#keeps it from getting all over everything

[thalwri]

COLLARS ‘N LEASH

STARRING: caleb x reader

synopsis: you're injured and supposed to be resting but you just can't stop going out. so caleb finds a way to convince you to stay inside to let your injuries heal (it gets freaky).

warnings: porn with plot, use of collars, fingering, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pussy slapping, obscene use of hands, cum eating, sloppy wet marathon sex, multiple creampies, manhandling, squirting, spitting, pussydrunk!caleb, cockdrunk!reader, you two are just nasty freaks.

wc: 3,4k

a/n: i'm literally about to cumbust. caleb's got me feral these days. and he will never be beating the panty sniffer allegations!!

MINORS DON'T INTERACT!

You believed it was a joke. Or some one of the many weirdly ominous things Caleb had a habit of saying to get a kick out of you. It must have been.

“What?” You blink, staring at his hands. 

“Remember what I told you?” He asked, free hand slowly reaching up your thigh. “About that stray cat.”

You were fresh out the shower, skin still steaming from the heat of the water pelting your back. You have nothing on but a gown, and not one of the fluffy ones either. His eyes had been on you since you left the shower and he hasn’t bothered hiding his blushing.

“The one you put a collar on?” Your brows raise at the memory. He really was worried about that poor kitty. It was all injured and kept trying to run, so Caleb eventually put a collar with a bell on the cat so he’d know if it tried to go and be adventurous again.

Then it clicked. You had a minor injury on your leg from your last mission. A solo mission that was supposed to be an investigation had ended with you fighting at least six Wanderers throughout the night. Caleb made sure your superiors put you on break for at least two weeks (with Zayne’s medical support) to give you time to rest. 

But being the stubborn person you are, you always found a way to leave your apartment to Caleb’s agitation. It got so bad that even he had to take leave from the Fleet to keep an eye on you— as if his usual methods didn’t already work.

It all makes sense. The fact that he’s in Linkon, the fact that you’ve been put on sick leave for two weeks, and the fact that he’s been watching you like a hawk especially since you try to go out. 

The damn collars in his hands are to make you the cat in this situation. 

“Are you serious?” You blink, trying to ignore the growing heat in your core. You couldn’t lie, it was hot. 

One of the collars, you presume is yours, has a pretty red bow tied around its bell. The other has a leather leash attached to it. Almost like a leash for a dog.

“I don’t want you running off when you’re still recoverin’.” Caleb’s hand disappear into your silk robe, inching higher and higher up your thighs, just so damn close to your pussy. “And I don’t want you to get worried. So I shouldn’t leave you.”

His lips inch closer to your neck, hot breath ghost over your damn skin. This fucker—

“How about I test a little theory of mine?” The metallic jingles of the collars ring in your ears. His sunset eyes raise to your gaze with that stupidly handsome puppy look he gives you when he gets needy and desperate. “Can I put this collar on you?”

“You’re such a freak.” You hiss, watching his eyes flutter in plain as the fucking sky obviousness. You learned he had a thing for you being a little bit mean. Just a little. And he does everything he can to get on your nerves.

“So are you.” His hand finally reaches your soaking pussy and circles your entrance with a single finger. You deeply inhale feeling your walls clench on air. “Look at you, so wet. I think you want me to collar you up. So I always know where you are.”

Bold of him to talk. You can literally see the growing tent in his pants. He likes it just as much as you do. 

His finger slowly dips into your pussy, pumping in and out with deliberate precision. He knows exactly what to do to set you off, turn you on, make you beg. And he is making things extra slow to get to you.

“Caleb.” You attempt to warn but he curls his finger right into that spongy pleasure spot that he knows drives you insane.

“Why would you wanna go out and about when you’re injured, pips?” He asks with concern in his eyes as if he isn’t torturing you with his finger. It’d be better if he put in another or two. Wet squelches travel right up to your ears to add to the injury. What a tease.

Your eyes gloss over with intense need. What a fucking— 

“It’s almost like you want me to keep you close,” Another finger finally slips in, stretching you out deliciously. A heavenly moan escapes your lips, not that you were trying to hide it to begin with. “Keep a close eye on you and remind you that you’re better off restin’ here at home.”

His words quickly become white noise just from how his fingers turn you into horny mush. If there’s one thing your boyfriend has mastered, it’s driving you insane with his fingers alone. Now imagine what his cock does.

“Fuck.” You sigh, feeling your back arch to feel his fingers deeper inside you. And like the good boyfriend he is, he gives you exactly what you need— pushing his fingers deeper and deeper until his knuckles nudge your entrance. “And– oh, Caleb- what- what about you?”

“Hm?” His tongue darts out his mouth, deeply concentrated on how your pussy clenches around his fingers as fast as your pulse. The tent on his sweatpants start to darken from his leaking precum.

“There’s two… collars.” You say slowly or else his ministrations would bring you to a stutter. “If the bell one’s for me, what about the one with the leash?”

Caleb’s lips form an ‘o’ shape, eyes following your gaze to the collars in his hand. “That one’s for me. You want me to stay close to take care of you, right? What better way to do that than to make sure I never leave your side?”

Your hand slowly travels down to grip his hardened cock, gently stroking it through the soaked fabric. Your finger danced around his tip just the way he liked it— slow and light, just to rile him up even more. You watch his eyes squeeze shut in a sore attempt to hold back his own lewd noises. 

“So if I wear the collar you will too?” Your hand expertly works his cock, squeezing his clothed shaft as you stroked him. Unable to verbally respond, Caleb slowly nods while huffing out soft groans.

That’s how you end up on your back in the bed, legs spread with your boyfriend ruthlessly eating your pussy.

Your room is silent apart from the obnoxiously slick noise of your wet, cum soaked skin being slurped and devoured. Caleb made you cum three times already and it looked like he wasn’t stopping. 

“C-Caleb—” Your eyes roll back for the nth time as his lips close around your clit for his tongue to flick back and forth in that delicious pattern. He expertly works your clit, slowly and carefully spelling out his name into your arousal all while curling his fingers deep inside your soaking pussy.

“Caleb— god— please—“ Your pleas fall to deaf ears, mostly because he’s trapped his head between your trembling thighs to suffocate in your grip. You can tell he’s getting off on it based on how he fucks your slick back into with his fingers, how he moans loudly with every slurp, kiss and bite on your skin. 

He is so gone and he fucking loves it. 

Your collar jingles every time you squirm and twitch, and sings a melody whenever your back arches for him. It’s like a little instrument that accompanies the symphony of moans and whimpers that leave your pretty lips.

He’s so animalistic with it, slobbering and drooling all over you while he slurps you up like one of his protein shakes. The bed’s shaking from how he’s grinding on the mattress to get a kick from all that self induced edging— his main priority, however, is you and that cute pussy that has him on a leash (literally and figuratively).

“Keep drippin’, pips.” He groans into your pussy, pressing hot smooches on your lower lips. “Keep cummin’ on my face. Tug on my damn leash. Fuckin’ love tasting you.”

Your clothes had been long abandoned after the first orgasm he ate you through. You made such a mess that your panties (which he will keep for later) were thrown across your room along with the rest of his clothes.

The way his tongue just effortlessly slides right past your entrance and caresses your walls brings a hoarse cry right out of your kiss-swollen lips. And of course your boyfriend dutifully responds with the sluttiest whine you’ve heard. You tug harder at his leash, overwhelmed by the continuous stimulation from his nose bumping your clit.

It all rushes straight down to his cock, jutting against he mattress. He shakes his head to spread your juices all over his face, wanting to be covered and blessed by your essence. Wanting to lick it right off his face once he was done. To have your scent on his form without having to scramble for it by rubbing your used panties on his face.

Eating your pussy alone was more than enough to make him cum untouched. What makes it even better is your relentless tugging of his leash, continuously pulling his face closer to your weeping cunt. If your moans weren’t enough then your trembling thighs were more than sufficient to keep him going. And he’d be damned to waste the meal you’re serving him on a diamond platter. 

“Caleb!” Your cry summons another harsh, intense climax bringing your legs to a violent shake. His grip on your thighs tighten and the slurps and muffled groans get so much louder that you can’t even hear your own moans.

He tilts his head back, finally releasing your legs from his iron grip. Eyes closed, Caleb chuckles as he gulps as much air as his lungs can allow.

“Should’ve had you sit on my face.” He rasps and wipes your juices off of his chin. Almost intuitively, you open your lips awaiting a taste of your juices.

“Fucking freak.” You whimper as he stuffs his fingers in your mouth for you to wipe him clean. Your tongue laps up your yummy essence, ensuring all that remains on his hand is just your saliva.

“Your fucking freak, baby.” He slowly move in and out of your mouth until the tips of his fingers tap the back of your throat making you gag around him. “Your freak that loves eating you good, loves making you feel good, loves making you cum.”

His free hand cups your pussy, feeling your wetness soak his hand like a waterfall. “Look at you. Making such a mess.” He raises his hand and lands a soft smack on your pussy making you jump from the overstimulation. Your bell jingles from the impact. He finally retracts his fingers to lick your spit off his hand, relishing in your taste with a low moan.

“Speak… for yourself.” You huff, eyes darting down to his reddened twitching length. Globs of precum dripped down his thick shaft surrounded with throbbing veins— three to be specific. “Got you all hard from eating me like a good boy.”

Caleb’s eyes flutter shut from the dirty comment. His cock jumped, dripping precum right onto your hot skin. “It’s like you want me to stuff you to remind you what gets your eyes rolling back.”

“All bark, no bite.” You grin, watching his eyes rapidly dilate. “You gonna bark again, baby?”

“Woof.” Damn, that’s fucking hot. You say nothing apart from spreading your legs wider for him. An invitation for him to act on his word. “Humble me then, Colonel. Or maybe I’ll be doing that—“

Your words get swallowed by his lips and tongue engulfing you in a lascivious kiss. Rough and demanding, breaths heavy and endless, Caleb wastes no time aligning his dripping tip with your entrance. He circles around you, slowly stroking up and down, bumping his cockhead with your swollen bud. Your juices spill all over his shaft, making it so much smoother, wetter, lewder. Fuck.

“Stop teasing,” You tug his leash as you moan against his hungry lips. “Put it in, ‘leb.”

“Mm, command me.” He grins. “You want me to fuck you good, yeah? You want this cock all up in you? Want me to stuff you full?”

The stimulation is too good for you to respond, all that can be mustered is a nod. “Use your words, pips.”

Of course.

His finger taps the bell on your collar, ringing out a cute dingle! Teasingly tapping on it, his cock slides up and down your folds, tip occasionally teasing itself right into you before pulling out. You can tell it’s driving him insane too, from how his breath is laboured, how his eyes are slowly but surely rolling back, and most definitely those soft whimpers he’s struggling to hide.

“Please, baby,” You whine, grinding your hips hard against his cock and tugging harsh on his leash. You’re practically drunk on him without even having his girth inside you. “Put in in f’me. Want you to fuck me full. Be good ’n stuff me.”

“Heh,” Caleb huffs, almost choking from how hard you pulled him. He presses his cockhead into your pussy, groaning at how tight you squeeze around him, sucking him in like a vacuum. “Yes ma’am.”

And he slips in smooth like a hand into a glove. Maybe because you’re slick from all the times he made you cum with his mouth. You both tilt your heads back, close to cumming right on the spot. He pauses to catch his breath, the dog tag on his necklace and the leather strap of his leash dangling right over your face.

“Oh, she’s squeezin’ so hard.” He grins, practically drooling from how your pussy sucks him riiiight in.

He rocks in and out of you fast, absorbing the sound of your slick and cum squelching, drenching his cock in your essence. Each thrust takes him deeper and deeper into you until his tip pokes your sensitive gummy spot.

Your little bell jumps with your titties, jingling and ringing with each relentless pounding of his length in you while his heavy sacks smack your skin. It feels so gooood and so fucking lewd that your words are reduced to incoherent mumbles.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Caleb chuckles, dragging his length in and out of your pussy with relentless speed. Even he can’t hold back his deliciously slutty moans from how good you squeeze and tighten around him. His eyes are locked on your collar, glossing over the jingling metal accompanying your moans.

“You like how I’m stuffing you?”

Your eyes cross right over, tongue tempted to loll right out. The overstimulation becomes too much even for you, forcing out so many fresh cruel orgasms from you that a ring of your cum paints the base of his cock.

“You— ah— must love how tight I clench on you,” You manage to bite back, deliberately clenching your walls to tease him. “While you fuck me deep ’n rough.”

“Fuck—“ The bed is practically screaming from the pressure of you being hammered clean. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Then do it, baby.” You must have trained him subconsciously. His cock spills heavy, hot globs of his cum right into your soaked pussy, stuffing you right up real good. His whines travel right down to your core, turning you on even more than you could possibly imagine. Something about him being so relentlessly horny for you drives you insane.

“You’re evil, baby.” Caleb groans, pressing hot kisses all over your skin, from your neck right to your jaw all while still thrusting his cum into you. You can just feel some of it escaping your plugged pussy, leaking onto the bed with the rest of your lewd juices. “Making’ me cum like this. Driving me crazy with that pussy of yours.”

Plap! Plap! Plap! sounds around the room alongside your joint cries, sweat-slick skin smacking, and your bell jingling like crazy. Your grip on his leash tightens, tugging him down right to your lips.

The kiss is so deliciously sloppy and wet with your tongues overlapping and teeth clashing. Your core tightens and burns with that familiar heat, screaming for release. “Caleb— ‘m gonna cum again.”

“Good.” He pulls right out of you, leaving your poor pussy clenching on air and practically pulsing his name in morse code. “Cum f’me like a good girl.”

He raises your legs from the bed, hooking them on his shoulders and pounding his cock right back into you. In a much deeper angle hitting your sensitive core all while pinching and rubbing your clit with a calloused finger.

You choke out a cry, vision going completely white as the overstimulation burns through your skin right up your spine. The tightness in your core completely snaps, releasing juices all over you, all over him, all over the damn bed until everything in the eye can see is soaked.

“Thaaaat’s it, baby.” He grins, watching your juices drip down his abs flexing with every thrust. He leans down, pushing you into the meanest mating press to date. His cock practically bullies your cervix with his inhumanely mean thrusts, spurting globs of cum from his last orgasm right into you. 

“Squirt on me.” Your toes curl as your eyes roll back into your head. “Make a mess all over me.” He’s babbling at this rate, praising everything you do while he rails you to the stars. “Pussy’s so good f’me. You’re so good f’me. Wanna stuff you to the brim. Wanna make you feel so good ’n comfy that you won’t need to lift a finger.”

You can only whimper in response to his praises. Your nails claw at his back while fruitlessly tugging at his leash. But a flimsy thing like that won’t hold either of you. If anything, it drives you even crazier for each other.

You could go on for hours, days, till the fucking room smells like you. Till the windows and mirrors fog. Till you milk him dry to the fuckin’ bone. Till you’re both so cockdrunk and pussydrunk that your names are the only things you can utter.

Not even a few seconds after Caleb loudly whines as another huge stuffing of hot cum fills you up good. His eyes cross as his tongue sticks right out, dripping saliva right into your mouth. Feeling so nasty yet so damn good, you take it all in, relishing in his taste.

“Fuck, wanna taste you—“ Using the remnants of his strength that didn’t go with his cum right into you, Caleb lifts you up into his arms with his cock still lodged inside. You swear it must have swollen up inside you. 

He drives his hips up into you, pushing his cock nice and hard and deep. “Spit into my mouth, baby.” He sticks his tongue out, almost wagging it for you like the tease he is. “Drip into my mouth.”

And who are you to refuse him of his desires? Not to mention, you’ve always had the desire to do it too. The only concern is how he expects you to do it while he fucks you both beyond the point of overstimulation.

But Caleb being Caleb always finds a way. He nips your squished titties, dragging a loud sultry moan out of your lips, bringing drool right out of your tongue and right into his waiting mouth. And that alone just makes him cum again, strongly spurting his cum right into you as if he hasn’t done it twice already. 

You’re fucked through and through, almost limp in his embrace and yet still hungry for more. As his cock pumps his seed deep into you, he kisses you with praises of reverence and love.

“So good.” He babbles, tonguing the bell on your collar, whimpering with the soft jingles. “So fuckin’ good. ‘M not gonna stop. ‘M gonna fuck you good all night. Stuff you full of my cum. You want that, baby?”

You quickly nod, mumbling your yeses with hiccups and moans. There was no way you were going to stop at the rate you were going. Perhaps when the sun rises. Or when your injuries heal. You’re not complaining though. It’s not every day you get to have your boyfriend like this, and you plan to make the most of it.

caleb's making me too feral for my own good.

[reignpage]

❀ In which Nanami's wife has baby brain

This pregnancy hasn’t been the easiest. Of course, it hasn’t been terrible, how can it when your husband is Nanami Kento and he’s made it his life’s mission to ease all your aches, worries and fears?

But now that you’re in your third trimester, it’s like everything’s worsened tenfold — your stomach is heavier, your breasts are super sensitive and not in the sexy way anymore, the balls of your feet feel like they’re on fire, and you swear, even though your husband denies it, your hair’s thinner and you somewhat resemble the thing from Lord of the Rings. 

Worst of all though?

Your thought process is much slower these days. It’s so embarrassing. You stutter more, you trail off, get words and phrases mixed up, you can’t follow conversations and it’s like instructions go in one ear and out the other immediately. 

Thankfully you don’t actually interact with many people now that your baby insists on making you anti-social and you spend most of your time at home, in the garden, or just taking long walks which end up at a bakery or the ice cream shop. However, when your husband is a bibliophilic, watch-the news, successful business man, it’s hard not to feel the brunt of your smoother-than-normal brain.

“Hi, sweetheart, are you alright?” 

Startled, you jolt. You’re in the living room, the overhead light on. Kento stands by the doorway, surveying the room for, what you can only assume to be, a threat. He’s wearing his pyjama bottoms, with his glasses off and hair messy whereas you’re wearing a button-up shirt and tie, ready for the day ahead. “I’m getting dressed for work…why aren’t you?”

Nodding like he thought as much, he pads over to you. Soothing hands grip your hips, pulling you into a nice, warm hug. You melt into him. 

“It’s the middle of the night, darling,” he whispers against the top of your head. “And you don’t work anymore, remember? You’re wearing my shirt and my tie too, though I must admit, they look rather good on you so you can keep them, if you’d like.”

Blink. 

Blink.

“Oh God, it’s a Saturday too, isn’t it?”

Kento kisses your forehead. “Yes, love. But it’s okay — calendars can be so confusing these days. Let’s get you back into your pyjamas and into bed, alright? It’s late and you need your sleep.”

“Sorry for waking you, Ken.”

Gaze softening impossibly more, he reassures you, “Don’t be, honey. In fact, you didn’t wake me at all; how did you manage to climb out of bed without me noticing? Has the baby given my darling wife special ninja powers, hmm?”

“No, just cellulite,” you grouch. He laughs and then stops. 

A strange look must have passed in your eyes because then his brows are furrowing, hand rubbing your stomach.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look like you want something. Pickles with melted strawberry ice cream again maybe? We ran out of ice cream but I can get some more.”

Burying your face in between his pecs, your words come out muffled and a little sheepish. “I am hungry but not for pickles. Just the word alone makes me want to throw up now. I want a veggie burger.”

“A veggie burger?”

“Yeah. I think I want to go vegetarian. No, vegan. Go big or go home, right?” 

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, sat on a stool (he forbids you from sitting on top of the counter now because you perched at such a height sends his blood pressure rocketing, apparently), watching him make something for the first time and doing it well, by the looks of it. 

Kento's your rock.

He’s been incredibly patient with you throughout it all — there have been many times where you were probably the most frustrating person to talk to, blowing a fuse over something as little as what the colour of the baby’s room should be or whether potatoes are healthier than tomatoes. He never raises his voice, never argues only attempts to have an educational conversation, and apologises first even when he wasn’t in the wrong at all. 

To your credit, however, you’ve made sure to reward him daily. Often, multiple times a day, and he never fails to thank you.

Soon, your husband watches you stuff your face with little regard for the sauces spreading all over your chin. A comfortable quiet thrum fills the air and despite how late it is, Kento is wide awake and rubbing your thigh, your belly, and your hair; he just can’t keep his hands off you.

He’s got something pulled up on his phone and when you tap a finger on it questioningly, he answers, “Just searching up what a vegan lifestyle entails, darling. We should do it right, no?”

Laughing, you give him a sloppy, ketchup soaked kiss. He returns it right back. “Ken, what on earth are you talking about? Why would we ever go vegan? You can’t have sushi when you’re vegan and that’s the first thing I’m eating when our baby’s out of my body, silly.”

Giving you a gentle, but tired, smile, he nods, somewhat grateful it seems and turns his phone off.

“Alright, you’ll have all the non-vegan sushi your heart desires, love. I’m sorry for even suggesting it.” He stifles his laugh and then stands up. “Are you done with your plate? Okay, let’s get you all bundled up in bed.”

You open your mouth to argue and he puts on his stern face.

“Uh uh, no arguments please, sweetheart. It’s late and you get grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep. Go easy on your poor husband, won’t you? He can’t stand when his darling wife gets all upset with him.”

Sneaky bastard's learnt that you're weak when he pouts and uses the baby voice against you. Grumbling about how unfair it is for him to manipulate a pregnant woman with his charms, he leads you back into bed with a hand on your back.

As soon as your head hits the pillows, you’re knocked out cold, whispering a, 'Good afternoon,' to your husband before you're snoring, prancing around in dream land.

Quietly, he kisses your forehead once more and corrects you, “Good night, my love. And good night, baby. Papa will see you soon.”

[skzstarl0ver]

♫♪♩·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ Playback moans ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·♩♪♫

Bangchan x reader / in the studio / straight up smut / kinky! Chan

**involves!!** cursing, dirty talk, recording kink, detailed sex, fingering, loud moaning, strong sexual tension, multiple rounds, eating out, strong language, raw sex, filling up, SMUT (≧∇≦)

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

The booth was hot—too hot. Or maybe it was him.

You could barely focus on the lyrics in front of you, not with Chan watching you from behind the glass, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on your mouth as you sang. The beat was slow, sultry, dripping with bass that pulsed through the floor and into your chest. But it wasn’t the music making your thighs press together—it was the way he licked his lips every time your voice cracked with just a bit too much breath.

“You sound good,” he said through the mic, voice rough. Hungry. “Come out here for a second.”

You stepped into the control room, and the air shifted instantly. He didn’t say anything—just reached for your waist and pulled you down into his lap, right in the producer’s chair. Your back hit his chest, and you could feel him, hard beneath you, pressing up through his sweats like he’d been waiting for this all night.

“Thought you said you needed a break,” you breathed, but your hips were already moving—slow circles, teasing.

“I do.” His lips brushed your ear. “Just not from you.”

His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers tracing over bare skin, calloused thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. The next second, he spun the chair, facing the mic again, and reached over to hit record.

“Chan—” you started, but he cut you off with a grind of his hips.

“Shh. I want this.”

You gasped as he lifted your hips, tugged your shorts to the side, and pushed himself into you in one long, slow thrust. The stretch pulled a moan from your chest, and you didn’t even try to hold it back. Not with the red light blinking. Not with his hands gripping your thighs. Not when the track was still playing.

Your voice—that moan—was now part of the mix.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, breath hot against your neck. “You hear that?”

He played it back—your voice, broken and desperate, echoing over the beat. And then he pushed into you again, harder this time.

“Wanna keep that in the song,” he whispered. “Let them hear what you sound like when I’ve got you like this.”

You could barely think. Every drag of his cock hit deeper, angling perfectly, making your legs tremble where they rested on either side of the chair. And he wouldn’t stop touching you—one hand on your throat, the other sliding down, rubbing circles into your clit like he was mixing the track right there between your legs.

“Say my name,” he rasped, panting. “Let the mic hear it.”

“Chan—fuck—Chan,” you whimpered, back arching as you clenched around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, hips snapping up. “Give the mic everything.”

He fucked into you like he was producing a goddamn masterpiece.

Every stroke was deliberate—rhythmic, deep, dragging along your walls with a kind of precision that made your eyes roll back. His grip on your thighs tightened, spreading you open wider in the chair, keeping you locked down while he used your body like you were just another part of the studio—his favorite instrument.

The slick sound of you squelching around his cock filled the room, layered over your moans, messy and wet. He didn’t mute a thing. Didn’t even try to lower the input levels. That blinking red light? Still on. Still recording. Your voice—desperate, fucked-out, raw—getting captured with every thrust.

“Listen to yourself,” he hissed, one hand sliding up to cup your throat. Not tight—just a warning. Just a claim. “You’re soaking me, baby. Mic's loving you. I’m loving you.”

You were already on the edge, clit throbbing, pussy pulsing around him, and he knew. That sick little smirk in his voice gave him away. He knew exactly how to ruin you.

Then he leaned in closer—breath heavy in your ear—and said the filthiest fucking thing:

“Bet you’ll come just from hearing yourself moan. Wanna hear it? Wanna hear how good your pussy sounds getting wrecked on my dick?”

You nodded helplessly, mouth open but no words coming out.

He tapped a key. Playback started again.

Your moans echoed from the monitors—higher-pitched now, unhinged, laced with the squelch of his cock slamming into you. Slap, slap, slap. It was disgusting. And so, so good.

“That’s you,” he growled. “That’s how fucking needy you sound.”

You cried out when he slammed up harder, hand dropping from your throat to rub your clit in tight, ruthless circles. Fast. Mean. The kind of touch that didn’t ask—it demanded.

“Come on my cock,” he snarled, “while your own fucking voice makes you come. Right now. So the mic knows who this pussy belongs to.”

That broke you.

You came so hard it punched the air out of your lungs. Back arched, legs shaking, and the chair creaked under you both as you clenched down around him like your body was trying to trap him inside. Your moan cracked loud in the mic—shameless, guttural, wrecked.

And he didn’t stop. Not even for a second.

“Fuck, fuck—you’re so tight—” Chan groaned, hips jerking as he chased his own release. “Keep squeezing me just like that, baby—don’t stop—fuck—”

His thrusts turned erratic, rough, needy. You were still twitching, still whimpering, oversensitive and raw, but you took it. Let him fuck you through the comedown, through the overstimulation, through the way your soaked cunt just kept gripping him like it couldn’t let go.

Then—one brutal thrust, a choked curse in your ear—and he came inside you with a growl, cock pulsing deep as he spilled into you. Hot. Sticky. Filling you up while your ruined body trembled in his lap.

You sat there, breathing heavy, both of you a mess. Sweat, cum, heat between your legs and the sound of your combined filth still echoing faintly from the monitors.

And then he leaned forward, lazy smile on his lips, and hit save.

“Perfect take,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re keeping all of that.”

You're still dripping when he helps you off his lap. Your legs are jelly, thighs sticky with a mess that’s mostly his, and yet he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

“Need one more from you,” he says, voice low and wrecked, like he didn’t just fuck the soul out of you in his chair. “Ad-libs. Just some breathy stuff for the bridge.”

You blink at him, dazed. “Chan—I'm a mess—”

He just smirks, standing behind you, hands on your hips. “Exactly.”

You don’t remember walking back into the booth, but you’re standing in front of the mic again, headphones half on, tank top sliding off one shoulder. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s there—behind you—again.

The track plays. Slow. Sultry. Dirty. Like him.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, slipping the headphones fully over your ears. “Just let it out. Whispers. Moans. Anything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but then you feel him—his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, fingers ghosting over your ruined cunt.

And just like that, his fingers are back inside you.

Two of them, curling up in that sweet, sinful way that makes your knees buckle.

“Don’t stop recording,” he whispers, voice low through the studio intercom. “Let’s give ‘em something they’ll feel in their chest.”

Your mouth drops open. You whimper.

The mic catches everything.

The squelch of his fingers inside you. The helpless sound of your breath catching. The soft, pathetic fuck that slips out as he scissors his fingers, spreading you wider.

“More,” he murmurs. “Breathe like you did when I fucked you.”

You obey, head tilting back against his shoulder as he fingers you with slow, filthy precision. Every pump is deliberate. Every flick of his thumb over your clit makes your whole body twitch. You try to focus on the mic, but all you can do is moan into it—soft, sweet, soaked in sin.

“God, listen to you,” he groans, grinding his cock against your ass, still hard. “Bet the whole fucking track could be just you falling apart like this.”

Your hands are gripping the mic stand now, knuckles white, hips rolling helplessly into his hand. You feel like a livewire—overstimmed, overstretched, obsessed. And he’s whispering the dirtiest things in your ear like he’s writing lyrics straight into your soul.

“You gonna come for me again?” he purrs. “Gonna make a mess on my hand like a good little ad-lib?”

You choke on a moan, thighs shaking as your orgasm starts to hit. His fingers never stop. Faster now. Deeper. The mic catches your sharp gasp, the soft desperate yes yes yes tumbling out of you.

And when you come—again—it’s raw and ruined and so fucking loud.

Your name leaves his lips like a prayer. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

The track fades in your headphones, but the sound of you—crying out, breathless, broken—is locked in.

He pulls his fingers out slow, glistening with your release, and brings them up to your lips.

“Lick.”

You do.

He smiles.

“Playback’s gonna love you.”

Your body’s sore in all the best places—fucked-out muscles heavy, breath slow, skin damp with the sweat of everything he’s pulled out of you tonight. The laptop still hums faintly in the background, red lights blinking from the audio interface, waiting for a new take.

But you? You're done.

Or… you were.

“Stay with me,” Chan murmurs, cradling your hips as he pulls you into his lap, both of you bare, sweat-slick, sticky where he came inside you. “Just one more time.”

You shake your head with a sleepy laugh, eyes barely open as you straddle him on the couch. “You said that an hour ago.”

“I lied.”

His cock pushes up into you slowly, and you whimper—so sensitive, but your body gives him everything anyway. He slides in deep, slow, like he’s tucking himself into bed inside you.

“Gonna fuck you to sleep,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple, voice so soft it makes your chest ache. “Nice and slow. Just like this.”

And he does.

No hard thrusts. No roughness. Just deep, rolling motions that keep him buried in your warmth while he rocks you gently, arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious.

Your body melts into his.

Your face is buried in his neck, breath feathering over his skin, and every time you clench around him in a sleepy little pulse, he groans—low and sweet and so full of love it hurts.

He keeps whispering to you.

“Feel so good.” “Made me the nastiest track tonight.” “Can’t stop thinking about how wet you sounded on mic…” “My pretty little girl…”

You moan into his throat, already drifting, but your pussy keeps fluttering around him like you're still chasing something. And God, he loves that.

“Even when you’re tired,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up once more, “this pussy’s still hungry.”

Your eyes flutter closed.

Your moans get quieter.

Your body goes limp, but he’s still moving—still slow-fucking you like a lullaby until he feels your breath even out, your head heavy on his shoulder.

And when he finally comes inside you, it’s with a soft curse into your hair, his cock pulsing deep as he fills you one last time.

He stays buried in you, wrapped around you, letting both of you sink into sleep with his cum leaking out between your thighs, dripping onto the old studio couch like the end of a perfect track.

_

It’s early. Light spills through the half-drawn blinds of the studio, golden and soft, catching the outline of dust motes in the air. The session from last night is still open on the laptop, audio files blinking like little secrets. But Chan? He’s focused on something else this morning.

You.

You're perched on the edge of the couch, wearing only his oversized shirt. No bra. No panties. Just skin and heat and the way your thighs shift open slightly when you stretch.

He watches you from across the room, leaned back in the producer’s chair, bare chest out, hair a little messy, lips still swollen from all the things he did to you last night.

“You gonna warm up for me?” he murmurs, voice gravel-thick with sleep and hunger. “Or do I need to do it for you?”

You smirk. “Don’t you always?”

That’s all it takes.

He’s on you in seconds—crawling over the couch, tugging you down gently until you’re laid out flat, your legs hanging open just enough to tease him. The t-shirt rides up your hips. He groans at the sight—bare, swollen, glistening from nothing but remembering how he fucked you last.

“Fuck, baby…” His fingers slide up your thigh, slow. Featherlight. “You’re already warm.”

He reaches to the side. Picks up a small mic—handheld, sleek, studio-grade. He taps it gently. Red light comes on. Then he places it right between your legs.

Mic check? More like mic wreck.

You let out the softest little breath, and that’s when he lowers himself—settling between your thighs like he belongs there.

And then his mouth is on you.

He starts slow. So slow. Tongue tracing lazy shapes against your folds—long, teasing licks that make your hips twitch, but not enough to satisfy. He’s humming, letting the vibrations rumble through your clit. And the mic picks up everything.

The wet, obscene slurp of his tongue.

The shaky moans you try to hold back.

The little whispered please that slips when he spreads your legs wider and drags his tongue flat, base to tip, over your entire cunt.

“You sound so fucking pretty in the morning,” he mumbles into you, lips brushing your soaked skin. “Messy little symphony.”

His tongue dips inside, and your back arches off the couch. He fucks you with it—deep, slow, curling—and then pulls back to flick your clit in tight, brutal patterns that make your legs quake.

“You gonna give me a moan I can loop?” he teases, voice breathless. “C’mon, baby, give me a note. Make this mic melt.”

You whimper—high, desperate—and he growls.

“You hear that?” he pants, pulling the mic a little closer to the source of your arousal. “That’s what perfection sounds like.”

And then—fuck—he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling, fingers sliding inside of you without warning, curling up, pressing that spot so deep it makes your vision blur.

You’re gone.

You moan—loud, broken, raw—and the mic captures it perfectly.

And he doesn’t stop.

“You gonna come?” he whispers, dragging his fingers harder, faster. “Come on, angel. Let the mic hear it.”

You do.

You break. You fucking snap. Legs locked, mouth open, moaning his name like a melody. You grind into his face, and he lets you—riding out the wave while he keeps licking through it, tasting every last drop of your morning mess.

When it’s over, you’re wrecked. Boneless. Glowing.

He kisses the inside of your thigh and smiles up at you.

“Track four,” he murmurs. “Gonna call it Good Morning.”

[unreasonablerobin]

HI BARBIE

Damian Al Ghul x Girly!Reader

Summary: Damian and his... very girly girlfriend??

W.C: 4.3K

Tags: Fluff ♡

Something was different... everyone in the manor could tell that there was something different with Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

Considering he lived in a manor full of detectives, you really wouldn't think he'd have gotten away with his secret rendezvous.

7 months ago...

It all started with Alfred noticing new smells on his clothes as he did the laundry. At first, it seemed that Damian had simply switched to a new shampoo or maybe gotten a cologne. Then, the sharp scent of cologne started to come mixed with floral. Alfred did what any good butler would do. He ignored it. If his master wanted to indulge in wearing floral scents, he wouldn't shame him for it.

Alfred wasn't the only one who noticed the change in scent, though. Dick had been messing around with Damian in the training room. They always liked a good spar with each other. Everything was going as usual until... SNIFF

"Dude, are you wearing perfume?" Dick suddenly asked as he blocked a punch from his little brother. Damian's composure faltered for just a moment before he pulled himself together, grabbing Dick and tossing him over the shoulder. The poor vigilante was too distracted by his discovery to catch himself. He fell to the floor with a thud.

"Don't be ridiculous Grayson." The boy clicked his tongue as he began to walk out of the training room.

"It's one of those Britney Spears ones, Kori has a few," Dick said more to himself than Damian as the boy was choosing to ignore him the more words tumble out of his mouth. "Hold on don't tell, is it the pink one with the little green gems on it?"

Damian had to fight back the urge to inform him that the perfume he was thinking of was called Fantasy. He'd become quite the enthusiast simply from listening to you go on about all sorts of perfumes, and other products, sat at your vanity as he admired your reflection through the mirror.

"Why do you know so much about Britney Spears perfumes Grayson?" Damian retorted.

"Cause I have a very gorgeous girlfriend, Dams. I got her the perfume for her birthday, the bottle reminded me of her." He replied a lovesick grin already forming at the thought of his alien lover. The former assassin took the opportunity to sneak out of the training room as his older brother got lost in a train of hopeless romantic thoughts over his lover.

Once he made it back to his room he sharply inhaled. Yep, it smells like your perfume. Very clearly, like you'd jumped around spraying it before sneaking out this morning. He took a handful of his shirt and lifted it to his nose. Yep, also smells like your perfume and your setting spray. If he wanted to keep your relationship hidden from his lunatic families he'd need to do a better job of covering it, he thought to himself as he began to light any scented candles he could find. An attempt to cover your traces. One of them was a gift from you, so not entirely hiding your presence.

5 months ago...

The two of you were walking through the mall. Hands intertwined and a bundle of shopping bags in his other. He'd insisted on carrying them. No matter how ridiculous he looked. It was a funny sight. His cold hard expression paired with cute bags of clothes, makeup and a Sanrio plushie peeking out from one of them.

"Are you hungry, beloved?" Damian turned his head to face you. You pondered for a moment until your stomach decided for you by making a growling sound.

"Yes..." You said slightly embarrassed. A downturned smile spread on your face.

"Where would you like to go?" You were about to respond when your phone started ringing, a cheery pop song blared from your charm-adorned handbag.

"Sorry, one sec," you reached into the bag. Shoving all sorts of things around to get to your phone. "It's my mom, you pick I'll be back in a minute!" You stepped off to the side and answered the phone.

Damian huffed at the feeling of his empty hand as he began to scan the mall food court up ahead.

'Burger King, McDonalds, Stephanie and Cass, KFC...' He paused his train of thought. Oh shit, he didn't realise Stephanie and Cass would be here and walking towards you both, unaware of your presence.

"Mom, I promised I'd be back home for dinner. 6:30, I know," You laughed at her antics before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

You didn't get the chance to turn around as your hand was being grabbed and you were getting dragged away.

"Damian?" you looked at the boy as he swerved between the crowds. "Is everything alright?" You watched as he occasionally looked behind the two of you. Taking a small glance back you spotted two girls you recognised from a photo he'd shown you.

"Hold on, is that Damian?" Stephanie stopped Cass in her tracks and pointed ahead. Cass looked up from her milkshake and saw the head of her little brother.

"We should go say hi! Wonder what he's doing in the mall?" Stephanie had taken Cass' arm and was pulling her towards Damian, both unaware that he wasn't alone and trying to get away from them.

Damian noticed the two getting closer and took a sharp left turn into a random clothing store. He used the clothing racks to hide from the persistent girls following them.

"Why's he gone in here?" Stephanie wondered out loud. "It's a women's clothing store." Cass shrugged her shoulders as her mind went to Dick's theory on Damian trying out more feminine things, and being ashamed of it, after the perfume incident. She thought the theory was ridiculous.

Cass looked around quickly to see if the shop was even worth spending time in, but nothing was to her taste. As she scanned the store she spotted what looked to her brother... and a girl? Sneaking into the dressing rooms.

'No, it couldn't be,' Cass thought to herself watching the figure of a boy that looked exactly like her brother disappear into a dressing room with a really pretty girl. 'Could it?'

You and Damian crammed into a little dressing room with all your shopping bags.

"So..." You began, turning to the mirror to fix any out of place hairs.

"We'll have to wait a while, they are unfortunately persistent."

"How long?"

"I do not know, beloved," He shoved your shopping bags into the corner. "Longer than you'd like, I'd imagine."

You stood in silence for a moment.

"I can think of a couple ways to pass the time..." You turned away to prevent yourself from laughing at Damian's flushed face.

3 months ago...

Damian and Jason had been giving each other a hand during patrol that night. Damian was chasing some low-life thugs and they managed to slip out of his grasp and dash all the way to Crime Alley. Thankfully Jason was there and helped him catch the guys. After dealing with them Damian stood up, a vibration surged through his pocket. He reached in about to immediately hit decline. Why would he answer the phone on patrol? That's what he thought until your face graced his peripheral. He quickly turned his back towards his brother. It was a photo of you and your closets friends. (Obviously the contact picture was only focused on you). It was taken on your birthday. You were all dolled up in makeup and a gorgeous outfit you'd insisted you needed his opinion on before going out. He was about to answer when, "Who's that?" Jason called out from behind.

'Oh Shit.' Damian thought to himself. There are so many excuses to use when your brother smells your girlfriend's perfume on you, so many ways to hide from your sisters when out on a date. How does one convince Red Hood that 'Beloved <3' isn't what it looks like? That its no one special on the other end of the line?

"No one," Damian tried his luck with lying anyways. "Mind your business!" He possessively clutched the phone to his chest. Hiding the caller ID and contact photo. That was only for him to see.

Jason stared at him through his helmet, "Uh-huh, sure," Damian could feel the bullshit look on Jason's face behind the helmet. "No one at all."

"No one for you to concern yourself with Todd, mind your business." Damian stuttered out sharply before disappearing into the night. Away from prying eyes.

Jason couldn't help but grin as he watched his brother run off, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"Idiot."

Damian had perched himself on top of an apartment building. He brought his phone in front of him and called his last missed call. You. He sat in the silence of dawn, only the buzz of his voice and the tires of some earlier commuters to be heard. Until he heard the sweet voice of his favourite person.

"Hello? Damian?" God, how did your voice sound so angelic this early in the morning, through a phone speaker?

"Good morning, beloved," He sighed contently, "Apologies for not picking up when you first called I was finishing up something." He felt at peace hearing your voice and the ruffle of your bedsheets. Even if it was only through a phone and not in person. It would do.

"Oh sorry!" You whisper yelled. The sun was only rising, your family were probably still asleep. "I didn't mean to bother, we can talk la-"

"Nonsense, you are certainly not bothering me, beloved. I'm more than happy to make time for you at any hour of the day or night." He cut you off. It was silent on your end of the line for a few moments. A couple of giggles and some sheet rustling could be heard. Damian could see it in his mind you going slightly rouge and hiding your face in the pastel duvet.

"It's just," you trailed off, "I had a stupid nightmare and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"If my presence is what you seek in order to feel safe than I will always be available." You smiled at that looking out the window by your bed.

"I will be there."

"What!?" You shot up in your bed, shrinking in on yourself when you realised how loud you were being.

"Damian, there's no need-"

"Yes there is very much need," You sighed at his persistence. "You require my comfort to fall back asleep, I know how much you enjoy your weekend sleep." You fell back k down into tour bed with a smile. He was so right. You loved your weekend lie ins.

"I am finished patrol so I will make my way to you."

"Okay, I'll see you in a few, my windows open," you bit your bottom lip for a moment, hesitation filling you, "I love you." There was silence on the other end of the line until the call ended. You looked at your phone in confusion worried you'd accidentally hit the red button or if Damian had decided he actually hated you. A shadow replacing the sunrise light that had been beaming onto you stopped your train of thought. You looked up to see Robin perched on your windowsill. Strategically, as to not damage your flower boxes.

"I love you too." He whispered before he crawled through the window, landing on your bed.

2 months ago...

Damian was sat in the back of the Batcave as Bruce and Tim discussed something about an ongoing case. He was cleaning one of his katanas. Deciding it was clean enough he picked it up and set it to the side. A small sound of metal hitting metal made the two detectives perk up. The sound came again as Damian picked up another blade to clean. Tim turned his head ever so slightly to glance at the boy and in the corner of his eyes, he spotted it. A small ring on his left hand. He gave a small glance to Bruce, who was still staring at the screen before him, but he could tell the scrunch of his face wasn't from the confusion of the case. Damian completely unaware of his brother's and father's change in demeanour continued to clean his blades. The metal ring subtly caught the light as he carefully rubbed the cloth against the sharp edge of the blade. A gentle smile graced his face as he stared at the ring. His mind wandered back to the day he gave you the promise ring. He knew you'd love it but he was still so nervous. He would rather die than let anyone know that though. Little whispers snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up he spotted Tim leaning in towards Bruce muttering something.

"Can I say something?" Tim questioned in a hushed teasing tone.

"No, you can not." Bruce sternly replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh come on," Tim looked from him to his brother out of the corner of his peripheral. "You can't not be curious about what's up with him?"

Bruce gave the young detective a quick glance before returning to the screen with CCTV footage playing.

"Of course I am, but it is none of our business." He said curtly. "Damian is very capable and I trust that he is independent and mature enough to do as he pleases."

Tim sighed in response to that. He'd have to lay off on the teasing for now, but just know that when he gets a moment alone with his little brother he will become the biggest pain in the ass.

Damian couldn't help but let his smile grow back after hearing his father's words. He spun the ring around his finger for a brief moment before setting his blades aside and exiting the cave.

1 month ago...

Another rare day where you manage to spend the day in Wayne Manor. Today was much easier than all the others. Dick was in his apartment with Kori'ander, Bruce and Tim were away on company business, the girls were all out, and Jason was god knows where. You didn't really care if they were in the Manor or on the other side of the world at this moment. You were sprawled on top of your boyfriend in his bed. Nothing could possibly ruin this day for you. Your head was rested on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. His hand held yours and the other played with the ends of your hair. You both layed in the silence of the day as you quite literally watched paint dry. Over on his desk, which was supposed to be used for homework and not art or makeup, like it you had previously been using it for. Two small paintings lay drying; one of batcow and the other of a sunset. A huff of laughter from the chest beneath you made you look up.

"What?"

"There is paint on your face, beloved."

You shot up from his body and where about to run into the bathroom. Damian gently grabbed into your face. The red paint streaks where mostly dry now so he was easily able to rub them off. Even when your face was paint free, you both sat there, your face in his hands and his thumb caressing your skin.

"You are so beautiful, Habibti." You stared with a lovestruck look right back at his lovesick one. He leaned in a little closer.

"May I?" He asked, ever the gentleman. You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours not caring about the sticky sensation of your lip gloss. You sighed into the kiss and brought your hands up to rest of his. They slid down and held onto his wrists. Neither of you would get Iver this feeling. The butterflies, your lips on eachother, the fear that enters your body when you hear a knock of the door. Oh my god. You immediately pulled away.

"Master Damian," Alfred's muffled voice came through the door. "Would like some cookies? They are freshly baked."

"No thanks, Pennyworth." Damian quickly replied. There was an uncomfortable silence for a second before-

"Would your friend like some?" Both of your eyes bulged out and your jaws dropped.

"I won't tell, no need to fret!"

You looked to Damian nervously, who nodded his head, telling you that Alfred really meant what he said.

"Yes please!" You piped up. You could smell those cookies and my god, you wanted them so bad.

"Very well, I'll prepare them and some tea." Alfred laughed before heading back to the kitchen.

Present...

Yesterday had been another one of those rare days where nobody was in the manor, so you had come over and Damian persuaded you to stay the night.

You sleepy made your way into the bathroom attached to his room. Deciding it was time to get ready for the day. Your eyes scanned the counter top covered in skincare and makeup products left here overtime by you. You couldn't help but smile thinking of all the smalls ways you two had been intertwining your life's. You had things in his place, he had things in yours, he carried hair ties for you and you carried bandages for him. It was simple and sweet. It got you thinking about why he didn't want you to meet his family as you did your skincare. He'd met yours, plenty of time at that. He'd spent the night, he'd had dinner with them, hell you're mom bought him an Easter egg! You swore up and down to yourself he didn't have any problem with you or his family. Now picking up your primer you couldn't help but be confused. Why is he so desperate to hide you and your relationship? You shook the thoughts away when you spotted your frown in the mirror, now just focusing on getting ready.

An hour had passed and Damian was awake. He could hear you in the bathroom as he rolled over in the now cold bed.

"Babe, can you help me?" You softly called out as you nudged the bathroom door open. "I can't get my earing in." You informed with you hands at your ear.

He got up from his bed a maneuvered you back into the bathroom, where the lighting was good, shutting the door behind him.

"I can't get it through, it shouldn't be closed up though!" You handed him the earing and stood beside him under the ceiling light.

He tilted your head and began what would be an annoyingly long process of trying to perform the simple task of getting a piece of metal through a hole.

Alfred was in the middle of cooking breakfast and asked Dick to go wake his brother up. Unaware that you were still here. You usually snuck out earlier but you're phone was dead when you woke up so you never checked the time.

Dick trecked up the stairs, past Jason leaving his room and towards Damian's. He softly knocked on the door before swinging it open.

"Uh, Jason?"

"What?" Jason grumbled at the end of the hallway.

"Who's phone is that?" Dick asked pointing towards a phone that definitely wasn't his brother's. Unless he'd taken a sudden liking to charms and bows.

Jason sleepy stared at Dick until the image of Damian's phone with a picture of a girl and suspicious caller ID appeared in his head. Now he was sprinting towards his brother's room.

Jason and Dick stood in the doorway examining the unknown phone plugged in and rested on the nightstand. Jason gasped and pointed at a woman's bag, say on the floor, leaning against the desk leg. Dick dramatically took hold of Jason and put a finger to his lips. He then pointed to the bathroom door.

"Damian it's fine!"

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"It's not going to hurt, babe I promise!"

A girl? Babe!?

This had Dick and Jason turning to eachother, shock written all over their faces as they sprinted to the stairs.

Bruce, Tim, Stephanie and Cass were all sat at the dining table. Bruce was reading the newspaper, Tim was chugging a coffee, Stephanie was talking to Cass while they waited for the other three boys. Same as every morning. At least it was, until-

"Damian has a girlfriend!" Dick shouted like he was the final girl just after discovering who the killer was.

"She's upstairs!" Jason skidded into the kitchen behind him.

Alfred froze, as he watched Tim and Stephanie sprint faster than he'd ever seen before. Dick and Jason following right behind them. Cass subtly followed. She didn't want to be nosy but... she needed to know! Her suspicions were driving her crazy ever since the mall. Bruce sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it down before heading up to Damian's room as he heard screaming.

You were mortified. Six people just barged into the room and saw you in your pyjamas; your underwear and one of Damian's shirts. You screamed and immediately bolted back into the bathroom. You were panicking. Damian didn't want you to meet his family and you just did it in the worst way possible. Half naked and screaming. What a way to meet the future in-laws. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you slid to the floor. Atleast your hair and makeup look good.

"Drake, what the fuck!?" Damian yelled.

"Hold on, why am I the only one getting yelled at?" Tim retorted.

Stephanie nudged his shoulder. "You scared her stupid!"

"We barged in at the same time!"

"You're a guy!"

Damian stood there with a frustrated expression watching Tim and Stephanie bicker and the rest of his family pile in. Cass's small smile at him help him relax a little, but only a little. And just for a moment, cause then Dick and Jason piped up.

"So..." Dick began. "Who is she?"

"None of your business."

"That's what you told me when someone named 'beloved' called you on patrol." Jason chimed in with a teasing tone. Damian could only stare at more frustration than before. His cheeks began to flush and that just passed him off more. Stephanie wasn't helping with her "awww's in the background. Damian was about to scream for them to all get out, get physical with Tim if he needed to.

“Damian.”

Everyone turned towards the stern, deep voice in the doorway. Bruce stepped forward to his youngest son.

"Father," Damian started a tangent before Bruce even had a chance to say anything more. "Her name is Y/n. We have been dating for 8 months, and I love her. No matter your approval or disapproval I will continue to see her." Damian informed his father in a stern and determined tone.

“If it’s alright with you I would like to meet her. Properly.” He requested. “I believe the rest would also like to meet her.” Damian didn’t know how to respond. He thought his father would have a bigger reaction to lying and sneaking around with a girl. Especially considering the occupations of everyone present.

“Of course only if she’s alright with it as well.” Bruce added with a light smile.

"Allow me to check." Bruce ushered all of his children out of the young boy's room.

Once they’d all left he slid into the bathroom where you were still sat on the floor.

“Habitat,” he called out softly. “We don’t have to go down there if you don’t want to.” He knelt in front of you.

“No! I want to, I’d love to meet your family.” You countered quickly. “Only if that’s okay with you, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Whatever you want, beloved.” He said with a smile identical to his father’s.

You were now dressed and sat beside Damian at the Wayne dining table. All of the Wayne's were staring at you. It wasn't daggers or disgust. You'd figured it was curiosity.

"How the hell did you even meet?" Jason asked the first question.

"School." Damian answered coldly.

"No offence, but I didn't expect you to end up with someone so..." Dick trailed off as he swung is fork around as if it would conjure up the words he wad looking for.

"Girly?" You suggested. "I get it, you probably thought he'd end up with someone like yourselves."

Everyone at the table felt a bead of sweat drop from their foreheads.

"What?" Stephanie asked with a nervous laugh.

"She knows." They all snapped their necks to look at Damian and then their father at the head of the table.

He sighed, "Damian I trust that you thought about all this before giving us away?"

"Of course I did. Do not suggest that they are not trustworthy." Bruce and Damian had a bit of a stare off. While that was happening Stepahine had kicked Tim out of his chair beside you.

"You're hair is so gorgeous! What do you use?" She asked as she held a strand in her palm.

"Oh, I cannot think of the name! But there's some up in Damian's bathroom, I'll show it to you."

Dick leaned over the table, "I thought I was going crazy when I started smelling perfumes off him!" You laughed at his comment.

"What do you use? It smells similar to the one Kori uses."

You began to chat with the vigilantes about all sorts of things. Telling Cass and Stephanie about the products you use and where you shop, listening to stories about Dick and Kori. Jason chimed in with a few book recommendations and reviews after learning you like to read. Quickly you found yourself having conversations with all the Waynes like it was as easy as breathing. As you were laughing at some Internet joke you and Tim were discussing, you spotted a poute on your boyfriend's face. And it finally clicked.

Damian Al Ghul was jealous of his own family.

He kept your relationship a secret and avoided introducing you for so long because he didn't want them to steal your attention.

You couldn't help but smile at that.

A/N: First piece published!! I welcome back feedback with open arms. Please just don't take this opportunity to be rude. I'd love to know if I write ooc or if my grammars incorrect, ect.

Shout out to Damian Al Ghul my gatekeeping king🙏

[l1tw1ck]

Anaxa's Strange Research Project

Bottom!Omega!FTM Anaxagoras x Top!Alpha!Masc Reader

🧪 Word Count: 1,604 🧪

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Dubious Consent, Squirting, Womb Fucking, Creampie, Riding, Sexual Overstimulation

When Anaxagoras first met you, he instantly became obsessed. Your scent was far more interesting and pleasant than the scent of any other person he’s ever met. Just holding something that belongs to you makes him tremble and before he knew it, he ended up stealing everything with your scent.

He was extremely interested in figuring out what makes it so addicting. He even went against his better judgment and allowed you access into his laboratory. The moment you asked him about it, he crumbled. How could he say no?

It's somewhat normal for an omega to get like this over an alpha’s scent, but Anaxa’s a beta. Betas can identify the unique scents of others but they don't feel much from it and they definitely don't react like this. To the point where he's acting entirely out of character. So of course he has to investigate.

A rumor started to make its rounds in the grove.

Anaxa has an obsession with making betas smell his strange experiments.

It’s made his reputation worse…to say the least. None of the betas have had the same reaction to your scent, so the lack of progress and the strange premise makes for fun lunch discussions. Then he brought in omegas and alphas. But strangely enough, no one could identify the scent as yours. In fact, they could barely smell it at all. No one knows he’s experimenting with a person’s scent, which makes the rumors all the more bizarre and exaggerated. Sometime after the rumors reached their peak, he gave up on including others in his experiment, solely due to the lack of results.

The isolation gave him the chance to finally achieve real results in his study. Since he’s no longer forced to accommodate others in a public lab, his private laboratory became akin to an omega’s nest. Your scent has dominated his entire being, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it's made him inebriated.

“Anaxa–” You huff, your hands gripping his waist.

Anaxa twitches, your cock pressing against his cervix. He presses his hands against the table. You pull back before gently hitting it again. “‘S not possible-” He moans as your hand strokes his t-dick.

“I can't try?” You manage to grind your tip against it.

Anaxa laughs. “Not even omegas can take it that deep, pervert.”

You growl in frustration. Arousal runs down Anaxa’s spine. He loves the sounds you make. You're like his perverted little puppy. “Humph.” You reach over to his face and stick your fingers in his mouth. Anaxa’s eye widens as you hit his cervix repeatedly. His toes and fingers curl, his lashes flickering erotically. It hurts, but in a good way.

Anaxa moans as his cervix opens up for you. Your cock quickly—

“Huh-” Anaxa jolts awake, drool dribbling down from his chin. He sits up and sighs. The ink on his notebook is bleeding on the paper. His ears turn red as he recalls his dream.

He can't keep dancing around it anymore. He likes you. He craves you.

He stands up and pulls off the shirt he stole from you. He pauses. Then he looks down.

“What is…” He presses his index finger against the mysterious emerald colored tattoo on his pelvis. He moans, his legs giving out. He keeps touching it out of curiosity. He stares at the design. It looks similar to that old myth. “Oh shit.” He swears. The word sounds unnatural coming out of his mouth. It’s not that he's against cursing, he just doesn't see any reason to embellish his words with profanity. He can get his point across just fine without them. But if he's understanding this correctly, this situation is definitely deserving of such language.

There was an old myth about two soulmates, forcibly drawn together by a mystical spirit of love and lust. It was an impatient entity and the couple weren't making any progress at all. They hadn't even realized their feelings for each other yet. So it pushed them together, gave them a reason to finally be together.

It was a strange myth, he didn't care much for it. There are a lot of real but rare occurrences misunderstood as mere myths in Amphoreus, but he never would've guessed this would be one of them.

Anaxa whimpers, his nose stuffed in your boxers and his hands stuffed in his boxers. He's only wearing his collared shirt and underwear. He moans your name and coincidentally, you arrive. His briefs are soaking wet with his slick.

He jumps at the sound of knocking. He can tell it's you by your scent, even though the room is full of it, he can still tell it's you. Besides, no one else is brave enough to step even 5 feet close to his lab. He quickly gets up and rushes to the door. His head feels a little more clear now that he's standing up, although his legs are very wobbly.

“A—” You start to say his name but pause, instantly recognizing your own scent. “Wh-”

Anaxa grabs your shirt and leans into your neck, taking in your fresh scent. You try to push him off you but he doesn't budge. You know it wouldn't be good if anyone walked past and saw this, even if it would be from 10 feet away, so you pick him up and close the door behind you.

“What's going on?” You ask, setting him down on the pile of your clothes, the only place he can sit comfortably. You’ve been wondering where all your things went and while you did feel suspicious hearing the chatter of his old test subjects, you still felt doubt. The only reason you're here now, is to make sure he's okay since nobody's seen him in over a week. He has many moments like this, but your gut was telling you to check up on him.

“You smell so good..” Anaxa stands up and reaches for you, tripping over the messy floor and knocking you to the ground. At least your clothes are here to soften your fall. Your heart races as you watch Anaxa adjust his body, his clothed cunt pressing against your jeans. He leans into your neck. His hand slithers down to undress you. You shudder at the sensation caused by his tongue dragging along your skin.

“Aren't you—” Your breath hitches as he finally reaches the treasure he’s been digging for from underneath the layers of your clothing. Your cock twitches with joy from being touched by another person. His pheromones finally infect your brain, your hesitation washing away with each lick to your skin. “Anaxa–” You groan as he starts to jerk you off.

As your pheromones become stronger, his mental stability weakens. He's still himself, but with far less rationality. He shakily moves himself upright, then removes his shirt. Your eyes widen at the sight of his erotic tattoo.

“You…” Anaxa murmurs, grabbing your wrist and bringing it close to his tattoo. He squirms as your fingers run along the emerald ink. Your hand glides down to the band of his underwear, ripping it apart effortlessly. “You really are an alpha.” He says, as if he ever truly doubted that.

Your head spins just from seeing his pussy. His t-cock pokes out from his untrimmed hairs. He lifts himself up, allowing you to really see it. You don't realize you're drooling as you watch him sink down onto your length. “Fuck~” He moans.

You don't think you've ever heard him swear before.

“My insides–” He forces himself further down your length. “Are stretching for you~”

Seeing the bulge appearing in his stomach triggers your orgasm. He shivers and licks his lips. He doesn't stop though, he keeps going.

“Hah–” He can feel your cock against his cervix but you're not fully inside yet. His tattoo is glowing, like it's telling you to go further. Your hands move faster than your thoughts, reaching for Anaxa’s waist. You lift him up before roughly slamming him down, his cervix opening itself up for you. Anaxa cries out in pleasure as he squirts. “I…I’m really yours..” He mutters.

You shiver. “Mine.”

Anaxa starts riding you. “You're so deep inside me~” He moans your name. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna get addicted to this~”

Your cock twitches from his words. He presses his fingers against his tattoo, his pussy flexing around your length. He lets out a breathy curse. He's overloading his senses and yet he's still moving vigorously. He whines in both pain and pleasure. It's the perfect amount of pain. “You're huge~” He stops for a moment, taking in all the sensory input.

Your heart pounds aggressively as you salivate like a dog. You watch as his chest rises and falls, as your combined fluids trickle down your cock. He slowly grinds on you, his mouth hanging open.

You grab his waist and swiftly change positions. The way he looks right now, the way his hair slightly splays out onto the pile of your clothes…how his nipples are hard and how beautifully his tattoo glows, it's almost like you're doing a photoshoot. You aggressively rut into him.

“You're so desperate for me~” He giggles softly, talking like someone with low alcohol tolerance. You’ve definitely never heard him giggle before. He reaches for you and you lean in, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and take in your scent again.

Your hips stutter before your cock fills him with another load. Anaxa moans softly, his pussy weakly flexing around you.

Things are going to change between the two of you now.

[cosykitchenwitch]

I’ve heard it straight from their mouths: some men truly enjoy finding a strong, independent woman and breaking her down to be small. Negging her and abusing her so they can feel powerful through holding her under their control.

They word it like this: “I just love knocking hot girls down a peg.”

That’s right, they will purposeful seek out a baddie, a beautiful women with purpose and self-confidence, they will butter her up and guilt trip her and emotionally manipulate her into “just giving them a chance” with the explicit purpose of harming her self-esteem.

They’ll go after a stunning woman who works in a male-dominated field and then beg her to quit her job because they don’t want her working around all those men. Tell her she’s “a slut who just wants attention from all those men at work.” They’ll try to get her to change career paths, just to see how much power they can wield over such a woman.

They’ll desire a glamorous woman who dresses up and does a full face of makeup to go out dancing every weekend. Then they’ll tell her she’s disrespecting her bf if she continues to wear makeup like that and dress like that, and even if she changes her outfit and stops wearing makeup, they’ll still say it’s wrong for her to go out with her friends to the club, she’s “clearly just seeking attention, and trying to cheat on” her bf.

Then when she’s changed everything about herself to appease him, to keep the peace in the relationship, he’ll tell her that she “gave up” as soon as she got into the relationship, why doesn’t she dress up for her bf anymore? He’ll tell her that she manipulated HIM into a relationship just to “let go of herself” as soon as they were exclusive (never mind that he’s the one who chased her, guilted her into exclusivity, and slut-shamed her into changing her whole look and how she interacts with people).

This whole thing is about power and control over women, and there is so much more allure in breaking down a woman who was sure of herself before she gave away her power. Many men derive pleasure from that act of destruction. The relationship was simply a trap they set up for her as a means to steal her power, and the desire to steal her power comes directly from mens’ own sense of inferiority and their desperate grapple for superiority over women.

Whoever wrote this, slayed so hard with all these statements, truer words have never been spoken

[yelhsaa-a]

You don’t even have to ask—he’s already trembling above you, cock buried deep in your soaked cunt, and it’s clear he’s holding on by a thread. Caleb has wanted you—obsessed over you—for years. The kind of wanting that eats a man alive, that festers in quiet moments and keeps him hard in the middle of the night with your name on his lips.

And now? He’s inside you, and it’s everything. It’s too much.

You feel the way his hands clutch at your waist, bruising tight, like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t ground himself. He’s rutting into you with messy, frantic thrusts—no rhythm, no grace, just need. Desperation. Lust that’s been caged too long, finally tearing free.

His face is buried in your neck, teeth grazing skin like he might lose control and bite down hard. You feel his breath stuttering against you, hot and shaky. He lets out a groan, deep and raw, but then—fuck—you hear it.

A choked sob.

You almost don’t believe it until you feel the wetness, the hot tears sliding down your throat.

“Caleb?” you murmur, half-mocked, half-concerned, but he doesn’t answer—just keeps fucking you like he’s trying to carve the shape of you into his memory. Like he needs to feel you from the inside out.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, voice barely audible, “fuck—I’m so sorry—it’s just so good—I can’t—fuck.”

“God, you’re pathetic,” you whisper, nails dragging down his back. “Crying like a bitch just ‘cause this pussy’s better than your fantasies?”

That breaks him. He lets out another sob, this one louder, almost a wail. His thrusts grow erratic, cock twitching deep inside you, and you know he’s right on the edge.

“You’ve thought about this for years, haven’t you? Jerking off to the idea of me, hoping one day I’d let you inside.”

He nods frantically, whimpering against your neck. “Every night. Thought about you every fucking night—shit—wanted this so bad—”

“Then fucking take it,” you growl. “Come for me. Fill me up like you’ve always dreamed of, you needy fucking mess.”

That’s all it takes.

He cries out—a wrecked, strangled sound—as he spills inside you, cock jerking with every pulse. His whole body shudders, muscles taut as his climax wrings him out completely. The sobs don’t stop; they just get softer, more broken, as he keeps pumping into you even after he’s emptied himself, like he’s scared to stop. Scared it’ll all disappear.

You wrap your legs around him, lock him there. Let him come down while his tears soak your skin.

Minutes pass before he pulls back enough to look at you. His face is ruined—red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. You wipe the wetness from his cheeks with a smirk.

“You good now, crybaby?”

He nods slowly, sniffling, then glances down at your cum-dripping pussy like he’s ready to worship it all over again.

“Can I go again?” he asks, voice hoarse, almost reverent.

You grab him by the throat, pulling him down into another kiss.

“Fucking try.”

[otakpocky131522]

May I humbly offer: Tommy in the hospital after a minor accident and has amnesia but it takes them a little bit to notice because Buck accidentally said something flirtatious and Tommy decided to roll with the unexpected gift of a hot man flirting with him and everything seemed like business as usual:

This is his last straw. Buck is 100% banning basketball after today. If Tommy even thinks about touching another basketball, Buck is going to pin him down and use any number of his newfound, persuasive skills to keep Tommy safe and in their bed.

“Come on Buck, we said we’re sorry. How long will it take for you to forgive us?” Chimney pleads from where he’s lying in the hospital bed next to Tommy’s.

“It really was an impressive series of freak accidents. Almost enough to make me believe in curses.” Eddie very-much-not helpfully chimes in.

“See, even the non-believer is wising up. We were being extremely careful! And nothing like this is going to happen in the future.”

“Oh, we all know nothing like this is going to happen in the future. You’re all fools if you think Buck’s leaving you children unsupervised again.” There. Just the voice of wisdom Buck needs to hear, coming from Athena as she walks in with Bobby, Hen, and Karen, joining the party Maddie, Buck, and Eddie had formed around Chimney’s bed as soon as visiting hours started.

“You promised,” Buck finally manages to get out. “You and Eddie took my fiancé out for a short, harmless game to finalize the plans for his bachelor party and you promised me no injuries this close to the wedding. You specifically said at least one Buckley needs to avoid a hospital wedding.”

“Eh. Maybe Jee will manage it.”

“Howard Han-”

“I’m sorry!”

Buck is too antsy to sit, too filled with worry to allow himself any rest, and too overwhelmed to keep up the conversation any longer. He’s been standing at the foot of Chim’s bed, Eddie keeping a steadying grip on his elbow, while his own fingers have been tapping a relentless beat — one, two, one-two-three — just to keep some corner of his mind focused. Before starting each series of taps over, he lets his eyes memorize every inch of Tommy’s face again, hoping this time will be the one where he opens his eyes. It hasn’t worked so far.

He knows he can’t really blame anyone for this. It really was such a strange set of events that landed everyone here last night. Apparently, there’d been a bad fumble, some severe lack of coordination on someone’s part, and a stray basketball ending up in just the right place to send Chimney tripping and falling on the court, somehow crashing into Tommy, and somehow ending up with Tommy whacking his head on the pole of the basketball hoop. EMS brought them to the hospital, Tommy all in one piece but very much unconscious while Chimney ended up with a sprained ankle and a newly broken arm. Eddie, miraculously, ended up completely unscathed. That is, until he had to call Buck and Maddie and they tore into him in the hospital waiting room, fueled by panic, worry, and Buck’s anger over the broken promises.

After an 8 hour wait in the lobby, they’d been let in to visit with the rest of the 118 family who could make it. Since Chimney had hit his head in the fall, they’d decided to keep him for observation and he got to stay in the room with Tommy to make them easier to monitor.

Buck is sure he’d be able to find the humor in everything like his upbeat friend in his gauzy hospital gown if Tommy had regained consciousness even once since the fall. Deep down, he knows Chim is feeling guilty but trying to stay positive for Buck, which he definitely appreciates! But after the vigil he’d kept — sitting right beside Tommy until visiting hours ended, alternating between holding his hand and gently readjusting his blankets and pillows to keep him comfortable — Buck really can’t find it in him to match his mood. If he had to keep sitting beside Tommy’s bed and fruitlessly hoping for some change, he was going to try and crawl right out through the hospital’s vents. Hence, standing guard at the foot of Chimney’s bed instead while leaning on Eddie for support.

Instead of speaking, he lets the comforting presence of his family rearranging chairs and settling in wash over him while he keeps tapping away on the railing, eyes checking over Tommy, and wandering back to Chimney.

One sweep, two sweeps: no change. Back to Hen roasting Chimney for something. Three sweeps: no change. Back to Chimney, indignantly trying and failing to defend his honor. Four sweeps: was that his eyes fluttering open? Nope. False alarm. Back to Athena and Maddie teaming up against Chimney, holding his attention for a miraculous 2 minutes. Five sweeps: blue eyes, amused scrunch-y smile, slight tension in his shoulders that always means Tommy has a headache. Back to Bobby mediating —

Wait. Scrunch-y smile? Buck swiftly turns towards Tommy, mind caught between a swirl of relief (he’s awake), joy, relief (he’s awake), irrational panic, bone-numbing amounts of relief (he’s actually awake), and his breath caught by that gorgeous smile that he’s always been so weak for. Embarrassingly, the first words he can manage are, “Well hello there, handsome,” his relief putting an odd emphasis on the hello and coming across unintentionally like a line.

Tommy looks so achingly surprised and flattered and Buck can feel his heart fluttering, even before Tommy responds.

“Can’t imagine I look all that great based on how I feel. Maybe you should raise your standards. But you, on the other hand, you look stunning.”

That cannot be true when he’s in Tommy’s favorite hoodie, which is the oldest in his collection, faded and worn out sweatpants he probably stole from Eddie at some point, had barely managed 30 minutes of sleep, and his hair is in utter disarray from how often he’s anxiously toyed with it, but Buck can’t help the smile that blooms on his face. He really should ask some serious questions, especially since Tommy honestly looks a little loopy, but he can’t help but let himself enjoy this brief period of uncomplicated fun.

“Well, hey, uh maybe you’re the one who should raise his standards. If you promise to take me on a nice date though, you can see how well I clean up.”

Tommy lets out a brief, startled laugh, that he clearly regrets when it makes his headache worse. But he rallies enough to respond, “That might be a little difficult, since it seems I’m currently bed-bound. But I wouldn’t mind a little company up here instead.“

“Excuse you, I am not that easy.” Buck valiantly ignores the, frankly rude, disbelieving glances being thrown his way. “But you can try your luck after they let you out. What are you doing Saturday?” he asks, cheeky grin on full display.

Tommy gives him a slow, butterfly-inducing once over before, “Well, hopefully - ”

“Okaaaay, please keep it PG for the sake of my medically fragile constitution,” Chimney loudly interjects.

“Sorry Howie. Lovely to see you too by the way. That cast really brings out your eyes.”

“Flattery will not get you out of this Kinard. But nice to see you conscious and healthy so a certain someone can cancel that hit they put out on me.”

Before Chimney and Buck can devolve into a playful squabble, Hen adds, “You know, other people came to see you too, Tommy.”

“Oh! Hi Hen!” Tommy clearly only manages to place her by her voice, based on the way he squints, trying to see past Chim’s bed before quickly giving up and closing his eyes. “Care to explain the damage? And how it happened in the first place?”

“Hey, I’m a paramedic too, why didn’t you think to ask me?”

“Considering you’re the dummy in the bed next to me, you’ve clearly lost all qualifications to speak. Also, she’s smarter than both of us combined.”

“You know, flattery just might get you out of this after all. Glad someone still has sense in this room.”

As Tommy settles in to rest and listen to all the banter on Chimney’s side of the room — uncharacteristically not giving Buck even a quick glance or his usual, quietly pleased grin over how well he fits into this family, even after all this time — Buck gets hit with a sickening thought. This is Tommy, who mainly used flirty one liners to ease his way into difficult conversations nowadays, but used to flirt to avoid giving away anything real. Tommy, who loved to compliment Hen — mainly for the way it made her happy, but partially in penance for the years he contributed to making her feel small — but now seems to be taking advantage of the way her witty remarks shifts the attention away from him. Like he was used to setting the stage for everyone else to shine, then watching on from the sidelines….

Buck had already zoned out of the conversation, but now he couldn’t follow it if he tried with all the ringing in his ears. Trembling, he pulls Eddie closer with the hand on his shoulder that he’s been using for support and interrupts, “Hey, Tommy?”

The way Tommy is startled by all the eyes shifting to Buck, then following Buck’s gaze over to him is not encouraging. The fact that Tommy seems surprised that Buck is still paying attention to him at all is worse.

“Um, do you - do you remember our names,” he asked, gesturing between him and Eddie with a weak, shaky hand.

Cue the confused silence. He just knows Eddie is looking at him with concern, knowing enough of Buck’s tells to know that he’s rattled, but not seeming to share Buck’s bone-deep knowledge that something is very wrong here. And he can’t even get his mouth to cooperate enough to explain beyond this question.

‘Please, please, please let me be wrong. The hospital room is just throwing him off. He’s rarely been stuck overnight in the ER after all. Just one more minute to adjust, and things will be fine.’

A laugh bursts out from somewhere in the room, followed by Chim asking, “What do you mean Buckaroo? After all that flirting you two lovebirds just subjected us to-“

“Uh…no? I’m sorry, have we met on a call? I promise, I’m usually better at remembering names. Can we chalk this one up to me being injured?”

Dead silence. This is officially the worst moment of his life. Buck feels so abandoned by his senses — the ringing of his ears getting louder and drowning out his hearing, eyes filling with a blur of colors and blocking out his vision — that he can’t even tell how he’s reacting. He can’t tell if he is on the verge of tears or standing stoically, if he’s already been crying or has collapsed under the dead weight of his disconnected limbs and his grief.

Distantly, he feels Eddie wrapping him up in a hug and tapping out his one, two, one-two-three rhythm for him on his hand, until he remembers how to be a person long enough to breathe. Slowly, the ringing recedes just in time to hear, “Well fuck.”

Yeah. Maybe he would have preferred the hospital wedding after all.

[gurugirl]

[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749

Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink (let me know if I missed any!)

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.

When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself… that was perplexing.

Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."

He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.

The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.

She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."

"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."

A dashing devil.

"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."

Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.

In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.

"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.

"Not yet."

"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.

"It's meant for you, Y/n."

"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."

Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."

Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.

She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.

Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.

"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."

"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"

Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night…"

Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"

"You swear to not tell anyone?"

"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"

The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.

A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.

"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.

"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."

"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"

One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"

As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"

"Move out of my way at once, guard!"

"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"

"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."

"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."

Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.

"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.

The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."

Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."

Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.

"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.

"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."

"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"

The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.

Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.

Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.

. .

"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."

Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.

He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.

A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.

If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.

And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.

Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."

Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).

"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"

"Oy…" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."

"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."

"Peter and Lettice… Peter Y/l/n…" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."

Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."

The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."

The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)… he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.

When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.

"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"

"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.

"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"

A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"

"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."

"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."

Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.

The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.

"King Harry?"

He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."

She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."

"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."

"We were told we were not welcome there."

"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."

Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"

She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.

And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.

Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.

"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.

"Nan, look…" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.

"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"

There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.

There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."

Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."

He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.

Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.

He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."

Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.

She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.

"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.

Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.

He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."

"Thank you."

"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."

He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."

Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."

He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."

. .

Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.

She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.

"My Lord. Your bath is ready."

The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."

Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.

But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.

"You may join me, if you like."

His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.

"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."

Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.

"My King… It's improper—"

"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."

Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.

Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.

"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected… We will not be making that mistake again."

"I'm sorry, it was—"

"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."

Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.

"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."

She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"

"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."

As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.

"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."

He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."

It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.

"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."

He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."

Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."

"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."

She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.

"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."

Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."

"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."

He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"

She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."

"Here…" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.

She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame…

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."

It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."

"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"

"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.

He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse… Calm yourself."

She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.

Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.

"Lower."

Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.

He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."

She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.

The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.

But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.

"My Lord…" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything… "You're getting my clothes wet."

"Then take them off."

She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"

"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.

He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.

The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.

He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse… This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."

"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.

"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."

She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.

"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"

She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.

"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."

She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."

"Yes. Come here."

Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?

"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"

Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.

"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"

Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"

He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"

"Never. Not like that."

"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."

Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.

"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."

Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."

Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"

She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.

"What did you eat last night?"

"Uhh… roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."

He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.

"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"

She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.

"You like this."

Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.

He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"

She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet… She was curious.

"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know…" She gulped.

"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.

"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.

Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"

It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I… I don't know. It's… not right."

"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"

"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."

"So, stop, then?"

She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.

Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."

She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.

"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."

The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.

He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."

He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."

She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?

Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.

He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.

"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.

He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."

"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."

Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."

She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll… I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe…" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."

She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"

Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."

Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."

She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.

So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.

She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.

He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.

Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel… it was bewitching.

Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.

His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?

When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.

But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.

"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."

He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?

Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.

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[sh4nksslvt]

The Ones Who Stayed Silent

They thought you didn’t know—but you saw everything, said nothing, and walked away with a shattered heart and silent grace… only to be seen again, happy and healed, with someone who would never make you feel like the only one.

shanks x reader | sanji x reader | ace x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: angst, sfw, ooc, heartbreak, cheating, betrayal

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe, akward, and confusing

word count: 3.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

The sea was always loud around the Red Force. Wind in the sails, waves breaking across the bow, laughter from the crew. And yet, in moments like this — with your head tucked beneath Shanks’ chin and his arm wrapped around your waist — it felt like the whole world stilled just to let you breathe.

“You always sneak into my bed when it’s cold,” he teased, voice low and rough with sleep.

You smiled against his chest. “Because your furnace body hoards all the heat.”

“Furnace body,” he repeated with a chuckle, fingers drifting slowly down your spine. “You really know how to charm a man.”

“Mmhm. That’s why you keep me around.”

“Nah,” he murmured, lifting your chin with a curled finger. “I keep you around because you make everything better. Even the cold nights. Especially the bad ones.”

Your heart tightened with warmth. “Shanks…”

He leaned down and kissed you slow. Deep. Familiar.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just melted into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you, too.”

You didn’t realize the first warning sign had come days earlier — a moment you almost forgot.

You had been leaning over the railing, watching the stars reflect across the ocean when Shanks walked up beside you, his presence easy and radiant as always. You’d barely noticed the woman trailing behind him — one of the newer crew members, tall and silver-haired, her laugh like syrup as it spilled from her throat.

She was laughing at something he said. You didn’t catch the joke.

You gave him a look. Not angry. Just questioning.

He smiled and curled an arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing. “She’s new,” he explained casually. “Still getting used to the crew.”

“She seems to be adjusting just fine,” you replied.

He pulled you closer. “Hey. Don’t go getting jealous on me, baby.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good.” He kissed your temple. “Because there’s no one else, alright? You know that.”

You nodded, even though a small part of you felt unsure.

He always made things feel safe again.

Three nights later, you brought him a drink in the captain’s quarters after dinner. He was at his desk, boots kicked up, talking with that same woman again — her knee pressed just slightly too close to his. They both looked up when you entered.

“Baby,” Shanks greeted, brightening immediately. “Perfect timing.”

She excused herself politely, offering a warm smile before slipping out the door. Shanks took the drink from your hand and tugged you into his lap without hesitation.

“She’s around a lot lately,” you said quietly.

“She’s an eager crewmate,” he shrugged, nuzzling into your neck. “What, you wanna get rid of her?”

“Don’t joke.”

“Hey.” His voice softened, and he turned your face to meet his. “There’s nothing going on. I promise. You believe me, right?”

“…Yeah.”

His lips brushed yours, slow and certain. “You’re the only one I want, baby. Always.”

You leaned into the kiss, letting the reassurance sink in.

Still, that night, you couldn’t fall asleep right away.

You started noticing more of it after that.

The way her eyes lingered on him when she thought you weren’t looking. The shared laughs during dinner. The time you caught her slipping out of his cabin early in the morning — she claimed she’d been dropping off maps.

You wanted to believe him. You tried.

But the ache in your chest started to bloom quietly. Slowly.

A small doubt that pressed harder with each soft “baby” he whispered — the very word that used to feel like a prayer now sounded like a lie.

Still, you said nothing.

You waited. You watched.

And then… you saw everything.

It was almost midnight when you approached his quarters.

You held a small cloth bundle in your hands — a gift you'd picked up from a small island earlier that week. A pair of rare sea-glass earrings. He’d admired them in passing. You wanted to surprise him.

You opened the door without knocking.

And there she was.

Her fingers tangled in his red hair. His lips trailing down her neck. His voice — low, teasing, affectionate.

“You feel so good, baby…”

You froze.

He didn’t see you.

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there. Long enough to burn the image into your mind. Long enough to feel your throat close, your heartbeat stutter, your entire body go numb.

Then, quietly, you closed the door.

You dropped the earrings into the sea later that night.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You sat on the edge of your bed for hours, staring at the moonlight bleeding through the porthole, your chest hollow, your limbs heavy. There were no tears. No rage.

Just silence.

You kept replaying his words — not the ones he said to her, but the ones he said to you.

“There’s no one else, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

Each lie sounded sweeter than the last.

You didn’t go to him. You didn’t want an apology. You didn’t want to hear his mouth twist the truth into something manageable. Because now you knew — every time he held you, he’d already chosen someone else.

So you wrote.

Your hand trembled at first. But as the words poured out, your chest began to lighten — like you were finally breathing again.

Shanks, I hope this letter finds you — though I know it will, because I’m leaving it on your bed. Right where I used to sleep. Right where she’s probably sleeping now. I saw you. I saw the way you touched her. The way you said “baby” like it still meant something. The same way you said it to me just days ago — when you kissed me good morning, when you laughed in my arms. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just makes me feel stupid. You told me not to worry. That she meant nothing. That I was the only one. You were so good at saying it. So gentle. So convincing. I wanted to believe you — God, I did. Because I loved you more than anything. More than reason. More than pride. But you looked at her the way you used to look at me. And I can’t forget that. So I’m leaving. Not because I want to hurt you. Not even because I hate you. But because I can’t stay and pretend I’m enough for you when you already decided I wasn’t. I hope the sea gives you peace. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope — one day — you realize what you threw away. Because I would’ve given you everything. But now? Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom. Goodbye, — Y/N

You left before sunrise.

The docks were quiet, the crew asleep, and your bag packed light. No goodbyes. No farewells. You just vanished — like mist over the sea.

Shanks woke with a lazy grin, his arm stretched across the bed to pull you closer—

But there was no one there.

Only the rustle of sheets. The ghost of warmth.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe you were getting breakfast. Or with the crew.

Then he noticed it: a small folded note on the pillow.

His name written in your handwriting.

His heart dropped before he even opened it.

And when he did…

The world collapsed.

He read every line once. Then again. Slower. Disbelieving.

“I saw you.” “You called her ‘baby.’” “You told me I was the only one.”

He was up in seconds, barefoot and shirtless, bursting through his cabin door.

“Y/N?!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Y/N, wait—!”

No answer.

He stormed toward your room — empty. Searched the deck — nothing. Sprinted to the galley, the crow’s nest, the storage bay. Every familiar hiding spot. Every place you used to sit and smile at him like he was the only thing in your world.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked the crew, trying to keep his voice level.

“No, Captain,” came the confused reply. “Did something happen?”

He didn’t answer.

He barged back into the woman's quarter slamming the door behind him.

The woman — the one he’d betrayed you with — was still pulling on her coat lazily, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, what’s all the noise—?”

“Get out.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said get the hell out.” His voice was low, ragged, dangerous.

She laughed nervously. “Shanks, don’t be dramatic—”

“Out!” he roared, slamming his fist into the desk. The wood splintered. The room shook.

She scrambled, nearly tripping over herself as she fled.

And just like that, the silence returned.

He sank into the nearest chair, the note trembling in his hand.

You looked at her the way you used to look at me. I would’ve given you everything. Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom.

Shanks closed his eyes, forehead resting on the crumpled page.

He tried to remember the last time he said he loved you — the last time you laughed in his arms. The last time you looked at him without doubt.

He’d called you baby with the same mouth that whispered it to someone else.

And now he couldn’t even call your name without shame.

The Red Force had never felt so quiet.

And Shanks had never felt so empty.

You found work on a merchant vessel at first. Later, you traveled alone. You didn’t speak of him. You didn’t speak of you. You let time do what it does best — wear grief down to a dull ache.

Until one day, someone else came into your orbit.

Dracule Mihawk was not the kind of man who chased after affection. But he noticed you — the quiet way you watched the world, the grief you wore like armor, the strength you didn’t flaunt.

He didn’t ask for your story. He just stayed long enough for you to offer it.

And when you did, he listened.

He didn’t make you promises. He didn’t call you “baby.” He simply treated you like you mattered.

He touched you with reverence. Looked at you with intention.

Loved you without lies.

And somehow, that was enough.

A Year Later

The festival lights painted the harbor gold, laughter echoing between stalls and taverns as music played softly in the distance. You walked beside Mihawk, his coat draped over your shoulders, your fingers laced with his.

You smiled — a real, easy thing — as he said something dry and clever under his breath, pulling a laugh from you. You leaned into him without thinking.

Then you felt it.

That weight. That familiar gravity.

You turned your head and saw him.

Shanks.

Standing beneath a lantern near the docks, cloaked in shadow but unmistakably there. His red hair tousled by the wind. His body frozen.

His eyes — wide, stunned, hollow — locked on yours like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look away.

You simply turned slightly toward Mihawk and pressed your lips softly to his cheek, your hand never leaving his. Mihawk didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. His grip on you tightened just slightly, grounding you.

Shanks took a step forward.

But then… he stopped.

His mouth opened like he might speak — but no words came. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t arrive a year too late.

So you let the silence say it all.

You gave him one last look. Calm. Final. Then you turned and walked away, leaving him rooted to the edge of the world he once ruled.

He had seen a thousand sunsets at sea. Watched a thousand tides roll in. Weathered storms and battles and death itself.

But nothing ever gutted him like seeing you again — whole, radiant, untouchable.

You weren’t sad anymore.

You weren’t his anymore.

You had Mihawk. And Shanks could see it in every step, every touch, every soft smile you gave the other man — the peace he once swore to protect, now in someone else’s hands.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate him.

You just didn’t care anymore.

And that, somehow, hurt more than any scream or slap ever could.

He stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd. Alone. Cold. Remembering the way your voice used to sound when you whispered, “I love you.”

And for the first time in his life, Shanks had no idea how to get something back.

Because you were gone.

And you weren’t coming back.

SANJI

The sun kissed the shores of a quiet island nestled along the Grand Line, where the Straw Hat crew had docked for rest and resupply. You sat on a small stone wall beside Sanji, a paper cone of roasted chestnuts between you, your legs swinging gently. His hand brushed yours now and again, but he never held it. You never said anything about that.

“Try this one,” he said, lifting a particularly dark, caramelized chestnut to your lips. You laughed and leaned forward to take it, but he tugged it back teasingly. “Say please.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Please, my oh-so-generous chef.”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned, letting you take it before resting his chin in his hand, eyes soft. “How did I get lucky enough to end up with someone like you, huh?”

The words stung.

Because you’d started to notice the way he said the same line to other women when he thought you weren’t listening. When he thought your back was turned. When you were supposedly out with Nami and Robin.

But you smiled. You always did. That’s what love looked like, didn’t it? Smiling even when your chest cracked.

Later that evening, the crew checked into a humble inn on the island’s edge. Nami and Robin wanted to browse the market, and they invited you along, but your head hurt and your heart hurt more, so you declined.

“Don’t wait up, we might stay out late,” Nami warned with a wink.

You waved them off and headed to your shared room with Sanji, telling yourself you’d rest, maybe write in your journal, maybe stop thinking about how the past few weeks felt like soft unraveling.

But Sanji wasn’t there. And the window was open. You stepped closer and overheard his voice—soft, but excited.

“…She’s out shopping. We should hurry before she comes back.”

Your heart dropped.

You froze in place, hand still resting on the windowsill. Another voice answered, female, flirty. You didn’t need to see her to know.

You sat on the bed and waited. You waited because you needed to see his face when he walked through that door. Needed to see what kind of lie he’d come up with. Needed confirmation for the truth you already knew.

It was nearly midnight when the door creaked open. Sanji looked surprised, almost guilty—but he caught himself too quickly.

“Oh—you're still up, my love?” he said smoothly. “Sorry, I thought you went out with the girls.”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

He walked over and sat beside you on the bed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”

Still, silence.

He blinked, then tilted his head in concern. “You’re quiet tonight.”

You smiled. That same practiced smile you always wore. “Just tired.”

Sanji kissed your forehead and stood to change into his nightshirt, humming something under his breath. As if nothing had happened.

You left the next morning.

No confrontation. No fight. No angry tears.

Just a note.

Sanji, You used to look at me like I was your world. I should’ve known you just liked seeing your reflection in mine. I don’t even know what to say. I thought I knew you. I thought we had something. I thought you were different. But I know now—don’t I? I heard your words—your promises. You said, “We should hurry, while she’s out.” I never thought you could do this. Not to me. Maybe I’ve always been too trusting. Maybe I’ve been a fool. You lied with the kind of smile that made me question if I imagined it all. But I didn’t. I’m not mad. I’m heartbroken—there’s a difference. And the saddest part is, I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just told me the truth. But you let me rot in love alone. Don’t look for me. This is me leaving. Goodbye, Sanji. — Y/N

He found the note before breakfast. He read it once. Twice. Then again, each time slower. Robin noticed his shaking hand. Zoro asked where you were. Sanji couldn’t speak.

By midday, he was running through the island streets. Every alley. Every stall. He asked locals. Showed them your sketch.

No one had seen you.

You were gone. Completely. Like you’d never been there at all.

One Year Later

Rain lashed the docks of a bustling medical harbor. The Thousand Sunny had taken damage, and they stopped at a renowned doctor’s island to repair and rest.

Sanji didn’t smile as much these days. He still flirted, but half-heartedly, like a ghost of who he once was. Everyone noticed. No one said much.

He stood at the market stalls, bartering for fresh seafood when his heart stopped.

Because he saw you.

Hair a little longer. A warm coat drawn around your shoulders. Eyes brighter than they had any right to be.

You were laughing.

And beside you stood Trafalgar Law, umbrella tilted above you both, hand casually resting on your back as he pointed to a bouquet of herbs.

Sanji dropped the fish.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He watched as you reached for Law’s hand, how he intertwined your fingers like it was second nature, like he had every right to. How you smiled at him like Sanji had only ever dreamed of.

Law said something, and you leaned into him, nodding, face soft with affection.

Sanji turned away.

He made it two steps before the weight in his chest buckled him. He stumbled into an alley and pressed a hand against the wall, gasping.

Tears fell freely.

He didn’t go back to the ship until sunset.

That night, there was another note. Not from you, but written long ago. One he’d found after too much wine.

A passage you’d once written in your journal, now burned into his mind.

“You called me baby like I was the only one. But I wasn’t. I was just the only one who stayed.”

ACE

Smoke curled into the sky like ghosts of promises you once believed. The air on Karavel Island was thick with ash and gunpowder—another battlefield in Ace’s chaotic, flame-laced life. But this was your life, too. You’d followed him here. Again.

“Over here!” Ace called, waving at you through the debris with a wide grin, flames dancing around his arms. “Bet you can’t beat my body count today!”

You rolled your eyes but jogged toward him anyway, heart tugging like it always did. He looked good with soot smudging his cheek and fire lighting up the storm in his eyes. Alive. Dangerous. The kind of man who kissed like the world was ending—and maybe it always was.

“You burn it all down yet?” you teased, reaching his side.

“Nah, was waiting for you,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Where’s the fun without you?”

And for a second, it was perfect.

Until that second ended.

It was the small things. Always the small things.

The way he took longer and longer to return from missions. The way he stopped writing when he was gone. The way he still called you “baby,” but his eyes didn’t stay on yours for long.

You didn’t want to doubt him. Not Ace. Not the man who held you when you cried, who called you his home.

But then came the night at the underground tavern.

You were helping a wounded civilian upstairs when you heard it—his voice, muffled, laughing. A giggle answered him. A girl’s voice. Slurred. Familiar.

You paused on the stairwell, heart already sinking.

“…Come on,” Ace’s voice teased. “We don’t have much time.”

Your breath caught.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered back.

“You’re the one who kissed me first,” Ace said, and your world tilted.

Silence.

Then another giggle.

Then the sound of lips meeting.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not even when the world twisted inside you. Not even when the lantern on the wall flickered like it knew the fire inside you had gone out.

You didn’t say anything when he came back to your shared room that night.

He acted normal—like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just touched someone else and then come to lie beside you.

You stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

In the morning, you were gone.

Ace, You once told me that fire doesn’t choose what it burns—it just does. I used to think that was poetry. Now I know it was a warning. You burned me, Ace. Not all at once. Just a little every day until I didn’t recognize my own heart anymore. I heard you. I saw you. And I still kissed you goodnight. Do you know what that does to a person? I gave you all of me, and you gave little pieces of yourself to strangers. I don’t hate you. I never could. But I can’t love you for both of us anymore. Don’t come looking for me. This is goodbye. — Y/N

The message was short. But it broke him anyway.

Ace stood in the ruins of the tavern, your letter clutched in his hands, his body shaking in a way fire couldn’t fix. He lit it aflame. Watched it turn to ash like everything else he touched.

He ran. Looked for you in every port. Asked the Revolutionaries. Asked pirates. Asked anyone.

You were gone.

One Year Later

It was raining in Yamabuki Port, but Ace stood still in the downpour, unmoving. The Whitebeard Pirates were resupplying, but he couldn’t focus—not when he saw you through the mist.

You were laughing.

Your coat was soaked, and your hair stuck to your forehead, but you looked so alive. So whole.

And beside you stood Zoro.

The swordsman from the Straw Hat crew — his brother's crew.

He was holding a paper umbrella above your heads, a quiet look in his eyes as he listened to whatever story you were telling. When you stumbled slightly in the mud, he caught your elbow. You smiled at him with a softness Ace had never earned.

Zoro reached up and brushed your hair from your face like it was second nature. You leaned into his touch without hesitation.

Ace felt it all in his gut. Like a blade through fire.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t call your name.

Didn’t move.

You glanced across the square and your eyes met.

Just for a moment.

There was no hatred in your gaze. No anger.

Only peace.

You looked away.

And Ace knew—he was watching a version of you he’d never get to meet.

That night, Marco found him sitting alone on the deck, soaked to the bone even though the rain had stopped hours ago.

“You saw them, didn’t you-yoi?” Marco asked quietly.

Ace didn’t answer. Just stared at his hands.

“I thought I had time,” he whispered. “I thought… I could fix it.”

Marco said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Because some fires don’t go out.

They just move on without you.

[bluewxrld07]

Lifeline (Jack Hughes)

Summary: Jack has Y/N take his car to his game. What happens when she gets caught up in a serious accident?

Warning(s): Flangst, serious car accident, serious injuries, anxiety attacks, detailed injury description

"Jack where are my shoes?" Y/N calls out, touching up her makeup in the bathroom before shutting off the light.

"I think I put them in the hallway closet!" he says back from his bedroom. She searches through the pile of shoes, finally finding the pair she was looking for and letting out a satisfied sigh.

Jack pops out of the bedroom while buttoning his jacket, adjusting the beanie on his head before straightening out his suit. He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips and giving her a kiss on the cheek as he skims past her to slip his own shoes on.

"You still fine to take my car?" he asks, and she nods with a hum

"Do I just show them the pass when I get to the gate?"

"Yeah they know you're coming, I made sure to keep them aware you'd be in my car." he adds, making her nod as she walks back to his bedroom to go put her jewelry on.

She stands in front of the mirror while putting her earrings in.

"Okay," Jack announces, quickly walking into his room and coming to her. He passes her his keys before wrapping her in a hug from behind. "I'm out of here, the guys are downstairs. I'll see you later, yeah?" he asks as he is giving her multiple kisses on her temple, Y/N soon turning her head to capture a couple kisses on the lips.

She smiles up at him. "Aye aye captain." she chuckles, earning a playful eyeroll and a tongue sticking out at her before he leaves the room.

It's another fifteen minutes or so before Y/N is grabbing her purse and Jack's keys, kissing her cat goodbye for the evening and locking the door behind her.

Once she is in the parking garage she unlocks Jack's car, setting his keys back into her purse while opening the driver's side door.

She pushes the button to start it up, letting the car warm up to her liking while she sets her stuff into the passenger seat. As her music soon booms through the speakers she begins to leave the garage as she hums along to the tunes.

The ride was overall quiet and peaceful in her opinion, snow coming down pretty quickly the more downtown she got into New Jersey.

By the time she'd be arriving at the stadium, the boys would be just getting onto the ice for warmups which as perfect timing for her to see Jack as he went back to the locker rooms post warmups.

She made it to the final stoplight just before the arena was in her view, her chest feeling a little less heavy as she always got nervous driving Jack's car.

"It's just a car, baby. I can always buy another one. I can't buy another you." He'd always tell her, which always resulted in her saying she knows how much this car meant to Jack. It was like his baby.

Her light finally turned green, Y/N beginning to turn onto the next road but lets out a gasp as she hears a car horn, and sees headlights getting closer towards the driver's side of Jack's car.

Before she can try to miss the impact, the car hits her side fast and hard. She could feel the car go flying across the intersection and toppling over.

She felt the impact as it hit her, only just barely before her body takes over and everything goes dark.

Meanwhile, Jack and the crew are making their ways back to the locker rooms after finishing warmups all hyped up for the night ahead.

As they're all gettin revved up for the big talk with coach, they all watch him walk into the room with a very serious face. More straight than it usually is.

"The game is being delayed by an hour," he announces, making everyone all hum out responses filled with confusion. Coach raises his arms to silence the team. "There was an accident just by the stoplight. As far as I know, a diesel truck rammed into the driver's side of a bit of a smaller car. The other car has a lot of damage and was hit so hard it rolled and toppled over across the intersection."

All the guys all hummed out in sorrow and understanding, still all buzzing about how long they'd have to actually wait to go out.

Some of the guys threw on their slides before heading out towards the parking garage to see if they could see it from where they were.

Jack and Luke were amongst the few, Luke being further ahead with some of the guys.

The sirens and commotion got louder the closer they got to the edge of the garage, only being to see bits and pieces of it as it looked like it happened just before the turn into the parking garage.

As Jack gets up to be with some of his buddies, a few of the security guars had jogged over to Luke and started saying a few things.

Nico and Dawson were also next to Luke, their faces dropping as they looked at Luke whose face turned white before turning towards Jack then back at the site while running a hand over his mouth waling with the security guards over to the site.

Jack got up closer to the bunch, his eyes squinting and looking over to the crash site.

Nico and Dawson immediately rush up to him before pulling him back. Jack frowns. "What? Why can't I see, what's going on?" he says as he lightly pushes them off of him.

"Jack it's best if you don't go up there." Nico says in a warning tone.

"Why, what's the big deal? Get off!" Jack says as they keep their grips on him.

"Jack don't," Dawson says. Jack glares at them both, confusion taking over his features.

"What the fuck is up with you two?" Jack asks. "What is happening, why did Luke go with them?" he bombards, just before his movements of pushing them off freezes.

His heart falls to his ass as his stomach begins to feel nauseous.

"Don't tell me it's Y/N." he says with a knowing look, and their faces said it all.

Jack immediately fights off their grips harder than he was trying before, running up the street towards the caution tape.

Luke is making his way back quickly, immediately increasing his speed when he sees Jack coming and coming fast. "Jack, no." Luke says with a warning look on his face and pushing him away from the scene.

"Luke you don't want to fucking mess with me right now-"

"You don't want to see this, you need to stay back."

"If you don't get your fucking hands off me, Luke I swear we're going to have bigger issues." he snaps. Jack pushes back at his brother, looking over shoulder and pushing Luke to the side.

He scurries up to the caution tape, his chest becoming heavy as he sees the aftermath. His eyes widening.

There was scrap metal and pieces of the car all over the intersection, skid marks from what he could suspect were his car tires. The giant truck had a few dents and parts missing on the front of it. His eyes followed the skid marks towards where Jack's car was now laying. He felt like it was all in slow motion.

His car was totaled. It was toppled over on its passenger side, the entire driver's side of the car completely demolished.

Y/N was in that car. She felt that impact.

He ran towards the car screaming her name, policemen pushing him back. "No! That's my car, my girlfriend was in that fucking car let me through! Where is she? Where's Y/N? That was my girl in that car dammit! Where is she??" he panics, fighting his way past the officers and running towards the car.

He put a hand over his mouth as he saw the front door was off its hinges, looking as if it had been sawed off. The seat was torn up and didn't look like a seat anymore.

He swear his heart had stopped beating the moment he spotted blood. He saw her purse lying on the broken window of the passenger side.

"Sir you need to step back. This is a crime scene."

He whips his head around with his hands in his hair, tears falling freely from his eyes.

"What happened to her? Where's Y/N? At least fucking tell me my girl is alive!" he screams out, his voice cracking at the end of it.

As the officer was about to speak, someone else's voice came out first. "You said it was your girlfriend in the car?" A firemen behind him announces as he walks up to Jack.

Jack nods eagerly. "Where is she? I need her, I need to see her." he begs.

The firemen purses his lips. "She was just brought away in an ambulance," he starts, watching Jack's face contort into all sorts of emotions. "She was unconscious when we got to her. Her entire left side of her body had been stuck and crammed into the driver's side door. We had to saw the door open to try and get to her." he explains.

Jack swears he could've passed out right then and there.

"Her left leg had been caught in the door the most, so we had to break her leg to get her unstuck. She was in critical condition when we got her out. She was losing a lot of blood." he finishes, Jack breaking out into sobs.

Jack feels his chest getting tight, breathing becoming rapid. Luke wasn't too far behind him, immediately taking his brother into his arms to help him through the panic attack that was going to set in.

"I need to get to her, I need to see her. I need-"

"I know Jack. Let's go, we've gotta go now."

"I never said I loved her before leaving the apartment tonight," Jack gasps out, grabbing at his chest as he tries to slow his breathing.

"You'll get to tell her Jack. Don't think that way." Luke assures, walking his brother back towards the parking garage and the arena.

Luke gives Nico a knowing look, the captain nodding and running inside.

Jack felt everything inside him going numb. All he wanted was Y/N. He wanted her and only her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack's knee never stopped bouncing.

His legs were spread, elbows on his knees as his head was looking down at his lap.

The doctor has yet to come back with any updates from yet a second surgery she was undergoing. Jack was going insane. He couldn't believe he forgot to tell her he loved her before leaving. Especially the fact he let her drive on her own when he knew she hated driving in the snow.

He felt like it was his fault.

"Jack," Luke's voice says softly, making the brown-haired boy's head snap up fast. He sees the surgeon walking their way, causing Jack to stand and meet him halfway.

"How is she? Is she okay?"

The surgeon takes off his cap and holds it in his hands while pursing his lips. "She lost a lot of blood on her way here. Please keep that in mind with the next things I'm about to tell you," he warns Jack, who nods. "She did flatline twice-"

Jack's lung felt like they were deprived of all air entirely.

"We managed to revive her both times, she was doing well after that. We had to full reset her entire left leg and femur. Her hip bone was completely dislodged from its socket," he explains. "She does have a concussion, and a broken elbow which we did put a screw in there to help piece it back together. But she's a strong woman. She pulled through and is in the recovery wing. She will be wheeled into her room shortly, which I can give you the number to so you can wait for her."

Jack nods eagerly, shaking hands with the surgeon after they finished talking. Jack turns to Luke, bitting his lip to keep it from quivering.

Luke pulled his brother in for a hug, holding him tight as he feels Jack shake quietly in his arms.

Once Jack has calmed down a bit they began to walk towards her room to go sit there until she is wheeled in. Jack was stuck wearing his suit to the hospital, his few top buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

The waiting game for Jack was what was the most agonizing. He sat in the spot that would be next to her bed, Luke looking over at Jack every so often in case he broke out into an attack again.

Before they know it the door is slowly being pulled open, nurses heard chattering lightly as Jack stands and watches as they wheel her bed in. His heart broke, but he knew in that moment he needed to be stronger for her.

She had entire cast taking up her whole leg and was partly taking over her hip, as well as a cast over her left elbow. She had a small neck strainer, and some butterfly bandages across her face.

Her eyes were squinting as if she had just woken up not too long ago, her lip busted as well. She tried looking around, only to be met with pain and limited movement in her neck.

Everything ached numbly to her, due to all the medications they had her on. She felt like she was going to throw up if anything.

The nurses began hooking her up to the machines behind her, making sure her IVs were in tact, making sure she was okay and could feel the pressure they were adding into the palm of her hand.

Her eyes opened a bit more and finally caught Jack's eye, making her eyes water and her lip start quivering. Jack stood up immediately as he walked over to her.

He wanted to take her hand so badly in that moment, but couldn't as the nurses were using it to connect her IVs.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her throat feeling dry and raw. "I'm so sorry Jack. I'm sorry." she began to cry making him bite his lip and shake his head.

"I'm going to go get her some water and ice." Luke says, wanting to give them their alone time as he knew Jack needed that.

Once the nurses were done with her IVs, Jack took her good hand into his and kissed it a million times. He squeezed it tight as he shook his head.

"I'm so glad you're alive. I'm so glad you're okay." he mutters out with a quivering shake in his voice.

"Jack I'm so sorry. I can't believe I ruined your car."

Jack just shook his head and closed his eyes, kissing her hand and keeping it up by his mouth as he stared at her. His eyes glosses over in tears threatening to fall.

"I'm here. I came as soon as I figured it out. I'm so sorry I shouldn't have let you drive in that weather." Jack says.

"Jack your car, I'm sorry. I really-"

"If you bring that fucking car up again I swear I'm going to get pissed off." he interrupts her. She lets her lip quiver.

"But-"

"No. That car is a piece of metal, something easily replaceable," he snaps. "You are not. I don't care about a damn car. I care about the girl I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with being alive. Not a fucking car, Y/N." he says in a darker tone.

"I just I can't believe that happened. It all happened so fast." she whimpers, Jack sniffling.

"The driver was arrested. He's going away for a while, I can promise you that I will make sure of it." Jack assures, Y/N trying her best to squeeze Jack's hand with what little strength she had.

"Jack what about your game?"

He scoffs and looks at her with a knowing look. "You're funny, pretty."

She furrows her brows. "But it's your biggest rival."

"And? I play them every year, I will see them next season. The love of my life flatlined twice and can't walk. I'm more concerned about her than a game." he says, Y/N just letting out a hum.

"I love you so much," Jack says, kissing her hand again. "I love you. I love you more than anything imaginable."

"I love you too Jack. I'm going to be okay.

"I didn't tell you I love you before I left the apartment. I can't believe I didn't say it."

"Jack stop. Don't blame yourself. This wasn't your fault. I know you do, so don't do that." she assures him, and he just nods.

"I just don't know what I would've done if you were gone," he says. "You're my lifeline. You're who I breathe for, who I live everyday for. I can't imagine you not being here. It killed me when I found out. Nothing else mattered."

Y/N wished she could hug him in that moment. She wished she could hold him tight and tell him everything she knew he needed to hear.

"Jack," she starts. "I'm here. I'm alive. I'm breathing and you can feel my pulse beating. I'm not going to leave you ever." she says, watching his eyes blink away more tears.

"If I did croak, I would've come back to haunt you anyways. So you're stuck with me.

Jack gives her a look. "Very funny."

"I thought so." she says with a weak and amused smile. Jack smiles small at her, grateful to see her gorgeous smile again.

She was his everything. His Lifeline.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

A symptom of this I often see is that a great many Americans also feel the need to highlight to the entire world around them when something they encounter is Other, or outside of their wheelhouse, and this applies even to the most mundane of things. I have two examples of this:

First, back in 2020, a lost walrus visited the Welsh town of Tenby for many weeks and menaced its lifeboats by sleeping on the slipway. I wrote a lengthy post about this, and included the fact that the good folks of West Wales named the walrus Wally, after the children's book franchise Where's Wally.

I was inundated with Americans reacting with everything from astonishment to derision that the character is not called Waldo outside of America. It was constant. Everything from "Wait you guys call him Wally??? Not Waldo???" all the way to "Are you guys fucking stupid his name is Waldo omg"

Which is very interesting, because Where's Wally is a British franchise. He was called 'Wally' first. His name was translated into over 30 other languages, including Charlie and Jonas, depending on region. Nonetheless, I did not get one single solitary note about the name from anyone else; it was exclusively Americans, unable to keep their amazement to themselves, unable to not highlight and point out that SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT FROM US.

Second, I once wrote a post in which I, a speaker of British English, used the word 'gaol' - the BE spelling of 'jail'. Again, I was flooded with comments, asks, messages, etc from Americans who simply could not fathom why I had done so. Four of them very literally sent me asks that asked why I had done it (I mean this literally - "Why did you spell jail like that?" was word for word one of the asks), so unable were they to work out on their own that spellings differ between dialects. I responded to one, saying that I was baffled by it, and suggesting that maybe the polite thing would be to google these sorts of things for yourself rather than requesting to have your hand held through the process of learning that other places have different words and spellings than you're used to. I said I did understand, but that this was something I myself fetched up against all the time with American media, and had since I was a child - but I simply used context clues to work out meaning, or google when I couldn't, because I get that American English is a different language.

And then two things happened: the first was that a non-trivial number of Americans lost their entire shit at the very suggestion that there was anything at all rude about this (again, I really don't know what answer they wanted to that beyond "Because that's how it's spelled in my language", information readily available with a single google search), and the second was that I was then inundated with non-Americans sharing stories of how they love writing fanfic but they had to start doing it in American English because when they used their own, they would get flooded with comments from Americans trying to 'correct' them, and it just wasn't worth the hassle.

And it's ultimately a 'dominant culture' sickness, I think. When everything is constantly catering to your understandings and cultural expectations, anything outside of it feels Other, and Must Be Commented Upon. I'm Welsh, and I find absolutely any mention of anything Welsh around most English people gets the same reaction; they absolutely have to comment on the Thing They Think Is Weird. Just last week I was discussing a fieldtrip for my students with an English colleague of mine, and I said I was taking them to the Bannau Brycheiniog. He didn't interrupt, to his credit; but he got the stupid grin that I knew meant he was going to comment. He waited until I finished asking for his risk assessment input, and then rather than answering, his first response was "The Bah Bah Bluh Bluh?"

If I'd said an Anglicised or English name, he'd have just continued the conversation. But he didn't recognise the name Bannau Brycheiniog. So We Must All Flag Up That It's Weird.

And that's dialled up to 11 for a great many Americans.

(Though not all, by a long shot. I do want to stress that. In both examples I've given, I had far more Americans who agreed with me than not. But it is a common behaviour, unfortunately.)

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[shinoko-oshi]

Obsessed stalker ex simon

You knew it was him, the burning gaze you felt on the back of your neck whenever you were on dates. You never saw him, but you knew he was there. A ghost, he was.

You knew it was him when all your Tinder dates ghosted you after the first night. Didn’t even want to know what he threatened them with to keep them away from you, but judging by the dead silence that always followed, it was enough.

What made your blood boil though was the fact you never saw him. Never even caught a glimpse of him when you knew he was watching (which was always). He wanted to stalk, to nitpick at your life, fixing and ripping out the things he didn’t like other men, yet was too coward to show his face? Made you scoff.

So, perhaps, you got creative. Created bait for the piranha and his razor sharp teeth.

You didn’t care for the guy much, but he was decently attractive and all over you at the bar. So you took him home. Made sure the window blinds were open. Told him it would be fine, that your apartment was high enough above the ground, no one would accidentally look in.

Only willingly. Only with what you always assumed was military grade binoculars.

You let the guy touch you, just like Simon used to. Let his hands run down your sides, let him kiss you with just enough tongue to make it messy. All while keeping your face turned slightly toward the window. Letting him see everything. 

Knowing damn well Simon’s knuckles were already white from how hard he was gripping whatever wall he leaned against.

You fucked the guy on the same bed sheets you once begged Simon to buy. Stupidly expensive yet Simon had caved anyways, pretending to be annoyed but secretly soft when he gave them to you. That was before.

Now? Now, they were just the sheets you fucked another man on. And you hoped it stung. 

With your face still flushed, red and glowing from your orgasm, you got up and told the guy to get home safe. Said it was dangerous outside this late. Never said what was dangerous but you didn’t need to. Something in your tone made him hurry home anyways.

With that you headed to the shower, turning the handle as you stepped under the warm water. You were halfway through rinsing out the conditioner out from your hair when you heard the front door creak open. Following with heavy steps down the hallway. Leading all the way to the bathroom, before the door creaked open.

You didn’t even need to look back. Already knew it was him.

“Took you longer than I expected,” you said casually, fingers still combing through wet strands of hair. “Was waiting for you.”

No response. Just the quiet rustle of his belt hitting the tile floor. Then clothes. Then warmth at your back, rough hands gripping your hips like they were his to claim.

His mouth brushed hot near your ear. “Yeah, well… I didn’t expect you to go fuck some other guy,” he snarled,

“Knowin’ you were fuckin’ mine.”

He shoved you up against the cold tile wall. Calloused fingers sliding between your thighs, teasing your arousal soaked pussy, before thrusting two in deep with a fast pace.

“You knew what you were gettin’ into when you were with me” he growled. “I fuckin’ told you.”

“I let you have your little break. Your stupid, measly dates. But I draw the line at another man touchin’ you. Got that?”

His other hand landed a sharp slap to your ass.

“I just—I wanted your attention,” you mewled, “I missed you.”

He chuckled darkly at that, the sound low in his throat. “I missed you too, baby. Yeah? Too much.”

He pulled his fingers out from your cunt, bringing the thick head of his cock to your entrance, inching in with slow pace. 

Before he got too impatient, driving all the way in with a rough thrust. The first time he’d felt your pussy in months. Still mildly surprised he didn’t cum the second he bottomed out.

He fucked into you hard and relentless, dragging out every bit of pleasure you had in you.

What was that, luv? The guy made you cum once? Well, he’d make you cum three times and then he’d wrap you up in a blanket after he was done to keep you warm and his.

After your third orgasm, your trembling legs gave out so he held you up with one arm and fucked you through his own high, hips grinding until he spilled deep inside you.

Still didn’t pull out.

He took a few extra minutes to fuck his load deeper inside you, making sure you felt it, every drop until he was satisfied.

Afterward, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the couch instead of the bed. When you asked why, he grumbled.

“Not sleepin’ on sheets another man fucked you on. Not ‘til they’re washed.”

He lay down, pulling you into his chest like nothing had changed.

Finally able to sleep through the night since breaking up, knowing his entire world was safe and sound in his arms. Exactly where you belonged.

I tried to add in a british accent for once lmao i usually forget

[puck-luck]

He’s insufferable. He’s horrible. You hate your boyfriend, you actually hate him, and it’s all because he’s so much better at waiting than you are. 

You blame it on his ability to wait through both Quinn’s and Luke’s games. Maybe he’s patient because he had to go on all of those long road trips with his parents for his travel games. Maybe it was waiting through the tourneys themselves. 

Either way, Jack is fucking smug as he watches you squirm above him. 

He’s really beautiful like this, honestly. His hair is as messy as it always is, long and brown with a jagged part just slightly off-center. The waves, barely wavy at all, flop over the right side of his forehead for a few seconds longer before Jack brushes them back like he’s about to hide them under a hat. He’s got a pimple right near his temple, which’ll probably turn angry at red tomorrow morning after he notices it and starts to pick at it. 

You do just about everything you can to avoid his eyes. You know it’ll just make you more desperate if you look into the blue depths.

You thumb over his Adam’s apple, resting for a moment on the point of it before moving to the columns of his neck. One of your hands works around to his nape, running your fingers through the hair there. You get caught on a knot and brush it out, pressing your lips together to avoid an amused smile at Jack’s exaggerated wince. He’s such a baby.

You think about pressing a sweet kiss to Jack’s button nose, which is tinged pink like his cheeks and spotted with almost invisible freckles, faded into a tan that he’s been perfecting since he suddenly found a boatload of free time. He twitches his nose like a bunny would when you trace a finger over the ridge. It’s a simple act, aiming to draw a laugh from you, and he succeeds. 

Out of habit, you find your way to his eyes. Yours meet the gorgeous blues that you’d fallen in love with ages ago and they’re no less hypnotizing than the first time you saw them. You fall straight into them, gaze filing through the shades of blue and green that decorate Jack’s irises. 

Unfortunately, you’re now trapped. You can’t look away.

“There’s my baby,” Jack teases. “Long time, no see.”

You find that old annoyance creeping back in. He’s got you seated on his lap, cock buried deep inside of you, and he just wants you to sit there. He doesn’t want you to move, he doesn’t want you to come, and he doesn’t even want you to feel good. He just wants you to be.

Infuriating. Unfair. Miserable.

You frown at Jack, bottom lip jutting out slightly. “I’m right here,” you grumble. “Been here all along.”

“Yeah, sweet thing, but you’ve been ignoring me,” Jack replies. He tilts his head to the side and matches your pout. “So warm around me, but you’re barely even enjoying it like I am.”

“It wasn’t my idea to cockwarm you until we’re ready for bed,” you remind him.

“But you didn’t say no,” Jack tells you. “I think you said an emphatic yes, actually.”

“I wouldn’t say my yes was emphatic.”

“Enthusiastic.”

“I was enthusiastic after you said that you’d make sure I felt good.”

“You don’t feel good?” Jack asks. He sinks his fingers into your ass cheeks and rocks you forward, changing the position only a bit and providing a semblance of friction before settling you back down. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m almost ready.”

“You’re just saying that,” you mumble under your breath, eyebrows drawn together angrily.

Jack quirks one of his. “You don’t like the feel of my cock inside you?”

He’s being unfair again, asking you a biased question that he knows you can’t say no to. Of course you like having his cock inside of you, but you like it more when it’s fucking in and out of you and rubbing against all of your sweet spots.

You wiggle on his lap, trying to goad him into doing something. 

Jack keeps his hands on your behind, blinking up at you with a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. He makes no move to satisfy you.

“Jack,” you complain, indignant and getting truly frustrated.

“Look at you,” Jack observes in a soft and reverent voice. A blush blooms in your cheeks and travels down to where your heart pounds in your chest. “So desperate for my cum, angel. I’ll give it to you, right where you want it… right in this pretty pussy. You want me to pump my cum into you, don’t’cha?”

“Yes,” you mumble sheepishly, like an embarrassed child. He’s so annoying. You don’t like him… except that you really, really do.

“Be sweet and ask me for it then,” Jack tells you. “Go ahead. I’m listening.” He looks at you and waits and now you’re really struggling to find your voice. 

This might never end, not with the renewed pressure Jack put on you to beg prettily enough to deserve his seed.

[badassbutterfly1987]

(ID: Pic 1: "Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen." Pic 2: "Okay. We had terrible lives. What now? What comes after the tragedy? What choice is there but to keep going, despite?" Pic 3: "What an age! Every one is dying, everything is dying, and the earth is dying also, eaten up by the sun and the wind. I don't know where I get the courage to keep on living in the midst of these ruins. Let us love each other to the end." Pic 4: "It is no surprise that danger and suffeing surround us. What astonishes is the singing." Pic 5: "We sang, nearly shouting the lyrics, the wind clipping at our voices. They say a song can be a bridge, Ma. But I say it's also the ground we stand on. And maybe we sing to keep ourselves from falling. Maybe we sing to keep ourselves." Pic 6: "I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy." End ID.)

IN THE DARK TIMES, WILL THERE ALSO BE SINGING?

from Lady Chatterley's Lover, D.H. Lawrence (via)

“Grief will come to you. Grip and cling all you want, It makes no difference. Catastrophe? It’s just waiting to happen. Loss? You can be certain of it. Flow and swirl of the world. Carried along as if by a dark current. All you can do is keep swimming; All you can do is keep singing.”

from How Beautiful the Beloved, Gregory Orr (via)

Lev St. Valentine (via)

letter to Gustave Flaubert, 27 June 1870, George Sand

from Collected Poems; Horses at Midnight Without a Moon, Jack Gilbert (via)

from On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong (via)

Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken (via)

YES, THERE WILL ALSO BE SINGING. ABOUT THE DARK TIMES.

[iamthatonefangirl]

okay imma need a nsfw alphabet for bucky!! maybe tfatws? let me be, we all know im all for that man

you know I gotchu bae. fatws bucky nsfw alphabet incoming...

aftercare: this man is obviously a god at aftercare, no questions asked. he’s kissing every inch of your face, making sure you’re okay and happy and satisfied. even if he’s exhausted he’s always offering to give you one more, two more, as many more as you want, really… he'll make you drink way too much water and then he’s practically pushing you out of the bed to make you pee even when you want nothing more than to sleep. 

body part: he loves every inch of you. doesn’t matter what you think. he loves you. he loves any part of you he can hold onto, dig his fingers into and keep you close to him, whether it’s your chest, your thighs, your hips. the most vulnerable parts of you are the most real, and those are his favorite. he just wants to feel you. 

when he first took his shirt off in front of you, he was concerned. he knows you’re a good person with a caring heart and would never judge him for his scars on his shoulder, but he was still scared. if you flinched away, or cringed, or anything, when you saw him… his heart would shatter. he’d never love again. he wouldn’t see the point in living. 

but you smiled, and looked at him with nothing but adoration and lust. you gently brought your hands to his chest, and his heart fucking melted. he watched your face, taking in your facial expressions as you stepped closer and took in the sight of him. he watched and waited to see what you might do or say. waited for you to scowl and tell him he was ugly. 

but you just… pressed your lips to the scars on his shoulder, and he felt like he could cry. you've only ever made him feel whole.

cum: he’s making a huge mess all over your sheets, skin, everywhere. he loves filling you up and then fucking it back into you. “don’t waste it, baby,” he’s teasing you, overstimulating you with his fingers and plugging you up. 

dirty secret: he kind of wants to learn for himself how it feels when he ties you up. 

experience: you’re his first since after hydra. it scared him, at first, how much he liked you when he met you. he wanted to open up to you, give you everything right off the bat, fuck you senseless right off the bat, but he couldn’t. it took him time, of course, and you were happy to take it slow. but god, the first time you had sex was like heaven. he was a young man once upon a time. an extremely attractive young man, and so it’s fair to say that he knows wtf he’s doing now that he’s comfortable with you. 

favorite position: call him boring, but he loves missionary. he wants to be able to see your eyes, your reactions, and kiss your face while he’s making you feel good. he loves having you lay on the bed, relaxing, while he takes you apart, giving you the princess treatment you deserve.

but when you ride him, fuck, it takes his breath away with how pretty you look. he always finishes way too fast and ends up apologizing over and over again, but you don’t care. he’ll get hard again soon enough. until then he can sit there and deal with the overstimulation <3

goofy: this man loves to have fun with you, especially in bed. most of the time when you’re in the heat of the moment, you’re both pretty serious, but that doesn’t mean there’s no room for fun. one time you were in the middle of getting your shit rocked from behind, making the whole bed shake like crazy, and the lamp on the table ended up getting knocked over, startling both of you. you both couldn’t help but laugh until you cried, at which point he turned you onto your back and kissed you, both of you making jokes about it while you fucked you until you finished, still giggling. 

hair: nothing special. he keeps it clean and tidy. he doesn't let his hair get long anymore, too many bad memories. but he gets the sense you find it attractive so maybe... 

intimacy: this man craves connection with you. he’s always reminding you how much he loves you and needs you in his life, kissing your eyes and nose and cheeks every time he says it. he holds you close and can’t help but remind you of how pretty you are, how well you take care of him, praising and worshipping you as he makes the sweetest love to you. 

jack-off: trying to get back to normal after hydra was… a struggle. it’s fair to say he didn’t get himself off very much before he met you. you have sex fairly regularly, but being with you helped him feel more comfortable and capable of doing it himself. fairly early in your relationship you asked him if you could just watch, and he was hesitant. so you gave him your own little show, which totally spurred him on to do the same for you. ever since then, and the way you looked at him with such lust in your eyes as he touched himself, he’s been so much more confident and willing. you’re just happy he’s getting back to finding himself and being comfortable again in his body. 

kink: he loves to gag you. he just can’t help himself. he totally gets off on putting you in a spider gag and tying your hands above your head while he can sit there and mess with your head, praising and degrading you at the same time for being his good little fuck doll? yeah, that’ll do it for him. 

he’s a sucker for fucking you in front of a mirror. he’ll push you up against the bathroom counter, wrap a hand around your throat, and kick your feet apart, watching your reactions in the mirror. he loves how you devolve into a mess in front of his eyes while he holds himself together, watching the way he’s railing you into oblivion. he holds your head in place so you’re forced to watch him smirk while you’re drooling everywhere.

he loves having control over you and waving it around in your face to taunt you. it’s fun to put you in your place, spank you into submission. total size kink, too.

location: he loves doing it in the bedroom, call him old-fashioned. taking you apart in his bed, making you comfortable, giving it to you the way you deserve. only the best for you. 

but he’s only a man. anywhere you want it, he’ll give it to you. you’ve definitely fucked in his car. on his motorcycle. in an alley outside the dancing club you went to that one time. he’s no exhibitionist, but…

motivation: when you tease him. you love making dirty jokes to him to get him riled up, and it always works. if you’re trying to walk past him in a tight space, you’ll grab his ass or his bulge or grind up against him and then pretend like nothing happened. you’ll buy boxes of popsicles at the store for the sole purpose of licking it like you do his cock. one of these days he’s gonna take the damn popsicle out of your mouth and fuck you with it.

no: no knives, no guns. even if it doesn’t scare you, it scares him too much to think about exposing you to that kind of violence given his history. 

oral: he’s a real man. loves to go down on you when you’re aching and sensitive for him after he’s wrecked you. you’re hissing, telling him to be careful, and he’s rubbing your thighs to soothe you. he loves when you’re vulnerable like this, super tired, walking the line between pain and pleasure, and yet you still let him lick you to his heart’s content. 

he loves your mouth on his cock. it’s a sight to see. getting you on your knees for him, seeing you so willing, parting your lips and drooling on him. he loves it. he moans like crazy and loves talking to you while you’re pleasuring him, saying, “that’s my girl. letting me use her mouth like this. gonna let me fuck it like the rest of your holes, hmm?”

pace: he loves going slow and fucking you deep, but when he wants to? oh he’ll fuck the everliving daylights out of you. he’ll make you beg him to go faster, give it to you rough, and once you’ve said “please” enough times, sounding all pretty and desperate for him, he’ll give you what you want, making you come over and over while he just keeps fucking you. it’s heavenly. 

quickie: he doesn’t really seek you out much for it, he’s happy to take care of himself or wait until the timing is right. but he loves when you ask for it. one minute he’s busy with something, the next you’re on him, telling him, “I need you to fuck me right fucking now” and he’s gonna do it. he’s gonna make sure you’re happy and well fucked any time you need it. this is when he’ll get a little rougher with you, a little more possessive and controlling, giving you that all-encompassing feeling of pleasure, body and mind. 

risk: he’s hesitant, as are you. he’s not big on taking risks, but the few times you have fucked in public have been exhilarating. he’d be open to doing it again, maybe just once. he’s got an image he’s trying to rebuild. 

stamina: he’s got stamina for days. he’s literally super human. of course, he’s still 100 years old, and the years are starting to catch up to him. but he can still fuck, don’t doubt that. 

toys: anything to get you off, he’ll try. it’s pretty often that he’ll use a vibrator on your clit while he fucks you, all the pleasure going to your head and making your thoughts blur together. he wants to make you forget about everything but how he makes you feel.

every once in a while he’ll fuck your mouth and make you fuck yourself with a dildo just to see how needy and whiney you can get for him. but honestly he’s the one that gets needy because it’s not long before he’s like “fuck this” and he picks you up, chucks the dildo across the room, and then drags you to bed to fuck you himself. also he wants to get you a butt plug to make you wear it in public, bonus points if it vibrates and he can control it from his phone. 

unfair: he does not have it in him. he will tease and edge you maybe once, but he has to watch you come for him, he has to, it's his crack. knowing that he’s making you feel good is more important than anything else. he lowkey wants to ask you to tease him for hours just to see what happens.

volume: bro is a moaning mess for you okay. he tried to hold back the first few times you had sex, but then you got concerned that you weren’t doing enough. when you managed to pull a real moan from him, you fucking celebrated and hollered and he blushed like crazy. so then he finally quit holding back, knowing you wanted to hear him, and he’s like a whiney baby when he fucks you now. 

wild card: he bought a ring. 

x-ray: he’s clearly doing pretty well for himself. he’s got the prettiest dick on the planet, pink and leaky and too big for you to wrap your whole hand around. you try anyways, looking up at him with big puppy eyes as you stroke him up and down, teasing him with little kitten licks to the tip. he stretches you out just right, every time. “such a good girl, opening up so well for me, you know that? just wanna take all of me, but you’re just so little… guess I’ll just have to make you take it, huh?” he says as he stretches you on his fingers.

yearning: he’s a loverboy at heart 🤍 he loves you and always wants to have you close and always wants to touch you. if he’s asleep and you need him to fuck you, he wants you to wake him up, he doesn’t care. 

zzz: he conks the fuck out so quickly. once he knows you’re okay, and you’re hydrated, and you’ve peed, he’s dragging you by the waist to pull you against his chest and he’s out. 

~~~

masterlist

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