"Was dreaming...had a good dream," you wonder for a moment if he's really awake, with how groggy his low voice sounds. "Can't sleep now."

He's shameless as he pulls your middle flush against him, the heat of his chest warming your forearms as you drop your hand somewhere close to his shoulder, tracing circles along the valley of his collarbones.

"Hmm, you're usually not so eager when you're tired." You feel the corner of his mouth twitch as he halfway smirks, wide palm rubbing your lower back and the top of your thigh as his hips become bolder with their proximity.

"But I miss you, miss being with you," his mouth is plush and sincere as he kisses you, the scent of his skin and the studiness of his body against yours leaving your willpower weak. "M'so busy, dream about making you feel good."

Your fingers gently grasp the ridge of his jaw as his tongue casually slips into your mouth, exploring while you sling your leg over his middle and your centers meet. A shared chorus of satisfied moans slip past your kisses, the comforter that's atop of you both suddenly too hot to be underneath.

"My sweet boy, you deserve so much." You practically purrs against his lips, his cock now solid against the crotch of your panties from your words. You can tell he's properly worked up now, rubbing himself against you.

"Can we...? Please..."

He's unintentionally breathless, senses overwhelmed in the dark and aching to feel more more more. You're so soft in his arms, you're his, and the domesticity of it makes his belly hot with desire.

You nip his plump bottom lip lightly, enough to have him cupping your ass and pushing your hips as close to his as possible in your current position. You do him one better and crawl on top of him all together, his mouth nor his hands straying from yours; refusing, in fact.

Your knees are secure on either side of his warm, taut middle, your hands exploring his broad chest while his fingertips gently grasp the back of your neck.

The kiss is sloppy and becomes lewd very quickly with the way Jongin insists on bucking up against you, years of dancing evident with how smoothly he seems to roll his hips against your cloth covered slit.

Your mouths move together haphazardly, no real rythym now as your inhibitions dissipate between the movement of your tongues. You can tell he's still tired, horny but tired.

You reluctantly pull away from his fever inducing mouth, trying not to become so easily overwhelmed. It's hard when he looks up at you like that, like you're the whole world and more while your fingers slip underneath the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his thighs.

He twitches when you crawl back onto him, the shaft of his smooth dick snug against your center while your mouth leaves a wet trail of open mouthed kisses from his chest to his throat, his skin sweltering.

He whines, and you short circuit at the sound, no matter how familiar it is to your ears. You slip your hand between your bodies to grasp his solid length and slip your panties to the side, grasping onto his broad shoulder for leverage while you sink down onto him.

The stretch is a bit more staggering than you're used to, and it's only now that you're realizing it genuinley has been a while since you and Jongin last got to be this close. He’s always working, as are you and being intimate has somehow slipped through your fingers these past two weeks.

It makes it all the more gratifying, and you can tell he feels just as thrilled, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed together as a string of expletives leave his mouth.

"You're so wet baby." He says it with strained astonishment, hands wandering from your soft hips to underneath your sleeping shirt and then your breasts. Your hard nipples prod at his palms.

You arch into his touch as you begin to rock yourself against his stiff cock, steady at first in an effort to make the moment last a little longer. You can feel every ridge and curve of him, and you have a hard time not mewling.

"You always make me wet Nini."

You hiccup a gasp as he suddenly thrusts into you, lifting his knees and digging his heels into the mattress in a manner that almost seems knee jerk, like he couldn't help it.

"O-oh baby you're so good to me." It dawns on you quite quickly that he doesn't plan on slowing his minisrations, pulling you down to his mouth by then sides of your neck in a gentle yet urgent manner.

It feels even better like this, his length filling you perfectly in the way it always has, the squelch of your slick as he fucks you only adding to the suddenly thick atmosphere. You can't help but to whimper, body trembling as it remembers just how skilled he really is at making you feel good.

"You like it like this?" He asks earnestly, kissing you between replies to feel the vibration of your soft mewls against his mouth. "Yes Nini, you're so good, s-so good."

His slim fingers find their way to the sides of your throat, and you don't have time to be awestruck by how sweetly he seems to do it, too focused on the way his body moves underneath you.

Your body jolts with the force of his thrusts, and he knows your every reaction so well that it must be obvious how close you are already, your shaky hands grasping his waist.

"Say it again for me, please?"

His tone is different this time, needier and raspier with the effort he's using to make it audible. You can tell just by the way he ever so slightly squeezes the sides of your throat while he begins harshening his pace, what he's hinting at.

And you oblige in the shameless gratification, mimicking his ministrations and securing your fingers around his neck while you fuck yourself onto him in a shared rythym.

It's been too long, he thinks to himself. He's mesmerized, in love with you to a painful degree. Not to mention your mouth...

"So good to me, Nini, you're so fucking big and f-fuck-" he hangs onto every last syllable, watching your lewd expressions and listening to your praises with rapt attention. "want you to fill me up Jongin."

His eyes roll back for just a moment, as your twist your fingers in his honey colored hair, lips suckling the sensitive skin just below his earlobe. His hips stutter, and you know he's as close as you are, hands releasing your neck in favor of keeping you in an iron grip against him.

It all feels like a sweet dream, your face buried against his shoulder, the sweet and warm scent of his skin and soap causing your inner thighs to tingle. You feel him so far inside of you, reaching places only he could, holding you in his arms like a lover all the while.

You're not surprised, to be the first one cumming, but he's struck by a sudden wave of agonizingly overwhelming arousal with the way you cry out his name.

"Jong-jongie, oh-oh!" Your walls have him in a vice grip, and he falls apart while you're quivering against him, his kiss bitten lips finding your tender neck as he pumps himself into you.

"That's my girl, this pussy is m-mine oh b-baby, so fucking good."

His voice is quiet, he's too out of breath, too fucked out. But you can still hear him perfectly, sending heat waves of white hot pleasure through your bones with every word that he groans out.

He fucks himself into you a few more times, languidly and with no real purpose; just needing to savor the feeling. You're still pulsing around him.

His chest rises and falls with less fervor now, his fingertips gently caressing the curve of your back as you rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. He doesn't care to move and neither do you, too tired, and too stubborn to let the other go.

Everything is quiet. And not uncomfortably or unsettlingly so, it’s comforting. You can hear his heartbeat this way, and he can match his breathing up with yours as he does most of the time subconsciously. 

It's two forty five a.m when Jongin whispers sleepily into the darkness, with you asleep on his chest.

"I love you, so much."

[seita]

— the lottery: redlove | eijirou kirishima (m.)

pairing: kirishima/reader

genre: fluff, smut, angst if u squint

wordcount: 𝟹,𝟶𝟺𝟸

cw: cam couple!au, pro hero!bakugou

tags: soft forehead kisses, lonely!bakugou, protective kiri, dom/sub dynamics, male masturbation, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, cunnilingus, pain kink, light degradation/name calling, creampie, cum eating, soft aftercare kisses & praise

note: part 2 to the loved redlove fic. i really hope u guys enjoy this!

— redlove, bakugou's favorite camcouple, hold a lottery to decide who gets a private show with them.

blog navigation.

⇦ prev. live now: redlove

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.  

Bakugou was obsessed; something he found shameful. Here he was, one of the top heroes in Japan — the Ground Zero, infatuated with a couple he only knows because he jerks off to them every night. 

He couldn’t imagine what people would think of him if they found out that he spent his nights with his first around his hard cock, imagining himself fucking the pretty cam couple. 

But when he got a notification one afternoon, his phone buzzing obnoxiously on the wood of his desk, he knew he was fucked. 

He had been lucky enough to discover the couple had a Twitter account and promptly followed from his private, personal account. Looking back, he was glad he had enough common sense to make sure he didn’t follow from his professional, hero account. 

That would have been hard to explain to the media. 

He unlocked his phone and opened the tweet, biting his lip as he pressed the like button.

“We are excited to announce that we’ll be holding a special lottery on our next stream. The winner gets a private show! Details will be explained.

— redlove <3.”

He was about to go see what they were talking about when there was a knock at the door. Bakugou jumped and locked his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he gruffly called for the person to enter. 

He talked to his sidekick as if he wasn’t half hard in his hero costume the entire time. 

The second he was back in his home, sitting comfortable in a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants, he took his phone out and finally took a look at who had been on his mind all day; the redlove lottery. 

He checked the time, seeing he still had a few hours to go before you would start your stream. So to kill time, he made himself dinner and decided to watch TV. 

Thankfully, it worked and before long he lost track of time. The only thing that reminded him was his phone buzzing. 

He yawned, picking it up only to choke when he saw “redlove is now live!” plastered across the banner.

He fumbled with the device, not giving a shit about how desperate he was — it wasn’t like anyone was there to judge him. He unlocked it and clicked the notification, waiting with bated breath as the app opened. 

The screen was black for a moment, the spinning circle in the middle showing that it was buffering. But after a minute, the screen was finally filled with your pretty face. 

You were perched at the edge of the bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt that slipped off of your shoulder with some faded writing he couldn’t quite make out. He couldn’t see any bra strap so he could assume your breasts were bare beneath. You were sitting on your knees, making it hard for him to figure out if you wore short, panties, or nothing. He hoped it was the latter.

“Where’s Ei?” you asked, reading the comments.

“He’s grabbing some things from the living room I think,” you shrug with a smile, “We’ll talk to you guys about the lottery before we get started though, don’t worry!”

“Ah did you start?” Eijirou’s voice was a bit muffled due to his distance from the microphone. 

You looked offscreen and smiled, “Yeah, didn’t wanna start too late. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Your boyfriend hummed and climbed onto the bed, pressing a kiss against your temple, making you beam. Bakugou’s heart ached at the sight — it was almost sickening how cute and in love the two of you obviously were. The domesticity between the two of you was heart wrenching.

“So about the lottery!” you clapped your hands together and shifted to the side so Eijirou was on the screen fully. 

Bakugou’s mouth went dry at the sight. The redhead wasn’t wearing his usual spiked up hair, instead it was down, hanging in his eyes. He wore a pair of sweatpants and he was shirtless, as usual. The hero wondered if it was common for him to be shirtless even when you weren’t streaming. The redhead sat back on his palms legs crossed on the bed as he eyed the screen, reading comments as you spoke.

“So, as you may know the website recently implemented a private show function,” you explained, clearing your throat before continuing, “So Ei and I talked about it and came up with the idea to hold a lottery for it! Basically,” you paused to giggle, squirming in your seat. Bakugou smiled along with you, the sound of your laugh contagious as he watched the way Eijirou’s hand was obviously up the back of your shirt.

“Go on then,” your boyfriend teased, lips quirked up ever so slightly. 

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him, still smiling, “Anyway, we’re doing it on a donation basis. The more you donate, the higher chance you’ll get at being chosen!”

The playful look on your boyfriend's face vanished immediately. He leaned forward, closer to the screen, shaking his head. Bakugou’s eyes drifted to the comments on the stream to see a bunch of complaints; saying that wasn’t fair, how you were just using the viewers for money, even a handful of name calling. 

“Hey,” Eijirou barked, brows furrowed. The sight made Bakugou shiver and a quick glance at you, watching the way you thickly swallowed, watching your boyfriend, he could tell you had a similar reaction, “Don’t forget this is our job. Of course we’re going to do the most we can to make money.”

Bakugou watched as the redhead began to click around on the computer. Glancing down at the comment section, he saw that a few accounts were now banned “account name has been banned” placed where their comments once stood.

“Don’t insult _____,” Eijirou grumbled, sitting back in his seat, “Remember, getting to see her pretty little body is a privilege that can be revoked at any time. I’m the only one who can call her names,” his voice lost a bit of its seriousness at that last statement, giving way to his usual playfulness. But Bakugou could tell he was still a bit ticked, his body was tense. The blonde let out a soft, almost dreamy sigh; Eijirou was a man in protection mode.

You chuckled, nudging your boyfriend before turning your smile back to the camera, “As I was saying...it doesn’t mean if you have to donate 100,000 to get a chance. You never know how your luck may play out! Either way, we look forward to this. We’ll be taking donations for this stream as your lottery entry!”

Bakugou’s heart leapt out in his chest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d donated to the two of you. He could still remember the first time he’d heard you say his name. He’d made a donation at the start of the stream and you’d beamed, muttering out a cute “thank you, katsuki!”

The way he felt himself swoon was almost embarrassing. No, it was embarrassing. 

How was he whipped over a girl he’d only ever watched fuck her boyfriend through a screen?

He sighed, pressing the donate button, going through the automatic payment process with a few clicks on the screen to verify his identity. 

In the background, he could see the two of you have met in a deep kiss. His hand cradling the back of your head, slowly fisting your hair until he wrenches your head back to begin mouthing at your throat. 

The whimper you release encourages Bakugou to speed up before closing the window, his donation of $120 successful. 

He relaxes back against the couch, pushing his hand up his shirt to thumb his nipples. He could feel his cock beginning to grow hard in his sweats, making him grind mindlessly in his seat against nothing. 

You were on your back, shirt pushed up over your breasts as your boyfriend cupped your breasts. Bakugou sighed at the sight of your pretty tits, taking note of the cute, white panties you wore that were adorned with cute pink strawberries. The material was a bit sheer from what he could see from how wet you were getting. The mixture of the lewdness of your pussy no doubt clenching and dripping against the fabric that oozed innocence and softness made his cock throb. 

Fuck, you were so sweet and cute. 

For a long moment, Bakugou felt envy burning in his veins as he watched your boyfriend worship your body. He tongue your nipples, sucking until they popped out of his mouth before descending down your body, leaving kisses along your ribs, stomach and hip bones. He finally settled on his stomach between your thighs, running his fingers along your folds through the thin material.

“Aw, you’re this wet from some kissing?” Eijirou teases, leaning down to kiss your clothed pussy, “You’re my sweet little girl, aren’t you?”

“Ei…” you whispered, shifting beneath him in anticipation, biting your lip as you reached down to thread your fingers through his hair, “Love you…”

The redhead grinned, kissing your inner thigh so softly it made Bakugou’s heart flutter before whispering, “I know you do, pretty girl.”

He slipped your panties to the side, moaning at the sight of your flushed, wet cunt. Pushing your thighs apart, he used his thumbs to spread you open. 

Bakugou slipped his hand beneath the band of his sweats, palming his bare cock that was throbbing under his own touch. He watched intently, not even blinking as he watched the way your boyfriend ate your cunt like he was his last meal. 

He worshiped you, kissing your folds, tonguing your clenching hole, before wrapping his lips around your hard clit. Your thighs trembled and jumped, threatening to close as your boyfriend pulled back the hood of your clit, exposing the extra sensitive nerves to his tongue’s abuse. You squirmed, yanking at his hair, wanting to simultaneously push him away and pull him closer. 

He made the decision for you by pulling away. Your hand lost its grip on his hair and flopped back down to the bed. His touch wasn’t gone for long before he was pulling your panties down your legs. 

“Shit,” Bakugou whimpered as he caught sight of the strings of your slick clinging to your panties before sticking to your thighs. 

Your boyfriend seemed to have noticed the same thing, running his fingers along your soaked cunt, gathering your juices on his fingers before showing the camera, pulling his fingers apart to show the audience how wet you were. 

Bakugou gripped the base of his cock, feeling hot and almost painful in his hand. 

“Gotta fill that little pussy, princess,” Eijirou breathed, finally stripping himself of his sweatpants. 

The Pro-Hero squeezed his cock at the sight. You were a lucky girl that he was damn sure of. 

Ei’s cock was as long as it was thick, veins running along the shaft with a pretty, pink tip that always seemed to be drooling precum. The sight of his hand wrapped around his own length made Bakugou lick his lips — long, lithe fingers with veins running on the tops of his hands before reappearing over his forearms. 

There was no doubt in the blonde’s mind that the two of you were a beautiful, perfect couple. 

You were so pretty with a brilliant smile and contagious laugh. But when you had your legs spread for your boyfriend, you were a cute, submissive little kitten who was never too proud to beg for praise. 

Eijirou was a pillar, strong-willed and protective — really, a perfect Dom. The second he had you on your back, however, he turned almost mean. He took advantage of your submissiveness to use you like a cocksleeve, praising you for being a good girl while telling you it was pathetic how easily you came just from putting his cock inside you. 

But afterwards, he would let you cling to him, press kisses to your lips and temple and caress your skin until the screen went black and Bakugou was reminded that he was alone. While the two of you were no doubt thriving in each other's embrace. 

It was those moments that reminded the hero how alone he was. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when you let out a squeal of pleasure. Focusing his gaze back on his phone screen properly once more, he gave his cock a few strokes to the sight. 

You were laid on your side, one leg lifted and pinned towards your chest while you clung to a nearby pillow as your boyfriends fat cock stretched you open. 

“A-Ah!” you cried, biting on the pillow. 

Eijirou soothed his hand along the thigh he was holding, pressing a kiss to your knee, “Does it hurt, sweetheart?”

“Mhm…” you whined, making Bakugou realize you hadn’t been stretched before taking his length. 

“Ah but…” the redhead grunted, sinking more of his cock into your dripping cunt, “You like it when it hurts, isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” you immediately gasped, eyes fluttering closed as he finally bottomed out.

“I know you do, my pretty pain slut,” Ei whispered, pulling out before quickly sinking back inside of you with an swift roll of his hips. 

How easily he set a rhythm reminded Bakugou how much he knew your body. He got to fuck you on and off camera. Envy reared its ugly head once more, burning hot in his veins as he slowly stroked his cock to the sight of you getting stuffed full by your perfect boyfriend’s cock.

He felt pathetic. He felt envious. He felt...lonely. 

His heart began to feel heavy but his cock remained hot and throbbing in his fist. Mindlessly, he surged his hips forward to fuck into his own fist, as if he wasn’t giving himself enough pleasure. His other hand dipped beneath the band of his sweats to cup his heavy balls. 

On the screen, you were rolled back over, your knees locked around his hips as he fucked you. He panted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, meeting your gaze with a serene smile. 

The sight was so soft, so sweet. You leaned up and pressed your lips against his, nipping at his lip before pulling away to moan as he hit your g-spot. 

“Atta girl,” Ei whispered, letting you angle your hips up so he would continue to hit it, “Such a good girl, make me hit that spot. You wanna cum? Want me to make you cum?”

You nodded, mouth agape as you whined, “Yes, please!”

“So polite,” Ei grinned, but made no move to help you get off, “Tell me why you deserve to cum.”

“Ei…” you sob, clearly not pleased with his teasing.

“C’mon,” your boyfriend taunted, “I won’t know why I should let you cum unless you tell me. You know I’ll leave you high and fuckin’ dry, don’t test me, babygirl.”

At the sound of his once soft, sweet voice turning dark and demanding, you whimpered and began to babble out anything that came to mind, “I-I’ve been good! ‘M your good girl, Ei. Please, I’ll do anything...please let me cum. Make me cum, only you can make me cum good!”

“Such pretty words…” Ei groaned, licking the pad of his thumb before quickly pressing it against your clit. You keen immediately, the arch of your back pushing your breasts out provocatively as you clung to the pillow beneath your head, “Go ahead. You wanted to cum so fuckin’ bad. Cum on my cock, make a mess for me. Wanna see you cream on my cock like the good girl you are.”

His filthy words sent you over the edge and you came with a cry. Through your high, you babbled praises to your boyfriend; ‘you feel so good’, ‘you make me cum so hard’, ‘please don’t stop’, ‘please cum inside’.

Your boyfriend fell victim to your pleas, giving a few more valiant thrusts into your cunt, forcing you to ride it out completely as he poured his hot cum inside. 

Bakugou’s eyes rolled back, he quickly pulled his cock out of his sweats. He cupped his balls, rolling and squeezing them as he felt the tighten up with his impending orgasm. His cock throbbed violently, spitting cum across his chest, landing up to his cheeks. He opened his mouth without a second thought, making sure to stick his tongue out, only catching two jets of his cum on his tongue before it tapers off, drooling pathetically down his length.he swallowed the salty taste of his own load down with a whimper before slowing the strokes on his cock as he softened. 

On screen, Ei slowed down, avoiding overstimulating the both of you before he fell over top of you with his hands on both sides of your head. He leaned down, meeting your lips in a happy kiss mixed with smiles. 

“Did so good for me, pretty girl,” he whispered, pecking your nose before kissing your forehead, “Love you so much, you know that?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He sat up, his arm around your waist as he shifted to look back at the camera. He cradled you in his lap, cupping the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We’ll be doing the drawing for the lottery next week when all the donations you made will officially have gone through,” Ei explained, smiling as you buried your face in his neck, still floating through the pleasurable headspace, “Thanks for watching everyone!”

He leaned forward, jostling you slightly, making you whine. The last thing Bakugou heard was a soft, “sorry, babygirl” before the camera turned off and the stream ended. 

The hero sat by himself, hand covered in drying cum that was on his stomach and shirt as well. As usually, the impending loneliness he felt compounded with the shame of having cum so hard from watching redlove made his heart ache. 

Swallowing thickly, a thought occurred to him. 

He had no idea how he would survive if he won that lottery. 

Oh well, the odds of that happening were low.

Right?

[starvels]

what are your favourite MCU and 616 stevetony moments? <3

<3 hi bee. this is a cute ask ty ! here are some!

MCU

in avengers 2012 when they work together post the scepter messing with them! i know its corny but 'it seems to run on some form of electricity' is so fucking funny to me, no joke. imagine u wake up from a 70 yr nap, everyone u know is dead or dying and someone's like take a look at this HIGHLY EVOLVED PIECE OF TECH and tell me what's going on. steve should have cussed a lot and that's my only critique of that. i love that tony doesn't rib him for it. just says 'you're not wrong' GOOD! as should.

any moment in the latter half of avengers 2012 tbh, but esp that one shot of steve's glove on tony's arc reactor i BURN for it ty

that moment (in one of those movies i haven't watched sorry i gave up after avengers) when tony is like you said we would lose together, WELL we did that and you weren't there and then dramatically faints and steve's like, but i slow ran to you, i broke everything between us and then gave u a flip-phone and the narrative finally takes tony's side abt how shitty it was lol

616

'you gave me a home.' canonical found family! damn!

too many quiet, little moments at 890 fifth to name. them searching each other out, them in meetings, them having rooftop or library talks, them learning each other and sharing intimacies. avengers v1, tales of suspense, etc

when steve is delighted and very easily okay with tony stark being iron man after all of tony's worrying abt not being enough as himself. also, tony's ID is revealed in a RED THONG lmfao. truly the bisexual disaster we all deserve

good morning, beloved <3

steve knowing all of tony's passcodes time and time again, being the only one with the lock and key to tony's existence.

confessions/civil war: casualties of war. i know i said u gave me a home already BUT the entirety of them. they're just gold. they're so good. they're so fucking sad. i weep so well

red zone cpr tony sacrificing himself for steve and then steve crawling through glass to pick up tony's prone body!! fuck me up! alright alright!!!!!

avengers ensemble moments where the entire emotional weight is hinged on steve and tony having a couple's spat and everyone around them talks about their love and calls them mom and dad lmfao

the illuminaughty meeting where steve says to tony 'be nicer, we've talked about this' sends something MIGHTY through my domestic, lovers-knowing-each-other bones. that's just...i want them to talk about themselves w each other

the bagel scene talking abt reforming the avengers and every other scene where they Know each other v casually and Believe in each other.

when they kill each other in infinity. the whole of infinity is wild garbage and as emo as the s/t focus there makes me, i think the coin of one was life and one was death is not accurate if you're only applying one or the other to each of them. i was talking w @oluka the other day about this but tony is the death->life cycle and steve is the life->death cycle. BUT ANYWAYS i'm mad emotional about the fact that when the entire multiverse was ending ALL S/T COULD THINK ABOUT WAS EACH OTHER. the fuck, bruh!! they chose to die in the streets fighting each other bc they mean more to each other than the multiverse ending. i cannot make this up.

anyways i need to STOP adding bullets at this point i'm just naming every moment skjndkbnkdjnb anyways those are some!!! lmfao!

i'll reblog some of these panels from cap-im for you later, too hehee

[mychemicalficrecs]

Ciao <3 Do you know if any current Gerard/Frank fics exist? After the reunion i thought there would be plenty :( Like they met after a long time, with some angst, unresolved discussion, jelousy etc... anyway any similar style era will sadisfy me, grazieeeeeeeee <3

I have... a mix of things for you!

First of all, check out these two lists I made earlier this year: Current Era Frank/Gerard Current Era Gerard

Then I've got a few fics your ask made me think of, even if they might not be exactly what you asked for: Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by cedarbranch, Frank/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, Frank/Jamia, Lindsey/Frank/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Strays by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Frank/Gerard, 14k, Explicit. Frank and Gerard's life off-tour is all about grocery shopping and blowjobs and general domestic happiness...until Gerard goes missing, and bloody scraps are all that's left behind. So when a stray dog turns up on Frank's doorstep, can anyone blame him for wanting a little normal back in his life?

And finally, here are a few more newer Reunion Era Frank/Gerard fics :3 Snow Globe by pyrchance, 5k, Explicit. Maybe all that he’s learned over the years is patience though. He lies awake for at least an hour, scowling with his eyes closed, before he hears the creak of the bunk beneath his. He waits until the creaking resolves itself into the hiss of a curtain being pulled open and the shuffle of feet. Finally. Frank opens his eyes and slips out of bed.

The Kids From Yesterday by orphan_account, 6k, Mature. Frank should be mad at Gerard for breaking the walls he'd built for himself with so much difficulty. But he can never be mad at the man in front of him. It's an intrinsic part of him at this point.

Critical Mass by Anonymous, 2k, Explicit. Gerard balks a moment later when Frank’s fingers breach the bottom of his shirt and begin to tug it upward, because Gerard needs to have Frank in his life after tonight. Therefore he has to put his best foot forward. He has to suck Frank’s dick or ride him like he’s twenty-three and eager to please. Has to show Frank that a little thing like age or a deteriorating body don’t keep him from being a considerate lover.

these broken bones go nice by abrandnewboom, 2k, Teen and Up. wish u cud come over and keep me company xofrnk, Frank taps out methodically. It really hurts to use his pinkie this much, but the plaster extends so far down over his knuckles that he can barely lift his index finger high enough to hit the home button.

[messwriting]

Summary: Unable to resist your boyfriend literally just minding his own business, you drop to your knees to show him your appreciation.

World Count: little over 1.5k. I just am that hot for Iwa, honestly. 

Warnings: Do not read if under 18. Smut. Porn Without Plot. Blowjob.  This is literally just you blowing Hajime on the couch because he is that hot. And yes, you swallow -- it’s Hajime, what did u think smh (i do refer to him by his first name mostly, yk, we’re that close lmao).

N/A: This is based of a drabble I did for another fandom and another blog, but I wanted to refine and make something better for my baby Iwa-chan. Also, super self-indulgent because I’d do this every day for Iwaizumi Hajime (26) Athletic Trainer of Japan’s VB Team. [No talk just straight up c*ck worship smh. Tsukki stop glaring at me!!]

You never imagined that such a dirty act could bring you so much satisfaction, but there was something different about getting Iwaizumi to lose all shyness, his aggressive demeanor mingling into appraisal, while small curses and countless noises -- each more precious than the other -- rolled from the depths of his throat, only to die muffled by the grip of his jaw or his fist. 

You'd never done this to any of your previous boyfriends, so the first time you tried with Iwaizumi, on a little Sunday afternoon when you'd given up cuddling in prol of a very heavy makeout session, it was a great revelation that it could, in fact, provide you an incredulous amount of pleasure, even though he was the one being pampered. There was just something about having Hajime at your mercy, even if he was in control, that made you wet your panties despite going completely unattended. And he knew.

The wonderful roar of a growl coming from the back of your boyfriend's throat made you turn your attention back to the present and to what you were doing, carefully raising the pressure at the base of Hajime’s cock, making him let go of the air he was holding. The take out was waiting on the table and your bag was left on the ground, abandoned since you got home from class and decided that Iwaizumi looked too fucking good -- and everything else could wait.

You settle into the couch, knees spreading out without you really intending, as Iwaizumi withdraws his hand from your back to caress your neck, without pressing harder than the necessary to make you feel the weight of his palm there; his other hand spreading out the armside of the sofa, in the absence of another place for him to hold. The simple image of your ass in the air, your skirt falling over your back to give him the sight of your beautiful black thong under a matching pantyhose, and the way your ass stretched the pantyhose made Hajime’s squeeze his eyes shut in a deep struggle to simply not force your head down all the way on his length -- the simple imagination of his cock reaching the back of your throat enough to elicit a moan, the point of his ears turning red with the embarrassment of being this vocal. 

Hajime didn’t even look at the matching black lace bra you wore for more than a few seconds -- just enough time to register the way your breasts were hugged tightly by the undergarment escaping through the open buttons of your blouse, but the image still seemed to be engraved inside of his eyelids. 

You noticed the way your beautiful boyfriend looked exasperated and then brought your tongue over the head of his cock, surrounding the most sensitive part before sucking it back into your hot mouth. The hoarse sound that came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth only made the whole situation more delightful, and you definitely could see why you had felt so keen to drop to your knees so fast, just to have him in this state again, to the point that you had straddled him on your couch maybe minutes after crossing the threshold. 

Perhaps the fact that Hajime always seemed so unfazed, calmly listening to some game on TV while reading over new scientific reviews, so in control during every other thing had made the feeling of him at your mercy even more tempting. Or maybe you were just that fucking hot for your boyfriend, that the domestic image of him sitting and concentrated made you want to jump his bones. Either way, that was what had brought you to the position you were now, slowly tracing your tongue across Hajime’s cock until finally returning to it’s pulsating red head and sliding it between your tightened lips, increasing the friction and then sliding your tongue in circles as you descended across the length of his cock, quietly testing bringing him to the bottom of your throat. It took more than one tentative, but you were more than happy to oblige with sucking and licking the underside of his hardness, tracing the noticeable vein there all the way that you could effectively reach.

You bobbed on his cock few times, taking him inch by inch more deep against your throat, slowly winning over your gag reflex, until you finally were able to push past it, bringing him deep into your throat. Then, you made a small attempt to swallow around his thick girth and the moan that came from your boyfriend's lips was more than worth it to test your limits again. 

You returned to suck at his head in small licks, breathing profundly through your nose and then went down, taking it to the back of your throat again, repeatedly, this time more accustomed to the feeling of his big cock pushing there.

Iwaizumi grunted again, the noise he makes when he’s holding his moans inside his throat, his thighs trembling slightly and you loved what you could do with him with just your mouth -- high on the elation of giving him pleasure. You repeated the movement a few times, trying your best to swallow around him, testing his control, until finally removing your mouth from his dick (not without depositing a small kiss on his head), letting your hands jerk him off, so you could steal a small glance at his expression -- and what you saw almost made you straddle him and ride him until next week. 

Your breath came out sounding much like a whine and you dropped your head again, quickly returning your mouth to his length, fervor renovated in the way you sucked his cock, tasted the pre on your tongue when swirling it around him, stayed past your limit with him lodged deep inside your throat, eyes prickling with tears that you blinked away in glossed eyes. It was just so good. The weight of him, his taste, the pulsation of it against your tongue, his hands on your body, the feeling of his hard tights under your hands, the noises out of his mouth -- fuck, you could pass out from lack of oxygen with him that deep in your throat and you’d still be elated.

Iwaizumi pressed his hand on your head with more force than usual and a grunted of “fuck! fuck, close, i’m close”, pulling on your hair few times as a hint and then leaving it all together to go grab at the back of the couch. You clenched around nothing, wetness seeping into your panties in a gush and you groaned around his hardness, bringing your hands to aid your movements, increasing the pressure and quickness of your motions, your mouth enclosing around the dark red pulsating head, tongue lapping incessantly around his sweet spots.

Unable to resist, you slowed down for a second, tongue just licking at his head so that you could crane your neck back enough to look at him again, so fucking aroused by what you saw that you closed your legs together in prol of any crumb of friction -- and the feeling of your wet, pulsating pussy against the slightly more cold inside of your tights almost made you moan. 

Hajime had this tortured expression, full of pleasure, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed together, cheekbones tinged red, while sweat began to form on his forehead, his hands tightening on everything they could hold that was not you so as not to abuse of his force (though you’d love a mark or two) and then he opened his eyes -- glossed, overstruck in awe and burning, all at the same time.

You simply had to suck him back with all you had, mouth moving up and down with renewed force and abused dexterity, your hands going to the base of his cock to apply pressure while massaging what you couldn’t put inside your mouth, one hand moving with your head while the other found his balls, the extra saliva making it easy to fondle them. 

Hajime's hand flew back to your hair, fingers tangling with the locks, the pressure hard and warm while he softly tried to pull you back. You tried your best in signaling no with your head, preparing yourself for what was coming and refusing to be pulled out by him. You did this -- this was your reward. Hajime growled a loud “fuck!” and trembled slightly, white ropes of while flowing on your awaiting tongue, receiving everything he had to give you while your hands tried to prolong his pleasure with small strokes. 

Hajime’s eyes were half opened, staring at you with awe and fervor though his long lashes. It made you flustered, the way this amazing man looked at your completely disheveled state as if you were worthy of worship. You swallowed his essence and licked your lips under his stare and Hajime whimpered, the most amazing soft noise out of this huge man's mouth and you felt like you could soar the skies by the power of that alone. 

His strong arms came to embrace you, pulling you to his lap and he kissed your temple, nose caressing the side of your face all the way to your jaw.

“Fuck, how did I get so lucky?” Iwaizumi grunted against your skin, sounding genuinely lost, and you giggled.

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

[stones-x-bones]

Urgent || Morgan and Bex

TIMING: Current, right after this PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @inbextween SUMMARY: Morgan finds Bex in the alley behind the lawfirm. And more importantly, the file Bex risked everything for. CONENT: Domestic abuse references, physical abuse mentions

Bex didn’t remember uncoupling her soul from her body, but apparently that’s what had happened. She knew because when her eyes opened, there wasn’t any pain, and there was supposed to be pain. The condition her mother had left her in was painful and pathetic-- and she also knew because she was staring at her own body. It was slumped over next to the dumpster and she wished she knew enough about any of this astral projection stuff to hide her body a little more than it was. It looked so exposed, just sitting there. It would’ve been surreal had Bex been able to feel much more than a morsel of anger every now and then lately. The only time she’d felt things was when she was with Mina, and even then, she hadn’t felt enough. Mina had looked like she was thinking and feeling all too much and Bex hadn’t known how to help, except hold her closer under her blankets before she’d had to kick her out at 5am and send her shimmying down the drainpipe on the side of the house. 

But-- that wasn’t important right now. She needed to get to help. Last time, she hadn’t needed to walk. Her spirit had gone where it needed, but right now, it was still standing in that alley. She knew who she needed to get to, she just needed to figure out...how. Maybe it was like with the dreams, like what Nell had taught her. Just...think of a place and put all of her intention into that place and--

Bex popped into existence inside Morgan’s living room. For a moment, she allowed herself to fall into a sense of longing. She missed falling asleep on that couch, or watching a movie, and hearing Morgan moving about the kitchen, or the backyard, or to the hallway. She missed the smell of Morgan’s cooking wafting in. She missed laying across Mina’s lap. She missed all of this so much and that was why she needed to get those papers to Morgan and Nell.

And to save her unconscious, broken body. She needed someone to do that, too. “Morgan?” she called tentatively, turning towards the kitchen. She didn’t hear the rattling of cups, though. “Mina?” She didn’t know who was and wasn’t home. “Deirdre?” She just needed one of them. Any one would do. 

Morgan was almost done settling into her studio for the night. She just wanted to make a little brain snack in the real kitchen, where she wasn’t at risk of stepping on her own toes moving around. Maybe the quiet would make her feel better and bring her peace. Then she saw the not-spectre of Bex fidgeting by the stove. For a second Morgan thought her mind might have turned into scrambled egg. Her fear had conjured images of Bex like this before: bruised, bloodied, slumped and barely able to stand. But the look on her face, urgent and pleading, was more alarming than anything Morgan dared imagine. 

It took Morgan several seconds to find her voice again. “Bex...a-are you...really here right now?”

“Morgan!” Bex exclaimed, moving towards her as if she didn’t feel the ache in her bones that so clearly showed in bruises and blood on her face, her arms. It was because she didn’t feel it. Not like this. “Yes-- well, n-no, I’m not. I’m in an alley. My body, I mean,” she explained quickly. Last time she had only had a few seconds to explain what was going on, she didn’t know how long she’d have this time. “It’s-- I don’t know how much time I have. You have to come find me. My-- body.” A pause. “I’m not dead!” she suddenly exhaled, putting her hands up. “I’m not a ghost. This is-- I think I’m astral projecting again? That’s what-- it feels like. I’m not dead, but I also don’t think I’m okay.” The truth, not sugar coated. She hadn’t been able to do that lately, to care enough to do that. She needed to get better about it, be in her body. She was doing a really bad job at being in her body lately. This proved it. Morgan was standing in the kitchen looking at her slightly horrified and she didn’t know how to reassure her. “It’s-- I’m at the law firm. Well, in the alley next to it. Not my choice. Just kind of-- e-ended up there, I think.” Her spirit flickered. “Oh, I think I’m going back to my body no--” but she never finished.

Morgan reached out for the projection of the girl as if she could soothe her like this and will her body to teleport to safety. “O-okay. Okay. Okay,” she chocked. “I’m--” Then Bex vanished. “Shit. I’m coming, I’m coming okay? I---” She grabbed her keys. There was no one to hear her, and if Bex was left for dead looking like that, she was wasting her breath. 

Morgan’s insides clenched as she approached the law firm. If there was any CCTV outside the building, they would know she had come. She had even gone in the Subaru out of habit. On the other hand, any distance between Bex and the car was putting the girl’s life at risk. She’d take another hit from Odell if it meant saving Bex. So up she went, bypassing the parking lot and pulling up to the alley. She left the keys in the ignition and started running. “Bex! Bex are you--” There. But the body she saw barely counted as ‘there’. Morgan sank to her knees and touched the girl’s face. “Hey. Honey? Are you awake? I--I wanna move you, but it’s probably gonna hurt.”

Bex jolted awake and everything hurt again, which meant she was back in her body. That was probably a good thing, as much as she hated it. Someone was touching her face and she blinked through the haze, the pain in her head making it hard to see, vision blurry and blocked. “Morgan?” she asked. It had to be. She’d gone and found her, right? That hadn’t been a dream? That was real. It was real. Just like the feel of her cold hands on the bruised skin of her cheek. “You were right,” she managed to mumbled out, blood trickling from her mouth as she couched, “I shouldn’ve gone home…” Her words slurred together a little, still not all there yet. She’d blocked out the pain in the moment, as she’d thrown the papers into the dumpster as she ran from her mother. She remembered her head slamming into the side of it, angry nails grabbing her shirt and shaking her as she was slammed repeatedly into it. It must’ve been dented, her back aching felt as if it must be. “She caught me,” she said, sagging forward into Morgan, “I wasn’ careful enough.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Morgan said. “Hey, baby girl. Thanks for bringing me here. You did so good, you know that?” She stroked the girl’s hair and slid her arms under her carefully, lifted her slowly. They couldn’t stay here, and if she looked too long at Bex’s injuries she would stop the world to try and fix her this instant. Bex needed better care than that. If Odell was willing to destroy her daughter this much, there was no trusting her to wait for Bex to recover before starting again. 

“You can tell me in the car, okay? I’ll take you to urgent care, how does that sound? Or Nisa? Do you want to see Nisa instead?” As they approached the Subaru, she shifted Bex’s weight so she could balance the girl with one arm and open the door with ease. “Brace yourself, I’m gonna set you down in the seat, okay?”

“I knew you’d know what to d-do,” Bex said through wheezing breaths. Her stomach hurt so much. Something was broken in there. Ribs or muscles or something. “Sorry I keep...calling you like this.” She wasn’t, though. Sorry. The first time she’d shown up at Morgan’s like this, the woman had offered her the words, and she’d never gone back on them. She never would. She smiled at her, as best she could through painful, cracked lips, blood smeared across them like lipstick. Morgan had just lain with her in that hotel room, on that bed, and now she was carrying her like a limp corpse towards her car once again. Except she wasn’t a corpse. Time and time again Bex just narrowly escaped. Because she had people like Morgan. And Mina, and Nell. All there to pump blood back through her heart. 

“No! No,” she exhaled, “no u-urgent care. They’ll k-know. They always know. They just don’t say anything. No Nisa.” She’d just try and convince her to join the coven again. As she was laid down in the back seat, Bex pointed. “The-- the dumpster. A folder. There should be a-- f-folder. Papers in a...weird language. You have to-- f-find them.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby girl, you don’t have to be sorry,” Morgan said, eyes still steadfast on the car, the keys, anything except Bex’s injuries. She set the girl down and knelt to work on the seatbelt. “Hey, hey, shhh. I had to pass by the front to get over here, I don’t think secrecy should be a priority right now. What’s important is making sure you don’t have any internal bleeding or other bad shit I can’t fix with the first aid tub. So, we’ve gotta go somewhere. I’m not letting this get you if I can help it. Think about where you want me to take you and I’ll uh--” She cast a glance back at the dumpster. Stars, the key Bex had paid for with her blood would be in a container almost twice her size. “I’ll find that folder you hid.” She took a deep breath. Being parkour zombie hadn’t been part of her training with Mina, but there was a first time for everything. “I love you. Stay awake. Tell me where we’re going when I get back.” She pet her hair one more time, lightly, desperate not to cause any more pain, and ran off.

Bex liked it when she called her that. She smiled through the bleariness and laid back in the car. The ceiling light was going in and out of focus as she laid there, trying to pay attention to what Morgan was saying. She needed her to figure out where to go. Okay, okay, Bex could do that, she could do that. She watched Morgan go and almost forgot she’d told her to, to find the folder Bex had worked so hard to find. She reached for her as she left, but fell back, groaning in pain, holding her stomach. It burned, it hadn’t stopped burning since she’d exploded the other day. She wasn’t sure she’d eaten anything since then, either. Bex stared up at the ceiling again, trying to focus. She felt like she was fading fast. She hoped Morgan would come back soon. She needed her to find those folders, but if Bex didn’t make it through to do anything with the information, what was the point? She coughed again, more blood trickling from her mouth. Waited until she heard footsteps, but when she tried to sit up, the world went black. “D-did you find it? Please tell me you found it.” This couldn’t have been for nothing. 

Morgan had to put one foot on the dumpster and one on the wall and inch her way up to the top of the dumpster. She braced herself on the rim and didn’t climb or jump so much as fall into the filth and trashbags. Bex’s folder was mercifully easy to find. Morgan just had to swim over the bags to reach it. A few papers had fallen out. Morgan chased them over the trash bags and shoved them back in. In spite of the seconds passing, she couldn’t help but look: Something in a language she didn’t recognize with the signatures of Bex’s parents in brown spotty ink and a blank space for one more and a set of birth certificates. Not exactly a gold mine, but Nell would be able to make sense of the signed paper and maybe that would lead to something more. 

Morgan pressed the folder to her chest and pitched herself over the side of the dumpster. Her back slammed hard against the pavement but in a few seconds, when she got up, no bent bones hindered her movement and she knew she was free to run the rest of the way back to the car. 

She launched herself into the front seat and buckled up, tossing the folder onto the floor. “Hey! I’m here, I found it, it was just like you said. We’re good. Now, where are we going?”

Oh, right, Bex was supposed to think about where they were going. “Home?” she asked, looking up into the front seat at Morgan, even as stars marred her vision. Morgan wanted to take her to the urgent care, but fear still gripped her, clutching her stomach like a vice. “We can...the-the urgent care. But not-- you can’t tell them my n-name. My real name. They can’t know. They can’t know,” she kept repeating quietly, blinking heavily, trying to keep herself awake. Every time, though, she felt like she might pass out, the pain in her ribs reminded her to stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. The car rattled over a bump and she cried out, holding her stomach. She remembered her mother’s foot connecting with her abdomen as she lay on the ground. Over and over and over again. “It-- hurts-- like a-a lot,” she mumbled. “Can this thing go any f-faster?”

“Yes!” Morgan cried, fist bumping the ceiling. “Urgent Care! We’ll give you a really boring name, a gentile name, and I’ll just say I found you, and you’ll say there’s no one to call, and you should be okay for a little bit. That’s--brilliant plan. Amazing plan.” She reached over for Bex’s hand, nodding along as they slowed to a stop at the next light. “Uh, I was kind of hoping not to get any attention by breaking traffic laws or making the queasy worse by getting all swerve-y, but you can’t always get what you want!” When the light turned, Morgan floored the gas and sped the rest of the way, hands clenched on the wheel.

She screeched into the urgent care parking lot and dove out, running around for Bex. “Hey, you still with me, baby girl? We made it. And it might be easier if you can tell the nice doctors inside what happened. We’ll uh...say you got mugged? That’s close enough, right?” She didn’t wait for the girl to answer, but pulled her into her arms and started walking.

“No, no they won’t let you come back with me...if you say that…” Bex mumbled, trying to talk through the pain. It was searing, every time her body was jostled. But if it meant getting there faster, then that was okay. She hadn’t been to a real hospital in so long, she wondered if she remembered them right. If Urgent care was anything like that. Would they even accept her? Would they point them to ER? It was a lot harder to be anonymous in the ER. “Can you tell them I’m with you?” she asked, as Morgan came around and pulled her back into her arms. “That I’m yours?” 

Morgan was grateful Bex couldn’t see her expression as she made her request. It felt dangerous, more than it had that first evening when she realized how much the girl meant to her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being offered a trick riddle. To take, or not to take, and every answer was right and wrong. Odell might find them by morning. And what if she knew someone at the desk, someone who knew she didn’t have any blood family left to her name? Maybe they could both hide. Maybe being someone else was how they caught a break in this miserable town.

“Hello!” She called. “We need some help. My daughter’s been hurt.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 34 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Words: 2, 299

Warnings: Injuries. Domestic violence. Pain. Trauma

Masterlist:

Chapter 33. chapter 35

The voices are far away. I feel my body shiver from time to time and several hands touch me. I try to open my eyes, but the light hurts. I want to speak, but only a groan comes out of my mouth. My throat burns, my lungs are desperate for air.

I move my hand, a stabbing pain runs through my body, like lightning, spreading from my legs all the way up to my head. I complain again, I hear voices more clearly.

"Persephone, stay still, please…”

That's Jane. I'm with Jane. Why?

"Persephone, stop moving, you will hurt yourself more,” I feel hands on my arms and I growl. "If you listen to me, squeeze my hand,” I feel her hand on mine. I obey her orders. "Good girl. I know you have questions, your body has gone through a lot. I'll give you a potion so you can sleep. But I need you to stop fighting. You’re safe…”

Her tone sounds desperate, so I stopped moving. Then a liquid passes my lips and travels down my throat.

***

The second time I woke up, I was able to open my eyes. I find myself in an unfamiliar room, the curtains are closed and it is only me, lying on a bed.

I sigh now feeling that my lungs can work better, but with every minute that it takes, the pain keeps coming back, especially in my left arm. I stir by letting out a groan, it doesn't take long for the door to open, illuminating the room a bit for a few seconds.

“How nice that you are awake. I was already worrying, ”says Jane.

I hear him drag a chair to get closer to the bed.

"Jane" I say hoarsely.

"No, don't talk yet" she scolds me. "I will explain everything to you, but first I will heal your wounds"

***

My left arm is broken, I have two broken ribs, almost and that affects my lungs. Many bruises all over my body, my right cheekbone is swollen, I have a cut on my left ear, and several displaced cuts everywhere.

That is the diagnosis or the "simplest" way in which Jane could explain it to me. The healing is horrible and with every salve, potion and bandage change I feel like my bones are about to shatter into a thousand pieces. My screams echo through the room, only when Jane is done do I feel the burning in my throat.

The worst fight against my father happened at my house on the same day that I returned for Christmas holidays. That has been a week. Juno and my mother were on the side of Ares. They helped him, they agreed that I deserved something like that. Balder was another accomplice, he was responsible for various injuries.

I don't remember every detail, until now, in my dreams, green flashes arrive, screams, curses, and pain.

Apollo arrived just before they could assassinate me. My own family.

I’m with Apollo, Jane and Atlas. My parents don't know where I am and they don't want to know. To them, I am dead. Just like Sirius, but worse.

***

1

"You must walk a bit.”

"I've already done it.”

"Not just to go to the bathroom, Persephone."

“It hurts every time I breathe. I can't walk, Jane,” I growl looking at the ceiling.

She sighs.

"I know it hurts, but if you don't start moving, it’ll be worse.”

"This could not be worse.”

“Persephone…”

"Leave me alone.”

***

2

“Sirius wrote to me. Actually, all your friends have,” says Apollo. He’s sitting next to my bed with a book in hand. I don't respond and continue eating. “They’re worried about you. You should answer them.”

"They wrote to you,” I reply.

"If you keep sulking in your misery, you won't be able to go back to school."

"Maybe I don't want to go back…”

"That's a lie and you know it,” I shrug. He shakes his head. "Listen," he leans and takes the tray away from me. “You know I'm not like Jane and maybe I'm not the right person to encourage you to keep going. But you know the consequences very well. You’re not stupid and you’re no longer a kid. Go out, play with Atlas, write to your friends, do something. You are free, Persephone, although it may not feel like it.”

***

3

“I spoke to Dumbledore, you’re allowed to miss the first week. I told him that your body needs more time.”

"What if I don't return?"

Jane sighs.

"Your friends would miss you.”

"Forget the other people. What would happen to me? What if I don't finish school?"

"I can't see the future.”

“Try."

“No,” She answers raising her voice. “What you’re doing is not right. You demand answers that you know already. You cannot hide forever. Neither your brother nor I will allow it. Allow your head to think of someone other than you, Persephone. Think that a war is coming, and that we need every wizard and witch to be able to stop it.”

"Do you know about that?" She nods. "The order of the phoenix?" She nods again. "You said you talked to Dumbledore…”

“Yes, he came yesterday. I don't know how he found out. Your parents tried to hide any scandal…”

"He knew," I whisper.

"What?"

“Before the holidays, he said that he would help me with whatever I needed. He knew something was going to happen. That's why he called me to be part of the Order.”

It would be pretty stupid to tell the whole plan to a girl with parents involved on the wrong side.

I make a face.

"Crafty old man.”

"Persephone!"

“What?"

***

4

In the early morning, I sit up in bed and crawl to the end, I raise my hand and move the curtain. I see the huge garden outside my brother's house, the plants and flowers are illuminated by the dark sky

Today I would be waiting for the train to return to Hogwarts with my friends, with Sirius. But I'm still in bed with my left arm bandaged. Some cuts have closed and the swelling went down.

Physically I am improving and I want to believe that mentally too. My brother and his wife are right, I know they are. It's different from the last time things got tense between my family. This time I fought back, I was strong, but there is something that stops me.

Fear.

Although I’m no longer part of the family, I had never thought to leave them, not even when the whole show started. All my life I admired my father, I admired the loyalty and the dedication that other generations had for me to be in that place.

But now I know it was all a sham. Unnecessary sacrifices, death, murderers, the purity of blood and hatred.

I am free.

It doesn't feel good, but I don't see it as a bad thing either. It was necessary. This is all very complicated for a 17-year-old girl.

Someone cries and interrupts my thoughts. I sigh and get up slowly. My weak body slides towards the door and I open it. I walk until I get to the blue door next to mine.

Atlas is sitting on his bed, holding the railing. He's over a year old, but he still can't get out of the children's prison. Even though the bars are lower.

"What is it, nephew?"

“Monsters," He whispers between hiccups.

"Where?" He points to his closet. I nod and limping a bit I go towards it. I open the two doors and check every corner in detail.

“There's nothing here,” I inform him.

"O’tside?"

I lean out of his window and shook my head.

He sighs in relief. I move the railing so I can sit on the mattress.

"Better?" He nods with a smile. He takes off the covers and crawls over to me. He looks at my bandaged arm.

"It hurt?" He asks pointing at it.

“Yes.”

He pouts, with the help of my good arm he gets up on the bed and kisses my cheek leaving a trail of drool. That makes me laugh.

"Bettur?"

"Yes, thank you, darling.”

He nods, sits down again, but it doesn't last long. He carefully sits on my lap, wraps his arms around my neck and rests his head on my chest.

"Buv u, aunti phony,” He whispers into my chest.

"I love you too, Atlas.”

***

5

"Are you sure this block doesn't go here?" I ask him not very sure of the construction of the castle.

"Mine!" He squeals.

"Yes, I understood that, but it will fall if you put it like that.”

"Yes?" I nod. “Okay.”

“It'll be a problem to share his toys, right?" Jane says sitting down on the grass in front of me.

“So far, he’s only lend me the green blocks. I don't think it's his favorite color. But if he's with other kids, maybe he'll change,” I shrug.

"Well, he’ll have to get used to it soon.”

I turn to see her and she smiles at me.

“You're pregnant?"

"Two months.”

I raise my eyebrows.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" I tease and she nudges my leg lightly. "Does the selfish midget already know?" I ask pointing to the blond castle maker.

"We told him, but I don't think he cares."

I laugh.

“Atlas," I call. "Do you want a brother or sister?"

"I don’ know.”

"Another baby in the house so you can play?”

"With aunti phony!” He points out laughing.

"It's progress,” I nod.

Atlas turns to his blocks.

Jane takes my hand, I return my gaze to her.

"You have visitors," She points out.

I lift my gaze and my breath catches at the sight of Sirius leaning against the frame of the door. His hands inside the pockets of his school pants.

"How long has he been there?" I ask Jane.

"Couple of minutes,” She gets up and walks into the house, not before saying something to Sirius. He nods and takes the blonde's place. Atlas feels the change and turns to look at him closely.

"Did you run away from school?" I ask.

“No, James's parents brought us. Dumbledore agreed.”

I nod.

He looks at me, smiles sideways and takes my hand.

“You'll come back?"

"I should,” I stroke his hand. “Yes, I’ll go back. It’ll be very strange, but I have to finish. Apollo told me that he'll send me off if I don't come back.”

Sirius laughs.

"No," says Atlas trying to remove Sirius's hand.

“Hey, selfish. Don't be rude,” I let go of Sirius and stroke my nephew's blond hair. “Greet the visitor! Atlas, this is my boyfriend, Sirius. Sirius, this is my nephew Atlas.”

Sirius smiles and tries to touch the baby's hand, but he pulls away a bit.

“Mine," he says pointing at me.

"Great, I have competition.”

"Better come in,” I turn to the baby. "I can't carry you, buddy. You'll have to trust Sirius,” I stand up and the baby looks at me confused. "Tomorrow we continue with the castle.”

Atlas pulls on my pants to get up, but he has a hard time. Sirius kneels in front of him. He searches through his pockets and pulls a figure out of them.

A black dog carved out of wood. He shows it to my nephew.

"How about a peace offering?"

Atlas looks at the figure and smiles. He takes it and Sirius takes the opportunity to carry him in his arms.

"Well played. Did you really bring the figure for him?" I ask him walking towards the house.

"It's not much, but since we planned this trip, I wanted to give him something.”

We both walked in.

Apollo and Jane are sitting in an armchair in front of another couple, and in another chair I ese James.

Jane takes her son to his room.

"You can do this if you really want to, Persephone,” says Apollo without deviating.

I sigh and nod. He smiles and gets up to hug me.

"Thank you," I whisper against his chest.

When we part, he kisses my forehead, then he leaves me in full view of the other guests.

“Normally, I wouldn't be so cheesy, but you look terrible and I'm a new man now,” says James hugging me. "You're pretty tough for a Slytherin,” I laugh and we part.

"Percy, these are Fleamont and Euphemia. James's parents,” Sirius introduces us. He puts a hand on my waist.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I shook hands with them.

"The pleasure is all ours, darling,” says Fleamont

"They have told us much about you," continues Eufemia. "And I must say that you are more beautiful than I could imagine, even with all that our Sirius told us…”

I look at the aforementioned who is now blushing.

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," I say laughing.

“It's true, although sometimes h exaggerated. Sometimes I wondered if we were talking about the same girl,” adds James.

"James!" His mother scolds him.

Apollo laughs.

"What did I miss?" says Jane.

Suddenly I feel a strong dizziness. I take Sirius's hand for support.

"You're good?" Sirius asks. I shake my head.

The laughter ends and Apollo approaches. They both lead me to an armchair. Sirius sits on the armrest.

"I'm sorry. It was just a dizziness and nausea, something common lately,” I comment.

“Dizziness and nausea?" James asks. "Anything you want to say, Padfoot?" He points out.

"Don't be an idiot, Prongs.”

"They act like children," says Eufemia. "Behave yourselves, boys!”

"He started," Sirius mumbles.

"He called me an idiot, mum!” James replies.

"I can't believe I actually missed this,” I say laughing.

Taglist: 

@treestarrrrrrrr​   @siriuslysirius1107​   @madmaiden2890​ @ren-ela​  @avipshamitra​   @auroraawrites​ @findzelda​  @lizlil​ @siriusmuch​   @chloe-geoghegan1​ @reverse-hxlland​  @may-rapp​ @the-specific-oceans​ @eveft​  @secret-obsessions​

@xkonpinkx​​    @inkandpen22​  @thagreenmoon​​​

@littledeadgirlwalking​​

@yunloyal

@bloodorangemoonlight​

[illneverrecover]

breathe for you | jjk

➛pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader ➛genre: Marriage!AU, domestic!AU, slice of life, fluff with a nice little smut undertone. ➛word count: 2006 ➛rating: 18+ (mature themes, mentions and descriptions of foreplay). ➛warnings: cursing, heavy petting, marking, dry humping/grinding, slight hair pulling, making out like horny teenagers, Jungkook being a goofy soft ass whole entire angel.  ➛summary: You’re always cold, but Jungkook comes up with the sweetest and most creative ways to warm you up. ➛notes: This entire thing was written for one of my beautiful besties, @quinnkoo​ . Happy Birthday,  Quinny baby! I’m sad we’re not celebrating this years at a BTS concert (or in a GCF!) like we did last year, but I hope this at least makes you smile. I’m so glad to have you in my life, to get to call you a friend, and to get to finally be close enough to squeeze you. Don’t tell anyone but I love you. Actually just don’t read this. ➛song:  Love U - Monsta X & Breathe for You - Monsta X

“It’s freezing in here.”

“No it’s not. You’re being dramatic again.”

Huffing, you slide the soles of your feet until they’re pressed against one of Jungkook’s sweatpant clad thighs. “I’m never dramatic literally ever. Feel my toes,” you wiggle them, giggling when he squeaks at the pinch. 

“Why do you always want me to touch your feet? Listen, baby, if you have a foot fetish, we can discuss some boundaries-”

“Jungkook!” you yell, laughing when he grabs your feet, tickling them briefly before slowly squeezing. His hands were so warm, which was a gentle reminder that your husband was practically a human furnace. 

Scooting closer to him, you fling your legs completely in his lap, sighing with relief when large palms slide up and down your legs, the friction warming your bones. You were always cold, no matter what the weather, but it was one of the many quirks that Jungkook loves about you - and loves teasing you for. Nuzzling into his side, you rest your eyes in the cozy peace of the moment before Jungkook shouts, plopping your legs to the couch to stand.

“I have an idea!”

You scoff. “Is your idea microwaving my socks again? Because they almost caught fire last time and it was awful-”

“No! This idea is way better,” he grins, winking at you before darting away. 

Despite the exasperation on your face, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Finding the match to your soul was a feat that you hadn’t thought possible, and yet here he was, dressed like a teenager and armed with a toothy grin, ready to take on the world for you. It may seem silly to others, but every moment spent with him was more than you could ever ask for. He was so caring, so considerate. He always wanted to make you laugh, always going out of his way to make you smile. 

So many bad days that he had turned for the better by attempting to make your favorite food, or demanding a movie night with all your favorites. Days when you had left work exhausted and drained and so damn soul weary that you didn’t think you could leave your bed - and instead of trying to make you, he instead joined you, holding you tight and letting you tell him all your fears and concerns. Jungkook was the most attentive partner, and he made the most mundane things unforgettable - one of his many charms.

He returns with a pile of blankets in his arms, doe eyes dancing with mirth just above the visible line. 

“You know where you can’t be cold?” when you shake your head, he drops the blankets on your lap, throwing his arms in the air. “Inside the formidable and impenetrable Fort Nochu!” 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is already hurting your cheeks. It was a cheesy nickname, a silly word, and yet it was something so undeniably him.

“Impenetrable, huh?” Unfolding the top blanket, you drape it over the couch until it reaches the top of the nearby recliner until a makeshift ceiling is formed. “Is the fort itself impenetrable or does that go for the inhabitants as well?” 

His dulcet chuckle is music to your ears, long hair shifting to fall into his eyes as he looks up at you through thick lashes. The look was more lethal than he realizes, and your blood starts pounding, pooling low in your gut.

“Well, you’ll just have to come and find out, hmm?” He tries to wink, but both eyes close, and you feel your heart clenching. 

Did he have to be so damn cute? Honestly, the whiplash was maddening. 

It took less than 10 minutes to finish the construction, your ideas for the optimal blanket fort perfectly aligning and allowing you to work in tandem. The futon mattress from the spare room has been dragged as the makeshift floor, a mountain of pillows and blankets adorning the top until it was truly lush and luxurious. A small door had been left open to the elements so that the TV screen could be seen, though Jungkook assures that this is not a design flaw and does not change his previous statement regarding the fortitude of Fort Nochu. 

He gestures for you to crawl inside before following, remote forgotten shortly after he puts some Netflix show on for background noise. Instead you were content to lay facing each other, his long arms circling your waist and rubbing smooth patterns along the ridges of your spine. Your face is pressed to the firmness of his chest, his scent heady mixed with the gentle thumping of his heart, and you couldn’t help but to breathe him in, to wish you could pull him in deeper. 

He’s humming a song, one that you don’t recognize but it’s beautiful and soothing as one hand slides up your back to nestle into your hair. “So, how about it? Did it work? Are you warm yet?”

Honestly, your limbs and heart had been heated through long before climbing into the blanket fort, but he didn’t need to know that. Instead, you trace the silk line of his jaw, thumb tugging at the corner of his plush bottom lip until his darkened gaze focuses on you. 

“I’m pretty warm, but I think I could be warmer.”

He glares then, question evident on his brow but instead of answering further, you hitch a leg over his hip, pulling him closer until your faces were almost touching. Your nose sweeps against his gently, a ghost of sweetness, before trailing down to his pulse point, to the hollow of his throat. You press a lingering kiss there, wet and soft, before moving to leave another, making a small path until you reach the barrier of his hoodie. 

He shakes loose a breath as his hands tighten around you, tugging in an effort to bring you closer, but you ignore it to continue your leisurely ministrations on the column of his neck. His skin was sweet, as if the lingering scent of his soap had melded with his natural scent to create the most perfect flavor, one that you couldn’t get enough of. You grin against him when you hear him whine, swallowing thickly. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you murmur, teasing the lobe of his ear with your teeth. Sliding a hand through his long locks, you tangle your fingers near the root to give a gentle pull, awarding you a low moan from his throat. “Is there something you want, Jungkook?”

His voice is rough, gravelly with misuse, but you hear him clearly all the same. 

“You. All I ever want is you.”

Now it’s your turn to groan, swinging your body up onto his hips until you are straddling above him, hands resting against the tight planes of his chest. He looks beautiful pinned beneath you; lungs heaving, face flushed, tawny eyes shiny and lust blown. His long hair is fanned around his face, almost making him look angelic - if you didn’t know any better, that is.

Unable to resist any longer, you crash your lips to his, licking against the seam of his pout until he opens, always so pliant for your kisses. You kiss him until he’s breathless, until his mouth is love bitten and his taste is burned onto your tongue. You’d be content to kiss Jungkook all night, to just enjoy the feeling of his lips moving in sync with your own, but the growing hardness pressing against your inner thigh is begging for your attention.

Who are you to deny Jungkook attention?

Rolling your hips, you finally pull your mouth away, gasping for air as you keen against him. “So what were the rules regarding penetration inside of Fort Nochu again?”

A choked laugh fades into a moan of your name, palms digging into your waist, bruising.  “I concede. You’re the queen of this fort now, you make the rules.” 

Victory of your win flooded your veins, and you give him a cocky grin before suckling his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping the flesh gently before letting it drop. 

“Good.”

Your hands slide under his hoodie to feel the feverish skin of his torso, lean muscles shivering under the contact as he gasps, and you love how responsive he is; how sensitive he is to your touch, how worked up he gets for you - only for you. 

Nudging him to sit up, you rip the material over his head to toss aside, eyes greedily drinking in the revealed skin before you like it was the first time all over again. Latching your mouth to his collarbone, you start to suck evidence of your claim against his golden skin, hips rocking gently against his length in sync with his soft mewls.

Each glide against his clothed cock was delicious pressure against your aching core, and you knew you were wet enough that you wouldn’t even need anything more than to slide your panties to the side to have him sheathed fully inside of you. Dropping a hand down to your center, you move to sweep the offending material away when a sudden tug at your shirt has you yelping.

“Mama? Papa?”

The voice is tiny, dripping with sleep, and you will your pulse to slow its pace when you turn to see your son clamoring his way into the fort. 

Sighing, you drop your head to Jungkook’s chest, snickering alongside him when he presses a kiss to your temple, allowing you a moment of reprieve before slipping out of his lap.

“Hey little man, why are you still awake?” he questions, hands reaching for the boy who happily scrambles into his father’s embrace. 

Tiny fists rub at his eyes, hair sticking out into an excellent mad scientist impersonation. He looks just like his father, could almost be his twin, and as he got older and more of his personality started to show, it became evident that you had created some sort of Jungkook clone. 

Something that the world should perhaps be worried about, but it only made your heart swell.

“I had a bad dream, I got scared. And then you weren’t in your room.” He pouts, lip jutting out, causing Jungkook to crinkle his nose with an amused grin.

“I’m sorry, rabbit. We decided to build a blanket fort,” leaning forward, he cups his hand towards the child’s ear, whispering conspiratorially. “I named it Fort Nochu.”

At the name, your son's eyes widen, turning to look at his father. “Nochu? Like who comes and helps me sleep at night?”

Jungkook chuckles, catching your eye as you stifle back giggles of your own. It had been an old trick, a silly story to tell your little boy that ‘Nochu would come through’ to help him sleep, but it had worked like a charm and clearly left a lasting impression.

“Exactly like that!” 

Your heart tightens in a vice at the scene, and you muse if you could possibly love your husband - your little family - any more for probably the millionth time since you brought your son home. There’s a smile on your face as you make room between you, adoration smooth in your eyes when you pat the bed encouragingly. 

“Does that mean I can sleep here?” he slides into the opening, a yawn ripping from him as he cozies under the copious blankets.

“I bet if you sleep here, you won’t have any more bad dreams,” you coo, running a hand through your sons dark hair as he settles onto his side, eyes already closing. 

Jungkook slips in behind him, elbow propping him up so he can admire you both, the comfortable silence lulling in the space between. Reaching over the now sleeping boys form, his hand searches your own, fingers interlocking, giving you a quick squeeze.

“Are you warm now?”

His voice is low, dripping with adoration, and you know what he means; what he’s asking without ever saying the words. 

Your eyes close as you hum. 

“Definitely.” 

[snootch]

I’m having awful insomnia so, instead of working on the last chapter of the fic I haven’t updated in Weeks, I wrote this one-shot instead. Enjoy.

XueXiao general rating coffin house drabble.

Amidst the dark of the Coffin House, the familiar shuffling echoed through the bare room. By now, Xiao Xingchen was used to the restlessness of their dear house guest. The man had stayed longer than anyone had anticipated, likely including the man himself. After all, it seemed natural to have him around now and Xingchen could barely complain about the extra hands and the addition of the only working eyes among them. The nightly shuffling was a strange comfort, a reminder that he was still there, despite the ever present knowledge that their accommodations were painfully lacking.

The house was dirty. It was falling apart. The walls had weathered cracks and the ceiling was poorly patched together by inexperienced hands. The brutal winter air seeped in through countless holes in the construction, contributing to the overall sleeplessness among the strange family of three. It was normal in these times for the youngest, A-Qing, to find her bed beside Xiao Xingchen on the makeshift straw and blankets on the floor, nearest to the fireplace that was painfully cold tonight. The firewood had run out too early this season and they all found themselves suffering for it.

Although considerably less common, it too was normal for the other man to find his bed beside them. The self-designated ChengMei finally resigned to the cold and shimmied in beside them, carefully burrowing into the pile of tattered blankets with movements meant not to disturb the sleeping figures. Just as Xingchen never complained about the added company, he didn’t complain about the added warmth on such harsh nights. In a regular house,  no man would admit to welcoming another man into his bed, but in the Coffin House, no one uttered a word against it.

The shuffling fell silent and Chengmei’s form pressed against Xingchen’s comfortably, the curves of his body feeling just familiar against his own. The night ticked by slowly and the two strays he’d adopted dozed off around him. With a body on either side, the cold-driven ache and stiffness ebbed from his joints and he felt himself relax. Just like the one to his right, Xingchen was no stranger to sleepless nights and was left staring into the darkness as the harmonious breathing slowed against him.

A small smile twitched at his lips any time Chengmei or A-Qing adjusted in their sleep, nuzzling closer to him, letting limbs drape over him thoughtlessly. It was a rare occurence to find Chengmei so unguarded, so utterly unlike his waking self who so effortlessly played a free-spirited persona despite the obvious refrains in movement and speech. When an arm snaked across his chest, Xingchen couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to place his hand over Chengmei’s and loosely intertwine their fingers together.

Moments passed and heartbeats told the time as Xiao Xingchen slowly found himself realizing the cause for Chengmei’s guarded behavior. The tips of his fingers found the four knuckles of the man’s hand, snaking up only three soft fingers. Xingchen paused with a furrowed brow, holding his breath to listen for Chengmei’s, studying the rise and fall of his shoulders to be sure he was still asleep before moving his hand down to the fourth knuckle, feeling around the disfigured joint.

The face of a different man flashed in Xingchen’s mind. A man who’s cruelty defined him, who didn’t have a single caring bone in his body, who’d sooner rip Xingchen’s throat out with his own teeth than rest his head on his shoulder to sleep. And that was precisely the man who’d spent the past year helping Xingchen patch the roof of the house, go shopping for groceries, cook breakfast every morning, fix the holes in A-Qing’s robes, the man who’s head was rested on Xingchen’s shoulder to sleep.

A horrified frown battled with Xiao Xingchen’s face, trying to keep quiet while begging to cry out all at once. If finding sleep had been difficult until now, it would be impossible for the rest of the night. His mind raced, forcing him wide awake to reconcile with the realization, all while trapped under Xue Yang’s limbs. All he could do was recoil his hand, a futile attempt to limit the contact he had with the other man.

Why did Xue Yang stay? Why did he not kill the two blind fools as soon as he’d healed enough to walk? What reasoning could the deviant possibly have for settling into such a dull, domestic life with Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing? Xingchen wracked his brain for hours, searching for any reason that made sense, but Xue Yang himself had never made sense. The obvious answer was that Xingchen had, indeed, saved his life, but what would a life debt mean to someone like him?

The past year replayed in Xingchen’s mind, recalling all the subtle anecdotes and coded stories ‘Chengmei’ had told them about himself. He’d always regarded their dear house guest as somewhat childish, having a determined black-and-white sense of thinking. Every interaction with the other inhabitants of Yi City was handled as a transaction where the other person was judged harshly. Chengmei chattered to him freely, speaking either exceptionally high of sweet old ladies and generous store vendors or startlingly low of anyone he perceived to be taking advantage of Xingchen or A-Qing’s blindness.

Taking Xue Yang’s hand in his own again, Xingchen felt for the missing appendage, reassuring himself for at least the fifth time that he hadn’t imagined the deformity. The sleeping figure stirred slightly, his face pressing further into Xingchen’s neck with a string of inaudible sleep-talk. The hand on his chest gripped the front of his shirt for a moment, matching the tensing of muscles at his side. The train of thought slowed in Xingchen’s mind, reading the signs of distress stirring in the sleeping man.

What does someone like Xue Yang have nightmares about? With the skill and flippancy to kill whoever he liked, what could bring him fear in his sleep? Xingchen wondered if it had to do with whatever had brought him to be bloodied and half-dead in a ditch, but something in his gut told him that wasn’t quite it. After a few moments, Xue Yang’s body relaxed again and his breathing steadied out.

In the wee hours of the morning, sleep finally caught up to Xiao Xingchen. He had his own dreams, strange and disjointed with Xue Yang at the center of each. When morning came, he welcomed the daily chores as a distraction.

“Daozhang, you’re so quiet this morning.” The voice called out to him shortly after A-Qing had slipped away to wash up. “It’s making me curious.”

“Curious?” Xingchen responded at half attention, busying himself with washing rice for breakfast.

“You look deep in thought.” The figure drew up behind him, the weight of a chin appearing on his shoulder. “I’m curious what you’re thinking about.”

Xingchen’s hands slowed. He’d pondered the danger of confronting Xue Yang about his identity and come to no good answer.

“Only that it’s cold.” He replied after a long while. “No matter how many holes we patch, the house is still cold... Why have you never left for somewhere better?”

The man moved to stand behind him, the sound of chopping vegetables filling the space between their words.

“Where should I go that’s better?” He asked. “Nowhere else has you or A-Qing.”

“Are we better than a warm hearth?” Xingchen returned the question, moving the rice to the stove. “I don’t hold you to any debt. I don’t believe in such things.”

“Debt?” The voice paused, seeming to ponder the suggestion. “Can I not want to stay simply because I like you?”

Xingchen frowned slightly, finding himself at odds with the response. If the voice still belonged to Chengmei, he could accept it graciously, but knowing it belonged to Xue Yang turned silken words to acid. It was a tailored response, meant to soften Xiao Xingchen’s heart.

“Daozhang?” A hand reached out, laid across his own. “Did I do something wrong?”

Again, he was stricken by the childishness of it all. Xingchen had given up trying to guess the man’s age long ago, but moments like this made it hard to believe he was much older than fourteen.

“No. Of course not.” Xingchen replied, using his other hand to pat Xue Yang’s reassuringly.

The hand recoiled and a silence fell over the kitchen- even the cutting of vegetables had come to a stop. 

“I didn’t...” The words returned, unsure, after the long pause. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“Pardon?” Xingchen stopped what he was doing, surprised by the smallness of Xue Yang’s voice.

“When I said I liked you.” The sound of nervous fidgeting replaced the previous noise. “I made you uncomfortable. Sleeping next to you last night. Right?”

Despite his inability to actually see, Xingchen turned to face the other, unable to restrain his surprise. No matter what angle he looked at it, he could see no reason for Xue Yang to bring up such a topic. His tone sounded so genuine it chased out all feelings of unease that had accumulated over the night.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” He replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then...” He fell silent again, the nervous fidgeting the only tell that he hadn’t left the room. “Just say it directly.”

Wringing his hands together, Xingchen frowned again, casting his face downwards. If it came to it, he could beat the other man in a fight. A-Qing was still busy elsewhere, out of the line of fire, so if any time was ideal it was now.

“I asked you why you stayed...” He said carefully. “Let me ask again, why you, Xue Yang, stayed here with us...”

The fidgeting slowed and quieted, but it was still there as Xue Yang spoke.

“I have the same answer.” He replied. “I stayed because I like you.”

With an expression of irritation, Xingchen turned back to his task with breakfast. He expected the charade to be dropped with the confrontation, but Xue Yang seemed determined to keep it up.

“Xiao Xingchen.” The voice came a step closer this time. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s the truth. I’ve met too many people to count, hundreds of different people, ranging from decent to downright villainous-”

Xingchen scoffed at the phrasing.

“-but never have I met someone so... Good.”

A hand fell atop his again, soft and hesitant.

“It was annoying at first. You show unwavering trust and kindness to people who don’t deserve it. You’d walk naked through the streets if it meant giving your robes to someone in need.” The hand curled around Xingchen’s, giving a small squeeze. “It would have been easy to take advantage of, you know... But...”

“But what?”

“But then I’d be taking the one good thing out of this world.” Xue Yang put his forehead to Xingchen’s shoulder, his voice shrinking against him. “I know it’s because you didn’t know who I was, but you’re the only person... You’re the only person...”

Flipping his hand up, Xingchen tangled their fingers together and turned to face the other man. It took most of his self control to bite back a laugh, amused to see how much Xue Yang was struggling to get through a single conversation about his feelings.

“...the only person that’s ever... done anything for me without expecting something in return...” It was obvious it wasn’t the original thought, but he managed to get it out finally.

“Is that all it takes to win your heart?” Xingchen asked, allowing himself a small, soft laugh.

“...Now that you know who I am... Do I have to leave?”

The camouflaged voice Xue Yang had used the past year to hide his identity had finally disappeared, leaving behind the youthful voice of a boy. The question sounded like that of a child, pleading in it’s search for a response. Xingchen frowned, trying to remember what Xue Yang looked like after all this time. Even though it’d been so long since he’d seen his face, he knew the man was not nearly as young as the words projected.

In the moment of silence, Xingchen recalled the first story ‘Chengmei’ had told them. The story about the child who lied to, tricked, and beaten needlessly. Taking Xue Yang’s other hand, Xingchen found the amputated joint, feeling over the odd curve of bones that hadn’t healed right and the strange formation of scarring. How old had Xue Yang been when he received this injury? At what age had he been forced to grow up?

“I won’t make you leave.” Xingchen replied finally, feeling a small twinge of guilt. “At least with you here I know you’re behaving.”

A burst of laughter filled the room, another startling reminder of who was standing in front of him. Before he had a chance to question his decision, though, the other man threw his arms around Xingchen, reeling him into a crushing embrace.

“I’ll behave!” Xue Yang laughed out. “Only for you! Anything for you!”

Even with the man’s explanation- his proclamation of the Daozhang’s goodness, Xiao Xingchen couldn’t begin to wrap his head around Xue Yang’s seemingly unconditional loyalty to him. There was a pit in his stomach telling him it was a ruse, some game to inflict the most damage possible. He could practically hear Song Lan’s voice in his head, begging him not to trust him, but the words were quickly drowned out by Xue Yang’s movements.

The tight embrace was finally released, only to be replaced by the feel of lips against his own. Xue Yang was pressing into a kiss, with one arm still wrapped around Xingchen’s shoulders, sternly anchoring them together, and the other hand cupped gently to Xingchen’s cheek. He stood, frozen, mind utterly devoid of thought, as Xue Yang pressed two, three, four, and five soft kisses to Xingchen’s lips before finally pulling back.

“Xiao Xingchen.”

His lips twitched, unsure of what shape to form with no words coming to mind.

“I lied about one thing.” Xue Yang moved his hands from Xingchen’s shoulders, taking up just one of his hands and bringing it to his lips. “When I said I liked you. I did mean it like that.”

Whenever the day does come that his path crossed again with Song Lan’s, Xiao Xingchen was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to him.

[burnedbyshoto]

Twice - Alphabet HC’s

a/n: this... actually made me appreciate jin so much??? like I never really thought of him romantically until now and... my heart D:

A = Affection (How affectionate are they with an s/o?)

He is big on affectionate. Even when experiencing large personality swings, there is one constant. You. he will always love you.

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?)

Taking his face in your hands and calming him down when he panics when his mask is gone. It’s small, it’s not even that big of a thing, but when you stare in his eyes… he feels whole, he feels split, and more importantly, he feels like there was nothing ever wrong

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

He LOVES BEING THE LITTLE SPOON OKAY???? HOLD HIM BETWEEN YOUR ARMS AND WHISPER SWEET NOTHINGS IN HIS EAR

Isn’t always in a cuddling mood though, sometimes he’s too jittery to sit there

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

He dreams of one day being able to leave his mask behind with your help. He wants to be able to feel comfortable with himself outside of the mask

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

He puts in a lot of effort, even if he swings between being like “fuck romance” and “I love you with all my heart” the latter will always win, and he does. The. most.

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

He will be your guard dog. Holding you tight, glaring at anything and everything that comes near you. He will defend you, fight anyone. He will do this until you feel safe until you’re ready

G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

He gives you the weirdest shit ever. Like not in a bad thing, just things you would never buy yourself??? I mean you always love the small and intimate gifts he ends up bringing you but you’re like “...why do I need 50 kg of rainbow slime?” “because you were talking about it for 2 hours, and well, there was a sale!”

He doesn’t want gifts in return, but loves every single gift you’ll give him in return!

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

His arms are ALWAYS hugging you!!!!!!!!!! Okay??? He just loves feeling whole and you’re his missing link

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

He’s the kind of guy that others don’t think are being romantic, like they’ll look at what he does and will ALL be like “uhh…” and look at you ready to hear you complain but are instead greeted with you sobbing and throwing yourself into his arms

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

Not a jealous bone in this baby!!!!! He trusts you to kick fucking ass to anybody who tries putting themselves on you. Will only intervene if you need him.

K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

Not a good kisser, but his enthusiasm is highly and lovingly noted. He loves kissing you!!!!!! And will try to kiss you at least once a day, even if he has to go find you to do it.

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?)

He will say it before a year of you two dating. He knows he’s not the easiest to deal with, and the fact that you’ve stuck around, it really makes his heart go doki doki. He will say it all the time (“can you roll over? I need more blankets! Thank you, I love you.”) loves showing it and saying it.

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

He wants to marry you, las vegas style.

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

He likes paintball dates. Those are his favorite dates. He likes doing things with you, like escape rooms, all that shit!!!! He also enjoys laying a blanket by the fire and just eating dinner there. Likes having dates about twice a week ;)

O = Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?)

He’s not a big texter! So if you don’t see him irl you won’t hear from him at all for the day

P = Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

He likes messing around with you!!! Prank wars are a thing, and pranking others in the league is something that really tickles your funny bone.

Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

Always asks for your opinion on things, he’s first and foremost super curious about all your thoughts, and he has self-doubt. He is a very open and honest person, so hell yeah he shares his opinions!!!

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

Its very spontaneous or super predictable. Jin becomes more predictable when danger lurks, so you’ve associated spontaneity with better times

S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

He sleeps with his head on your stomach, don’t ask why he just really likes having his face there! Plus it’s hard to breathe when he’s on your chest.

T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

If jin had to decide on one person in the world to shoot a gun on the apple on his head from 12434243 feet away, it would be you.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as an s/o?)

His enthusiasm. You just do not ever expect it and when you realize that he is genuine and pure in all of his feelings and thoughts, it kinda makes you feel weird. But you love it, and you wish more people were like him, bold and brash and true.

V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

Being truly vulnerable doesn’t take that long. He is an honest person and if he loves you and knows you feel the same way he’s gonna open up like nobody's business.

Jin is a bit frantic in this state, crying, highly emotional, tearing between different personalities like a pendulum swinging, but you don’t leave him until he’s calmed down.

W = Wild Card (Get a random domestic headcanon of the character of your choice)

Jin is making a scrapbook, full of every little thing that the two of you have done together. Every movie, ever amusement park, he has love notes, and he has pictures you weren’t aware of in the slightest way

X = X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

He will cater to you without even blinking an eye. He will run to the store for you, making you soup, getting a thermometer, fixing your bandages, and always giving you more water to drink.

Y = Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

Nope, he loves you just for you. All of you. No matter how weird you are, he wouldn’t change a single detail about you. Why would he?

Z = Zeal (Are they passionate as an s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

He is a super intimate and passionate lover!!!!!!! He does the most for you and most times does it without even realizing it!

NSFW:

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is bouncing off the walls. He will go and grab everything for you as quickly as he can, he’s a bit sloppy though, not going to lie, but you still appreciate a large amount of effort he puts into it.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite feature is his hands, they’re just… a demanding focus on his body he thinks, and he knows how to use them in a way that makes you feel good. His favorite body part on you is your eyes. He loves that he can read exactly how you’re feeling by peering into your eyes. It’s just so much more satisfying than anything else. But if we’re talking body body, he’s an ass man.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

His cum is pretty thin and very milky, super fucking warm, and enjoys seeing it splatter against your face.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s nearly fucked a clone he made of you one day after not seeing you in a long time, and he was so needy, and nothing was working! He knows your proportions like his name and well when it came to penetration he just couldn’t do it and had to call you immediately afterward.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He is actually sort of experienced, he had a healthy sex life before his mental dip, and it’s still evident in the way he loves you. But he’s just so gentle with you sometimes you think that he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary or reverse cowgirl.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He can be humorous in bed, especially once he’s no longer so shy around you in bed, you two are the ones to argue about a Spongebob episode while he’s slamming into you

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

It’s really badly groomed. He just doesn’t have the patience to groom it correctly. There are a few nicks and uneven patches, but you don’t mind. And the carpet is darker than the drapes.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

He is a very intimate person when it calls for it. As long as you aren’t goofing off expect for his words to be a prayer to your body in your ear, his eyes peering lovingly into yours. His soul is yours.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Loves masturbating with you. Especially when the two of you are too lazy to actually fuck, he just loves watching the way your fingers fuck yourself as he madly fists away.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Isn’t that kinky, to be honest. Like he’s open to everything but there isn’t one thing that set him off because everything about you makes him horny.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He really likes fucking in a super big mattress, California king. He likes rolling around with you, so he needs the room.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The thing that gets him going is after you’ve showered and you’re just waiting there for him. You look so pure and clean and innocent, but you’re not and welp there he goes.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Will not ever put anything over his head. Blindfold, mask, gag. It makes him panic, it makes him freak out unless it’s his mask, but he tries not to wear it in bed with you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Loves giving it more. His skill is actually pretty good with this because he just enjoys using tongue, so he’s not bad at it at all.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual all the fucking way. Not that he doesn’t want to fuck you until the bed breaks, but there’s just something so much more rewarding about fucking you nice and slowly, his lips dragging against your skin… it’s just superior.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not into quickies unless that’s all he can do. He just loves the passionate foreplay that is proper sex and you can’t get that with a quickie.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He is into experimenting as long as the two of you discuss it beforehand, he doesn’t like having things sprung upon him during a session. Discuss before enacting!

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last a few healthy rounds, and he takes a while to come due to the slower nature of your sex.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t own toys, but will buy them when the two of you want to be kinky. He enjoys watching you use them on him. He’s a little more of a sub!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Doesn’t like teasing you at all, he’s very straightforward and won’t take you on a wild goose chase to get his dick in you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s quite loud, he’s already very vocal, and well when you’re fucking him he has no restraint. Moaning and groaning are his favorite noises.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He wants to one day use his quirk to fuck you. You want more than one of his dicks surrounding you when he does you, and he may not be quite ready for that, but one day maybe when he’s ready it will happen.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s a bit smaller than average. 5 inches flaccid and 6.5 while erect. Very veiny dick that’s more concentrated along the front of his cock.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a semi-high sex drive. Like he doesn’t need to fuck every three days, but he enjoys it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

As soon as he’s done providing for you, he will pass out LOL

[moonscarsandstars]

How do u think james asked sirius to be his best man?

thanks for the prompt @just-a-teen-fangirl!! this really made me think, but i loved this prompt! (sorry this ended up being so long i loved it lmao). 

-it’s also worth mentioning that the last scene was based off of jk rowling’s draft but i just transformed the ending and made it my own.

~~~

Lily broke apart from the kiss.

"James?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you noticed that Sirius seems a little- I don't know- left out?"

"What?" James stopped fiddling with her button, and met her eyes. 

"I just mean, ever since you proposed, you two've been spending less time together.”

“I don’t think he cares, Lils, he’s got Moony,” said James, pressing kisses against her collar bone. 

Lily bit her lip. “It’s not the same, though, is it? They’re dating, but you two- you two are brothers.”

“What about all the muggle hospitals he’d come to with us? He’s been more involved with the sprog than I have.”

“I know, but that’s different, isn’t it? When was the last time you two spent time alone, or as friends, you know what I mean?”

“Well, if he’d been feeling left out, wouldn’t he have said something?”

“Really? And you call yourself brothers?”

James looked up confused. “What?”

“Remember when he-” she paused. “Remember when he ran away? You said he kept thinking he was a burden on your family.”

James nodded his head sadly at the memory. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he?”

“Maybe, deep down, he still feels it.”

His eyes filled with worry. “Shit.”

“Didn’t he want to have drinks with you the other day?”

“Yeah, he did, but you were feeling unwell.”

“I know, but that doesn’t really...”

“Excuse it, does it?”

“And he invited me to meet up with him last weekend,” said James his eyes growing wide and dragging his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, Lily, I’m a horrible brother, aren’t I?”

“Not horrible- you’ve been preoccupied, that’s understandable” she said with a small kiss and smile. “But you’ll need to make it up to him.”

“Yeah, I do...” he trailed off. “What about today?”

“Today’s fine, I don’t have anything, and I’m feeling well.”

“Okay, that’s a good idea,” James said, pulling his wand out of his back pocket, conjuring a patronus, and watching as it leaped gracefully out of the house.

“What would I do without you, Lils?” James pulled her into a heavy kiss, and let his hand travel down her curves. Lily embraced it, then pulled apart. 

“Struggle,” she said with a wink and a smirk.

~~~

James shuffled his feet, and hesitated before ringing Sirius’s floors’ doorbell. 

It was barely moments later that the door opened with a ‘click’, and Sirius’s grinning face appeared at the doorway.

“She finally had it with you?”

James could feel the familiar excitement that used to fill him when he spotted Sirius on the platform, or had a joint detention. He never realised how much he missed the feeling.

“You wish. You just miss me.”

James thought he saw something flicker in his eyes, before Sirius let his arms flail wildly by his side.

“Of course I do! What would I do without my other half? My deer brother? The stag-nant to my wild life, the-”

“The bark to your tree-”

“That wasn’t even clever. You’re slipping. Domestic life suiting you too much?”

“’Domestic,’ my ass. She screams at me if I use her spoon. I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to tell the difference.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Thank Merlin I’m not going to get Moony pregnant.”

“Can I marry him instead?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but he’d jump off a cliff before marrying you.”

“He’d jump off a cliff before marrying either of us mate.”

“Touché,” drawled Sirius with a smirk. It really sunk for James- how much he’d missed his brother, and he promptly wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him in a tight hug.

Sirius was confused at first, but slowly hugged James back. 

“I really missed you,” mumbled James with a thick voice.

Sirius didn’t know if he could trust his voice not to break, so he nodded against James’s arms.

It seemed like years til they broke apart, and any awkwardness had been washed away. It felt... normal again. James loved that. The spark was back in Sirius’s eyes- the same always shining when he had a new prank idea.

“Oh fuck- did I not tell you? I’m almost done with Elvendork!”

“You are?!” James’s eyes lit up, and he rushed inside the house, followed closely by an equally excited Sirius.

“They’re in the living room!” Sirius ran excitedly with James, both gazing in awe as their eyes caught on to the polished motorbike parked in the middle of the living room.

Remus was lying tiredly on the sofa, book in hand. He only just spotted James, over the pile of blankets he was wrapped up in.

“Shi- hi Prongs,” he said weakly, trying to climb up, and hissing in pain.

“Fuck, Moony, you okay?” James neared Remus, who was struggling a little with his arm.

“Broke my wrist- Sirius fixed it,” he muttered, more to himself. “How’s Lily?”

It was clear in his eyes he wanted to change the topic, so James let a large grin take over his face.

“We went to the muggle healers, and they can see him on the black and white thingy! He’s so tiny- I can’t believe it!”

“Have the doctors tried to kick you out yet?” Asked Remus with a small, smile.

“I’m pretty sure one of them tried to, but I confunded ‘im,” said James proudly.

“Poor kid. D’you have any names?”

“Fuck,” James whispered slowly, his eyes growing wide. “What do we name the kid?!”

“Prongs junior, of course,” drawled Sirius with a grin.

“That’s a death wish,” interjected Remus.

“I always thought Sirius James Potter rang really nicely,” started Sirius, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression.

“I’d rather name the sprog ‘Elvendork.’“

“Genius idea, Prongs. Elvendork Potter,” said Remus, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The kid’d kill you.”

“Lily wanted something short and sweet, I remember...” said James, trailing off.

“Why not another flower?”

“Don’t think Lily’d be a fan of that.”

“Family member or something?”

“I’m not too sure if I want him to be-” James stepped up on the sofa at Remus’s feet- “Henry the II, heir to James Fleamont- was that a chuckle?!”

Remus covered a snort with a cough- none too discretely, grinning back up at James who’d taken his wand out. 

“Contravia!” He exclaimed dramatically, and Remus’s hair promptly turned bright green.

“What the-” Remus let his fingers travel through his hair, pulling the curls that fell in front of his eyes. “You’re done for! You just wait til my wrist-”

“I DID IT!”

Remus flinched, and James almost fell off the sofa. Sirius looked excitedly at the two terrified faces.

“I did it! I finished Elvendork! They’re completely done!”

“You serious mate?” James’s face lit up, and he jumped off the bed to Sirius’s side, touching the bike, and making sounds that could be considered obscene.

“Yep. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? So fucking proud of my child- I’ll bet they’re better than your fry’ll ever be.”

“Oh just you fucking wait.”

“Want to take it for a test drive?”

“Sure, but Moony?”

“No, I’m great,” chuckled Remus, flipping open his book. “Maybe I’ll get a piece of mind.”

James’s concerned gaze lingered til he was sure, and turned into a grin returned by Sirius, who rolled up his sleeves.

~~~

“Okay, so I think if I just pulled this back, and I press this button-”

“Do you actually know how to drive the bloody thing?”

Sirius looked up from the buttons and glared at James. “Elvendork is not a thing. I will not have you objectifying my baby!”

“Does that mean you’re riding the baby?”

Sirius blushed hard, and swallowed. “I- fine. Elvendork-”

Suddenly, the bike made a large, roaring sound that vibrated through both of them.

“It- it works,” stammered Sirius happily.

“What’re you waiting for?” Asked James excitedly.

The feeling of being propelled through the air was refreshing, like he was on a broom but couldn’t fly. The air whipped through his hair, and he gripped the back of the seat tightly, feeling his knuckles go numb.

“You want to go faster?” Sirius voice was barely comprehensible against the screaming winds.

“Fuck yeah!”

Suddenly, they were blaring through streets quicker than James could see. The wind was screaming louder, and he had to whip out his wand to charm his glasses in place. His skin was standing on end, and the same feeling he got when flying was there in his chest.

Street after alley were passing by, and James could barely tell what part of London they were in- hell if they were even in London.

James could barely hear Sirius’s screams of joy (or mania), but when a blaring alarm started getting louder and louder, James couldn’t help furrowing his eyebrows.

He looked behind over his shoulder to see a muggle police car with blinding lights rushing behind him. 

“HEY! PADFOOT! LOOK- IT’S THE MUGGLE AUROR-POLICE PEOPLE!”

“REALLY?” Sirius looked over his shoulder, almost turning around in his seat. 

“WAIT- NO DON’T TURN AROUND- I TAKE THAT BACK!” Screamed James panicked as they swerved into an alley and just managed to miss the wall. 

James’s head spun a little, and he could still feel the wind flying at him.

In front of them, in this tight, dingy alley, was a police car that only just managed to fit, and two policemen inside that looked livid. James found it hilarious. especially the resemblance between Slughorn and the large one on the left.

James bit his lip, and exchanged a grin with a Sirius as he watched the two policemen scrape their bodies against the walls in an attempt to get out of the car.

The first one- balding head, double chin; exactly like Slughorn- pointed a thick finger at both of them.

“You two boys!” He screamed in a wheezy voice. “Get off the bike, now! Failing to stop for the police, on an unlicensed bike-” 

Were muggle aurors this pathetic? James exchanged an amused glance with Sirius. It seemed so.

“-and failing to stop for the police!”

“You see,” started James in what sounded like a genuinely concerned voice. “We’d love to stay and chat, but we have happenings to get to-”

“Don’t you dare try act smart with me! I’ll have you know, you two are in a bloody ton of trouble,” snarled the other officer. He was much shorter, almost like a leprechaun. James laughed at the thought.

“Think it’s funny, do you? Names?!”

“Oh!” Exclaimed Sirius in a very enthusiastic voice. “Funny, sir, you see we were just thinking about names earlier this evening! My dear brother here is expec-”

“Names?!”

“Rude,” said James, pulling a frown.

“Well, let’s see, we have Wilberforce,” Sirius cast a thoughtful look at James, who nodded wistfully.

“Bathsheba!”

“My dear Elvendork-”

“And you can use it for any gender! It’s unisex!”

James and Sirius bit back a grin at the officers’ faces, which were growing furiously red.

“Are you okay there, officer?” Asked Sirius.

“You seem awfully red, might it be the sun?”

“THAT’S IT!” He roared. “The both of you- “ he pointed a shaking finger at them. “In my car- now!”

“Wait, you mean our names?”

“Oh, why of course he did!” Cried James, throwing a look at Sirius that would have anyone else burst out in laughter.

“Sirius. Sirius Black-”

“You’re being serious!?”

“I’m always Sirius!” 

“Thing’s ‘re going to be seriously black for you-”

“Bloody hell, James, even I didn’t think of that!”

“Really, sir, you’re a pioneer in puns, truly.”

“Deserve a place in the hall of fame-”

“Maybe the nobel prize if we’re lucky-”

“The lottery would be merciful-”

“SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTHS UP NOW! I’M ARRESTING YOU ON CHARGES OF-”

But before James could hear what charges, Sirius had whipped out his wand, and muttered an inaudible phrase. The engine revved loudly, it must’ve been heard from a mile away.

Suddenly, James could feel his feet lift from the air, and the same feeling in his stomach that he got on his broomstick. Watching as the officer’s jaw dropped, James let a shocked grin take over his face.

The bike was tugged from the air, and broke speed. Sirius revved the engine again- they were flying higher than the buildings now- he rode the motorcycle right above their heads.

“See ya lads!”

“’Twas a pleasure to meet you!”

And they left the dark alley in uncontrollable chortles. Both holding on to their stomachs and the bike for dear life.

Sirius wiped a tear away, and James let a wailing sound escape him. He gripped the seat tightly as the bike flew upwards, into the clouds.

The night sky was so much cleared above the clouds, like a painting down to every detail. Fluffy clouds spread widely like a blanket beneath them, and the hair strand of a moon was barely sparkling in the dark sky above. Wind was weaving through his strands of hair, and his fingers felt numb as they sifted through the cold air.

“Fuck, Pads, I can’t believe it. This is beautiful.” Lily would love it.

“Oh Merlin, I know.” Remus would love this too.

“Pads?” James asked hazily, in heavy awe of the sky. “Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?”

James snapped out of his daze, and couldn’t help a rising groan that escaped him. “Fuck- I did not mean that.”

“Unfortunate. I’d make a dazzling bride, with the braids and all,” said Sirius in a smooth voice and a barely covered snort.

“Sure you would, but Lily’d look better,” said James with a grin.

“How dare you! Challenge my own radiant beauty that-”

“Okay, okay, Lily wouldn’t look as good as you, i promise.”

“Thank you,” said Sirius stiffly.

There was a fond silence. James didn’t need to look to know that they were both smiling.

“In all seriousness-” Sirius snorted again. “-Will you be my best man?”

The bike stopped whizzing, and James fell against Sirius’s back with an ungraceful “umphh.”

“Di- what did- what?” Asked Sirius nervously.

“Will you be my best man? At our wedding? Lily and I’s- that is.”

“I- I- you- you want me to be the- best man at your wedding?”

Sirius had turned around in the seat, now facing James with glassy eyes filled with gratitude.

“Yeah,” said James with a small smile. “I want you to be my best man.”

Without warning, Sirius’s arms were tightly wrapped around James, who was hugging Sirius tightly, like he’d never want to let go. A warm feeling in his chest appeared, one which he wanted to stay forever.

[rosesareviolentlyread]

Prelude: These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

First post on whump and of course I decide to take my truly darkest plot and use it. I’m not sure where this is on the dark scale for this community, but I mean I guess beware?  CW: Self-harm, possibly implied suicide attempt, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, box boy setting, pet whump setting, modern slavery, domestic abuse, parental abuse, self-whump, caretaker as whumper

Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow​ for both inspiring me and also letting me use Karen Renford, who may make an appearance in another piece with Ward about his particular taste in pets. “Amen, amen. But come what sorrow can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

Then love-devouring death do what he dare;

It is enough I may but -”

DING-DING-DING-DONG….DONG-DING-DING-DONG

The nine-chimed tune interrupts the man’s gravely reading of Shakespeare, causing him to blink, squinting in the fading light of the fireplace at the old grandfather clock that has moved on to loud BONGS to state the late hour.

Pulling off his glasses, the old man rubs at an eye “Oh my, is it already ten? Well, it’s best off to bed for both of us. We can pick up tomorrow” 

In the opposite plush leather armchair, a blonde girl blinks herself awake. Only a round, soft face is visible beneath a warm-knit blanket that cocoons her against the chair like a fly in a spider’s web.

“But Mr. Richard we were ju-u-u-st getting to the good part” Though she pouts her lip, tilting her head slightly with wide eyes to get her way, a yawn betrays her own exhaustion. 

“We can continue tomorrow, Juliet. I know you’ve memorized it already anyways. Now why don’t you run along to bed, pet? I’ve had Anita put on the heavy down comforter, we don’t want you catching another cold. I’ll be up in a minute” The man’s blue eyes drift fondly to the girl, snuggled close by the fire.

 Outside the window, soft snowfall signaled the coming of winter for his mountain home. He’d originally intended for them to seek warmer weather, perhaps in the villa in Italy. It was better for Juliet’s health, but seeing the girl enjoy winter was something they’d been unable to do for a while. With luck, she’d stay healthy enough they could enjoy it for a little longer. 

“Yes, Mr. Richard. Goodnight” With a tired smile, she wraps the overly large blanket around herself like a cloak, looking all the part a child playing dress-up. Warm lips press to the top of his white-haired head, small arms gently embracing him as well as they could from behind the large chair. With practiced ease, he rubs a warm circle on the back of one slender hand, eliciting a slight purr from the girl. And then she was gone, drifting through the house in her makeshift white cloak like a ghost. 

Richard Ward sat for a minute enjoying the fire. He was a lucky man. To have such a wonderful pet, who, while frail, enjoyed every moment of his presence. Who was devoted to every caring touch. The hours of reading to her in fevered delirium, to wheeling her in the garden when her legs refused to work, to petting her head softly when pain made sleep impossible. 

Richard Ward had learned to cherish the bad and the good in life. In business he’d learned to find opportunity in every situation. Unfortunately, it took the death of his own son  for him to take that moment into his personal life.  But now, with Juliet, he cherished the times in health as well as sickness. 

Now, he lived for every moment, every pain and pleasure, intertwined. With the fortune he’d amassed he could do right by his Juliet, by the world. He’d take care of Juliet forever, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow as the Bard said. 

But first, he had to wait for tomorrow, and Richard Ward didn’t think five more minutes by the fire could hurt its pace. 

So he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of fire, happiness, and family, content with his life. 

And woke no more. 

----

In the middle of the night, some phantom pain bolts Juliet upright, covered in her own sweat. The blood of her heart pounds hot in her ears. Nightmares of fear and pain were common in her life, but so was their instant remedy: Mr. Richard. 

So wrapped in the same blanket as earlier, she pads down the hall, letting the warm glow of lights made to look like flickering candles illuminate  her way. 

“M-mr. Richard?” Her eyes feel wet with automatic tears, lip and voice trembling with an unpracticed, inherent ease. Enough to show fear, but not enough to look ugly. She knew she looked ugly when she cried. 

The old oak door to his room creaks open, revealing the same soft flickering light by an empty four-poster bed. With a sigh, fear almost forgotten, she heads for the grand stairs, back to the drawing room. Her silly old man had probably fallen asleep in his chair again. But that was alright. 

Maybe if she was good, if she made up a convincing nightmare, he’d keep reading to her until she fell asleep. Would rub the sore spots she could never tell if were real or imagined any more. The mere thought brought a smile to her face, a quick pace to her light steps. 

But when she entered the room, she found no warmth. The fire had died out into crumbling embers, letting a chill in through the chimney. Yet even its breeze that threatened to freeze her bones didn’t seem to be able to move the suffocating stillness. She felt it creep into her veins, wrong, as she fearfully walked over to Mr. Richard, sat still in the chair facing the only dying light. 

But her eyes softened to see his sleeping face, book open in his lap with eyeglasses set in the spine. The moonlight highlighted his pale, wrinkled face, but it was one she loved. One that took care of her, no matter how much trouble she was. 

Gently she placed a kiss to his forehead to wake him, already imagining his warm touch on her aching limbs-

Only to be met with the same ice in her veins. With the same stillness that threatened to stop her chest. 

“M-Mr. Richard?” She wobbled out, voice honest, not practiced. Truly imperfect, instead of perfectedly so. 

But his body didn’t move. 

So she touched his shoulder. And then grabbed it. And then shook it. 

But his body didn’t move. 

Juliet felt her breath come in small gasps, like when she was sick. But she wasn’t sick, was she? Was this a bad dream? No. Because Mr. Richard woke her from bad dreams but now he wouldn’t wake up. 

No, she just couldn’t wake him, because everything was fine. When everything was fine, Mr. Richard was sad, a kind of slow sad where the world felt too perfectly wrong, too boring. So she just had to make it wrong to make everything perfect again. 

So Juliet did what she’d been trained to do. She reached for the book, for the crisp page, and quickly slid her finger along it until sharp pain and blood dripped warmly from the edge. 

A whimper from her throat, and she held the wrist as more and more blood, impossibly warm from how cold she felt ran almost black in the barely light down her wrist. 

“Mr. Richard, I cut myself, c-can you kiss it better?” Honey voiced, thick, almost saccharine but something felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, her voice couldn’t be right. 

But his body didn’t move. 

So she pressed the bloodied finger to his lips, even as touching them threatened a shiver through her body. 

“See Mr. Richard? It hurts”

But his body didn’t move. 

With a whimper, she tried to think. Why wasn’t it working? He always came when she was hurt.

But sometimes, if it wasn’t enough, he didn’t come. 

Quickly, Juliet crossed to the small table for Mr. Richard’s drinks, grabbing the small knife he used to make the pretty orange twists she liked in hers. 

Back in front of it, in front of the still closed eyelids, she slid the knife along her palm, flinching with practice at too familiar pain. Making the high, pained sound, that one she never knew if was real or not anymore. 

His body didn’t move. 

Juliet felt tears, real tears prick at her eyes. Why wasn’t it good enough? Why wouldn’t he help her? 

She did everything right so he’d help her, so she’d get the caring touches. Like they’d taught her at the Facility. When she was sick in winter, she’d walk outside at night without clothes to stay sick. 

She’d rub dirt in wounds. She’d trip down stairs, she’d slam her hand in doors, she’d burn herself on the oven.

And when Mr. Richard was bored with what she could try, he often helped her. Because sometimes he’d give her medicine and she’d wake up and couldn’t move her legs for days. Sometimes she’d feel sick to her stomach from a drink he’d give her, until she puked for hours.

That’s it. He just wanted her to try harder. To be a good girl and go back to doing it all herself. She had to earn his caring touch. And Juliet could do that. 

Determined, she climbed the two-story staircase in the entrance hall, heart thumping. This would work, and Mr. Richard would wake up, and he’d take care of her. He’d hand feed her soup again, and gently brush her hair. He’d read her Shakespeare until she fell asleep, and bring treats from his business partners who wished her a speedy recovery. Everything would be fine. 

So why was she crying? 

With tears in her eyes, Juliet climbed the barrister, staring down at the black marble floor far below, almost swallowed in darkness. The blanket fell to the floor, a pile like pale bones in a pit. 

She pushed off, and her world exploded into painful darkness as the scream was ripped from her throat. 

--

‘Anita’ wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. Richard Ward was on the board of WRU, and she was so, so, so close to figuring out where the sick old man kept some of the emails, the dealings, the proof of WRU’s real workings. With his tech empire, they suspected Ward helped them target potential ‘candidates’. Helped them recruit and hire handlers with the appropriate mentality off the dark web. It was enough potential dirt for them to make real progress in the Pet-Lib movement. If only she could figure out where he kept it. 

And it’d been an easy enough job. A boring one, honestly, as she cleaned the house under the flimsy false identity of an illegal immigrant the man had barely bothered to check. She even got enough money to live on and give a fat check to the safe houses from it, damn rich bastard. 

But she was ready to tell them, tell Tara, she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t watch this fucker and his pet, whatever he’d made the poor girl into. 

At first, she’d thought it was true, that he’d just gotten some pet with a lot of health issues. 

But then she’d seen the girl purposefully trip, break fingers, grab a burning hot plate straight from the oven. Seen her do those things without wincing and then let the tears fall so perfectly. Fall into his touch, the touch and care that made the old man beam.

She’d even found the goddamn name for it. Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Pleasure at taking care of someone so much that you cause them pain, make them to get sick, just to make them better yourself.

Richard Ward ordered a pet that would hurt itself for his touch, for his care. They’d turned a girl into some sick pain robot, and Mia didn’t even want to think how. She could barely watch now, wondering how he manufactured the illness and pain Juliet took with thankful smile, for the chance that he’d be kind. 

Figures there’d be someone somehow as fucked up as Karen Renford in WRU. 

So yeah, Mia was ready to quit being ‘Anita’, because even if she knew what she was doing could help kids from not becoming like Juliet, she wasn’t sure how much she could take watching. 

It was with this thought that Mia started and ended each day, determined to quit the day after tomorrow if she couldn’t find the files. 

Unlocking the door, Mia felt the similar tug of dread, ran through the same conversation Tara had taught her to help her get through when these undercover missions were hard. When she couldn’t just grab a pet and run like she wanted.

But something felt...off. ‘Anita’ was always first to arrive, to open the obscene curtains, to transform the vintage fashioned home from night to day. She was used to the entrance being cold, the fires being out. Weird guy also had a fetish for the life of antiquity, but Anita had gotten used to it. But today, the coldness seemed to seep into her bones. 

Probably should’ve just brought another sweater she thought as she walked through the service entrance, opening curtains as she went. 

Kitchen, dining room, tea room, sitting room. It was actually pretty satisfying to watch the light suddenly dance in, dim streaks through trees in the early morning. 

Or at least it was until she saw it fall on the body of Richard Ward, causing her to jump back, nearly  knocking over probably worth more than she’d make in her entire life. 

“Oh, Mr. Ward! I didn’t see you there.” Her heart threatened to flutter out of her chest, so much so that she’d almost forgotten her ‘accent’. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. 

But there was no response. 

Cautiously, Mia walked over, touching the old man’s shoulder to gently wake him.

It was stiff, cold. Dead. 

The fucker was dead. Pale as a ghost except for the tiny smear of dried blood on his face. 

The same dried, dark brown blood  that was dripped over his body, onto the book, onto the carpet, on the table holding the bar cart’s knife coated in the same. Dried blood. 

Quietly, Mia picked up the knife, the only weapon in reach. Nothing else was out of place, and as much as she wished it was, the blood didn’t seem to be Ward’s.

She tiptoed out of the room, following the dripped and dried bloody path into the entrance way. By the ridiculously ostentatious staircase, under the overhang, was a small...lump. Squinting her eyes in the dim entrance way, Mia could make out what looked like an slender arm, a head of blonde-

f u c k, fuck fuckFuckFUCK

The hardest thing about this job had been keeping her potty mouth to herself and playing the part of some Downton Abbey-esque servant in keeping with the man’s antiquated tastes. But upon seeing the small body, twisted at odd angles beneath the second floor overhang, her gut told her this job deserved every version of fuck imaginable. 

Scrambling over to the small girl Mia knelt down, hands shaking as she felt around the throat for a pulse that wasn’t the one banging in her ears. It took a minute of pressing, of forcing herself to breathe dammit before she found it, weak, but definitely there. 

Gently, so gently so as to not jostle her neck or head, Mia stroked a hand over Juliet’s brow, the way she’d seen Ward do countless times when the girl was sick. Mia tried to stop trembling, to stop thinking about how maybe if she’d told Tara about Ward, about his taste in pets, they would’ve focused on rescuing Juliet instead.

 If Mia hadn’t been determined to hide the real Ward so they could have their cake and eat it too. 

“C’mon baby girl, wake up for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, fuck, please wake up” The words fell, soft and pleading from her lips. 

Hazy blue-grey eyes blinked up at her, slow, glassy with pain. The body attempted to shift, only to whimper with pain, real pain. Not the fake whimper Mia had learned, but something deep and animalistic in her throat that reminded Mia more of a street dog than a person.

“There you are. It’s ok, you’re ok” She tried to keep her voice calm, gentle. To not let her hand shake as she thanked whatever god there was in this fucked up world that the girl hadn’t lost too much blood, hadn’t completely cracked her head open, even if her legs looked like snapped twigs. 

After a few moments of mumbled words met by calm shushing noises from Mia, Juliet finally strangled out “‘Nita, why din’t Mr. Richard wake up?” 

Mia paused, upon hearing the slurred, pained words. This wasn’t an accident. Juliet had done this to wake him up. Because the man had a second-sense for any pain in his vicinity. Even if he was a demon, not even the call of his previous pet’s pain was enough to bring his sadistic ass back from hell. Thank God.

A whimper, and Mia was immediately pulled back from her thoughts, petting the girl’s head. Because it didn’t matter where that sick fuck was. He was dead, Mia hadn’t found out where he kept his things, and she had only a few hours before other servants got here. Only a few hours to do something right on this mission.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m gonna get you help ok? You’re gonna be ok”

Reaching into her uniform, Mia groped for the burner phone constantly pressed against her chest. At least bras were useful for hiding things, as much as she hated them. She breathed through her nose, steadying her breath and hoping questions could wait as she pressed the number.

“Tara? Yeah, I need an evac for me and a pet at Ward’s yesterday.”

Because this was Mia’s fault, because she waited for tomorrow’s petty pace to paint her a yesterday lighted fool.