#my brother and i talk about this all the time

[eos-lies-to-you]

Lmao I'm stealing this idea.

Big Mama must have lost some serious standing in the yokai underworld because it’s gotten apparent that she keeps being beaten by a small group of teenagers and the occasional rat man, and when it’s not them then she’s taking L’s from her own schemes working against her.

And in the ensuing power vacuum, the Hamatos accidentally become the most feared crime family known to all the big bads of the Hidden City.

After all, they’ve publicly outplayed Big Mama multiple times, a couple of them have taken out the heads of two of the most well known criminal organizations, one took out Heinous Green, two are responsible for the destruction of Witch Town, they have ties to both the infamous Baron Draxum and Captain Piel, they won the Doom Dome death race, they’re Battle Nexus Champions, they’ve displayed insane feats of power and defeated impossibly strong enemies, most of them have been to jail, and they regularly mingle with humans.

You can just imagine the notoriety they’d accumulate from word of mouth alone.

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?” 

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him. 

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!” 

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart. 

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.” 

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment. 

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.” 

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy. 

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you. 

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside. 

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp. 

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.” 

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas. 

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you. 

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you. 

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…” 

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.” 

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort. 

“Think you can come like this, baby?” 

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs. 

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house. 

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right? 

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs. 

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself. 

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face. 

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs. 

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused. 

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding. 

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling. 

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him. 

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her. 

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face. 

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.” 

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles. 

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes. 

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?” 

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?” 

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.” 

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new. 

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass. 

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better. 

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.” 

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures. 

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.” 

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing. 

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.” 

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.” 

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now. 

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup. 

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand. 

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control. 

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork. 

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this." 

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing. 

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs. 

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva. 

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight. 

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.” 

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up. 

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.” 

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)

[my-castles-crumbling]

freshman - march 1 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - NSFW (implied sex but not detailed) - word count: 523

“....so fucking perfect, guys,” James said reverently, laying on his dorm bed and grinning, knowing he had been rambling for too long, and yet completely unable to stop. He’d been talking about this all day, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about him. “He had…God, the most perfect eyes, and this little smirk that just…fuck. And his body. Fuck, I would’ve been happy just staring, but then he just dragged me into that room, and pushed me on the bed-”

“We’re happy for you, mate,” Sirius interrupted, grinning, even though all of them had heard the story of James’s mystery man at least ten times. “Glad you had fun at the party.”

“Oh, the party was awful. Right, Pete?” James asked Peter, who still looked a bit pale from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. 

“I think so,” Peter mumbled, head in his hands.

“But fuck, it didn’t even matter. That guy was….” James grinned and launched into the more specific details again.

Remus and Peter seemed to zone out, but Sirius, the amazing friend he was, smiled and nodded along as James went on and on, giving a play-by-play, asking the appropriate questions and giving the appropriate reactions.

“...and I think I’m in love,” James finished, after giving the details about how he and the other man finished. “But I’m kicking myself because I didn’t get his number! Didn’t even get his name!”

“M’sure you’ll see him soon,” Sirius said bracingly, clapping him on the shoulder. “The school’s small. Which reminds me– Reg’s starting as a freshman here this year! I told him to stop by to visit soon, so he can meet all of you.”

The others made noises of excitement. Ever since they’d started rooming together at University last year, they’d heard a lot about Regulus, and everyone was eager to meet him. Before any more could be said, there was a knock on the door of their room.

“Reg!” Sirius yelled, ignoring Peter’s moan of complaint at his loudness. He bounded off of his bed and wrenched open the door. “Mates, this is-”

James stared into the gray-blue eyes he’d been thinking about for the past twelve hours and gasped out loud. “Fuck,” he mumbled, his shock mirrored in Regulus’s own expression.

It was Remus who realized first, and Peter shortly after. They broke into fits of giggles as Sirius still looked between James and Regulus confusedly, obviously missing something. But after twenty blissful seconds, he gasped a truly horrified gasp. 

“Oh no,” he cried, turning a deep shade of maroon. “Oh my God. James!” He pointed a shaking finger at James, who had a hand over his mouth. “You-you told me all about how much you love shagging my brother!? You gave me details! Oh fuck, I asked questions!”

James glanced at Regulus, who seemed to be struggling not to join in on Remus and Peter’s laughter. He sent James a smirk and said. “That good, eh?”

And James couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough.

“Someone kill me,” Sirius wailed in the background.

But James was too busy staring at Regulus again.

[enigmeyyy-writes]

I definitely think a lot of this is really interesting now that I'm rewatching the show again to write my fanfictions...

Katara definitely had her faults (and it was kinda wrong of her to tell her older brother that he didn't love their mother as much, especially because he most likely had more memories of her alive in comparison), but she was still a 14-year-old girl thrust into adult responsibility in the middle of a war. She is misunderstood a lot of the time from a fan's perspective because (in all honesty) a lot of us watched the show as kids and either thought she was super cool or super annoying. I even only started to find Katara annoying after I was older--and that was mainly because in times when she did attempt to "solve" things or "fix" something she wasn't mature enough yet to understand how to handle it responsibly. Sokka was a lot like this too, and we see him getting blamed a lot less. Both of them were standing in as leaders in their tribe during the war, and both of them left. Sure, the Avatar showed up, but even Aang was running away from responsibility until he realized he had to face the consequences of his actions!

Past this point is a lot of me talking about how I'm addressing a lot of this in my fan works, so check it out if you're interested!

I think a lot of my thoughts on this topic stem from the fact that I want to explore the emotional and responsibility commitments the characters of ATLA have weighing on them. In the AU I'm writing, for example, the characters (set in canon) are aged up and a lot of them have more people they are attached to. Since this was a Katara-centric post, I'll also include what I have in mind for my Katara fic.

Growing Pains centers around the letters Katara sends home to her and Sokka's childhood friend, Mali. He was the oldest of the boys left behind by the tribe because he just didn't quite make the age cut, and now serves as a hunter and protector for the tribe. He was definitely upset when his friends left him, but he knew that if they were to travel with the Avatar he had to stay and protect their tribe. Katara sends her letters detailing the stories of her adventures to Mali but soon realizes that she left a lot behind at home for what was turning out to be a perilous and risk-filled adventure.

And on the Aang side of things (because let's face it, a twelve-year-old boy having childish immaturity and the weight of the world on their shoulders is NOT the best combination), I wanted to explore more of his energy and experience of learning maturity after hardship in a Book 3 and post-war fic titled Spitfire.

Spitfire centers around one of Zuko's childhood friends (an OC because I think he deserved friends he could actually trust prior to joining the Gaang) named Soru coming to terms with the fact that he never truly was against the Avatar even though he's from the Fire Nation. Escapism at its finest--truly. As Aang has to come to terms with the new reality the world is entering after the defeat of Fire Lord Ozai, he has to learn how to deal with the weight of the political aspect of society the rest of his friends (and former enemies for that matter) were already wrapped up in.

All in all, I really think exploring aspects of the characters of such a beloved show that aren't really addressed is such an interesting thing to do. I applaud all other ATLA writers on the platform (and any platform) for either just sticking to canon or coming to terms with the flaws that are either over-exaggerated or under-represented in fanfiction, but I am not one of you! I want to explore the inklings of depth we get from this fun show, especially since I'm approaching this from a perspective in which the characters are older and arguably have more responsibility on their shoulders.

I'd really appreciate it if anyone would check out my stories (will be posted on here and ao3) or at least show interest in them! I've worked really hard to put all the details together behind the scenes, so any support or showing you enjoy my works/ideas is greatly appreciated!

I just watched Avatar for the first time all the way through, and yeah, it’s great, but the one thing that surprised me was how different Katara was compared to the fandom interpretation I’d seen and internalized before watching.

Like, before you watch Avatar, you’ve seen all these memes about Katara and her mom, and based on those memes, you assume it’s one of those lines you have to get used to hearing at least once every episode. But then you watch the show and realize that she only talks about her mom maybe five or six times per season and you also realize she only brings her up when she’s trying to comfort someone or empathize with them because that’s how she processes her grief and that’s one way she connects with people.

Or you hear the infamous line, “then you didn’t love [our mother] the way I did” and you prepare yourself for one of the worst character assassinations ever only to see the scene after nearly three seasons worth of context and realize she was kinda right. She’s been the mother, the nurturer, the comforter. She’s been patient, gentle, and accommodating where everyone else has gotten to be insensible and reckless and childish, and the one moment where she allows herself to feel her grief, suddenly she’s this evil bitch and not, y’know, a 14 year old girl whose been thrusted into adulthood in a way no other character has. A 14 year old girl who should be allowed immaturity and raw emotion and anger instead of the patience and grace she’s been forced to extend to every character without even the smallest amount of gratitude or even consideration in return.

Or you see all of the clips where Katara puts Aang in the “friendzone” and you expect to have this wishy washy back and forth where Aang is putting his feelings out there only to have Katara neither commit nor express any clear reciprocation or rejection. Then you watch and realize that, as cute as the ship is initially, that there’s never a point where Aang returns any comfort or grace to Katara despite her always doing this for him to the point of coddling. That for as much as Aang says he loves her, he never seems to outgrow his perception of her so he can recognize her as someone who feels grief, anger, and pain as much as she expresses love, kindness, and maturity. And instead of having moments where he learns to see her beyond her strength or compassion, you’re instead given moments where Aang forces his feelings onto her, both romantic and non-romantic, and Katara is expected to just…shoulder those feelings the way she shoulders everyone else’s.

Katara is the most misunderstood character in the show. As much as people recognize the complexities of Zuko, Sokka, and Azula, they struggle to do the same for Katara because they see her struggles as somehow lesser, and therefore, less deserving of sympathy. They can handle her so long as she’s being endlessly patient and loving and kind, but the moment her endless love, patience, and kindness runs out, she’s suddenly this annoying bitch who can’t shut up about her mother or reciprocate Aang’s feelings. But Katara’s trauma does matter as much as anyone else’s. No, she wasn’t banished from her kingdom. No, she didn’t lose her entire community, and no, she isn’t the only one who lost her mother. But the difference between her and everyone else whose experienced loss because of the Fire Nation is that she’s never given time to process her trauma. Aang gets to lean on Katara constantly. Toph gets to express her feelings to Katara, and yeah, Sokka also lost their mother, but unlike Katara, he isn’t put in the position of being a substitute for everyone’s parent. He even admits that he sees his sister as a mother. The only characters who ever comfort Katara or allow her to vent is Zuko and her father and that’s, like, three scenes in a show where the other characters are consistently given opportunities to seek out Katara for unconditional support.

The fandom interpretation of Katara has been so bastardized that even those who haven’t watched the show know her for this fanon version and not for who she is. She’s such an interesting character beyond her fandom limitations, though. She’s brave, hot-headed, and hopeful as well as gentle and caring. She wishes to learn waterbending, not only because she wants to fight in the war, but because she wants to continue her culture’s practices because, and people often forget this, she also lost an entire subculture within her already fractured tribe. And she wants to defeat the Fire Nation both because of her deep love and empathy for other people, but also because she wants to avenge her mother. But because some of the fans have reduced Katara to a bitch who constantly whines about her mother and friendzones Aang, you wouldn’t know any of this, and it sucks because she’s the only character whose been dumbed down to such an extent.

[daeniradraconis]

I was thinking of a request with one of the hughes brothers (your choice!! I cannot choose between them) x reader who works for the team in some capacity, where reader gets injured by a stray puck or something and their love interest totally outs himself by caring for/being protective over reader.

Obviously only if you think this is interesting!! Love your stuff!

Thank you for requesting! 💖 Hope you will like this as well.

Secrets and Slapshots Being the Devils’ photographer had its perks. You got to stand on the ice, snap the team’s best moments, and—most importantly—spend extra time with Luke Hughes. Not that anyone knew why that mattered. You and Luke had kept your relationship a secret for seven months, a choice born of practicality (dating a player while working for the team? Tricky) and a bigger, messier reason: your older brother, Curtis Lazar. Protective was an understatement. If Curtis found out you were with Luke—the youngest Hughes brother, no less—heads would roll. So you stuck to sneaky glances, stolen moments, and hushed talks behind closed doors.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

You were by the boards during practice, camera raised, framing a shot of Nico roofing a puck when—BAM. A rogue slapshot rocketed toward you, too fast to dodge. Pain exploded in your shoulder, sharp and blinding, the force slamming you back into the boards. You stumbled, vision blurring, a choked gasp escaping as your arm went limp, fingers buzzing with static. Your camera dangled from its strap, barely gripped in your good hand. Nausea surged, and you pressed your palm to your shoulder, trying to breathe through it.

The rink went quiet, then erupted.

“OH SHIT—”

“YO, YOU GOOD?”

Dawson Mercer skated next to you, panic etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to—I swear—”

Before you could respond, a furious shout cut through. “WHO THE HELL HIT HER?”

Your stomach dropped. Luke.

You looked up just in time to see him charging across the ice, stick tossed aside, eyes blazing.

“Ohhh, shit,” Jack muttered nearby. He knew his brother rarely got angry, but when he did, it never ended well.

“Luke, no—”

Too late. Luke’s fist crashed into Dawson’s jaw with a sharp crack, the sound cutting through the air. Dawson’s head jerked to the side, his body stumbling back as his hands flew up on instinct. For a second, he just stood there, blinking, dazed—like his brain hadn’t fully registered the hit yet.

“BRO, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT—”

“YOU HIT HER WITH A PUCK—” Luke’s voice trembled, fists still tight.

“IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE—”

“DOESN’T MATTER—”

Jack, Nico, and Bas lunged, grabbing Luke’s jersey as he strained toward Dawson, wild and unhinged.

“DUDE,” Jack groaned, wrestling him back. “Chill—”

“NO,” Luke snapped, still fighting against his teammates and brother’s hold. “HE HIT MY GIRLFRIEND—”

And then everything stopped.

Your heart slammed into your ribs. Girlfriend. Seven months of secrecy, gone in one furious outburst. You wanted to sink through the ice, but the way Luke stood there—chest heaving, daring anyone to step up—stirred something warm beneath the shock.

Jack’s jaw dropped. “Wait—YOU’RE DATING HER?”

Luke’s face went crimson. “I—uh—” He instantly knew he’d messed up.

Jesper skated closer, laughing hard. “Dude, you just outed yourself.”

“I hate all of you,” Luke muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

Jack smirked at you, eyebrows raised. “Damn, took a puck to the shoulder and you’re dating Luke? Talk about bad decisions.”

You rolled your eyes, pain slicing through as you tried to laugh. “Thanks for the concern.”

Luke was beside you in a flash, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. “Baby,” he said, voice low and thick with guilt. “Does it hurt badly?”

“Yeah,” you gritted out. “Like hell.”

His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to Dawson with barely-leashed anger. “I’m gonna—”

“Luke.” You grabbed his hand with your good one, squeezing weakly. “Accident happens. Breathe.”

But before Luke could get a word out, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"What the hell is going on?"

Great. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse.

Here came your worst nightmare—your brother, Curtis.

Your stomach sank as he skated over, gaze flicking between you, Luke, and Dawson—still rubbing his jaw, half-guilty, half-amused.

“Someone explain why Hughes punched Mercer,” Curtis demanded, voice edged with steel.

Luke straightened, completely unfazed. “He hit her with a puck. She’s hurt.” 

Curtis’ eyes softened briefly as they landed on you, cradling your arm. “You okay?”

“It hurts,” you admitted, wincing, though you forced a smile for your brother.

His jaw ticked. Then he turned to Luke. “So you thought swinging was the move?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, his voice casual but there was something sharp in the way he spoke—like he didn’t quite understand why Curtis was making this harder than it had to be.

Curtis stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he sized up Luke. The anger in his chest flared, but it was something else that was settling in—he knew. He’d pieced it together, the secret clicking into place. He just needed to hear Luke say it. “Why do you care so much, Hughes? What’s she to you?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Luke said, his tone firm, yet there was an undeniable fierceness behind it as he locked eyes with your brother. “And I love her.”

The tension in the air grew heavy, thick, like the calm before a storm. In the distance, you could hear the guys muttering, probably betting on how long it’d take for things to escalate—whether Luke would end up with at least a bruise or if he’d walk away unscathed.

Curtis blinked, his gaze flicking between you and Luke as the weight of the words sunk in. You held your breath, your heart pounding, bracing yourself for the worst.

Before you could process it, Curtis lunged.

It was all instinct—your body moving faster than your mind. You stepped between them just as Curtis’s hands shot out, the force of his momentum catching you off guard. His palms slammed into your injured shoulder with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded through your body, white-hot and blinding. A sharp cry ripped from your throat as you hit the ice, your arm going completely useless beneath you.

The rink went deadly quiet again.

Luke saw red. Pure, unfiltered rage took over as he shoved Curtis back with a force that sent him stumbling. His voice was raw, furious. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!.”

Curtis froze, his anger melting into something like shock as he looked down at you, crumpled on the ice. “Shit.”

Luke didn’t give him a second to recover. He took another step forward, fists trembling but unwavering, his voice low and lethal. “You wanna take a swing at me? Fine. But don’t you ever, ever touch her again.”

His words rang with a fierce conviction. “I love her, Curtis. Seven months, man. Seven months, and she’s the best thing in my life. I’ve been respectful for her sake—because I get it, you’re her brother, my teammate. But if you hurt her again, I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking hand.”

Curtis stared, his expression flickering between anger, guilt, and something else, something more vulnerable. After a long pause, he let out a slow breath. “It wasn’t on purpose. You know I’d never hurt her like that. I love her too…she’s my sister.” His voice cracked, and his gaze fell to you, still lying on the ice.

Luke didn’t soften. He wasn’t backing down. His fists remained clenched, his chest rising and falling with the force of his words. “I get it, Curtis. You’re protective. But if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate to make you understand, just how far I’ll go to protect her.”

You tried to push yourself up, desperate to get Luke’s attention, but your shoulder flared with pain, and your vision swam. “Luke—”

His fury vanished under a minute, replaced by panic. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering. “Baby, talk to me.”

Tears stung your eyes as you tried to speak. “It’s... bad.”You attempted to move your hand, but it didn’t respond at all, sending a wave of panic crashing through you.

“Okay, I got you.” He scooped you up, careful but firm, holding you close to his chest. “Team doc. Now.”

As Luke carried you off the ice, Curtis stood frozen, watching in silence. His gaze was hard to read—maybe respect, maybe regret—but something in his eyes shifted, betraying a hint of emotion.

—

The ride home was quiet, just the hum of the car and Luke’s soft “You okay?” whenever you winced. The doctor had strapped your arm into a sling—nasty bruise, minor strain, no fracture—but the ache still gnawed deep. Luke had insisted on driving, knuckles white on the wheel, worry carved into his face.

Now, in your apartment, the adrenaline has faded, leaving you exhausted. You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Luke set down takeout bags he’d grabbed despite your lack of hunger.

“You holding up?” His voice was softer now. His dark green eyes met yours, searching, full of both tenderness and concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, managing a small smile. “I’m just tired. And my shoulder is killing me.”

He stepped closer, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You should’ve let Curtis hit me.” A half-joke, but guilt shadowed his gaze.

You laughed, then winced as the movement jolted you. “Luke, stop. I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” he said, his voice leaving no room for debate. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable.”

He gently guided you to the couch, his hand warm on your lower back, and carefully eased you down. He fluffed the pillows, draped a blanket over your legs, and made sure you were comfortable. It was Luke, completely unguarded—raw with worry, soft with love—and it wrapped around you in a way that made the pain seem distant.

“Soup,” he said, heading to the kitchen. “You need food before the meds kick in.”

You didn’t argue, and honestly, you didn’t really want to. You weren’t hungry, but the thought of warm soup didn’t sound half bad.

Half an hour later, after a few spoonfuls—Luke holding the bowl because your good hand wasn’t enough—you felt the weight of helplessness settle in. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, taking a shower—things that used to be so simple now felt impossible. A lump caught in your throat.

Luke noticed the shift in your mood. “What’s wrong?” He set the bowl down on the coffee table, leaning in, his concern obvious.

You hesitated, a tired smile flickering across your lips. “I can’t move my arm. At all. I feel gross from practice, but…” You waved vaguely toward the bathroom, a bit embarrassed.

His eyes softened as he caught on. “You need help showering.” It wasn’t a question—just a simple fact.

“Yeah,” you muttered, a small laugh slipping through.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “I can help. If you’re okay with it. I just don’t want you to make it worse.”

You couldn’t help but tease. “Yeah, it shouldn’t be weird. We’ve already... you know...” You trailed off, awkwardly trying to convince both yourself and him. Still, the situation felt different—vulnerable, exposed.

He cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said, offering his hand, clearly trying to hide the discomfort.

The bathroom quickly filled with steam as Luke adjusted the shower to just the right temperature. He stripped off his clothes first, then turned to you, his gaze steady but gentle. You pulled at your hoodie with your good hand, and he stepped in, carefully sliding it off—first your good arm, then easing it over the sling. Next came your shirt, followed by your bra, sweatpants, and panties. His fingers brushed your skin with quiet confidence, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I’ve got you,” he said, guiding you into the shower. The water hit your back, and you sighed, tension easing slightly. He grabbed the showerhead, letting the stream glide over you, avoiding your bad shoulder.

“Too much?” His voice was low, careful.

“No. Feels good.”

He squeezed body wash into his hands, lathering it up, and started at your neck, fingers gentle but sure. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I keep seeing that puck hit you,” he murmured against your hair. “Should’ve been faster.”

“You can’t stop everything,” you said, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “But you’re here now and that’s enough.”

He kissed your temple agin, soft and tender, before his hands moved down your back, the warmth of the water mixing with the steadiness of his touch. His fingers glided over your skin as he worked the soap down your spine. "Turn for me," he whispered, his voice low and soothing, his hands resting lightly on your hips, guiding you with quiet strength.

You turned slowly, your back now facing him, and as you did, you felt his lips brush against the back of your neck, the kiss lingering just a moment longer than usual. His hands were gentle, but there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he moved, as though he was cherishing every inch of you.

“You’re so strong,” he murmured, rinsing you off, his hand gently shielding your eyes as he worked shampoo through your hair. “But let me take care of you, alright? Don’t try to be tough for me. If you need anything, just ask. Okay, princess?”

You relaxed against him, giving him a small nod and a soft smile, the pain fading as his warmth surrounded you. 

When he was done, he wrapped you in a towel, pressing a quick kiss to your head. “All clean,” he said, his voice filled with love and gentleness.

He grabbed one of his Devils shirts, the one he’d left in your wardrobe ages ago—loose enough to accommodate the sling—and a pair of your pajama shorts, dressing you with the same careful attention. Once he finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist. Luke hated sleeping with anything on, so he didn't bother with boxers—he preferred to sleep completely bare. And you definitely didn’t mind one bit.

Once you were settled, he walked over to the sink, a playful grin spreading across his face as he held up a toothbrush. “Open,” he said, his voice teasing but soft.

You rolled your eyes but complied, letting him brush your teeth—clumsy but full of enthusiasm. “Sorry,” he chuckled when he accidentally bumped your lip, his hand instinctively steadying you at your hip. 

Then came the skincare routine—toner, serum, moisturizer—and Luke looked utterly baffled. He picked up the toner and held it out, squinting at the bottle. “Wait, so you actually need all of this?” he asked, genuinely confused. “But you’re already, like, ridiculously pretty. Why all the extra steps?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not just about looking pretty, Luke. It’s about healthy skin and preventing wrinkles.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. “Well, you'd still look hot with wrinkles, you know.”

You giggled, kicking your legs as you sat on top of the washing machine, where he’d placed you after brushing your teeth. “I don’t know about that,” you teased, enjoying the playful energy between you two.

Luke just shrugged with a grin, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't argue. Instead, he got to work with the precision of someone who had no idea what he was doing but was determined to get it right. He carefully applied each product—toner, serum, moisturizer—treating it like a delicate task, though still clearly puzzled by the whole process.

“Good?” he asked, stepping back with a gentle smile, his eyes searching for yours.

“Perfect,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his care in every word.

He kissed your forehead softly, taking a deep breath as his fingers grazed your healthy arm. “Bedtime?”

You nodded, already feeling the pull of exhaustion. “Yeah,” you whispered.

He tucked the blanket around you, his movements slow and deliberate as he slid in next to you, propping himself on one elbow, watching you settle against the pillow. His hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze tender.

“Lukey,” you murmured, half-asleep, “Thank you.”

He smiled softly, his fingers brushing your cheek slowly. “Anything for you. Even if Jack’s never going to let me live this down.”

You smiled, your face relaxing into the comfort of his touch, curling closer to him. “Worth it,” you whispered, feeling the weight of his love wrap around you.

He kissed your knuckles lightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, you are.”

[adrienneleclerc]

Hello! You could make a Fanfic where Toto Wolff's daughter begs her father to make a contract for her boyfriend (Carlos Sainz) in the Mercedes team so that he doesn't go to Williams 💗

Yes! And I’ll be using one of my favorite Hannah Montana quotes because Y/N will DEFINITELY be a Daddy’s Girl.

Pretty Please

Summary: Y/N Wolff is dating Carlos Sainz and is unhappy to hear that Carlos is thinking about signing with Williams.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, Williams hate

A/N: any hate towards Williams are things I have heard other people say. I’m also trying to get through ALL my requests so bear with me, please.

You were chilling with Carlos when he received a call. He kissed yourcheek and excused himself to take the call in another room. A few minutes have passed and Carlos walked back in with a smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” You asked him.

“I got an offer from Williams to be their driver for the 2025 season.” Carlos said. You were in shock, however, remembering how James Vowels had a history of getting rid of their second drivers before the season finishes, thinking about Nicholas and Logan. You don’t want the same thing to happen to Carlos. But Carlos is a good driver, he knows what he’s doing.

“That’s great, babe, I’m so happy for you.” You hugged him after you said it.

In front of Carlos, you act very supportive of his decision, but in reality, you’re thinking about how you could convince your dad to sign Carlos. Carlos dropped you off at home, and when you opened the door, your mom was cooking food while your dad and brother were watching TV.

“Sweetheart, you’re just in time for dinner, have a seat. Toto, Jack, you guys too.” Your mom said. You put your things in your room, washed your hands, and sat down for dinner. “How was lunch with Carlos?”

“It was good, he’s recently got an offer to join Williams.” You said.

“That’s good, he’s a talented driver, he deserves to be in the new season.” Your dad commented.

“I like Carlos! He lets me play with his dogs.” Your brother jack said.

“Yeah, he’s talented all right, definitely too talented to drive for Williams.” You said, your dad doesn’t even have to look up from his plate to know you’re giving him puppy dog eyes, he can hear the begging tone in your voice.

“Ah no, nope, I already have a driver in mind for 2025, i can’t sign Carlos.” he said, getting up to get a beer, you followed him.

“How many ‘pretty’s do I have to put in front of the word ‘please’ for you to make Carlos a contract? Pretty, pretty…” You said training behind him. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please, daddy, please!" You begged, stepping in front of the fridge before he had the chance to open it.

"Woah!" Your father exclaimed, putting his hands up as if he was surprised.

"Does that mean you'll sign him?" You asked hopefully

"No, it means you can stop. I already have Kimi Antonelli lined up to join Mercedes, you know this.” Your father said, moving you to open the fridge and get himself a beer.

"Dad, come on! It’s better for Kimi to have one more year in Formula 2, you know how everyone treated Logan, they all said he wasn’t ready to join F1. Kimi is just a kid, one more year until he can join and Carlos will join Audi in 2026.” You said.

“Charles Leclerc also did one year of F2.” Toto argued.

“But he didn’t join Ferrari right away, dad. He was in Sauber first before joining Ferrari. Wouldn’t it be better for kimi to go to Williams to get more F1 experience before joining Mercedes?” You asked your dad.

“I’ll think about it.” He said and you frowned.

“I’m not Jack’s age anymore, dad. I know ‘I’ll think about it’ means ‘ain’t gonna happen but nice try.’” You said, crossing your arms.

“I’ll think about it. But can we finish dinner first, please.” Toto said and you nodded.

It’s been a week since your conversation with your dad and you were losing hope until you saw Carlos and your dad talking. They shook hands, you decided to approach them,

“What’s going on here?” You asked, standing beside Carlos.

“You are looking at Mercedes’s new driver.” Carlos said, hugging you. You were in shock but hugged him back.

“Really? Omg, Im so happy for you!” You exclaimed, your father winked at you and you mouthed him a thank you.

“Took a lot of convincing though.” Toto joked.

“The contract is really good, I read it over three times, and signed today.” Carlos said.

“That’s great, how about we go out to celebrate? My treat.” You offered and Carlos nodded. You guys walked away and just when your father was out of earshot, Carlos whispered thank you in your ear. “For what?”

“I know you talked to your dad about me.” Carlos said,

“Are you mad?” You asked.

“Max that my girlfriend loves me so much she’ll convince her dad to write me up a contract? I know you were just looking out for me.” Carlos said.

“Well yeah, i Don’t really like how James treats his second drivers, I did not want you getting that treatment at all.” You pouted. Carlos kissed your pout away.

“I Love you so much.” Carlos said.

“I love you too.” You said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[teambyler]

The most hypocritical anti Byler argument:

"Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay!?"

Whenever I hear this argument or some variation of it, I think back to my two cousins, one a girl and the other a boy. (One from my dad's side of the family, the other from my mom's.) They were maybe six years old at the time, and they were innocently talking and playing and giving each other math and spelling-bee quizzes. ALL my family were giggling, saying they were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

I also think back to all the times I see young girls being judged on their physical beauty and told they're going to have a handsome boy when they grow up because they're so pretty.

From childhood, boys and girls have their sexuality assumed for them. Their SEXUALITY and romantic possibility are talked about openly in front of their face. They're made to look at themselves sexually before they even want to.

So when people yell at Byler fans saying "Why do you have to make everything gay?" I want to scream at them:

"Why do you have to make everything straight!?"

Why do you insist on sexualizing children to be heterosexual even before they're ready to start thinking of themselves in those terms?

Why do you have no problem with Mike kissing El in season 1 right after she asks him if he's like her "brother"?

Why do you idealize their relationship when they were children, while simultaneously trying to shame Byler fans for trying to "sexualize children" even though these are fictional characters and the actors who play Mike and Will are already adults?

Why do you shame any thought or possibility of homosexual romance, while imposing heterosexual norms on everyone?

It reminds me of people who say "You can be gay of course... just don't shove it in our faces (by holding forth that you're gay, kissing in public, etc.)." When no one bats an eye when straight people do the same thing. They're willing to give lip service to LGBT+ people, but actual equality they don't accept.

It's Straight Privilege in action: the norms and standards that straight people enjoy quietly do not to apply to us.

This hypocrisy even distorts how Milkvans view Mike and El. We're told that if Mike and Will get together, that would mean Mike "used El" and El would never be able to forgive him.

Not only does this disregard that people can have amicable break-ups and still be close friends: it also shows that the idea of a platonic loving relationship between a Mike and El is beyond their comprehension. To them, the only loving relationships boys and girls can have with each other are romantic ones.

(Now, before anyone objects: sure many people accept Robin and Steve, but that's because Robin is canonically gay. We all know that before she came out many of us (me included!) were shipping those two as a couple!)

If someone ships Mike and El WITHOUT her confronting him about his poor treatment of her in early s4, without there being an honest conversation about that, this definitely raises an eyebrow from me. The "love confession" didn't address this: his fear of losing her did NOT explain failing to comfort her or failing to say he loved her. Theoretically it's possible for these two to repair things. (And if Milkvan is endgame I hope that they do by addressing this!) But for some Milkvan shippers this need to address Mike's behavior doesn't even enter their minds because they're idealizing their relationship. In other words, THEY are imposing their idea of a relationship on these two, much in the same way my family was imposing their own ideas on my two cousins without regard to the people involved.

So if anyone asks "Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay?" it's purely hypocritical and dishonest. No, we just want THIS relationship between Mike and Will (which is clearly being built up as romantic) to be gay out of a sea of heterosexual relationships on TV.

No. THEY are the ones who rule out a boy and girl just being friends. THEY are the ones who insist on imposing romance on a boy and girl when they're not ready. THEY are the ones who insist on "everything" being one way.

-teambyler

[bohamod]

"And here you are again! Your lineage just cannot resist these lands can it?"

"What the hell are you talking about villain? I know you killed my grandfather and my mother!"

"This land is so fertile that you can throw seeds on the ground and when you come back the next year you will find miles of farmland. It's no wonder your people so covet it, and you never seem to understand why it is this way."

Hero draws her blade and levels it at Puma "Speak plainly villain before I cut out your tongue as well as your spine!"

Puma licks her lips and slowly walks towards her newest meal "I have lived here for generations of your people and have learned something incredible. Your souls are so delectable that not only do they sate my hunger, but satisfy the land as well!"

Hero swings her weapon with a swiftness that betrays many years of experience with the blade, only to find it swatted out of her hands and Puma's fingers suddenly curled around her throat.

"I will consume you, and your corpse will attract yet more of your wretched lineage to these lands for me to play with. Oh I wonder who will come to see me next? Your brother? Or have you already made a child to take revenge on me next time I get hungry? I must say that I'm disappointed by your lack of resistance so far, you're already out of air and all you've done is swing that stick at me! No matter, I look forward to seeing the next one already"

the mountain lions are unwittingly practicing witchcraft to improve their hunting chances and leaving patches of terra preta behind

[theplumsoldier]

undercover(s) (18+)

summary: oh no, there's just one bed!

pairing: tim bradford x f!reader

word count: 5,4k

warnings: friends to lovers trope, dirty talk, vulgar language, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, riding that thick dick, praise, mentions of injury (reader), let me know if i missed anything<3

You were perched in front of the mirror, admiring the woman gazing back at you through long lashes.

“It's giving brat.”

False lashes, acrylic nails, threaded brows.

“You know, I'm actually kind of diggin’ it.”

Little black dress with an open back, Jacquemus handbag, golden hoops, perfumed skin, high-heeled boots.

“Damn, I look good.”

Through the mirror, you could see Tim still at it with the device, a little black box with an antenna that could detect signals from even the smallest, most high-tech recorders. It made a static noise as he hovered the stick over just about every surface and object.

“Alright. It's safe,” he finally concluded once he was content with his work.

“Could have told you as much. My contacts are good,” you sassed with a smug look, leaning your hand on your hip.

Tim shot you an incredulous look as he packed away the gear. “Yeah, you can drop the bratty attitude now, smartass.”

You chuckled as he removed the gun from his belt and put it on the dresser. “I don't know—it's kinda growing on me.”

Though you had never been undercover with Tim before, you were confident you knew him well enough to feel when something was off with him. You had known each other for a long time, and right now he was being off.

And you knew exactly why.

“Come on, it's not that bad,” you sighed, finally moving away from the mirror and stepping out of the shoes.

There was only one bed.

He arched a brow at you and rolled his eyes. “The hell it is. We're supposed to play brother and sister and we're sharing a bed?”

You snorted at his tone—speaking as if it would jeopardize the whole operation. 

“Look, even if anybody thinks anything of it, I refuse to believe it'll become a problem. We'll just roll with it,” you reasoned nonchalantly.

“What?” he mouthed in disbelief. “Roll with it? I—” he cut himself off, brows knitted tightly as he ran with hands over his face.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction and folded your arms as you leaned against the wall. “I'm sure we won't be the first incestuous couple residing in Buttfuck Arizona.”

You were clearly making him uncomfortable and you were having way too much fun with it.

Tim seemed to be looking anywhere but at you. You wondered if it was the one bed or the way you looked in the dress. You hoped it was the dress.

His jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply through his nose, his mouth set in a tight-lipped twitch. He shook his head when he finally glared at you, quickly turning to unload the gear from your suitcase. "Okay—just… Get your head on straight, yeah? Meeting's set in twenty.”

***

You winced as Tim tightened the string working through the flesh of your upper arm, the hand that wasn't holding the needle holding your shoulder in a firm grip. The pain was nothing you hadn't experienced before, but his touch made you hyper-aware of every sensation in your body. Including the heat rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Stay still,” Tim ordered, his steely blue eyes focused on his patchwork as he closed the wound and bandaged it for you. “Let me know if there's any discomfort.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, your tone lower and shakier than you expected it to be.

The deal had gone sideways, but not completely off the tracks. Tim seemed worried that your cover was blown but your instincts told you not all had gone awry—you had been caught in a knife fight with your target's enemies. While the target fled the scene and bullets ricocheted, you and Tim secured the gangsters before heading off, too, leaving the rivals disabled for when backup swooped in. You had convinced Tim the operation was not compromised—that if anything, you had substantiated your cover.

Tim went out to pick up some food and you jumped in the shower, careful not to ruin the work Tim had just finished on your arm. By the time you finished up, Tim returned with a plastic bag and you ate on the bed. You could practically feel the tension in him radiating from his body and though you tried to tune it out, there came a point where you could no longer stand it.

“Look, if you're that worried about it, we can call it off,” you proposed. “I trust your gut so if you feel like something's off, we just pull the plug. Check-in's in an hour.”

Tim looked up with a furrow, appearing confused by your suggestion. It had crossed your mind that the ordeal with the rival gang earlier on was not the only thing pressing him—the whole situation probably made him uncomfortable.

While you were used to undercover work, he had really only dipped his toes into the world. You had known each other for years; you've had drinks far into the morning, deep conversations, and seen each other adapt to life's challenges. You knew he felt comfortable around you, and you felt comfortable with him, but it made sense to you that this whole scene was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

Your jobs forced circumstances where you worked together, but you had never been entangled in a situation where either one of you got seriously hurt. It was one thing knowing someone you cared for could find themselves in a dangerous situation at any given moment; a whole other when you're present and see how things go south in a matter of seconds.

Tim shook his head, swallowing down a bite of his burger. “You've done this kind of work a lot longer than me, it's your call.”

It bothered you a tad, him showing you unconditional trust in a life-or-death situation. If he really thought there was the slightest chance you had been made, you would rather have his honesty.

You chewed your lip instead of the fry in your hand, watching him quietly, trying to read him. In all the years you had known Tim, he had always been stoic, his warmer traits only showing once his guard had been breached. While he wasn't exactly an open book, he was always blunt on his opinions—just not now.

It had to be more than just about the operation. 

“We'll do the check-in to let them know we're good. We can revisit in the morning.”

Tim bobbed his head but didn't look at you.

You arched an eyebrow at him, deciding to switch topics. “So… you wanna flip a coin on the bed?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “No, you take it. I can make myself comfortable on the floor.”

Your brows knitted together and you gave him a quizzical look. “What? You sure—I mean I certainly prefer sleeping cozy, but it doesn't feel fair to just—”

“Doesn't matter. You take the bed. I'll be fine.” he insisted and finished his meal, wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

Tim scrunched the trash together and threw it in the bin before locking himself in the bathroom.

You sighed and drank from your watered-down soda.

Tim planted his hands on the counter in front of the bathroom mirror, letting his head fall to level with his shoulders as he exhaled deeply. He cursed himself for agreeing to this operation.

It was one thing to know you got hurt, and another to see you suffer injury on his watch.

This is what you do, he reminded himself. You are used to this.

Tim was angry with himself for letting this get to him, although he was more disappointed that your - well, your character's - blatant flirting with the criminals bothered him in such a way—his blood boiling whenever someone looked at you with primal urges.

He had no right.

Even worse he was disgusted with himself for entertaining the thought—how your acrylic nails would feel scratching the skin on his back, how your soft and supple flesh would mold in his palms, how your glossy lips would whimper soft mewls, and how your lashes would flutter shut in bliss.

Tim inhaled sharply, clearing his throat, and turned on the shower. The splashes that hit the tiles added a backdrop to his obscene thoughts while he rid himself of his clothes, goosebumps forming on his skin.

He stepped into the downpour, leaving the shower head attached to the clasp in the wall. Tim subconsciously held his breath as he let the water burn his skin, feeling the need to inflict pain on himself to clear his mind. Regardless, the scorching sensation passed and soon enough he gave in and pumped his aching cock in his hand.

When he had showered - and shot his load down the drain - he put on a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a white shirt before walking back into the room.

You had already gotten under the covers, your eyes focused on the open page of your book. You had put aside two blankets and a pillow for Tim to make use of. The TV was on low volume, viewing a baseball game, and the remote was left at the end of the bed.

Tim’s jaw clenched and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, seeing how you had laid out this display for him to feel comfortable when he had just jerked off thinking of you in a way friends were not supposed to.

He made a spot for himself on the floor, leaving his watch and handgun beside the pillow.

“You made contact?”

“Yup,” you replied softly, turning the page.

Tim hummed in response and settled on the hard floor cushioned by one of the blankets. When you felt his attention focus on the television, your absentminded gaze left the book and you watched him instead.

Even in a relaxed position, he maintained his characteristic rigid demeanor. Your gaze was caught by the broadness of his frame and the way his shoulders appeared constrained by the white fabric that hugged them.

Tim didn't seem too invested in the sports channel and soon he turned it off, lying down. You followed suit and put your book away, turning off the bedside lamp with a small grunt.

“You can read on if you want,” he said lowly.

You chuckled as you got comfortable in the bed, head leaning over the edge just enough to watch him from above. “Is that your way of telling me you're scared of the dark?”

A huff left his still body, and a grin pulled at your lips and although it was too dark to see, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You laughed. “Yes, sir.”

You weren't sure for how long you had laid there before you began feeling restless. Instead of merely zoning out, your mind seemed to focus on every little detail. Outside the wind was ominously howling, a windchime clinking soft pitchy notes, and Tim seemed fixated on every little sound, whether it was a car door shutting or you turning in bed.

The silence inside was tangible, and you could practically hear Tim's mind running at a hundred miles per second.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he turned on the floor with a grunt. Initially, he hadn't thought it would be that bad - Tim reminded himself he had slept in worse conditions while in the army - but now that he was here, the carpet smelled like tobacco and the ’80s pattern seemed to crawl.

He rolled on his back again, draping one arm over his eyes.

You shifted under the covers, the springs creaking beneath you. “How are you doing down there, bro?”

“Don't call me that,” he scoffed quickly, clearly far from sleep and you grinned.

You debated it in your mind before deciding to just throw it out there. It didn't have to be weird. You could literally just not make it weird. “You know, there's enough room for the both of us up here.”

Yeah, that wasn't too weird.

Right?

“What?”

Okay, you had made it weird.

The suggestion made Tim tense up, and his mind did not hesitate to picture the scenario. He knew you well enough to know the offer was innocent, but he couldn't help but imagine things far from innocent.

You chewed down on your bottom lip and tried to joke your way out of the position you had just put yourself in. “Easy, Sargeant—not offering to get handsy, just a side of the bed.”

There was another pause and the air was too thick for comfort. You were quickly coming to regret your offer, wishing the mattress would just swallow you whole before Tim could say another word. It had been a long time since you had been this embarrassed.

A moment later you could hear him move, but you didn't dare look.

“Move, then,” he suddenly muttered, and a shiver chilled your spine—he was already on his feet, so close.

You swallowed and made space for him in the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks when you realized he had brought the blanket from the floor, your subconscious having irrationally convinced you that you would be sleeping under the same.

Tim's movements were almost mechanical as he lied down, and you found yourself shifting further to the edge of the bed, afraid to accidentally touch him.

God, you wanted to touch him.

If nothing else, then just to see his reaction—find out whether he wanted you as much as you did him.

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to slow your breathing as your whole body tingled. You could hear Tim's breaths as well, measured and controlled like everything else he did and it bothered you for some reason. If only he would just slip up, be a little easier to read.

Tentatively, you tilted your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. His hands were folded across his stomach and his eyes were shut, taut muscles barely moving an inch as if it might actually kill him to shift.

Tim couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.

He looked like a damn robot waiting to be recharged.

While this rigid man lay unmoving beside you, your heart was hammering away in your ribcage and your thighs rubbing together like the act might stand a chance of relieving you in some way.

You returned your gaze to the ceiling, breathed out, and rolled onto your side so that your back was facing him.

The thought of what you might feel if you pushed yourself against him made you inhale sharply.

Stop it, you cursed yourself mentally.

You didn't know how long you were laying there, just staring at the wall, but at some point your eyelids finally grew heavy, sleep slowly but surely, pulling you in.

Tim wasn't as lucky.

His mind wouldn't let him get a second of rest with you lying this close to him. He tried to focus his mind elsewhere but he was all too aware of the proximity.

His mind continuously betrayed him, replaying every moment during the day that had made him feel like you knew exactly what you were doing to him—the way you had practically teased him while doting on yourself in the mirror, the way that damned dress hugged your body in ways that made him feel like a fucking schoolboy with uncontrollable hard-ons, the way you had flirted with the criminal at that meeting and the way it made him feel possessive in a way he had no right to.

Then you had offered to share the bed with him, making it sound so casual like you knew it wasn’t the worst thought you could have had—reigniting the idea of “getting handsy” in his already spinning head.

You had to know what you were doing to him.

He felt like a coiled wire about to snap; like the subtle heat radiating off of your body threatened to burn him alive.

Then you shifted.

A tiny, barely noticeable movement so small he might as well have imagined it.

But then it repeated, this time accompanied by a small sigh.

In your sleep you inch closer to Tim, instinctively seeking a warmth the covers fail to provide you.

At first, it's just your foot grazing his calf, but then you rolled over, closer to him, and your knee bent so that it rested on his thigh as you nestled deeper into the mattress.

Tim tensed and held his breath, his entire body going rigid beneath the sheets.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you continued shifting, moaning as if displeased, and rolled closer, molding your body against his side as if it belonged there.

He knew he should pull away—you're asleep, completely unaware of what you're doing. But it really did feel like your body belongs this close to him. Tim can't make himself move.

But then your hips moved, ever so slightly, and it didn't feel so innocent anymore.

Tim couldn’t think straight, his head spinning, conflicted. He was as still as a statue, stiff and unmoving. You sighed, soft and breathy, content and utterly unguarded against his body, his scent filling your lungs with safety.

Worse is when you murmured his name in your sleep. Though barely a whisper in the quiet room, it slipped through the cracks and under his skin, searing Tim from the inside out.

Before he could stop himself his hand moved down, ghosting over your hip to see if you would stir, if this was real. It was the faintest touch and while you didn't flinch, Tim was spiraling at the feeling of the curve of your body hiding beneath the cover.

His hand tentatively weighed down on your hip, ever so carefully feeling you in his palm. He froze when you shifted again, but you only pressed further into his touch and his breathing stuttered in response.

Another content moan escaped your lips, and Tim's jaw locked while his fingers clenched in reflex, tightening his grip on your hip.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat and your spine went taut as Tim's grasp pulled you from your semi-asleep state.

Your lashes fluttered against your skin and for a moment you were afraid to open them fully, fearing the man whose scent had captivated your dream might not be real.

But Tim was very real and very close, the warmth of his hand seeping through the cover and into your skin, branding you.

It took you a moment to separate imagination from reality, but when it sunk in, you melted completely.

For a moment neither of you spoke, the darkness of the room swallowing everything bar the feel of one another. The creaking bed might as well have been a cloud, peacefully floating about in the dark of the night.

Tim felt captured as your gaze studied his features, your hazy eyes full of something he didn't dare assume, but could only hope.

“Tim—” you breathed quietly, lips quivering with the unspoken, and Tim's heart ached at your voice; a raspiness, a hesitance.

He knew he should pull away, apologize, do something, but he couldn't move or say a thing. Not with the way you looked at him with desire in your eyes and your bottom lip caught under your teeth.

You didn’t pull away, you couldn’t and you didn’t want to, and judging by his hand still holding onto you, he didn’t want you to either.

You weren't entirely sure what was happening, lust and warning bells waging war in your mind, but your primal needs took over and your hips did an experimental grind.

A curse slipped from his lips, low and guttural, and he exhaled your name, a confirmation that he wanted you as much as you did him. Tim's digits dug into your hip, his stormy eyes latched onto yours as he swiftly moved on top of you, bracing himself with a strong arm beside your head—

And fucking hell it was spinning.

His lips were so close, his warm breath ghosting your skin, raising goosebumps. Your chest heaved heavily with each breath but instead of the air entering your lungs it was only him.

Another second passed and it was one wasted not on Tim, so as the next ticked in you closed the space between you completely, pressing your lips against his in a feverish kiss.

Tim's sturdy body molded against yours, his rough palm sliding up to cradle your cheek as he kissed back with an eagerness resembling your own.

All that had pent up in the course of the day, or perhaps for longer, was released then, your bodies syncing to become one in the dark of the night.

Sighing against his warm lips, you allowed your hands to find purchase on his shoulders, feeling around for any inch of revealed skin. Your fingertips slid under the sleeve of his t-shirt, tracing the hard lines of his flexed muscles, and your other hand snaked up to the back of his neck.

You could feel yourself getting more heated by each second, hungrily licking into Tim's mouth as you allowed yourself to be completely engulfed in everything him. 

In turn, Tim worked on removing the blankets separating you so that your bodies were flushed. 

When you felt his frame pin you and his erection press against your sex, you gasped into his mouth, every stolen glance, every flirty comment leading up to this moment, suddenly sparking every nerve ending in your body alive. Feeling his undeniable lust for you made your world tilt on its axis, making this feel overwhelmingly real. And yet, it was somehow not real enough to convince you it was not merely another fever dream. You needed him inside you, to claim you and to fill you up, to leave marks on your skin that would linger in the morning.

You bucked your hips against him, pathetically trying to relieve yourself with some sweet friction.

A low groan vibrated against your wet lips and he held your waist down with a rough grip, squeezing the exposed flesh.

You whined, looking up at him with doe-eyes. “Tim, I wanna feel you.”

“You will,” he promised, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear making you shudder and writhe.

His stubble tickled the sensitive flesh of your throat and his mouth suctioned the skin, tongue pressing and teeth scraping, quickly contorting the pout on your face into a breathless moan.

Tim's hand brushed past the waistband of your shorts and panties with practised ease, and when two long digits dragged through your wet folds, another breathy moan escaped you.

“Fuck,” Tim cursed as he felt how wet you were for him, watching your reaction with dark eyes as he dipped the fingers into your needy hole. “Tell me—did you have a little dream about me?”

Your jaw went slack, lips parted in a silent gasp, as he slipped two fingers into you, knuckle deep. No sound escaped your throat, but you couldn't exactly stop the wet squelch coming from your wet cunt.

His palm guided your face back to his, stormy blue orbs searching for an audible answer. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath. “S'that why you've soaked yourself? Were you havin’ a little dirty dream ‘bout me?” Tim's fingers sunk back into your sobbing pussy.

“Yes,” you finally exhaled shakily, eyes rolling back as he slid his torturous fingers out and back in, curling them against your gummy walls. “F-fuck—yes!”

“Was it the first time?” he quizzed, clearly pleased with himself and—well, you were very pleased with him, too. He planted a chaste kiss just below your ear. “Hm? Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Ye-yeah,” you hummed, your mind barely grasping the words he spoke, everything a hot haze. “Sometimes… when I touch myself.”

“Good,” Tim murmured, scissoring his fingers into you while leaving feather-light open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

You shuddered, biting down on your wet bottom lip, focusing on the contrast between his delicate touch tracing down your collarbone and his fingers stretching you deliciously. He lifted your shirt, exposing your breasts and you moaned as he sucked on the soft flesh above your perked nipple.

Clamping down on his long fingers, you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Breathing shallow, eyes rolling to the back of your head, Tim picked up on the clues.

“Let go for me, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “I got you.”

Tim continued fingering you through your orgasm, pumping slowly but purposely as you creamed around his digits. Thighs shaking involuntarily, hands struggling to hold on to anything, you cried out a shaky moan. Riding against Tim's hand, you clawed at his neck as you came down from your high, quivering lips teasing his.

“Attagirl,” praised Tim and softly patted your jaw, prompting you to open and he shoved his fingers down on your tongue. Barely out of your daze, pussy still throbbing, you moaned around his digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth when he pressed his erection against your thigh. “Shit.”

Tim pulled his fingers back out and hungrily licked into your mouth, tasting the honeyed essence on your tongue.

Your hips bucked against his hard cock, greedy for more. Looping your arms around his form, you turned him over and straddled him, the creaking of the mattress emphasizing your needy movements.

Tim inhaled sharply, large hands squeezing your waist, pressing you down against his clothes hard-on.

Steely blue eyes that looked to be brewing a storm watched you intensely, loving how fucked through you looked after just one orgasm. Hair disheveled, lips plump, neck and cheeks flushed.

Grinding down on Tim you sighed, leaning down to kiss him passionately, acrylics poking into his chest where you found purchase. You were still out of breath, but you didn't care—oxygen was no longer what kept you alive, he was.

Moaning your name, Tim felt a wave of heat rush over him, veiling him completely in your scent and desire. He could hardly believe this was happening. One thing was you dreaming, moaning his name and letting him care for you; a whole different kind of reality was you grinding down on him, rubbing your sweet little cunt over his rock-hard, twitching cock.

Tim's jaw clenched when you reached down to free his neglected erection, an inhale getting stuck in his throat as the feeling of your soft fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft.

He was heavy in your hand, certainly bigger than what you would consider average. Thick and veiny girth with an angry head leaking precum. Swiping your thumb across the weeping slit, you brought it between your lips, moaning at the salty taste.

Tim hissed and sighed your name, hips bucking upward, eager for you to sink down on him. He was getting impatient and you could feel it in the way he held you, so you drew his throbbing cock against the soaked fabric of your panties.

His grip tightened in warning before he spoke in a low tone. “Don't be a brat now, sweetheart.”

You choked on the chuckle you emitted when you pushed your panties to the side and lined him up. Pushing the angry head between your slick folds, forcing an intrusion— “F-fuck, Tim,” you cried out, sinking down on him.

The stretch was intense, a sharp pain that shot into your abdomen, but you tried to ground yourself in the moment, focusing on where you were—on an undercover mission with a colleague, a friend, a man you had suppressed your attraction to for all too long.

You inhaled deeply, your hands falling to where his were placed on your hips, guiding them up to your breasts as he allowed you to accommodate him. Doing an experimental squeeze around him, he cursed and you began moving.

“You're so big,” you shuddered, leaning forward so that your bodies were flush, grounding you, cupping your hand against his clean-shaven jaw. “Feel so full of you, Tim.”

Sinking back down on him, you began to feel the pleasure overpowering the pain, the stinging stretch becoming absolutely delicious as you felt how your walls hugged him, clinging onto him. A wanton moan rasped from your throat as you sunk back down on him, reveling in how your cunt molded to fit around his thick girth.

Picking up a comfortable rhythm that had him rubbing against all the right spots, you met his gaze, salacious eyes staring back at you through layers of desire.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he admitted coarsely, breaths heavy and jaw slack. “Ridin’ me like you were made for me—fuck… Sweetest girl, you feel so good around my cock.”

His praise settled in your chest, pulling at your heart's strings. Clashing your lips against his, you picked up your speed and Tim's hands squeezed at the soft flesh of your asscheeks, resting there, helping you keep the rhythm steady.

Your tits bouncing against his chest, ass slamming down on his thighs, and your tight, juicy pussy sucking him in—Tim prayed to God this was not the last time you would ride him.

The sexiest moan you had ever heard reverberated from Tim's chest, the sight of the strings of your slick attaching to his pelvis as you bounced bringing something resembling primal instincts out of him. A ring of your milky cum circled his engorged shaft like a pearl bracelet, hugging his base and making a complete mess on him.

“Shit, baby—I won't last long f’you keep going like that,” Tim rasped, but made no sign to stop you. A breathy, self-satisfied grin escaped you but it contorted into a moan when Tim's thumb began drawing tight circles on your bundle of nerves. He pulled you down by your hair, fingertips rough yet soothing against your scalp. “S'that what you want? Hm? Wanna milk me for all I'm worth, yeah—go ahead, sweetheart. I'll fill you up,” he coaxed.

The pressure Tim applied to your throbbing clit made you whimper pathetically, though it was barely audible over the obscene moans and slapping sounds of wet, sweaty skin-on-skin contact.

The muscles in your thighs were burning from the strain but you didn't dare stop riding him, needing him to fulfill his promise of filling you up with his seed.

Tim showered you with praise, spurring you on as he noticed how your moans crescendoed. His thumb rigorously rolled against your clit, hips bucking up and fucking into you as he chased his own orgasm. “That's it, baby—come around my cock.”

And the brink was no further away than that.

You came, pussy clamping down on his rock-hard cock, pulsing walls practically massaging Tim's thick shaft.

You desperately tried not to get sloppy, wanting him to fill you, but you were a moaning, writhing mess, and your movements stuttered.

Tim wasn't one to break a promise though, and he fucked you through your orgasm, cock relentlessly fucking into your crying pussy. Incoherent pleas for him to fill you with his cum tumbled from your lips, and he didn't leave you begging for long.

With a final thrust, hot spurts of his seed painted your velvety walls, Tim's swollen cock pulsing against your insides.

Breath heavy, panting, you slowly slid off him, limply falling on his side, barely grounded as the high wore off. Tim's large hands supported you, one cradling your cheek, thumb caressing the warm skin, while the other dragged between your legs as he whispered reverent praises.

“You did good, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered and you whimpered when he scooped his leaking cum from your pussy and made an effort to push it back in. Lacking the strength to do more, you merely nuzzled your head deeper into his embrace, and he pulled you closer. “Does that mean we can do this again?” you asked, somewhat sheepish.

Tim's chest rumbled with a chuckle and he placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “Of course, but you have to let me take you out on a date once we get back.”

The butterflies in your stomach began flapping their wings harder. “Deal,” you agreed with a tired smile and kissed his collarbone.

[brawberryz]

touch me i scream

Batfam Yan! × Elizabeth Afton!Reader

《Platonic》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error / I don't know if this could be considered "neglected" reader since the negligence is only on Bruce's part, so maybe)? / FNAF AU!

Tw: child neglect, abuse, child murder, murder, maltreatment, yandere behaviors , self-harm, brief mention of suicide, isolation, knife use, toxic relationships, domestic violence, brief mention of drugs, psychological abuse, manipulation, dark themes

Weird

That's how you could consider your life, it was quite strange and boring, you always spent your time at home

Summer vacation had started and all you could do was stay home

You didn't have any friends, you only had your brothers

Your life was quite lonely, the only one you trusted too much was Damian

But these last few months he was behaving in a strange way, he had dark circles under his eyes and he never slept

The only times he did was for a short time, he seemed scared most of the time

Every time you got up in the early morning to drink water you found him crying on the floor of his room

He said he saw monsters, terrifying versions of the animatronics your father built

Those nights you used to accompany him so he could sleep but even so his paranoia didn't stop

A lot of blame was also because of Jason, he kept scaring Damian with that stupid foxy mask

You had tried to defend him but still Jason never he stopped

He always found a way to scare Damian

Richard had been the only one who managed to stop Jason's pranks

He was the older brother, he was hardly ever home before because he spent his time with his friends or at university

But since your mother disappeared he had to take care of all of you, he had to be a mother and father at the same time

Because he knew that Bruce didn't care about any of his children, sometimes you wished you could get away from here

Escape far away from this stupid "home", it stopped being considered home years ago

Your "father" who didn't even deserve to be called that, was an idiot and violent

At night you could hear your mother crying, she always fought with Bruce

It was normal for them to fight, and your father didn't mind hitting or insulting your mother

Richard tried many times to defend your mother from Bruce But the only thing he earned was a hit

You didn't understand why your mother She never fought back, she just accepted the blows and insults

But one night, you couldn't sleep because of the screams in the kitchen, they were fighting again

You slowly got out of bed to go spy, you wanted to know what was going on

It was a little weird that your parents were fighting at this time of night, you got a little closer to the door

Not enough, but you could barely see anything

The last thing you could hear was your mother screaming as she begged Bruce not to do it

You ran scared to your room, you could barely process what you saw

Your mother's screams and pleas were still in your head since that day

You hated yourself for never being able to tell what you saw

But your fear of ending up the same way as your mother prevented you from doing so

That day you realized what kind of monster your father was

You hated him so much, too much

You hated having to Seeing his face every day, you hated him touching you or just giving you a hug

You felt like gagging just thinking about him, he was the most reprehensible human being ever

And you hated him more for what he had done to Tim

Tim was your father's assistant, he used to work at the pizzeria with him

He also used to be a security guard at night

You could consider him a friend Even though he was much older than you

Sometimes you used to accompany your father to work and those days you took the opportunity to go talk to him

When you went back to accompany your father to work you looked for Tim all over the pizzeria, then your father told you that Tim had decided to quit

You frowned, you knew he was lying

He always lied, you just nodded pretending that you understood

Until one time your father asked you to take out the trash at the pizzeria, he said it would be good if you were useful for something

You just accepted it, a little offended by his comment. As you walked out the back door and put the trash in the bin, you saw something strange in a bag.

A little disgusted, you put your hand inside the trash and pulled out an identification plate.

But it wasn't just any old one, it was Tim's.

It had some dried blood stains, the blood didn't look old, it still had that red color.

You swallowed nervously and you felt like gagging. You fell to the rough ground and small tears fell from your eyes.

Someone you cared about had disappeared again and you couldn't do anything, absolutely nothing.

After that day, the streets of your neighborhood were full of "wanted" posters with Tim's face.

His parents were devastated by the disappearance of their son. He was so young and had a secure future.

Your father gave his condolences to Tim's parents.

What a hypocrite.

That was the only thing your head could think. Maybe you were just a little girl. but you understood much more than others would think

I hate you, Bruce Wayne

_

You officially hated this family

From one day to the next your brothers started acting weird, a few days ago you met a boy

They were the same age and he was your first friend in a long time

But as soon as they found out you made a friend they went crazy

Richard didn't let you go out alone anymore, and he sent Jason to keep a close eye on you

You could barely get close to your new friend without Jason giving you a murderous look

And because of that you had lost a friend, he was the first one you had

And he was gone, then you had a talk with Richard

He tried to justify himself saying that that boy wasn't a good influence

Why do you need friends when you have your brothers? They are much better than anyone you could ever meet

Also Damian had been clinging to you too much, his paranoia was multiplied by a thousand

You thought that this paranoia was because of those "pills" that your father gave him

You knew that they were not sleeping pills, those pills made him hallucinate

Bruce wanted to destroy each one of his children, and then he was going to rebuild them the way he wanted

Who would think that you would be his next victim, too bad things didn't go as well as he thought

_

Your father's new pizzeria had opened to the public, "Sister location"

This time he opened the pizzeria without Clark's help, the two of them used to be best friends

Bruce and Clark opened the first pizzeria together, but since the death of Jon his son everything had changed for him

He had fallen into great guilt and depression

The death of his son and the unexpected divorce with his wife had left him in a bad state

He had decided to withdraw from the project

Leaving Bruce alone, and it was something that didn't bother him either

He had gotten what he wanted, he had already gotten Clark and his stupid morals out of his way

Your plan was almost complete, he had justice on his side

He had made sure that not a single policeman suspected him, you could say that he was about to commit a perfect crime

_

You found yourself crying on the floor, your cheek hurt from your father's blow

You had decided to enter your father's study without permission and spilled coffee on his plans

Bruce had become furious, you tried to apologize but it only made his anger grow

"Can't you do something right!?"

You could only look down as more tears fell from your eyes

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it, it was an accident..."

Bruce sighed angrily before forcibly lifting you off the ground and telling you to get out of his studio

You just nodded scared, running out the metal door

You hated this, sometimes you just wished you could die

You didn't want to be here, you wanted this to be over once and for all

_

You walked through the aisles of the pizzeria, your cheek still hurt

Your tears had dried but your hate and sadness were still there

Your body stopped as soon as you saw Baby

The animatronic that your father had made for you, one day you gave him a drawing and he used that as inspiration

That day you were so happy, for the first time you had felt your father's love

Too bad this was a trap disguised as a gift

You entered the shameless room where the animatronic was

It seemed strange to you that it was separated from the other animatronics

As soon as the animatronic detected you, its eyes sparkled

"Baby..."

The animatronic's name came out of your lips, your eyes sparkled with happiness

After a long time you could finally see it

The animatronic's stomach opened surprising you

A small ice cream came out of it, it was your favorite flavor

You thought that your father had made it just for you

You approached slowly, your arm getting close to the ice cream

You could barely react when the claw pierced you and threw you towards the animatronic

A scream of pain was heard throughout the room, you felt your ribs breaking and your organs being crushed by the claw

The last thing you felt was your bones being destroyed as you completely entered the stomach of the animatronic

The animatronic barely caught your body inside its stomach when it turned off, her task had been completed

The only thing left in this bloody scene was the blood on the floor and the stomach of the animatronic

That day the innocence of another child had been snatched away by Bruce Wayne's claws

And this time the victim was his daughter

A small tinkling in the eyes of the animatronic illuminated the empty and dark room, they had changed color

The same color as your eyes

_

Bruce had gone to He checked the animatronics, he thought they had completed their mission

He was very surprised when he found your body crushed between the wires of baby

At that moment something changed inside him, you weren't supposed to end up like this

If one of your brothers had ended up like this he wouldn't care much, but you?

Yes, he was a horrible father but there was a part of him that cared about you

But he also discovered something, remnant

Your body had produced that

Also your soul had merged with the animatronic, it was something he realized when he saw baby's eyes

That day he had fallen further into imminent madness

But everything has its end

_

Richard sighed tiredly as he parked his car in front of the "Sister location" store

It had been a year since everything happened

Too bad your death wasn't the only incident that happened in the family

Since your death Richard began to neglect his other brothers, guilt consumed him and he had no one to vent to

Also the jokes had increased on Jason's part, and he had begun to take it out on Damian

And his jokes began to become more dangerous

until one day on Damian's birthday Jason decided to play one last joke on him

He decided to put him inside the mouth of one of the animatronics, too bad not everything went well

The animatronic's jaw ended up crushing Damian's skull while he asked Jason to get him out of there

That had marked Jason forever, he had fallen into a deep depression

Your death and Damian's death filled him with guilt, he had killed one of his

He was a murderer

After a time of depression and self-harm Richard found him hanging in his room

Richard's mental state began to worsen, it seemed as if the world was against him

His life was full of misfortunes

The only thing that kept him afloat was a little voice in his head that told him not to give up

It sounded just like you

Then Bruce decided to disappear by moving somewhere and only leaving a farewell note

From time to time he sent Richard money but he had to work so as not to end up on the street

Because Bruce cared very little about his safety

Until one day Bruce called him, told him to go to sister location

He was going to refuse until Bruce confessed everything to Richard

You were there, or well

Your body was there, he told him that you died because of an animatronic and that your soul and body were there

And the only way to Freeing you was going back there, that was the only thing Bruce needed to tell Richard before he grabbed all his things to go to that abandoned pizzeria

He sighed nervously as he approached the pizzeria, he had lost you years ago

And the guilt continued to eat away at him

But this time he had another chance and he had to do whatever it took to free you from that hell

But it was just a trap, a trap disguised as hope and sweet lies

Your soul had been corrupted and the only thing left was hate and resentment

Resentment for the hate of the man who did this to you, the purple man

I hate you Bruce Wayne

But this time I will have my revenge, we will have our revenge

I am not afraid of you anymore, not anymore

reuploaded because for some reason tumblr deleted it lol

[justaghostwithbones]

This is so beautifully articulated. I alternate between sprinting forward to moonwalking back… sometimes years. Sometimes I take up residence in that bygone time, and wallow in trying to change it, while imaging I don’t know how that storyline tragically ends. Sometimes I sprint forward then; start building the blocks of the life that I want. I’ll get it partially built… and then… and then… and then… I’m back in the past again, somewhere else this time. Trying to prevent a different moral crime.

But for just about a month now, I’ve held still (with a moment or two of those springs to half-build things; though instead of running backward, I just pause). I’m learning to crawl. I’m building those skills.

(CW: death, grief, suicide, animal death)

Something I’ve learned, so painfully, through so many genuine tragedies—the death of my little family: first my husband of almost ten years… then the first dog we adopted together (and even the people who hate it when others compare human children to pets would fully vouch for the fact that I showed my guys more love and sacrificed more for them than many human parents of human kids), who died spontaneously in my arms from a condition that couldn’t be screened for. He didn’t suffer, it was fast. I wailed when I felt his last breath. I had never felt something die before and it rewrote some of my DNA. I never wanted to outlive my dogs, and I couldn’t believe I had to. I had these primal screams of rage at “God” for everything I had already lost, but my baby deserved peace from me, even if he wasn’t really “there” at the moment, so I swallowed my rage and I held him for over an hour. Talking about everything he was and everything he meant and all of the people he had inspired with his spunky personality as a rescued dog who had done some time in the streets. I pressed my forehead against the top of his head and health my breath, unable to accept he was gone. I listened to songs with his fuzzy, sweet body cradled close to me while I kissed his face.

His “big” brother, whom we adopted a year later than our first guy, but was triple his size deteriorated quickly, and after torturing myself with data and research, I looked into his eyes one day and knew that he was asking me for help. He’d been to veterinary specialists several times in the previous few months, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. It was just age. He was a large breed dog who was at least 14. They kept telling me I couldn’t have done more. I knew the only help I could give him was to let him go. So I made an appointment and planned for him to pass peacefully under a tree my late-husband planted. I took him to the place where my husband and I got married. I gave him all of the carbs he wanted (once he got into the double digits, he felt he earned the right to snag food, and he never met a piece of bread he didn’t love). I took pictures of him against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in the summer. I slept on my husband’s side of the bed (because he slept in a raised bed my husband built for him there), so I could pet him all night, every night I still had him. That gold-hearted guy ended up passing two days before this wonderful vet service was scheduled to come to my house… he still couldn’t fully let go, so they made an emergency visit, and he ultimately died in my arms on my late-husband’s side of the bed, after a couple hours of me laying with him and telling him stories and playing him songs and mapping out his irises like they would be my compass, because I had to no idea how to navigate life without his protective instincts. Because I didn’t know if my bones had another loss in them. I silently begged for his wisdom and felt so selfish for not being able to stop time and reverse biology and get more time with him. He loved my husband much more than he loved me, in the beginning, and there was some real poetic beauty in where he chose to let go—he didn’t get up on the bed regularly at that point; he hadn’t for years. But for a couple hours, I got to thank him out loud for everything that I could remember to say out loud. He licked tears off my face. His tail wagged when my mom arrived. I whispered to him until I felt his heart stop, and continued after.

In under 2.5 years, I lost my husband, my career, my health (I still am not allowed to work due to my disabilities), and my babies I’d “raised” for 12, and 11 years, respectively. And I haven’t moved forward. The only reason I’m still alive is that… those weren’t my only two babies. Months before my husband died, he fell in love with a puppy we stumbled upon unintentionally while picking up something from a pet store. We didn’t know there was an adoption event held that day. So just over 5 years ago, now, we adopted a puppy. By now, he’s a “legitimate” service dog (cardiac training), and my best friend and confidante. There have been so many nights where I’ve wanted to unsubscribe from earth but just look at him and know he couldn’t live without me. He is my tether to now, and he is how I’ve navigated losing close family relationships (I didn’t suffer the loss of my husband, career, and babies in a way that was palatable for some people. I didn’t do anything crazy, they admit. I just… cried too much. Wasn’t fun to be around. So they didn’t come around. Or call. Or text. I don’t have any real “social media,” so I wasn’t suffering in their face or anything. I just… wasn’t supposed to suffer at all, somehow). He is the reason I’m working so hard in therapy (and have been for nearly 4 years, but REALLY doing painful work for the past 4 months) in the hopes that I will start to want to wake up. That I will look forward to living. That I am determined to find a way to live and not just exist. That I can build a sustainable way to move forward.

But right now, I’m proud of myself for holding still, even when it hurts everywhere and I know all my internal escape routes, all of the ways I can distract myself, all of my hiding spots, all of the ways I can bleed to distract my brain from its selfish existential suffering. But I’m not using them. I’m just holding still, sometimes shakily, sometimes while holding my breath, sometimes through hours of silent tears running down my face.

It’s a kind of poetic irony that I found this person’s beautiful sentiment—that made my neurons start firing in a way that I could write about things I’ve never been able to speak aloud with any level of detail—on the eve of “spring forward” (though I, along with literally everyone else, hates the fact that we can’t stick to either daylight or standard time year round. It’s literally the only thing there’s true consensus about in the U.S.; sincerely); because that’s what I want to do. Maybe in March I’ll only be crawling, but it’s still forward motion. Because I know I won’t make it through 2025 if it’s like 2024. The world is getting worse and I have every excuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I refuse to do the same. The world is getting worse so I am going to get better.Not perfect. Not perfectly. Tearfully, painfully, tragically, better. I’m going to keep the coffee dates adults pretend to make. I’m going to meet the neighbors I’ve lived near for 13 years. I’m going to learn how to exist among tragedy without feeling tragic. I’m going to learn to tell the stories of what I’ve lost with the aim of learning to gain things, not as an excuse for why I don’t ever even dare to want anything because I know so deeply the pain of loss. I want to grieve, but not be the physical embodiment of grief. I want to learn how to want things. I want to learn how to say that I want things. I want to learn what I like to do. I want to learn how to find joy and not just be busy.

I want.

how do you reconnect to life after being disconnected for so long

[81pastrys]

Thunderstorms Means Cuddling

Summary— It’s bedtime, but there’s a thunderstorm that worsens by the second. The Sainz babies decide their papa’s bed is the safest option.

Warnings— none

A/N— Viviana and Carlo as toddlers is prob my fav thing.

Translations:

‘Mi hijo’ - son

‘Buenas noches’ - goodnight

‘Los amo a ambos’ - I love you both

It had been raining all day, but nothing too bad. Carlos had put the two kids to bed and finally got to shower and relax in peace. Well for about an hour. The storm escalated into a thunderstorm.

“The kids are asleep mi amor.” He talked with his wife on the phone. She had gone to see family for an emergency. “The storm is getting worse though.”

“Don’t be surprised when you have two little ones on my side of the bed.” She chuckled. He chuckled with her, messing with the beautifully made bed. “I should be heading home soon, I think my mom will be alright with my sisters.”

“Stay as long as you need! If she needs you, stay.” He said. He was fine with the two kids. They could be a handful at times, but hey kids are kids. They finished their call and he climbed into his side of the bed. He saw the flicker of lightning before he heard it. It was loud that the house shook.

On the opposite side of the house, Viviana had gone into her brother’s room for comfort. “I’m scared Carlo.” She shakes with anxiety, wincing when the house had been shaken by another strike.

“Should we go see if papa is awake?” Carlo asked, scared himself. He hid most of his worries while around his sister, as to keep her calm. When she nodded they both got out of the bed and tiptoed to their parent’s room.

Carlos looked to his door as it creaked opened. He smiled seeing his two kids standing one behind the other. “Come in.” He said, barely audible over the rain. They look at each other before joining Carlos in his bed. Climbing on either side of the man.

“Papa I’m scared.” Viviana said again, this time confiding in her father. Carlos pulled her closer to him. She cuddled into his side more. His warmth resonating to her.

“It’ll be okay, just a bit of rain vivi.” Her older brother said, cuddling into the opposite side of Carlos. “Right papa?” He looked up to his father who gave him a smile.

“Si, mi hijo.” He responded before kissing their heads. “Buenas noches, los amo a ambos.” The rain continued on throughout the night. Thunder hitting from far away, yet still loud enough to cause the house to vibrate. Before sleep claimed them, Viviana gripped onto her father’s shirt and he rubbed her back.

I need more inspiration, send requests if you’d like ;)

[arc-misadventures]

The Bro Code

Ren: Oh, I'm so glad to be home!

Jaune: So am I. I know it's not my home, but this place has always felt like a second home to me.

Ren: I'm glad you think so. We'll be spending our time here at my mothers place, is that alright?

Jaune: That's just fine. Can you tell me about your family again? As confusing as mine family is because of my dad, yours just baffles the mind.

Ren: My mom is a human, and so is my dad.

Jaune: And, your sister is a god...?

Ren: She is the latest reincarnation of my villages guardian, the spiritual deity know as the, Emerald Dragon.

Jaune: Okay, and how did that happen? Did your mom sleep with this, Emerald Dragon, or...?

Ren: The Emerald Dragon has always been a female, so she didn't impregnate my mother!

Jaune: I'm sorry! I don't mean to imply anything, it's just... that can happen.

Ren: ...

Ren: I-Is that how one of your sisters...?

Jaune: No, but certain dragons can change genders, so...?

Ren: ...

Ren: The Emerald Dragon reincarnates into the child of any woman whilst it is in the womb. When my sister was born she came out as part dragon, signifying that she was the latest host of the, Emerald Dragon.

Jaune: Ahh... Now it makes sense. It's weird, but I've heard worse.

Ren: Okay, but Jaune there's something we need to talk about before we see my family.

Jaune: Which is?

Ren: Don't you dare fuck my sister!

Jaune: Okay.

Ren: I mean it, Jaune I'm invoking the bro code here! So don't even think about flirting with my sister!

Jaune: Okay.

Ren: I may see you as my brother from another mother...

Jaune: And, I too brother!

Ren: But, stay the fuck away from my sister!

Jaune: Okay.

Ren: ...

Jaune: ...

Ren: Okay then.

~~~

Li: Lie! It's so good to see you!

Ren: Hi dad, it's nice to see you too.

An: Renny! Oh my little baby is home!

Ren: Mom, please don't embarrass me in front of my friend...

Jaune: No please! I'm enjoying this~!

Ren: Traitor!

Li: Hahaha! Hello, Jaune it is nice to see you again.

Jaune: It's good to see you as well, Mr. Ren. And, to you as well, Mrs. Ren.

An: Hello, Jaune it's wonderful to see you again. I know, Rin was looking forward to seeing you again.

Jaune: Oh... is she?

An: Indeed she is, why in fact... Oh, Rinny~?

Rin: What is it mom?

An: Ren's home!

Rin: OH, cool that's nice...

An: And, he brought his friend, Jaune with him~!

Rin: J-J-Jaune?! Jaune's here?!

"Crash! Shatter! Thud!"

Rin: Jaune!? Ahem! Hi, Jaune it's nice to see you~!

Jaune: Hi, Rin it's a pleasure to see you too.

Rin: So, Jaune you interested in doing anything later~? Like say taking a walk by the pond... the lily pads are in bloom...

Jaune: Oh, that sounds lovely! Would you like to accompany us, Ren?

Rin: Eh...?

Ren: I would love to!

Rin: Oh.. oh no you didn't... !

Li: Well before we go do that, Jaune.

Jaune: Yes?

Li: To the bath with you. I'm sorry but you, Valians tend to stink when you get all sweaty.

Jaune: Considering my family I could also add a number of other reasons why, but I would greatly appreciate that! The last bath I had was mostly to clean the gore off my gear. Of which my armour also needs a thorough cleaning... Well then, off to the bath!

Li: Please follow me, Jaune.

An: I'll go start supper while you do so.

Li: Thank you dear. Jaune, follow me?

Jaune: Lead the way. Ren, are you coming?

Ren: Yes, I'll join you.

Rin: Wait, can I talk to you before you go, Ren?

Ren: Sure what is it sis?

Rin: And they're out of sight...?

Rin: Okay good!

"Pow!"

Ren: OW?! What the hell, Rin?! Why did you punch me in the face?!

Rin: To tell you that I don't give a shit!

Ren: ...?

Ren: About what?

Rin: About your fucking bro code! I've been waiting for months for, Jaune to come by again so he smash my sacred treasure again! And, no one, not my mother, my father, my brother, and not some fucking stupid bro code is going to stop me! You understand?!

Ren: But... but the bro..?! Wait... Again?!

Rin: Shut the fuck up! I'm going to fuck that blonde Adonis, and if you try to stop me, I will fucking barbeque you! You here me?!

Ren: ...

Ren: Okay...

~~~

Jaune: Ahh... This nice...

"Splash."

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, hey, Ren the waters... Why do you have a black eye?

Ren: Jaune... You may sleep with my sister... again...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay...

[nosyrobin]

Lucky Artistic Charm

——————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | I.Riding Pays | II. The Gray Side | III. Nerdy Tactics

Previous on…Yandere!Batboys

Next class is Art, ah yes the peacefulness of creating the art inside of your mind and into the world. You smiled a genuine smile as you went to the 2nd floor of the school and into the class.

Sitting down, you let out a fresh breath of air.

Nothing can go wron—

"Hello, [last name]."

And it can.

When you turned to your left, there sat the worse of them all.

Damian Wayne.

Present time. Time: 10:30 am. Date: Wednesday , 7th, 20XX.

“What are you doing in my art class?!” You exclaimed at the tanned boy who sat with a smug smirk. “I changed my classes. I would’ve thought you would be scared to come back. But my calculations seemed to prove me wrong.”

Tired of this shit, you get up only to be grabbed with a tight grip. His hand around your wrist, you winced as his green eyes glared you down.

You thought that maybe because you were taller than him, you could just pull your wrist from this little shit. But no, his grip got tighter as you felt like your wrist was about to break.

“Sit down. You don’t wanna cause a scene in class [lastname].” He said lowly with a scowl. You scoffed, stopping your restraining and sitting down. Damian lets go of your wrist, letting you look at the cruel redness around your wrist.

Glaring at him whilst rubbing the sore wrist of you now, Damian pulls out a green sage notebook. The notebook had dots of paint stains. You grumbled under your breath. “Fuckin' asshole.” You pulled out your own notebook that held your own sketches.

As time goes on, surprisingly Damian doesn’t talk to you. He only glances at you, helping you a bit with the model of what the teacher put up o the board. You had trouble keeping the dragon wings big, you looked to your right to see Damian already coloring the damned thing in his sketchbook.

You held back a scoff, you hated that Damian was better in art. He wasn’t even into art when he was little. You showed your mom a simple butterfly picture…. The memory still burns in your head.

“Mommy! Mommy!” You ran to your mother, her blurry face looks at you as she kneels to your height. “Yes sweetie?” “Look what I made!!”

You jumped excitedly as you showed her what you drew. It was a water paint of a blue butterfly you saw in the garden. You were playing with the Wayne brothers before that amazing butterfly came into your view. Making you want to keep it in your mind.

Your mother tilted her head, her cheeks lifting up symbolizing a smile written onto her face. “Oh sweetie, it’s so beautiful…” she takes the paper from you and hangs it on the fridge. “This deserves to be on the fridge!” Your little eyes light up. You felt happy, feeling proud. You didn’t notice the other boys coming in. Dick had grass all over his body due to him doing cart wheels and flips all over the grass.

Dick smiles and points to the butterfly, “Oooh pretty!”

Jason nods as he holds your hand along with Tim. “That looks cool [nickname].” Tim nods as he can’t help but squeeze your hand. “I agree! Love the details.”

“Where’s the antennas. It looks ugly.” Damian blurts out which made his brother’s look at him shock. Your eyes widen, you looked at the butterfly to see that it indeed didn’t have any antennas.

You ran off crying after that, Dick smacked Damian upside his head to which the small boy glared at his older brother.

“That wasn’t nice Damian.” Dick scolds as Tim and Jason also glared at the small boy.

“I was only being critical and telling the truth.”

You never waterpainted after that.

You stopped spacing out when you felt a sharp pinch to your side. You hissed as you jolted from the hand that pinched you to look at the culprit.

Damian pulls his hand back, crossing them onto the table. “Are you coming to the manor?” He asks, as if he didn’t just pinch your skin off.

“Why?”

“Because, father and pennyworth haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to know if you are well.” Damian answers as if that was the was whole answer itself to your confusion.

“…No.” You turned away from him and went back to finishing the class sketch. Moving your hand around as you finished the wing detail. But when you looked at the head, you noticed how there weren’t any antennas.. you added some, letting a soft smile reach your face.

“Why not. Why won’t you come, we’ve been awaiting for your arrival to show your disgraceful face and this is how you deny my offer?” Damian grits his teeth, jaw clenched as you turn back to glare at him. Guess the demon is now showing his horns.

“How about you shut the fuck up and leave me alone. You’re such a little shit and have been yapping my ear off to me for way too long. Someone outta slap the shit out of you.” You retorted, clenching your hand that held the pencil and your jaw.

Damian’s face went red, his face puffed up as he looked like he may explode. Your eyes widen before you even register this. “Uh-oh—” your hair got pulled hard, making you fall off your chair as Damian held a tight grip onto you. “Get off me you little shit!” You swept your leg and knocked him down. He lets outs a small “oof”. The clatter of chairs and kids gasping shock made the teacher turn back to see you ontop of Damian and Damian below you pulling your hair more.

“Mx. [lastname]!!? Mr. Wayne?!” The teacher pulls you both off each other. Your face having a small red mark, the same to Damian who smirked. Waving a clump of your hair to which you touched your head with wide eyes.

“Office. NOW!”

Well at least you can get suspended probably, away from these people…….

You sat by Damian who held his hands in his lap. You kick your feet back and forth, you glanced at Damian who looked calm.. too calm. You sighed and turned to him.

“Damian.. I’m sorry for cursing at you..and calling you a little shit.” You said softly, fiddling with your fingers as Damian looked at you. You couldn’t even tell if his eyes softened or hardened. His face is so neutral it’s scary.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have tried to force you to come to the manor…it’s just..”

Your eyes widen to see a teary eyed Damian, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of the academy’s uniform.

“You’ve been gone so long.. i was scared that you wouldn’t come and..” hiccups erupt from his chest as your eyes soften. Your heart ached as you hugged Damian into your side. “Don’t cry dames.. I’m sorry okay? I’ll come to the manor, and maybe we can draw and yknow play games?”

Damian nods as he rubs his eyes even more, making them puffy. You sigh seeing he finished crying and now was snugged up against you. His small frame holding your arm as he looks at your fingers…..

Damian couldn’t help but smile, his head facing down as the principal can already seen that you two had made up.

Oh how stupid you are, you didn’t know you’ve fallen into a trap of wolves.

Taglist: @roryroro @elect1z @lil-isha @no-bishes @darkfaethedestroyer @nightblanc @cxcilla @winter-world @cim0nnin @yl90 @enjisthings @gwyneveire @ashleeytrx @nightwinglover101 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @red-phantom-0 @iriseros00 @zenyyyluvyuu @xen-blank @obsessedwithromance @loafersrs @devils-blackrose @not-herexo @nyxisdark @chiarasworldd @apelepikozume @bookwarm0-0 @daffy-the-duck @holyfishbailiffpeanut @kaylp-godly @cheriecelestial @helloitsmeeeeeee @khalinda-ev @vodkaredbullsblog @another-one-writer @tenswife @that-creepy-girl-000 @childofman12 @1jieka @d1nne @alishii @tsuniio @melvin333 @lillian-morningstar @gentlemonstersworld @skullyz1 @eosfung @hearts4mica @sukaretto-n @mxvoid26

[ressjeon]

I tried to make something cohesive.

Date: Yoongi

Genre: Pragma

Row: 9, Seats 2 & 8

Snack: Sour Patch Kids

pairing: prince!yoongi x witch!reader

summary: his return to the kingdom brought many surprises but nothing could've prepared Yoongi the moment he met you.

genre/au: angst, fantasy, drama, soulmate!au, romance

warnings/content: suggestive themes, implied smut, mentions of alleged witch hunts

a/n: and i appreciate you very much for doing so 😭 i badly need to turn this into a oneshot, i was battling on how to shorten this for the longest time so i apologize for it being this late. today is also the 25th birthday of my dearest @agustdakasuga, ilysm bb 🥺

☞ part of @btsgoldnetwork’s two hearts, one love valentine’s day event in 2022 🎞💓

🍿 bangtan theatre presents: impossible 🍿 purchases for movie tickets and snacks are now closed!

For the longest time, Yoongi refused to believe in soulmates. It didn't matter when the people around him seemingly found their match. His older brother, the crown prince, has wedded right away as soon as he found his soulmate. Meanwhile, Yoongi hasn't found his, leading him to believe that it must've not been real at this point.

More like he gave up on waiting for his own soulmate.

The thought of finding his perfect match used to daunt Yoongi since he was little. Even if his parents were also united through the bond, Yoongi was having a hard time believing it was through being soulmates alone. There has to be another way but at that time, he was pretty open to the idea.

His parents have talked a lot about how they met, how they felt the instant connection even before the marks appeared on their skins. It used to excite Yoongi a little because both his parents and his brother found theirs quite early on in life.

As time goes on and Yoongi still hasn't found his soulmate now that he's in his late adulthood, his hope of finding her decimates.

"son, do you have any good news now that you're back here in the kingdom?" his father queries, curious if Yoongi had found his other half while travelling across foreign lands.

"no, father" he tries to sound indifferent but his father quickly recognized the defeated look in his eyes.

"perhaps it's time to consider other options?"

The king had no ill intent but it had an effect on Yoongi, pronouncing his current predicament to the table. His mother looked at him with worry so he smiled at her curtly, hoping it's enough of a response for now.

"if you'll excuse me, i'd like to explore beyond palace grounds"

His father nodded and Yoongi immediately exited the throne room. He feels suffocated all of a sudden, wanting to be away from the palace for a breather. He hopes that exploring the rest of the kingdom will ease his mind for the time being until he figures out his answer to his father's question.

.

Agreeing to take over your aunt's stall for today means that you'll have the chance to see the town market once and for all. She had prohibited you to leave anywhere farther than the house for the fear of your life.

Because of what you are.

Your aunt is the same and has trained you since your gift came into fruition when you were a child. She raised you like her own when your parents passed, part of the reason why she's overprotective over you. Up to this day, you had suspicions that it may be related to your mother being a witch but your aunt has rebutted your theories each time you ask.

That was probably why she tasked you to look over her stall while she's away for an important trip to the neighbouring kingdom. She didn’t give any details but you saw the fear in her eyes and the urgency in her voice.

Everything has been great so far. You've lost count of how many people you've met since you opened the stall. Regulars of your aunts came by to visit and were pleased to finally meet you. Some customers are tourists who are looking for immediate herbal remedies to refill their supply.

However, one particular customer has caught your attention while attending a group of travellers. He's wearing a cloak but your eyes are glued to his form due to the way he's moving seamlessly through the crowd.

It's also because you felt a slight sting on your left rib as soon as your eyes spotted him. He couldn't possibly be..?

"are you alright, miss?" one of your customers asked and a feigned smile graced your lips.

You've finished up the transaction at a lighting speed, eager to talk to the hooded man from afar even though you have no idea how to approach him. You'd have to check where the pain is to make sure but by doing so, you could lose track of the man and you can't let that happen.

.

Yoongi sees someone approaching him and curses internally, hoping the person would not recognize him. It shouldn't be possible unless they work with his family since Yoongi does not leave the palace grounds often growing up.

"would you like to try our new herbs today? it's of no cost" the woman smiled at him and Yoongi was taken aback. You don't recognize him or maybe you do and this is just a pretence.

It’s a common tactic but there would be no harm to take one if it would get you off his back. Besides, he's here to explore his own kingdom and has never noticed the stall you’re in until now.

He didn't say a word and followed you, asking him to try other herbs on display and he nodded. He has not really looked at you again since your first encounter, noticing that he avoids eye contact even when you converse with him.

"i'll fetch something from back if you don't mind"

"not at all" he replied curtly, scouring the glass bottles on the pile.

You hurriedly look for a mirror, untying your corset to check your left rib. There you find a fresh mark on your skin, a sign that you have found your soulmate and it could be the man waiting for you outside. 

Immediately rushing to go back and invite him to return went better than you expected.

"we have a new brewery every week so feel free to visit again!" you smiled enthusiastically, hoping he'll accept your invitation. This is the only way you'll get to know him without outright telling him that he's your soulmate.

You don’t want to scare him. He smiled at you for the first time and relief pours through your veins.

"i will"

.

Yoongi has visited the stall every week ever since. He doesn't even know why but it's a good excuse to get out of the palace whenever his parents corner him about his next plans. You don't ask why either  and he feels comfortable with you, finding it fascinating how you have so much energy in everything but never seem to point it to his way.

As for you, convincing your aunt after he returned from the said trip had not been easy. There are unspoken rules you follow but you can’t be cooped in your hut any longer.

You've argued but in the end, she lets you be despite her fear.

"there must be a reason why you suddenly want to take over the market now" your aunt teases but you dismiss her. You want to keep the whereabouts of your soulmate as long as possible. The time will come when they will meet, not while you’re still testing the waters.

When he revealed his name to you, that's when you knew that it's the proper time to show him how you feel. You're hoping that you haven’t been that obvious but Yoongi's little smirk when he thinks you're not watching tells you otherwise.

"i haven't been honest with you" you start as you pour the tea on Yoongi's cup.

It's been a few weeks since you first met him and the both of you developed a routine of having tea time after he chooses the herbs for the week.

"as am i" he declares after finishing his cup. There is hesitance in his face and the waver in his voice only increases the swirling thoughts in your mind.

"what.." you reply, a bit nervous that you almost dropped the porcelain teapot that Yoongi brought as a gift.

"why don't we both say what we need to reveal at the same time?"

You nodded and took a deep breath after placing the teapot on the table. Looking straight into Yoongi's eyes, the fear of him finding out what you truly are diminishes when you see the nervousness in his gaze. 

"i'm a witch"

"i'm a prince"

Silence rules after the declarations of your true identities to one another. You're just staring at each other's eyes, your gazes doing all the talking. The eyes are windows of one's soul so you hope that Yoongi can clearly see what he means to you. His eyes were unreadable at first but as the silence went on and the familiar gummy smile appeared on his handsome face, you realized that nothing will change between you. 

.

Yoongi's dreading meeting you today. He couldn't say no when you sweetly ask him to meet somewhere to have a proper brunch other than the areas around the market. He should’ve felt the opposite of what he’s feeling but instead, his chest tightens of what he’s about to do.

"i won't be able to meet you anymore" he whispers and the smile on your face vanishes.

“is it because i am merely a witch, your highness?” your defeated voice threatens to break Yoongi's composure. He knows how his words hurt people. He never should’ve let it go this far.

He's already trying to hold himself up because of the stinging he feels on his shoulder.

“n-no. forgive me but i must go” he mutters, his face wincing and in any other circumstances, you'd notice right away but you're too broken to do so after hearing his scathing words.

He's leaving you because of what you are. Being a witch must be the only reason because you genuinely thought he felt the connection too. Granted he was distanced at first which is valid and you understood more after knowing he’s a prince.

Had you known that your soulmate would eventually break your heart with the truth, you should've held on to the truth longer.

You’ve clearly misread him, thinking he was different, that he saw things eye to eye and understood that being a witch was not something you chose to be.

“you cannot even look me in the eye?”

Yoongi can't because not only will he take back his words but his focus is on the person he recognized from the palace staring at you both. He spotted them right before telling you what he’s here for. He cannot let his parents find out that it could be you, not even this way. 

This is what he feared since giving up on waiting for his soulmate. 

Why he was hesitant to confirm the connection in the first place.

"i am to be wed fortnight as of today. that was the reason why i wanted to talk to you" he rushes as he stands up, clutching his upper arm and that's when you notice.

That’s also the other reason. He’ll be dragging you with him if he keeps holding on you and that will put your life in danger. He hasn’t even met your aunt yet, the one who you talk to him about often and he’s already exhibiting an unpleasant impression. 

"meet me again once last time, a sennight from now before the bell rings, then i'll leave you be"

Without giving any indication if he'll show up or not, Yoongi leaves and you finally break down into tears. It crushes the prince to leave you but he knows right then and there that he has to leave you for your safety.

He hopes that you know him truly by heart, what his answer is. He had to leave that way to make sure you won't leave first. Who knows how many people from the palace are around witnessing the two of you together.

Yoongi enters his room right away as soon as he arrives, tearing his clothes off and sees the mark on his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. If that person reports to his parents what he saw then..

"your highness, his majesty, the king and the queen request your presence in the throne room" the guard outside his chambers announces and he closes his eyes. 

He was too late.

Knowing his parents, there's a slight chance that they already figured out Yoongi's secret. His mother can read him like an open book and even though he’s been avoiding them, the Queen sees that as an answer to their questions.

"who is she?" his father starts and Yoongi keeps his face collected.

"someone i commissioned for a recipe, father" his voice was void of anything but that’s clearly not enough.

None of his parents obviously bought his excuse and Yoongi's running out of things to say.

"what family is she from?" his mother adds.

"i do not know, mother"

"enough of this talk. we shall have your wedding sooner to avoid any of these nonsense rumours circulating around”

The new date is more than a week from now, which means a day or two after the time you asked to see him. Yoongi knows that he'd have to marry the princess from the neighbouring kingdom but he doesn't know what to do.

All he wants right now is to see you.

.

"i shouldn't be here" he grunts, finding it hard to stop himself from roaming his hands around your body.

Yoongi is scared. He has been since he locked eyes with you the first time you met. Even before the mark on his shoulder emerged, he knew that the only way for him to be married with another is for his soulmate to die.

The bond had to be broken and his parents began the hunt as soon as Yoongi refused the offer. He tried his best to intercept the information being delivered to his bride to be’s family but he overheard from the servants that his father ordered to confine him in his chambers.

That’s when he knew that he had to flee to make sure you’re safe.

"hey, you're here with me alright?" you tug him to bring his attention back to you.

He’s worried no matter how much he hides it. The bond doesn’t exactly pinpoint but you feel the weight in his chest and that was enough.

"it'll be alright my prince. answer me one thing"

"anything"

"do you feel it?"

"since the day i first met you"

Your heart melts to know that he felt the same thing when you first saw him. Maybe that’s how soulmates are supposed to work, to feel that instant connection on your first meeting. 

He accepts what you are. He didn't think lowly of you like you initially thought.

You’re sleeping soundly beside him and Yoongi couldn't stop staring at your face. It's a miracle that he's even here with you, he got lucky that he escaped the palace grounds tonight with the help of servants that held an affection for him. 

He rakes down your bare figure, committing everything in his memory just in case he won’t be able to see you again. His eyes continue to roam until they spot the marks on your ribs. With his callous fingers, he traces it delicately, causing you to squirm a little.

He waits until he hears your breath even again, afraid that his touch woke you up.

.

"then be with me" you groggily call out to him, fighting your slumber. Your ears caught some rustling and woke up out of instinct, finding Yoongi preparing to leave.

Again.

"i can't"

"why? you don't know what i can truly do. i can protect us, i'm powerful enough so we can go far away from here yoongi" you try to convince him but he won't meet your eyes.

Yoongi has broken too many royal rules by meeting with you again so he's torn with your offer to elope.

But how would the two of you live then? His parents are going to retaliate by punishing you and your aunt. They won't even have to do it directly because aside from the bounty, revealing your true nature of being a witch would make townspeople do the job themselves without a cost.

And Yoongi wouldn't be able to do anything but watch.

He has to make a choice, to be selfish or to be selfless? Can your soulmate bond truly withstand all the challenges that you're both going to face together? It’s not that he undermines your abilities but you’d essentially be running for your lives, desperately yearning for that freedom to be together.

“with or without your powers, i am with you always” 

He’ll always be terrified of what tomorrow may bring but none of it matters so long you’re by his side. 

.

e/n: fr i might re-write this and expand cuz 😩 thank you regardless for reading!

[bradleysass]

Pretend - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 804

“Sirius, can we pretend to be close brothers for once?”

Sirius is halfway through lighting a cigarette when he hears the words. His fingers slip, the flame flickers out, and he turns, finding Regulus standing stiffly in the doorway of Grimmauld Place’s decrepit kitchen.

His first instinct is to say something sharp. Something about how pretending implies they aren’t, in some way, still brothers, and how that’s just so like Regulus—to act like their bond is a lie rather than something broken. But there’s something in Regulus’ voice. Not cold. Not resigned. Just... tired.

So Sirius just leans back against the counter, flicking the lighter open again but not igniting it. “Alright,” he says after a pause. “What do close brothers do?”

Regulus shifts his weight like he’s second-guessing this whole thing. But then he takes a step forward. “They talk.”

Sirius snorts. “Well, we’re already doing better than we did as kids.”

Regulus rolls his eyes but doesn’t retreat, which Sirius counts as a win. He gestures to the chair across from him. Regulus sits, looking down at his hands like he’s about to confess a crime.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Is this where you tell me you’ve been secretly killing people in your spare time? Because I have to say, that would be—”

“James,” Regulus blurts out.

Sirius freezes. Then he groans, tipping his head back. “Oh, come on.”

Regulus tenses. “Forget it.”

“No, no, you dragged me into this,” Sirius says, rubbing his temples. “I thought this was going to be about existential dread or Mum’s voice in your head or, I don’t know, how much you secretly love the family tapestry. But James?”

Regulus scowls. “Never mind.”

“Nope, we’re doing this. Close brothers, remember?” Sirius leans forward, leveling him with a look. “What about James?”

Regulus exhales sharply. He’s gripping his own wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. He doesn’t answer immediately, but Sirius is patient, for once.

“…I don’t know what to do with it,” Regulus finally mutters.

Sirius’ brows furrow. “With what?”

Regulus flicks his eyes up to him, and suddenly Sirius understands.

“Oh,” he says, exhaling. Then, “Oh.”

Regulus clenches his jaw. “Say something.”

Sirius whistles low. “Well, first of all, ew.”

Regulus glares.

“I’m just saying, ew because it’s James.” Sirius holds up his hands. “But alright. Let’s be serious—no pun intended.” He leans on the table. “Are we talking can’t stand him but think about him all the time kind of thing, or I have written his name in my diary kind of thing?”

Regulus scowls. “I don’t have a diary.”

Sirius smirks. “So the first one, then.”

Regulus stays silent, but his fingers flex like he wants to hex something. Which, for Regulus, is as good as a confession.

Sirius lets out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, well, here’s the thing. James is… James. He’s loud, he’s ridiculous, he’s frustratingly kind, and worst of all—he’ll probably love you for it.”

Regulus flinches. “That’s the problem.”

Sirius studies him, then lets out a quiet oh. Because of course that’s the problem. Regulus has never known what to do with people who care about him. He was raised in a home where love was conditional, where affection was earned, and now he’s faced with James Potter—who loves so recklessly, so freely—and it terrifies him.

Sirius softens. “Reggie.”

Regulus glares at the nickname, but Sirius ignores it.

“I know it’s scary,” Sirius says, more serious now. “But you don’t have to earn it. He’s not a test you can fail. He just—loves. And for some gods-forsaken reason, it looks like you’re on the receiving end of that.”

Regulus swallows. “I don’t know how to…” He trails off, frustrated. “I’m not like you.”

Sirius scoffs. “Oh, thank Merlin. If there were two of me, the world would be in flames.”

Regulus gives him a flat look.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Look, you don’t have to be me. You don’t have to be anyone but you. And if James likes that—you let him.”

Regulus exhales through his nose, still looking unconvinced.

Sirius leans back, smirking. “And if you ever break his heart, I get to kick your arse.”

Regulus lets out a quiet, reluctant huff. “I’d like to see you try.”

Sirius grins. “See? We’re already getting the brother thing down.”

Regulus shakes his head, but there’s something lighter in his expression. He stands up, nodding once. “Thanks.”

Sirius nods back. “Anytime.”

Regulus turns to leave, pausing only once at the door. “And Sirius?”

“Hm?”

Regulus hesitates. Then—so quietly Sirius almost doesn’t catch it—he says, “You don’t have to pretend.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Sirius staring after him, cigarette long forgotten.

For once, Sirius doesn’t feel the need to say anything.