#no like he didn’t even mean for this to happen

[kashverse]

can i request babykuna when she was still a lil babyyy, like 6 months and up?

let’s travel back in time back to the peak of babykuna’s reign as a tiny, drooling dictator.

back when sukuna was a new dad.

and yes—of course, he was the type to be found in the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his custom-made linen shirt, a baby strapped to his chest as he whipped up a batch of cookies for you. because even as a feared businessman, sukuna is still your man, and that means making sure you get your damn freshly baked cookies. but babykuna? she doesn’t care about any of that. she just wants to chew on something. 

so naturally, she chooses to drool all over his shirt. like, so much drool, it's actually impressive. sukuna glanced down at her, unimpressed. “you done?” babykuna smacked her tiny hand against his chest and slobbered more onto the fabric. 

“figured.” he didn’t even bother wiping it off, just kept stirring the cookie batter like it wasn’t even happening.

but bedtime? bedtime is when sukuna’s entire personality softens. babykuna is snuggled between the two of you, looking so small in the middle of the giant bed, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of sukuna’s shirt. and sukuna? he watches her with the softest expression, rubbing slow circles against your hip and back because he knows you're exhausted.

but it doesn’t stop him from taking business calls while rocking her to sleep.

“if you pull that shit again, i’ll ruin your entire reputatio—”

a tiny sniffle cut through the tension.

“—n,” sukuna continued, unfazed, “and you’ll never recover.”

the poor bastard on the other end of the call was silent for a long moment before stammering, “are… are you holding a baby?” sukuna narrowed his eyes. “focus on your problems, not mine.”

but the real challenge? getting babykuna to say ‘papa’. because, listen—he’s worked hard for this title. and he wants to hear it. every single day, without fail, he leaned down to her and grinned. “say papa. paaaapa.”

babykuna stared at him.

“c’mon, princess. you can do it.”

she opened her mouth. sukuna leaned in closer, expectant. and then she burped.

sukuna blinked, then slowly leaned back.

“…okay, that was actually impressive.”

babykuna giggled like she just dropped the sickest punchline of her life. you, watching from the side, smirked. “well, she kinda said something.”

“don’t patronize me.”

[mixingandmelting]

Grocery Shopping

Summary: he goes grocery shopping with you for the first time

A/N: Damian's a little shorter considering his age and it would become a whole fic on it's own to talk what would happen with him 😂

Dick:

It’ll be fine, he said. Things will still go well, he said. He tried everything with you, keeping your hands in his, linking arms, keeping you between the cart and himself.  No matter what you both did, without fail, he ends up getting separated from you, quite tragically he might add. Now look at him, benched on one of the benches in the middle of the store in the result of getting lost who-knows-how-many-times from searching for you in the sea of people (all puns intended). 

Okay, so maybe he should’ve listened to you about never going to the store on the last day of sales. And all the other rules he had brushed off when you told him. However, he didn’t think the store would be  this  jammed packed with people treating it as a battle ground. There’s not a single villain in sight. No signs of foul play. Yet there’s civilians elbowing each other, fighting with their lives on the line.

“Is this, you know, normal???” 

“What do you mean? Have you ever shopped for groceries before?” 

He lets out a puff of air in frustration. This was supposed to be a couple’s date. One of those cozy-esque ones where he gets to spend more time with you in a normal setting. 

But It’s okay. He’s okay. You’ll be back soon and he’ll at least get to cuddle with you when waiting at the line that snakes from one to another corner of the store. Right? So let’s just hope no else finds out about this.

Cue his phone vibrating. Please don’t be what he thinks it is. Please don’t be what he think it is. He opens the text. 

… Dammit all. 

Of course it’s Tim asking if the person on the bench was him. Who else would attach a low res picture that’s obviously from the security camera ? In the group chat of all places too. Slowly he places his phone in his lap and rests his head on the cart. Never is he ever going to ignore those rules again. 

Jason:

He utterly underestimated the whole thing. He has to physically push and shove through people to take a step forward with a cart. He keeps having mini-heart attacks the second the warmth of your hands around his arm disappears from the fear of losing you, only for you to reappear next him with food and toiletries. At least he doesn’t have to worry about people putting their hands and taking stuff from the two of you as everyone so far quickly got second thoughts as soon as they took a glance at him. 

But the worst part wasn’t this. Rather-

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, pal!”

He leans over the handle, groaning as he rubs his face with his hands. Ugh. Just how many times does this make? Standing back up, he turns around and throws the same glare he’s already given to the five other guys he accidentally bumped shoulders with. And like them, this guy too flinches as he crane his head up from Jason towering over him. Then comes the stuttering “my bad” before booking it with his girl in tow. Tt. Pathetic. 

In his head, he realizes two things: one, you’re always right, and two, never suggest grocery shopping on a weekend afternoon. It explains why you were so irritated when he did and now? He’s going to lose it if anything, ANYTHING, happens at the cashier line (he saw how long it was when entering the store. It’s going to be at least an hour of waiting to even get close to the front). 

“Jason! Hurry up!”

Snapping his head towards the direction of your voice and he has so many questions. Since when did you grab the rest of the groceries? How did you get the other end of the store that quickly? 

With that, he sighs and quickly heads towards you, worried your arms might fall off or you getting hurt in general from how you’re trying to hold everything without dropping a single item. 

Tim:

He’s educated. He’s done his research on grocery shopping and knows the rules and what's in each aisle. So trust him to choose a time where it’s not too early and there aren't a lot of people, in hopes he could fulfill the couple’s goal of having wholesome bonding moments. But of course, putting what’s theoretical into real practice comes with a challenge. 

“Why is the cheese in the meat section?”

“Who places cereal next to the chips?”

“Is it even legal to have soda in the alcohol aisle???” 

This was not what was written on the blueprints. Breakfast aisle is meant to have breakfast foods, snacks aisle having the chips, and for fuck sake, is cheese not dairy? He was already concerned about how easily he cracked through security and accessed the blueprints. Now he’s wondering how in the world this store is functioning at all. There’s nothing special they’re selling nor are the prices cheaper. He genuinely can’t see why this place ranks so high in Gotham among the other grocery stores. 

The only reason for him to stay somewhat sane is your presence. Sticking right next to him where shoulders continually brush against each other whenever you two walk and sometimes placing a hand over his to placate him whenever he’s getting close. He appreciates it at the same time not whenever he catches you turning your head away from him. The tips of his ears burn but at least you’re trying stifle your laughter. 

“Come on, we’re almost done.” 

With a thud, his eyes widen when he recognizes the familiar logo on the case you dropped into the cart. Eyes going back between you and the case, he tears up as he finds out you’re the one that’s been restocking his energy drink with his favorite brand and flavor. He proceeds to nuzzle his cheek against your shoulder, thinking grocery shopping wasn’t so bad after all. 

Duke:

Many in the family other than Alfred don't understand nor appreciate the art of grocery shopping. But him? He knows the rules. Don’t get groceries on a weekend. Buy them in the morning rather than the afternoon. Fresh produce last, boxed and canned food first. Like please, he’s done it so many times that it’s a walk in a park. He even knows the go-to brands and their knockoffs if the store runs out of the former.

Shopping with you, there’s no hesitation when he turns the cart, heading towards the direction of the next destination for the next thing on the list. He weaves through the few people in the store while keeping your hand between his and the cart’s handle. At some point, joining you in inspecting and picking out which of the packaged food and produce to get. 

“Did you get the Spaghetti?” 

“Yeah, but you cool if we get this brand? It practically tastes the same as the other one and it’s buy-one-get-one free.” 

From how everything’s going with a breeze, he does all sorts of couple’s shopping shenanigans with you. Pushing you on the cart with your arms out like Superman, racing you to the end of the aisle. The only “problem” he would say the two of you are having at the moment are over snacks and soda. It started out with him preferring double-stuffed Oreos while you insisted Thin-Mints were better. Then the classic Pepsi vs Coca-Cola. 

“Tell me, are you going to eat my fruit snacks?” 

You’re holding a box of fruit snacks and shaking them in the air, waiting for him to give you the actual answer. So far, he’s been exercising his rights to remain silent by keeping his head turned away from you, shuffling side to side. And it’s helping him win, snorting when you huff and dramatically roll your eyes in annoyance before tossing them into the cart. Nice.

Damian: 

Everyone always assumes he doesn’t understand nor know what grocery shopping is. Oh, but how wrong they are. Grocery shopping with him could easily equate to being on a mission. He goes to your place and wakes you up at 7:17 AM on a Wednesday morning, demanding you get ready to go out while ignoring all your questions and protests about being woken up at an ungodly hour, on a day-off from school nonetheless. It’s as if he’s done grocery shopping his whole life, getting nit-picky over the quality of the fruit and vegetables while checking expiration dates on the back of the box of tea before placing them into the cart. 

It seems as if he’s being inconsiderate, expecting you to keep up with him while he’s trying to get done as efficiently as he can. In reality, he’s only trying to impress you with his vast knowledge and skills. Think of it as talking to someone who can identify fake versus real Prada bags. He’s dropping hints on how to tell if the eggs are fresh or not based on the shells, which bag of onions are the oldest. Comes off pretentious however, all with good intentions. Well, and also to impress you in his skills of knowing how to shop for groceries. But that's meh. 

Don’t think he isn’t noticing you sneaking things into the cart. He’s simply choosing to turn a blind eye to it, though his heart string twings when he recognizes half of them are his favorites. When you come back from who knows where, he grabs your hand and keeps it in his hand without a word, earning a grin from you while his cheeks turn dusty pink.

[heeluvv]

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

pairing ೕ yang jungwon x lee heeseung x cat hybrid fem!reader

genre ೕ fluff(?), angst(?), (slight) smut

warnings ೕ smut, mean hee :(, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, squirting, not member x member (!!)

natty’s notes ೕ mdni, this is not tied to cranky!, hate comments will be deleted.

jungwon had always been soft with you. too soft, in heeseung’s opinion. every little pout, every teasing remark, every dramatic eye roll—you got away with it all because jungwon thought you were adorable. and maybe you were, but heeseung wasn’t the type to let things slide just because you were cute.

“wonnie, you’re spoiling her,” heeseung muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back against the couch, watching as you sprawled across jungwon’s lap, tail flicking lazily. “you let her talk back too much.”

jungwon only hummed, his fingers scratching behind your ears, making you purr. “she’s just playful,” he said, his voice as gentle as ever.

you smirked, turning your gaze toward heeseung. “yeah, seungie, i’m just playful,” you teased, your tone dripping with faux innocence.

but instead of rolling his eyes like usual, heeseung’s expression hardened. “cut it out.”

your ears perked up at the sudden shift in his tone, and you blinked. “what?”

heeseung sat up, his sharp gaze locking onto yours. “enough,” he said firmly, voice steady and dominant. “you’re always running your mouth, always pushing your limits because you know wonnie won’t do a damn thing about it.”

your tail stilled, the usual confidence in your demeanor faltering slightly. “i—!”

“no. you don’t get to play innocent now,” heeseung cut in, his voice unwavering. “you act like a brat and expect him to clean up the mess every time. and he does, because he’s too soft to tell you no.”

jungwon shifted beneath you, his lips parting as if to say something, but heeseung shot him a look. “don’t,” he warned. “she needs to hear this.”

your heart pounded in your chest. heeseung had scolded you before, teased you, even put you in your place a few times—but this was different. there was no amusement in his voice, no playfulness in his tone. this was dominance. this was control. and for the first time, you felt small beneath his gaze.

“you think just because you bat your pretty little eyes and pout, you can get away with anything?” he continued, standing up and towering over you. “you think wonnie’s always gonna be there to save you from the consequences?”

you swallowed hard, your ears flattening against your head. “i wasn’t—”

“don’t lie to me y/n,” he warned, his voice dropping lower. “you do it every time. you push, and push, and push, and then when someone calls you out, you run to him, expecting him to shield you.”

jungwon’s hands on you were still gentle, but even he didn’t interfere this time. because deep down, even he knew heeseung was right.

“so here’s what’s gonna happen,” heeseung continued, his tone final. “you’re gonna cut the attitude. you’re gonna start acting like the good girl i know you can be. and you’re gonna stop hiding behind wonnie every time things don’t go your way.”

your breath hitched, shame creeping up your spine. you felt small, vulnerable, completely exposed under heeseung’s gaze.

“do you understand?” he asked, voice sharp. you nodded quickly, but heeseung wasn’t satisfied.

“use your words,” he ordered.

“yes, seungie,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

heeseung studied you for a moment before finally sighing, reaching out to tilt your chin up. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured, his voice softer now but still firm.

you bit your lip, still feeling the weight of his words.

jungwon finally exhaled, his arms tightening around you. “you okay, baby?” he whispered against your temple. you nodded slowly, leaning into him, still processing everything.

heeseung scoffed, shaking his head. “you’re lucky wonnie spoils you so much,” he muttered, but there was no real malice behind it. just a warning.

because this time, he wasn’t going to let you run away from the lesson you needed to learn.

the room was still thick with tension, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. jungwon’s warmth wrapped around you like a safety net, his fingers tracing soothing circles against your back, his lips pressing soft, silent reassurances against your temple. even with his comfort, though, you still felt small, still felt the weight of heeseung’s words lingering in your chest.

heeseung stood a few feet away, his usual confidence replaced with something more hesitant. his arms were crossed, his jaw tight, but there was no real anger in his face anymore—just something unreadable. something you weren’t used to seeing from him.

after a long moment, he let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “alright,” he muttered. “i could’ve handled that better.”

jungwon hummed, still cradling you close. “you think?” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with quiet amusement.

heeseung rolled his eyes, but he didn’t snap back like he normally would. instead, he stepped closer, lowering himself so he was at your level. his gaze was still sharp, still firm, but there was something softer underneath—something that made your tail flick just slightly.

“look princess,” he started, his voice quieter now. “i’m not gonna lie to you. i meant what i said. you push too much, baby.” his fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “you like to test your limits, and you like to hide behind wonnie when things don’t go your way.”

your breath hitched slightly, your ears twitching.

“but,” he sighed, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip for just a second before pulling away, “i didn’t have to be so damn harsh about it.” you blinked up at him, surprised by the admission.

“i hate seeing you cry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “especially when it’s my fault, princess.” your chest tightened at the nickname, the contrast between his earlier dominance and the quiet affection in his voice now making your heart ache.

“doesn’t mean i’m taking back what i said,” he continued, his tone firmer now. “you needed to hear it. and if you ever pull that stunt again, i won’t go easy on you.”

you swallowed hard, nodding slowly. jungwon pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice full of warmth. “baby, we love you. we just want you to be better.”

heeseung clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “yeah, what he said,” he muttered, then reached out to cup your cheek, his fingers warm against your skin. “do you forgive me, baby?”

“i do seungie,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. heeseung’s lips quirked up slightly. “that’s my good girl,” he murmured, connecting your lips with his, the kiss gently and filled with love. he guided his lips down towards your neck, softly nipping your skin.

“s—seungie…” you whined out as you felt his soft nibble turn harsh now sucking furiously leaving bright red marks.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

tears poured down your face, slipping past your lashes and trailing down your cheeks in steady streams. your ear twitching at the cute names and sounds that seemed to come out of heeseung as his cock rammed into you at a fast pace, too fast at that. your upper body flat against the couch and your lower half arched, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled them back towards him.

your gaze fell on jungwon as he stroked his hard cock at the sight of heeseung slamming into you. he groaned loudly at the sound of your moans, his cock twitching against his hand as he stroked it steadily.

“f-fuck—! just like that baby..” hee groaned as he wrapped his rough hand against your neck, supplying pressure but not to the point to block your airflow. your eyes fluttered back as you felt yourself clench on his cock constantly, at the fast strides hee was going only made you huge tits bounced, the sight of them being wonnie over the edge.

“o-oh—! s-shit! shit! baby..” jungwon moaned his strokes quickened, getting more intense. he couldn’t edge himself any longer as he whined out soft praises for you, climaxing intensively, his hot cum coating his hand.

“f-fuck..princess”

“d-daddy—! i-i can’t!” you whined out to heeseung as you felt your high coming more rapidly, his thrust stuttering as well. “fuck baby..are you gonna cum for me and wonnie?” he grunted against your ear as he gazed up at jungwon, calling him over.

jungwon walked up to you as he settled himself down in the couch, his figure faced towards and in the midst of it he left soft kisses on your neck as his finger circled your clit harshly. “cum baby..show seungie just how good you are..” his touch only sending you over the edge, the orgasm too intense for you to handle as your whole body shook violently.

“oh f-fuck..won- she fucking squirted..” he groaned loudly, his nails digging into your skin as he reached his high as well, hot cum bursting into you, filling you up to the brim.

“that’s my baby..” wonnie praised you as he kissed you softly.

natty’s notes ೕ not sure how i feel abt this, let’s see if y’all like it. (tysm for showing love to my previous post, ilyg <333) anyways hoped you enjoyed !!

[weedpicnic]

I’m gonna derail just a little bit to tell a relevant story but do hear me out; I am 22 years old meaning I only graduated highschool like 3 years ago. I am also Canadian and attended highschool here. I DID go to primary school in America, and at least back then everybody stood for the pledge every single day. Obviously kids of that age aren’t as likely to have any sort of fully formed political opinions as older teenagers so I can’t speak for what it’s like in American highschools.

However the equivalent here in Canada, is that the national anthem plays over the loudspeakers every morning in every school, and we are all expected to stand. When I was in grade 9 I started disregarding this rule. Was this out of pure apathy rather than a particular political motivation? At first, sure, maybe. But only AT FIRST. Did it have consequences? Yes, to me, but eventually to others too. I was caught walking around during the anthem by our vice principal who already had several reasons to dislike me, and he demanded I stand still. He told me I would be pulled from class if I kept walking so I sat down on the ground in front of him while the rest of the song played. At this point it started to feel very political to me at the time, because I have a very strong general dislike for authority, I had been told I had oppositional defiance disorder. I was 14 years old and only just at the very beginning of forming my understanding radicalism/liberation. I would go to protests, why not have my own small form of protest. I didn’t yet know what I know now about canadian imperialism. I would sneer at him and tell him I wouldn’t participate for religious reasons (I am not religious lol.) I basically just knew that the same guy who would confiscate peoples weed and police the bathroom use of trans students was trying to tell me what to do as to police my bodily autonomy and movement, and I did not like that.

So, I started doing it every morning in every one of my classes, even having some of my own peers starting arguments with me about it; and then got sent to the office by an English teacher. This man was gay, liberal, and he basically told me “I know you’re trying to make a point or something, that’s cool, but, not in my classroom. If you’re gonna do that next class you can go do it in front of the office.” This was the same man who was teaching us standardized curriculum about Canadas history of indigenous genocide. This would’ve been in like, 2018.

In 2019 protests began spreading out west in British Columbia about indigenous land rights and the plan to destroy millions of huge, 100+ year old old growth trees in order to build the coastal gas link pipeline. Protesters were chaining themselves to trees until they got bulldozed and being mass arrested. The concept of protest by mass occupation became more prevalent in the media. Activist groups led by indigenous leaders and land defenders were stopping cross country freight and passenger trains by blocking the railroad. In 2020, the unmarked burial sites of thousands of murdered children, victims of the abuse within residential schools, were uncovered. Survivors started speaking up about the violence and trauma that the church and the state had inflicted on them and their family. Priests were getting sent to trial for abuse they had inflicted years and years ago.

Over the years since my freshman year I watched something… interesting happen. More students, sometimes just one or two people, small insular friend groups, but, sometimes the majority of a classroom, would also refuse to stand for the anthem. Some of them said it was because it was 9AM and they were just too tired for that shit (the anthem is a lot longer than the pledge of allegiance lol.) But this meant I no longer got shit for it because they can’t suspend almost a whole classroom of us, right?

I did a “victory lap”/fifth year there to finish up some more courses and by my last days there, no one and I mean literally fucking no one stood for the anthem anymore. It was only a few short years ago that I had been threatened with suspension over doing this, and yet at that point I could not imagine any faculty member having the gal to tell me that I simply had to stand up for the imperialist anthem knowing what we all know now. My apathy had evolved into ideology/ further understanding of what my own actions could mean. What started out of vague distain, a tendency towards disobedience, and a bit of laziness had become a small form of protest that later became the norm among the student community. It was no longer in the hands of the authority figures. And if seeing me continue to do that every day despite sometimes getting in trouble in the earlier years gave even a single one of my peers pause to stop and think about why we have to do this, why SHOULD we have to do this, why should we stand for “our home and native land” that we colonized and stole through violence and genocide, are we really “the land of the free and the home of the brave” if we hid so much of our history for so long, then, that’s not nothing, and it was worth every bit of trouble.

But here’s the even scarier part: my sister is two years younger than me and she attended the same highschool. At some point in her final year in 2023 when I was long gone I asked her what the deal was with that now, and she told me most of the students were standing for the anthem again, and that most of the people her age always had been and usually did. It was pretty much just my grade and older that had been rejecting this en masse.

There are so many studies out there indicating that the younger generation, current teens and young adults, are becoming more conservative at a faster rate. The propaganda machine doesn’t ever just stop because one group at one time and place resisted it. I grew up as someone who is has always been very outspoken and proudly transgender. So I certainly had PLENTY of adults telling me as a teenager, “your generation is going to save the world” and all that bullshit and trust me I fucking hated it. It’s absolutely infuriating and I totally sympathize with powerburials frustration. But I think regardless of whether OP is actually in fact an “embarrassingly aged millennial” (whatever that means lol) giving teenagers ideas, information, resources, big or small, of how to fight back against oppressive power is truly very very fucking important right now. Many of them want to and don’t even know why they want to and that’s okay because they will learn, but they won’t learn and many of them won’t have any place to start without the authority/adults in their life (even if that adult is simply a blog on Tumblr) pushing them in that direction. I didn’t have adults in my real life to materially do these things with me as a teen, I had other trans teens, and I had anger issues, and I had this fuckin website teaching me about communism, decolonization, mutual aid, and direct action.

My school was at the edge of a highway next to a bridge that was essential to connecting the two sides of the city. I would sneak out of class and go for cigarettes by myself and stare into the valley and feel so so angry at the government, at the world, at the medical system, and I would think about all the people who killed themself by jumping off that bridge and wonder what powers made their lives so hard for them, I would wonder if they were like me, and I would feel so, so alone. I would let the sound of the cars on the highway drown my thoughts out. A couple years after graduating I participated in a protest demanding policy reform for climate change and environmental protection that shut down this highway right in front of my high school for the entire day. I was relieved to even see a few of my former peers there, although not that many.

Today I am currently organizing a student strike at my college to demand their disclosure and divestment of funding of the genocide in Palestine. At our first walkout, the dismissal I received from so many of my peers primarily my age and younger was fucking brutal and extremely disheartening, but, we reached a lot of people. We gave people resources to learn about the issue at hand and we strengthened our movement. We will be going on strike in the next year. I have been tirelessly organizing with the help of so many volunteers from my community a fundraiser event tomorrow, which I anticipate will raise a good amount of money for Palestinians, a local food bank, and an organization that helps youth access gender affirming care. If you told that angry kid all those years ago that he would be doing these things today he very well might’ve laughed in your face, he probably would’ve thought it to be a ‘nebulous fantasy’ too.

What I would tell my 14 year old self (who I could even argue only started rejecting the anthem for attention) and what I would tell highschool aged kids everywhere who want to fight fascism and imperialism, is to start organizing locally sooner, trust that you WILL find your people and you will find strength in numbers. start online if you have to, but use these tools to connect with likeminded people in real life. Material direct action is much more important than the symbolism of rejecting participation in something you disagree with. It’s deluded to think that mutual aid and activist organizations in your community don’t exist whatsoever. But as this story hopefully sort of illustrates, symbolism is also important. Start small if you have to but don’t you dare stop there. A tree can’t grow without a seed, so plant that seed and water it. Even if you really do sometimes have to sit there sweating and embarrassed and alone. Because it is ALSO deluded to think the world doesn’t need teenagers to be doing stuff like this lest they become fascist adults as many of my own peers and so much of the younger generation unfortunately now have.

dear usamerican high schoolers looking for a way to resist fascism: sit through the pledge of allegiance.

no getting up. no looking at the flag.

everyone will be looking at you. you'll be sweating like a fucking hippopotamus. your teacher will sternly tell you to get up. you'll feel stupid and that maybe its not worth it because you're just a kid in a classroom. but I'm here to remind you that there are no real life consequences to detention. there are however real life consequences to resisting a thoughtless performance of nationalism.

[calypso-rt]

road trip!

with the insufferable Rafe Cameron

-> Rafe x F!Reader

You should’ve seen this coming.

I mean, first, your car broke down and had to be taken to the shop.

So, when your best friend called in a frantic apology about car trouble, food poisoning, and possibly a minor curse, you knew you were doomed. Flights were sold out, rental cars were booked, and every other friend headed to the wedding was somehow already out of town.

Which left you with one horrifying, soul crushing option.

Rafe Cameron.

You stare at his name on your phone screen like it personally offends you. Your thumb hovers over the call button as if pressing it might burn your skin.

There has to be another way. A bus? A miracle Uber? A very fast bicycle?

But deep down, you know the truth. If you don’t find a way to get there, you’ll be missing out on one of the biggest moments of your friend's life. And there’s no way in hell you’re going to let that happen.

You take a deep breath, swallow what’s left of your pride, and hit call.

It rings. Once. Twice.

Then...

“Wow.” Rafe’s voice is impossibly smug, like he already knows why you’re calling. “Didn’t expect to see your name pop up. What, did hell freeze over? Pigs start flying?”

You clench your jaw, already regretting this. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t even said anything,” he says, which is a lie because his tone is practically dripping with amusement. “So? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You inhale sharply through your nose. Just say it. Rip off the Band-Aid.

“I need a ride.”

There’s a pause. Then, the unmistakable sound of him laughing.

It’s not just a small chuckle. It’s a full-bodied, downright delighted laugh. You swear you can hear him grinning.

“Oh, this is amazing.”

“Rafe—”

“No, no, let me enjoy this. You. You, of all people, need me?”

You press your fingers to your temples. “Do you want gas money or not?”

“Gas money? Sweetheart, I don’t need your gas money. What I need is for you to say it one more time. Just so I can fully appreciate the moment.”

You grit your teeth. “I. Need. A. Ride.”

Another pause. Then—

“Yeah, alright.” He says it so easily, like he wasn’t planning on saying no in the first place. Like he was always going to say yes. “I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all choked up about it. Just be ready.”

He hangs up before you can respond.

You stare at your phone, debating whether it’s too late to back out entirely. Maybe getting a bike wasn’t such a terrible idea.

But then, twenty minutes later, Rafe Cameron rolls up in his car, window down, smirk in place, and the smuggest glint in his eye as he calls out:

“Ready for the best road trip of your life?”

This is going to be a long ride.

...

The first hour is tense.

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of road ahead. Rafe, for his part, lounges behind the wheel like he has all the time in the world, one hand draped lazily over the steering wheel, the other adjusting the radio.

“Jesus,” you mutter as he flips through stations again. “Can you just pick one?”

He clicks past another song. Then another.

“I could,” he says, like it’s a thoughtful decision. “But then how would I find the perfect song to fit our current mood?”

You scoff. “And what mood is that?”

He smirks. “Deep, unresolved sexual tension.”

You whip your head toward him so fast it’s a miracle you don’t get whiplash. “You’re insufferable.”

He laughs. “I mean, you did beg me for a ride, so...”

“Beg is a strong word.”

“Practically groveling.”

“Oh my God, Rafe.”

You sink lower into your seat, face burning in suppressed rage as he chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying every second of this.

For a moment, there’s silence... until Rafe reaches for the GPS and completely ignores the route you mapped out earlier.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demand.

“Taking the faster way.”

You frown. “That’s not the faster way.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t! I literally checked last night. My route is better.”

He glances at you like you’ve personally offended him. “I think I know how to read a damn GPS.”

“And I think you have the directional skills of a blindfolded himbo.”

Rafe scoffs, gripping the wheel. “That’s rich coming from someone who almost got lost inside a Target last week.”

Your jaw drops. “I did not—”

“You called me from the home goods aisle panicking.”

“It was a big Target!”

He grins, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You glare daggers at him, but before you can fire back, the GPS’s robotic voice chimes in:

“Recalculating route…”

You turn to him slowly, a smirk curling at your lips.

“Oh?” you say, mocking surprise. “What’s this? The GPS thinks I was right?”

Rafe clenches his jaw, white knuckling the wheel.

“I hate you.”

You beam. “No, you don’t.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh. Then, before you can bask in your victory, he suddenly cranks up the radio obnoxiously loud, blasting some overplayed pop song.

You groan, sinking into your seat.

...

The gas station is a godsend.

After what feels like hours of bickering, you practically fling yourself out of the car the second Rafe pulls into the lot. The fresh air is a relief, or at least, it would be, if Rafe weren’t right behind you, stretching obnoxiously like he’s never known a single hardship in his life.

“God, I love road trips,” he says, grinning as he watches you roll your shoulders like you’re shaking off his entire existence.

You ignore him and push through the glass doors, the too-cold AC blasting you in the face. The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, and the aisles are stocked with the usual: chips, questionable hot dogs, and enough sugar to give an elephant heart palpitations.

You head straight for the snack aisle, Rafe following too closely behind.

“I’m thinking—" you start, reaching for a bag of your favorite chips.

Rafe makes a disgusted noise.

“Oh, absolutely not.” He plucks the bag from your hands like it personally offends him. “We’re getting road trip snacks, not whatever this garbage is.”

You snatch it back. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely at the bag. “That’s the worst possible choice.”

Your mouth drops open. “Are you insane? This is objectively the best snack in the entire store.”

“Objectively wrong.”

You glare. “Okay, genius, what’s your expert pick?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Beef jerky.”

You actually recoil. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re one of those people?”

Rafe smirks. “One of what people?”

“The kind of people who sit in the car, chewing on some nasty, dried-up piece of cow like it’s fine dining?”

He scoffs. “It’s protein.”

“It’s disgusting.”

He places a bag of jerky in the basket anyway. You dramatically shove your chips in beside it, like it’s a battle of good versus evil.

“What else?” he asks, scanning the shelves.

You grab a candy bar. “This.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow. “That’s just straight sugar.”

“Exactly.”

He sighs, tossing in a pack of peanut butter crackers. “Balance.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are you, my dad?”

Rafe ignores you, moving toward the drink coolers. You trail behind him, still fuming about the beef jerky situation.

He pulls open the glass door and grabs a bottle of water.

You squint. “Water? That’s your road trip drink?”

“Yeah?” He frowns at you. “What’s wrong with water?”

You shake your head in disappointment. “You’re so boring.”

Rafe glares. “Oh, I’m boring? What are you getting, then?”

You grab the brightest, most radioactive looking energy drink you can find and hold it up triumphantly.

Rafe looks deeply unimpressed. “That is going to take years off your life.”

“And?”

He just shakes his head, tossing his water into the basket. “If your heart gives out mid-drive, I’m not pulling over.”

You grin. “I knew you cared.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, marching toward the counter to pay. You follow, watching as the bored looking cashier scans your deeply incompatible snack selections.

When Rafe pulls out his wallet, you immediately reach for yours. “I can pay for mine.”

He tuts, shoving his card into the reader before you can argue. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says, smirking. “You can owe me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Owe you what?”

His smirk deepens. “Haven’t decided yet.”

You cross your arms, but he just grabs the bag of snacks and saunters out of the store, looking far too pleased with himself.

You sigh, trailing after him.

This road trip is going to kill you.

...

The rain starts suddenly.

One second, the road is dry and clear, then, out of nowhere, the sky splits open, unleashing a torrential downpour so intense that Rafe has to crank the wipers up to their highest setting. The world outside turns into a blurry mess of gray and streaking headlights, and even he slows down, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Great,” you mumble, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “Just perfect.”

Rafe barely spares you a glance, both hands gripping the wheel. “Relax. It’s just rain.”

It is not just rain. It’s an apocalypse. The wind howls, trees sway dangerously, and the GPS chimes in, completely unhelpful:

“Rerouting… rerouting…”

Rafe exhales sharply. “Fantastic.”

You frown, glancing at the map. “Uh… I think we missed our turn.”

“We did not—”

Lightning flashes. The GPS glitches. And then, as if the universe itself wants to prove a point...

THUNK.

The car jerks. Rafe curses, fighting the wheel as he pulls over to the shoulder. The rain slams against the windshield, making it nearly impossible to see, but you already know what’s wrong.

Flat tire.

You both sit there for a second, staring at the dashboard like maybe, somehow, this is just a bad dream.

Then...

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rafe mutters.

You sigh, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’ll fix it.”

Rafe’s head whips toward you. “Excuse me?”

You shrug. “I know how to change a tire.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I do!”

He gives you a deeply skeptical look. “Alright, fine. Let’s see it, then.”

You roll your eyes and push the door open, stepping into the absolute nightmare that is the current weather situation. Rain instantly soaks through your hoodie, the wind nearly knocking you off balance as you march around to the trunk.

Rafe follows, watching as you pull out the spare and drop to your knees to inspect the damage.

You try to focus, really, you do, but the rain is relentless, blinding and cold and miserable. Your fingers slip against the wet metal as you wrestle with the jack, struggling to get it in place.

And then, before you can stop him, Rafe crouches down beside you, scowling as he physically moves your hands out of the way.

“What the hell—”

“You should’ve let me handle it.” His voice is low, grumbly, but not in his usual mocking way. It’s different.

Protective.

You blink up at him, shivering slightly as he moves closer, blocking some of the rain with his body.

“I had it,” you argue, but it comes out softer than intended.

He doesn’t look at you. Just focuses on loosening the lug nuts, his jaw clenched like he’s irritated... but not at you. At the fact that you were out here, in the freezing rain, doing this yourself.

The rest of the job doesn’t take long, and when he finally lowers the jack, he stands, reaching down to haul you up without warning.

You stumble slightly. He catches you easily.

For a second, you just… stand there.

Close.

The rain drips from his hair, his hoodie completely soaked, but all you can focus on is the way his hands linger: one on your wrist, the other still at your waist, like he’s making sure you’re steady before he lets go.

It’s… unsettling.

Not in a bad way.

Just in a way that makes your stomach feel weird and your heart do something stupid.

But then he exhales sharply, like he’s snapping himself out of something, and steps back.

“Next time, just let me handle it,” he mutters. Then, before you can argue, he’s already moving, tossing the tools back into the trunk.

You watch him for a moment before shaking yourself off and climbing back into the car.

The ride after that is… different.

Quieter.

Not in a tense, waiting-for-the-next-argument kind of way, but in a way that feels oddly comfortable.

Rafe leans back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually behind your headrest.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel annoying.

It just feels… warm.

Familiar.

At some point, he reaches over to mess with the radio again. This time, when he flips through the stations, you don’t complain. You just glance at him, shaking your head, lips twitching slightly.

He catches you looking. Smirks.

And you don’t roll your eyes.

Not this time.

...

After the flat tire, the rainstorm, and the unfortunate realization that there were no motels nearby, you and Rafe had been forced to crash in the car overnight. Literally. Him in the driver’s seat, you curled up in the passenger seat, both of you grumbling about how much this sucked before eventually passing out.

Now, you wake up to the smell of coffee.

For a second, you’re disoriented, blinking against the golden light pouring through the windshield. Your neck is stiff, your hoodie is bunched in all the wrong places, and the leather seat sticks to your skin in the worst way.

And then...

A voice.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

You groan, rubbing your eyes. Rafe leans against the open driver’s side door, arms crossed, a smug but noticeably softer smirk on his face.

“We’re at a diner,” he says, nodding toward the neon sign outside. “Figured you’d want real food instead of gas station snacks.”

You blink at him. Then at the diner. Then back at him.

And that’s when you see it.

In his other hand: a cup of coffee.

Your coffee.

You sit up straighter. “Wait, is that...?”

He shrugs. “You take it with two sugars, right?”

You stare at him, momentarily speechless.

Rafe Cameron, your mortal enemy just yesterday, remembers how you take your coffee. And brought you one before you even woke up.

“Uh.” You take the cup hesitantly, fingers brushing his for a split second. “Thanks?”

“Don’t make it weird,” he mutters, turning toward the diner. “Come on. I need real food before I lose my mind.”

You follow him inside, still thrown off by… whatever this is.

The place is quintessential roadside diner. Vinyl booths, checkered floors, an old jukebox in the corner playing a song that sounds straight out of a ‘90s romcom. A waitress with a pen tucked behind her ear waves you to a booth near the window.

Rafe slides in across from you, stretching his arms over the back of the seat. “So,” he says, smirking again, but there’s something different about it this time. “What’s the move? Classic pancakes? Or are you one of those avocado toast people?”

You scoff. “Avocado toast? What do I look like, a health influencer?”

He grins. “Hey, you give off the vibe.”

You kick him under the table. He chuckles.

The waitress reappears, flipping open her notepad. “What can I get y’all?”

You glance at the menu quickly before ordering the pancake combo. Rafe orders an omelet, then, as the waitress starts to walk away, he calls out:

“Oh, and... can we get extra syrup?”

You freeze.

You always ask for extra syrup. You were literally about to say it.

You narrow your eyes at him. “How do you...”

He just shrugs. “You like extra syrup. You always complain when there isn’t enough.”

Again, you’re momentarily speechless.

Rafe doesn’t just remember things about you. He notices them.

And now, in the warm morning light, with his hoodie slightly rumpled and his hair messier than usual, he looks…

Less like the cocky nightmare who laughed when you asked for a ride.

More like the guy who fixed a tire in the rain without hesitation.

Who made sure you had coffee before you even woke up.

Who just ordered extra syrup for you.

“Okay, who are you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, “and what have you done with Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe tilts his head, considering. Then, lazily, he smirks. “Maybe you just bring out the best in me.”

You roll your eyes, but this time, it’s harder to ignore the way your stomach flips.

And when the food arrives, when he casually slides the syrup your way before you can even reach for it, you’re pretty sure you’re screwed.

...

By the time you finally pull up to the wedding venue, a sprawling lodge tucked into the mountains, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. It looks ridiculously picturesque, like something out of a movie.

You, on the other hand, look less picturesque.

“I swear to God,” you grumble, twisting around in the passenger seat to grab your overnight bag, “if my hair is permanently flattened from sleeping in the car, I’m blaming you.”

Rafe snorts, shifting the car into park. “Please. You’ve looked worse.”

You turn to glare at him, only to find him already looking at you. Except this time, there’s no evil Rafe smirk. Just… something else. Something softer.

It throws you off so badly that you almost forget to respond.

Almost.

“Thanks,” you deadpan. “That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear before walking into a wedding.”

Rafe chuckles, shaking his head before pushing his door open. You follow suit, stepping out into the cool mountain air.

Up ahead, the venue is already buzzing with activity: people unloading suitcases, music drifting from somewhere inside, laughter echoing across the lot. Your best friend is probably freaking out over last minute details.

And you?

You’re standing beside Rafe Cameron, staring up at the lodge like you haven’t just spent the past twenty four hours begrudgingly trapped in a car with him.

Like you haven’t spent the past two hours noticing little things you weren’t supposed to.

Rafe stretches, rolling his shoulders before glancing at you. “You good?”

You nod, but before you can take a step, he reaches over and tugs your hoodie into place.

It’s nothing. Just a small adjustment, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. But the second it happens, your breath catches.

It’s stupid, really. After everything, the bickering, the bad directions, the gas station argument, this is what gets you?

A two second fix?

But when you glance up at him, there’s something unreadable in his expression. Something that lingers for half a second too long before he clears his throat and steps back.

You swallow. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quieter than usual.

For the first time since this whole trip started, you have no idea what to say next.

So instead, you hoist your bag higher onto your shoulder and nod toward the lodge. “We should… probably go find everyone.”

Rafe nods once. “Yeah.”

Neither of you move right away.

And when you finally do, when you walk side by side toward the entrance, the glow of the venue lights spilling onto the gravel path, you can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted.

Like maybe, just maybe, this trip isn’t over yet.

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

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Discipline (Blue-collar Bucky #2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Brat-taming (Bucky). Edging/Orgasm Denial. Power Play. Overstimulation. Spanking. A sprinkle of Degradation. Nipple play. Dub-con Elements (induced paralysis).

Summary: Bucky made the rules, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break them. And when he does, she’s more than ready to make him pay for it.

Word Count: 5.7k.

note: I just had to do this. Out of all my versions of Bucky, this is the only one who deserved it -so far-.

Also, I know it's unlikely that a simple taser could paralyze him, but come on, play along.

Bucky never planned on coming back after that first time.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a simple, unspoken exchange that neither of them would dwell on. He’d walked into the bakery to pick up the crew’s lunch, and by the time he walked out, his hands weren’t the only things covered in flour. He figured that was it. A lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness.

And yet, here he was. Again.

The scent of fresh bread and warm sugar wrapped around him as soon as he stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed, and he saw her glance up from behind the counter. He didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly when she recognized him, how her breath hitched in that barely perceptible way that made his cock twitch. She recovered quickly, though, offering him a polite, almost indifferent smile, like she wasn’t squeezing her thighs together under that frilly apron, like she hadn’t begged him to fuck her in the back room not even a week ago.

He smirked.

He sauntered toward the counter, tossing his gloves onto the surface with a lazy flick of his wrist. His vibranium fingers tapped against the display case absently as he pretended to glance over the pastries. "You know," he drawled, tilting his head, "I think I'm developing a sweet tooth."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

"Mm." He nodded, dragging his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "Keep finding myself coming back here. Weird, huh?"

She snorted, shaking her head as she reached beneath the counter for the already-prepared order for the workers. "Yeah, real weird. Almost like you have a job that sends you here regularly."

He liked this little game they played, this dance where she pretended his presence didn’t affect her, and he pretended he wasn’t counting down the hours until he saw her again.

"Convenient, isn’t it?" He leaned against the counter, letting his gaze flick over her slowly, deliberately. "Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back."

She rolled her eyes, setting the bag of sandwiches in front of him with a little more force than necessary. "Try not to strain yourself."

He chuckled, reaching for the bag but making no immediate move to leave. Instead, he let his fingers graze hers in a way that wasn’t exactly an accident. She tensed, just for a second, but it was enough for him to notice. He could see it in the way her pupils dilated, in the way her chest rose ever so slightly as she inhaled.

Yeah. She wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to think.

Good.

He stepped back, slow and measured, still smirking as he adjusted the bag in his grip. "See you around, muffin."

And just like that, he was gone.

----

The visits kept happening.

Sure, the foreman had asked him to handle the lunch pickups a few more times, but even when he didn’t, Bucky found reasons to stop by. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he was suddenly interested in croissants. Maybe he was just bored.

The excuse didn’t matter. The outcome was the same.

He’d show up, she’d pretend not to notice him lingering too long, and by the end of the day, he’d have her pressed against a wall somewhere, muffling her breathy moans against his lips.

Not that he was thinking about it too hard.

It was casual. No expectations, no obligations. She got off, he got off, and they both moved on. Just as he told her, the only thing he can offer her at the moment.

So why the fuck was he in front of the community center, squinting at a stupid flyer about free baking classes?

He stood there for a long moment with his arms crossed, his jaw ticking as he stared at the neatly printed words. "Learn to bake! Free classes every Tuesday & Thursday evening! No experience necessary."

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head at himself. This was stupid. And yet…

The class was across the street from the bakery. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to sign up. He’d learn something, sure. Might be useful. But more importantly, he’d get to spend more time with her. And -if he was being honest- he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea of some random asshole getting too comfortable around her in a class full of strangers.

He knew how men were.

And he was the only one allowed to make her squirm.

Bucky smirked, turning toward the entrance with a sense of purpose. This was going to be fun.

----

He had expected her to be even a little flustered when she saw him walk into the class on that first day. Maybe she’d stumble over her words, maybe her eyes would widen in surprise, or -if he was lucky- she’d pull him aside and demand to know what the hell he was doing there.

But she didn’t.

She looked right at him, blinked once, and simply said, “Find a seat, we’re about to start.”

That was it. No reaction. No acknowledgment of their situation. Just... professionalism.

He hated it.

Not that he wanted special treatment. But it irked him that she could turn it off so easily like she didn’t spend countless nights milking his cock, moaning his name like a prayer. It was almost insulting.

So, naturally, he made it his mission to get under her skin.

It started small. Little things.

When she instructed them to knead their dough for ten minutes, he’d lean back against the counter after five and smirk. “Pretty sure my hands are strong enough. You wanna check?” just loud enough for the class to hear, just enough to make a few people chuckle.

If she ignored him, he escalated.

In the second class, when she passed by his station to inspect his work, he pressed the pipping bag in a very suggestive way and smeared some frosting on his hands. Then, he licked a slow, deliberate stripe of buttercream from his knuckle, watching her reaction closely.

She didn’t waver. Didn’t blush. Didn’t react at all.

And that pissed him off.

By the lack of reaction, he knew she was holding back. And if she was holding back, that meant she cared. At least a little.

Which meant he had to push.

By the third class, the students were catching on to his antics. A few laughed along with him, some just shook their heads, but one particular moment set something off in her.

She demonstrated how to pipe pastry cream onto cupcakes and showed them the proper wrist movement. It should have been a simple, uneventful lesson.

Then he had to open his mouth.

“Real delicate touch there, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning forward on the counter,  flexing his forearms against the surface. His voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with mock appreciation. “Bet that comes in handy for other things, huh?” A few students gasped. One let out a choked laugh.

And she?

She froze. Just for a split second.

Bucky saw it, the slight tightening of her grip on the piping bag, the way her lashes fluttered, the flicker of heat behind her composed expression.

But when she turned to him, her face was perfectly calm. And that was when he knew he was in trouble. Because instead of snapping at him, instead of rolling her eyes or brushing him off like she had before, she smiled.

“Oh yeah, it’s actually really, really handy. You’ll see, eventually.”

-----

When the class ended, she just looked at him with a neutral stare. "Barnes, a word? Since you are more than capable, be a dear and help me carry the supplies to the storage room, will you?" he nodded, grabbing almost all the stuff that was already clean into a couple of boxes and followed her toward a dimly lit hallway.

When they reached their destination, the door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the rest of the world in the storage room. The scent of flour and vanilla lingered in the air, mixing with something heavier: the unspoken tension crackling between them like a live wire.

Bucky dropped the boxes onto the floor with a dull thud, dusting his hands off on his jeans before turning to face her. She was already watching him, arms crossed, chin lifted in that quiet, unreadable way that made his hackles rise.

"What do you think you’re doing in my class, Bucky?"

His smirk was instant, practiced. "Learning."

She scoffed. "Don’t give me that crap. You made it very clear what our thing was: fuck buddies, no strings, no extra credit." Her expression remained impassive, but her words hit sharper than he expected. "So why the hell did you sign up?"

Bucky bristled.

Yeah, fine. Maybe he overstepped. Maybe this was a little more than what they agreed to. But something about her tone, about the way she looked at him like he was some inconvenient disruption instead of the man who had her coming undone in his hands, made his jaw clench.

His smirk turned sharper, edged with something almost mean. "Well, let me remind you. I may not be the perfect student, but at least I’m honest about who I am." He took a step forward, and his voice dropped just enough to make the space between them feel too small. "You, on the other hand, acting all high and mighty just because you’re wearing a teacher’s badge..." His voice carried, echoing in the empty room as he loomed over her.

She narrowed her gaze, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Oh, don’t worry," she said, voice deceptively sweet. "I’ll teach you a lesson, alright."

Bucky exhaled a quiet laugh, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head down to look at her. "A lesson, huh?" he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. "Sounds like you wanna play principal for a day." He shifted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Well, go ahead then. Show me what you’ve got."

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Which, if he was being honest, kind of turned him on. He could feel it, the twisted little thrill beneath his irritation. A part of him craved this, to have her undivided attention, to see what she thought would be enough to discipline him. It was a fucked-up kind of want, born from the way she brushed him off in front of her students, pretending like he was just another guy instead of the one who made her tremble behind closed doors.

But he’d be damned if he admitted it aloud.

Instead, he held her gaze, waiting. Daring her to make the next move.

He barely had time to process the sigh that left her lips before she spoke. "Just be useful and give me that bucket over there. Unlike you, I still have things to do."

His brow quirked, amused by the audacity of it, but he humored her, rolling his eyes as he turned to grab it. "Yeah, yeah, princess. Don’t get your apron in a twist."

And then was when she did it.

Years of perfect training, years of being Hydra’s fist, a ghost on the battlefield, an apex predator in human skin… and yet he didn’t see it coming.

The zap of electricity hit him hard, sharp and unforgiving against the side of his neck. His entire body locked up instantly, and his nerves short-circuited as every muscle seized at once. His breath caught in his throat, his vision blurred at the edges, and before he could do anything, before he could even curse her name, he felt himself falling.

But she didn’t just let him collapse, no. She guided him down. Lowered him carefully. Like he was something fragile, something that mattered.

It was almost insulting.

His chest hit the floor first, then his head followed, resting against the side of his arm, his vibranium fingers twitching as they struggled to respond. He wasn’t unconscious, far from it. For the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes was vulnerable.

And she? She simply stood up, walked toward the door, and locked it. The click of the deadbolt sent a slow, crawling shiver down his spine.

Well, shit. Maybe he should have taken this class more seriously.

Bucky let out a strained growl, and his breath was uneven as he fought against the lingering paralysis in his limbs. "You backstabbing vixen," he bit out, roughly but undeniably amused beneath the indignation. "Using a fucking taser on me?"

Despite his predicament, despite the absolute betrayal of being taken down so effortlessly, his eyes still flicked to her legs as she moved. He also took in the way her skirt hugged her curves, the sway of her hips as she stalked toward him. Even flat on his stomach, and his nerves still tingling from the electric bite, he was Bucky Barnes. Cocky, stubborn, and utterly incorrigible.

That arrogance barely had time to settle in before she reached for something on the nearby shelf. A ruler.

Not one of those flimsy plastic ones. No, this was an old, thick wooden ruler, the kind meant for use on chalkboards. Or as he will discover, putting cocky super-soldiers in their place. His brow furrowed slightly as she turned back and closed the space between them, ruler in hand, with an unreadable expression.

Then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yanked them down -underwear included- leaving his pert, pale ass bare to the cool air of the storage room.

Bucky’s spine stiffened.

“What the fuck-?!” His face contorted in a mixture of outrage and mortification as his body betrayed him, heat prickling beneath his skin as the reality of his situation dawned. He tried to move, to push himself up, but the taser’s aftershocks still hummed through his system, leaving his muscles sluggish and uncooperative. The best he could do was shift slightly, but even that only served to expose himself further.

Then she spoke.

"You'll learn today, Sarge,” she mused, tapping the ruler lightly against his bare skin as a warning. “That you might be the fearsome Winter Soldier out there on the streets…” The ruler pressed against the curve of his ass, not hitting, just…resting. Teasing. “But I’m not afraid of the needy man who came in his pants not too long ago after just a little grinding."

Bucky froze.

Heat flared in his chest, creeping up his neck, and across his cheeks. She did not just say that. His mind flashed back to the bakery’s back room one afternoon, to the way she had ridden his clothed cock with desperate little whimpers, to the sticky, shameful mess he had left behind, the evidence of just how easily she had undone him.

His fingers twitched against the floor. His face burned.

“Y-you…” His voice faltered, but before he could string together something -anything- to claw back his dignity, she pressed the flat side of the ruler firmly against his skin. The sensation sent a jolt through his gut, and his stomach coiled tight with something unnameable. Humiliation? Frustration? Anticipation?

He didn’t have time to figure it out. Because then-

Smack!

A sharp, biting pain bloomed across his sensitive flesh.

He gritted his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache, curling his hands into fists as he swallowed the instinctive whimper threatening to escape his lips.

“You don’t get to talk if I don’t talk to you first.”

Smack!

“I won’t tolerate this bratty attitude inside these walls, won’t have you jeopardizing my job just because you can’t control your mouth.”

Smack!

"You think you’re so rough, huh?" She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something syrupy sweet, something dangerous. "Newsflash, Sergeant: you're just a bratty, horny little thing who needs to be put in his place."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Each sharp crack of the ruler on his ass sent a fresh sting through his body, each strike perfectly placed, each one burning a little hotter than the last.

His thighs tensed, his hips shifted, as if his own damn body was reaching for it, arching into it despite himself. His cock twitched against the hard wooden floor, and fuck, that was a problem.

His breath hitched, the telltale prickle of unshed tears burning at the corners of his eyes, not from pain, not really, but from how fucking overwhelmed he felt.

He didn’t know whether to curse her or beg for more.

And judging by the way she was watching him, ruler poised for another strike,

She knew it.

“Muffin, p-please…” Bucky choked out between sharp, stinging smacks, his voice raw with something he couldn’t name, something that tasted too much like desperation.

The floor beneath him was merciless, rough wood pressing into his chest, his hardened, pierced nipples rubbing harshly through the fabric of his shirt. Every jolt of sensation, every sharp crack of the ruler against his skin, fed into the unbearable pressure coiling low in his stomach. Shame and arousal twisted together like an inseparable duo. And fuck, his cock was aching, straining, leaking, trapped between his trembling body and the cold, unyielding ground.

She tutted, watching him squirm beneath her. “Since you used the magic word -please- I’ll humor you,” she cooed.

Her icy fingers, smoothed over his scorched skin, caressing the very spots she had punished. Bucky’s breath hitched. The contrast between the sting of the ruler and the gentle chill of her touch was almost unbearable, a heady mix of pain and comfort that made his thighs twitch. His body, traitorous and weak, leaned into her hand, silently begging for more.

“Are you going to behave around me?” she asked, in a sweet, knowing tone.

His throat worked around the lump forming there, as the humiliation and need kept dancing inside him. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, to reclaim his dominance, to snarl something cocky, hurtful, something that would undo the growing control she had over him.

But instead-

“…Yes, Muffin,” he whispered. It was barely a breath, barely more than a surrender. “I’ll behave. I promise.” The words felt foreign, bitter on his tongue, but they left his mouth without hesitation. And the worst part? He meant them.

Because the desire to please her, to earn her approval, to make her touch him again, was overwhelming. His cock throbbed against the wooden floor, shamefully wetting it with pre-cum.

She must have noticed, because she reached down, wrapping her fingers around his aching length with a grip that was mocking and possessive.

“What’s this?” she mused, giving his hard, neglected cock a deliberate squeeze.

Bucky’s entire body jerked at her touch, a choked, pathetic moan escaping his throat as his hips bucked helplessly into her hand.

“Are you turned on because I put your bratty ass in its place, hmm?”

His cheeks burned at the realization.

Yes. He fucking was.

The evidence was right there, dripping onto the floor for her to see.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Look at the mess you’re making.” She stroked him slowly, deliberately, gripping just firm enough to keep him on edge. “I think I’ll have to teach you a lesson about taking care of the establishment’s property, Sarge.”

His still-paralyzed body betrayed him, his head thrashed side to side in a futile attempt to regain control. But she was in charge now. And she was going to prove it.

“You defied my authority in front of the class today,” she murmured, tightening her grip for emphasis. “You can fuck me stupid in whatever situationship bubble we have, but I’m going to make sure that what has been transpiring in my classroom won’t happen again” Before he could process what she meant, she moved, flipping him onto his back with just enough force to remind him of how little power he had at this moment.

He sucked in a sharp breath, as she studied him—watched the way he twitched under her gaze, helpless and humiliated. Then, with calculated ease, she reached up, pulled the elastic band from her perfectly pinned bun, and-

Tied it at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s lungs stalled, a strangled whimper tore from his throat as the tight constriction bit into his swollen flesh, cutting off the blood flow.

Fuck.

His cock pulsed violently in protest, the restriction making his entire body thrash, but she didn’t stop there. No. She lowered herself, grazing her lips through the tip of his deep red, neglected length, and kissed it. A high, desperate sound tore from Bucky’s throat before he could stop it, and his hips jerked upwards as if begging for more.

She licked slowly, teasingly, flicking her tongue along his leaking slit, gathering his shameful arousal before pulling back just enough to watch him fall apart beneath her.

“F-fuck, Muffin-“ His voice cracked, and his muscles coiled tight as the heat surged through his body, building his orgasm. But then-

Nothing.

His release, -so close, so inevitable, so fucking unbearable- never came.

His eyes shot open, and his breath ragged as the realization hit him. She was denying him, trapping him on the edge and refusing to let him fall.

She tilted her head, with mock sympathy. “What is it, Sarge?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Does the bratty little soldier need to cum?”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, his eyes wide as he struggled to form words. But before he could beg, before he could even think of it, she pressed her lips on his throbbing cockhead once more and purred. “Well… you won’t get to.”

His entire body convulsed, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as the her words penetrated his brain.

She leaned in. “If you had paid attention in class, you’d know that it’s physically impossible until I remove the tourniquet from the piping bag.” She explained with amusement while swirling her tongue around his leaking tip.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, and his muscles tensed violently as his cock twitched uselessly against the unrelenting knot, pulsing with the orgasm that would never come. His body shook, his skin flushed, and his desperation got humiliatingly obvious.

He whimpered, something raw and desperate spilling from his throat as his cock throbbed violently, aching under the unrelenting pressure of the tight band still restricting him. Every pulse was torture, every slick twitch a reminder of just how thoroughly trapped he was in the pleasure she refused to give him.

“I-I’ll behave, Muffin,” he pleaded, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Fuck, I’ll drop the classes if that’s what you want, just, please…”

The admission burned him, but he’d lost any sense of shame earlier, at the moment his cock started dripping all over the floor. He needed her to touch him, to finish this, to let him fall apart, and he didn’t care what it took.

But she?

She simply tilted her head, unmoved, watching him like he was some fascinating little puzzle she was still piecing together.

“I’m not convinced,” she mused, softly. “After all, you’re the fearsome Winter Soldier, and I? Just a simple baker.” She let the words linger, let them sink deep into his buzzing, over-sensitive mind, before shifting her focus -completely ignoring his tortured cock- and zeroing in on his chest.

Bucky barely had time to process before she moved, sliding the fabric of his shirt up, up, up, exposing the broad plane of his scarred torso, the dark ink of his tattoos, and-

The silver bars piercing through his already-hardened nipples.

He twitched violently at the first brush of cool air, and his breath stuttered, clenching his hands into fists against the floor.

She smiled. “I have to make a point, you know.”

Then, with agonizing precision, she dragged her fingers over one of the piercings, then letting her nails scrape just barely against the sensitive flesh.

Bucky’s entire body jerked.

“F-fuck!” The strangled cry tore from his throat, hips buckling helplessly into nothing as his cock twitched pathetically, still bound, still denied. His nipples had always been sensitive, but this, this was too much.

And she knew it.

She leaned in closer, ghosting her warm breath over his exposed chest, watching the way he trembled beneath her.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, toying with the pierced nub, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before giving it a sharp little tug.

Bucky shouted, the noise wrecked, broken, and fuck, fuck, fuck- his cock ached so badly he could barely think. His hips lifted uselessly, but she kept her focus above, kept him on the razor’s edge of something devastatingly unsatisfying.

Then, without warning, she lowered her head and took one into her mouth. He choked on air, arching his back sharply as her hot tongue laved over the hardened bud before sucking, teasing, biting just enough to make his thighs tremble.

Every little movement sent sharp, electric pleasure bolting straight to his cock, a cock that was still trapped, still denied, still leaking helplessly onto his lower belly.

“F-fuck, Muffin-” he gasped, in a high and wrecked tone, as his chest heaved beneath her mouth when she moved to the other nipple, repeating the same exquisite torture.

His thighs shook again, his muscles locked, and his cock twitched violently… but his orgasm remained agonizingly out of reach.

She stared at his wet, tender nipples, the silver bars glistening under the dim light, and hummed in satisfaction. Then without a word she moved, straddling him, settling her weight over his hips, pressing herself down against his aching, trapped cock.

Bucky’s vision blurred at the sudden slick, teasing friction of her pussy dragging along his length, sending a jolt of pure, blinding ecstasy through his still-paralyzed body. His hips bucked involuntarily, chasing more, chasing anything, seeking relief that he already knew she wouldn’t give him.

“Ahhhn… just, please,” he moaned, voice thick with need, desperation, surrender. Then, through the haze of pleasure, something darker surfaced. His teeth clenched, “If you know what’s good for you-”

She cut him off immediately.

“Poor, defenseless Sergeant,” she mocked, in a tone drenched with sickeningly sweet amusement as she slammed herself down onto his cock, impaling herself fully in one smooth motion.

Bucky’s head snapped back, and a hoarse scream tore from his throat as her slick heat swallowed him whole, gripping him like a vice.

“See,” she continued, settling herself above him, grinding her hips to fully seat herself on his fat cock, “you don’t get to threaten me, Sarge.”

She began to ride him mercilessly, bouncing with wild abandon, taking exactly what she wanted from him.

“This is a valuable lesson,” she panted, rolling her hips as her fingers dug into his tense, flexing abdomen for leverage. “I’m going to discipline you so every time you think about disrespecting me in front of other people…” Her nails scraped down his stomach, and her pussy clenched tighter around him as she rode him harder. “…you’ll start leaking like a fucking faucet.”

Bucky’s back arched violently, his body betraying him completely as each ruthless downward thrust drove him closer, closer, closer-

“F-fuck, Doll!” he howled, his voice raw, wrecked, echoing off the walls. “Y-you’re killing me here!”

Each intense, wet slide of her inner walls around him had him spiraling, hovering right at the edge of relief, his entire body coiled so tightly he thought he might snap apart. The sight before him, her breasts bouncing despite being confined by her bra, her moans and panting filling the room, the sheer fucking confidence in the way she rode him like she owned him…

It was too much.

A pathetic, broken sound left his lips as she used him, took him, denied him.

“Shut it.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through his haze of pleasure. “I gave you tons of opportunities, and you kept pushing further and further.” She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his, and her breath came hot and heavy against his ear. “This is what you get for being horrible to me.”

Bucky whimpered, and his hips trembled beneath her, as his cock twitched violently inside her tight heat.

“I won’t take the hair tie off your cock,” she whispered, brushing her lips  against his sweat-damp skin, “you won’t get to cum.”

His eyes flew open, and his breath stuttered.

“Me, on the other hand?”

Her fingers slipped between them, finding her swollen, needy clit, and she moaned loudly, circling it in quick, precise strokes as she chased her own release. “I’m gonna cream all over your fat, bratty cock.”

Bucky’s whimpers of pleasure morphed into anguished wails as she rode him mercilessly, grinding down harder, clamping around him tighter with every roll of her hips.

“P-please,” he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. His cock was throbbing, pulsing, aching, each squeeze of her pussy only made the pressure worse, worse, worse-

“I can’t- I’m going to- Ahh, FUCK!”

But nothing happened.

His body wanted to cum, needed to release the unbearable tension, but the hair tie held firm in place, trapping him in a state of endless, excruciating denial.

She, on the other hand…

Her rhythm stuttered, and her movements turned erratic as her moans grew desperate, and her brows knitted together tightly as she neared her climax. “So big, so fat, Sarge,” she mewled, trembling as she rode her orgasm out over him, soaking him with her slick.

Each pulse of her pussy sent pain-pleasure waves radiating through his cock, threatening to tear him apart. Bucky was shaking, thrashing, begging-

“Fuck!” he gasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. “Stop, I can’t-”

Despite his pleas, he couldn’t deny the way her praise sent a twisted thrill through him. It fueled his ego, his need to please her, even as his body screamed for release.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lifted herself, sliding off his cock with a wet, slick sound. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his entire body trembled as he stared up at her. His eyes were glassy, his nipples red and swollen, and his shaft almost painfully engorged.

She looked him over critically, tapping her finger against her lips as if thinking.

Then, without warning… she spat.

A slow, deliberate string of saliva landed on the tip of his cock, glistening, mixing with his pre-cum, adding more slick to his aching, desperate length.

His gaze snapped down, staring at the wetness on his cock, with his pulse hammering. She smirked.

Then, kneeling beside him, she wrapped her fingers around his twitching, neglected cock and started jerking him off. “Do you wanna cum?” she asked, mockingly sweet.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his hips bucked wildly into her grasp.

He nodded quickly, so quickly.

“T-thank you, Muffin,” he whispered with gratitude and lingering lust. “I promise, I’ll be good for you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were hollow. Deep down, he knew he’d push her again. Provoke her again. And oh, when he’ll regain control of his body…

She tightened her grip, stroking him harder, faster.

“Beg for it.”

Bucky snapped.

“Please, Muffin, please let me cum!” he whined, pleaded, and sobbed. “I need it so fucking badly! I can’t take it anymore! I’ll do anything- please, PLEASE let me finish!” his body shuddered violently as he begged.

She hummed, pleased.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Since you begged so pretty.” She pulled the hair tie free. “Cum for me, Sarge.”

And the instant the band snapped free, the dam burst.

Bucky’s cock erupted, thick ropes of hot cum splattered across her hand, his stomach, and pooled messily onto the floor beneath him. His back arched violently, and every nerve in his body was ignited as an earth-shattering orgasm tore through his entire body.

A guttural roar ripped from his throat, his hips jerked wildly, and his cock twitched and pulsed nonstop as if making up for every second of denial.

“Ah, ah, ah- YES!” he howled, as his vision blurred at the edges, the intensity of his orgasm consumed. “FUCK, IT FEELS SO GOOD!”

His body convulsed, the aftershocks hitting hard, every lingering stroke of her fingers making his overstimulated cock twitch helplessly in her grasp. He had never felt so wrecked, so drained, so utterly destroyed, and yet…

He was already thinking about the next time.

She held him just a little longer, letting his final weak spurts dribble down his spent shaft before finally, slowly, releasing him.

And then -without a single word of praise or sympathy- she wiped her cum-coated hand on his shirt.

Bucky barely had the energy to glare, but his jaw clenched, his cheeks burned, and a fresh pang of humiliation mixed with the post-orgasmic bliss.

Her eyes flicked over his wrecked form. “I estimate the taser’s effect will wear off in about half an hour,” she said matter-of-factly, brushing invisible dust off her skirt as if she hadn’t just broken him into pieces. “So,” she continued, leaning down just enough to press a single teasing peck to his damp forehead, “you have plenty of time to reflect on your behavior.”

With that, she straightened, adjusting her skirt back into place, retrieving the wooden ruler from where she had left it, and placing it neatly back on the shelf. Then, without looking back, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

She just…left.

Bucky watched her go, helpless, spent, ruined, still lying in a pool of his own cum on the floor.

His breath was uneven, his body still tingled, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the ceiling, floating in the limbo between debauched satisfaction and simmering frustration. But as the post-orgasmic haze began to clear, as the sting of humiliation faded beneath something darker, sharper, his thoughts slowly began to shift.

Her parting words echoed in his mind.

The taser’s effects will wear off soon.

And when they did?

Payback’s a bitch, Muffin. And she wouldn’t see it coming.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[sparkingoverload]

I’m suddenly feeling inspired by a Captain America Batman plot bunny. You see, Peggy Carter (in most interpretations) worked with the OSS and their British counterparts. I may never write it (especially since I was more of an Iron Man fan when I was into the mcu) but it’s fun to metaphorically pet the bunny and think about the plot.

Obviously, Alfred is a retired spy, who in teaching his charge (Bruce) and his charges (Batkids!) life skills, semi-accidentally taught them tradecraft too. So, WWII happens and they’re all spies, contemporaries of (or somewhat younger than) Peggy. Alfred gets recruited to train more spies. Probably. It’s classified.

Jason is probably embedded with resistance groups, teaching them ways to make infrastructure go boom as well as apply the lessons on sabotage in that book.

Barbara, the all-knowing Oracle has to be a code-breaker.

Tim (17) claims to be Cass (19)’s twin on paper. They’re a team and between her ability to read anyone, his ability to charm anyone, and their combined skills in stealth and disguise, they’ve been in and out of So Many Secure Areas. So Many.

I have no clue what Steph is doing, but she’s doing it with Flair. Maybe she’s a nurse and just keeps stumbling into zany situations that require her to use her natural charm, fighty tendencies, and what interesting selection of skills she picked up from Alfred and the Wayne’s while maybe-dating Tim.

I didn’t mention Dick, because either he or Bruce is on the homefront, running a Justice League analogue group that works to co-ordinate across countries and departments and other groups and acting as Damian’s guardian. (if I ever actually wrote this it would probably be Damian centric, a sort of “here’s a story one of Damian’s siblings told him and here’s how he applied the mentioned skills/lessons/morals himself” duology thing) If Dick is on the homefront, Bruce is out co-ordinating small strike teams. I think if Bruce is staying with the JL analogue then Dick gets to assassinate people. As a treat. (I promise I did not forget Duke! He’s coming!)

Damian (13) is ecstatic about being an only child again for like five minutes before he realizes he misses his siblings. Then he’s pissed about an inability to do anything, having to move out of Wayne manor to quarters closer to whatever facility his guardian’s working out of, he misses his pets, he misses Alfred, he is never going to admit it but he’s lonely. And bored.

Except! People keep trying to sabotage the JL analogue, so it’s up to Damian and his new friend Duke Thomas to apply the lessons his siblings taught him and that are referenced in his copy of the OSS’s Field Manual and save the day!

Duke Thomas (15) works in the motorpool either as driver for all the bigwigs co-ordinating with whoever Damian’s guardian is, or as an apprentice auto mechanic. He did not expect being the youngest and lowest guy on the totem pole to mean being relegated to babysitting duty, and he really didn’t expect babysitting duty to see more enemy action then all the other motorpool jobs combined.

…I think the ideal medium for this would actually be a period comic that’s at least 30% propaganda. And I haven’t even mentioned Captain America.

Funny about that...

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, ANGST!!!!!

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 13, 1812 - Waking up the past few days had been absolute torture. But waking up today and seeing the blood on your sheets was worse than any morning you’d ever had. 

A part of you was relieved. You had gotten your courses. You weren’t with child. You didn’t have to trap Anthony in a loveless marriage.

It was good news, right?

That’s what you were desperately repeating to yourself over and over as you sat in your bed sobbing uncontrollably. 

It truly was over then. There was no baby, and there would be no marriage. You’d be lucky if Anthony ever talked to you again, though you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. All because you thought it would be a fun game to dabble with someone’s real feelings.

What's more, your courses actually came a few days early. It was like the universe was completely and categorically rejecting the idea of a happy ending with Anthony. It was what you deserved, you supposed. At least the misery of not knowing was over.

To make matters worse, your crying was so loud that your father popped his head into your room, an extremely unusual occurrence. 

“What is all this ruckus?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Not having the time, energy, or desire to fully explain what was happening, and doubting he’d care, you told your father, “My courses came.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly growing very uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Predictable. He wasn’t one to get involved with women’s issues.

---

You had given yourself a few hours to mope around your home, mourning the loss of what could have been. But it was time to face your fears, and you headed over to the Bridgerton residence.

It was usually only a few minutes' walk, but you were dreading the impending conversation so much that it was almost fifteen minutes before you reached their front door.  

What scared you the most was that you had no idea how Anthony was going to take the news. You knew the responsibility was yours to go to the Bridgerton home and inform him, but you hadn’t seen him or Daphne since the day after your fateful ball.

As you reached their front entrance, before you could even knock, the door burst open and you saw Anthony standing in front of you. 

Not that you were in a position to enjoy it, but he looked exceedingly handsome. He was clearly on his way out to go to town, and you didn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe for putting him in front of you before he left for the day. 

“Oh!” you gasped, startled. “Um, hello, Anthony,” you greeted awkwardly. 

He just stared back, unmoving. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to you for at least a few more days and was entirely unprepared now.

“Daphne’s just inside,” he said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“No, I’m here to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh,” he said simply, not giving away what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a week! Surely there was no news yet? Surely he could still hold out some hope?

He stepped outside and closed the door, allowing you two some privacy for the conversation you were about to have.

“I- Well, I just wanted to inform you that my courses came this morning,” you said, your voice wavering. 

“Oh,” he repeated. 

Was that really all he was going to say?

You cleared your throat stiffly. “And evidently no one saw us sneak off to the library the other night, otherwise we’d have heard the rumors by now.” A pause. “I suppose this means you won’t need to propose, then. And we can go our own ways.”

It was like your words ignited something in Anthony, and he finally moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a prominent scowl on his face. 

“I suppose it does. Congratulations. Your little plan worked perfectly, then. Daphne was able to court a scumbag while you distracted me and remained perfectly detached.”

His angry words cut you deep. Almost out of habit when you needed comfort, you reached out for his broken hand that was still bandaged. He took a step back, almost looking panicked as he eyed your outstretched arm. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You deserved no sympathy from the man in front of you.

Blinking them away, you sniffed. “Anthony, I know nothing I say will ever make it up to you but I truly am sorry. It was never my intention to let it go on for so long.”

“And yet you did.”

“I did,” you replied, feeling ashamed. “But you must know, the time we did have together-”

But Anthony interrupted before you could continue. “I’ll be moving into bachelor’s lodgings as soon as possible. That way our paths won’t have to cross again unless there’s a big family event. I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I sincerely hope you find a love match eventually.”

You choked back a sob. “Is this truly the last time we’ll talk?”

“I can hope,” he responded, cruelly echoing back the words you had said to him a few days ago. 

And with that, he pushed past you down the stairs, going toward his waiting carriage, not sparing you a second glance.

You were left crying outside of the Bridgertons’ door, head in your hands as you realized the gravity of Anthony’s statement. 

That was exactly how Violet found you twenty minutes later. 

“Oh no, my Y/N, what happened?” she asked, placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. 

You could only turn and sob into her shoulder, too shaken up to form any coherent words. 

Violet, bless her, rubbed your back soothingly as she led you back into her home, her afternoon of shopping completely forgotten now.

“Why don’t we ring for some tea and you can talk to me and Daphne about what’s bothering you?”

An hour later you had calmed down considerably and Daphne was in the middle of apologizing profusely for telling Anthony while Violet tried to process the information her daughter and her best friend had just divulged. You had scrubbed any mention of your escapade with Anthony from the story you told his mother, of course. But most other details remained accurate.

“It’s not your fault,” you waved away Daphne’s apology. “You only told him the truth. He was going to find out eventually, one way or another.”

“But it was my idea in the first place!” she insisted. “And a stupid one at that, seeing how things ended with Phillip.”

“Which we are not done discussing,” interjected Violet, still horrified that someone like him could treat her daughter that way. 

“Regardless, I would have come up with the idea myself and gone through with it if you hadn't,” you reassured her. “What’s done is done. I’m only sorry he’ll be leaving home.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “He’d been wanting to leave for ages. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some more peace and quiet around here.”

Always one to stay on topic, Violet kept up her line of questioning. “Why don’t the two of you get married still? Your feelings for him are clearly real, no matter how you ended up having them.”

Surprisingly, tears welled up in your eyes again After the day you’d had, you didn’t think you had any left in you, but the situation was just too dire not to cry over it. “He told me earlier he wishes to never speak with me again.”

Violet gasped. “That can’t be right, he would never say such a thing!”

You could only nod glumly, remembering his cold, uncaring eyes as he moved past you earlier that day. 

“I just can’t believe I ruined it all,” you cried. “It would have been so wonderful if only I hadn’t acted so carelessly.”

Violet tsked. “You wouldn’t have even looked at him in a romantic light if it weren’t for your silly plan. Who knows if things would have really been different.”

“At least I wouldn’t have a broken heart,” you said softly, wistfully looking out the window. 

“There is simply no world in which he can just forget how he feels about you,” insisted Daphne, trying to stay hopeful. 

“There’s nothing left,” you said, well aware of the situation you were in and rejecting any fantasies that would make you feel better temporarily. “I made the choices I made and I must live with them now.”

---

“Why is Y/N never round for dinner anymore?” asked Hyacinth suddenly one night. 

“Yes, I miss playing chess with her before I go to bed. No one else here seems to want to play,” complained Gregory, in a rare moment of agreement with his youngest sister.

“She does seem to have very suddenly stopped showing up,” said Francesca. She eyed Daphne and Anthony suspiciously, knowing one of the two was bound to be the cause of your absence. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell her to stop coming,” said Daphne, glaring at her older brother. 

Anthony laughed coldly. “That’s rich coming from you. You know exactly why she stopped showing up, and it’s not exactly my fault.”

“Anthony!” exclaimed Violet, shocked at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, standing up from the dinner table and storming off to his study.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door of Anthony’s study, not waiting for a response before she slipped in and closed the door behind her. 

“You’re not truly angry,” she stated, not even posing it as a question.

“Yes, I am,” Anthony insisted. 

“Your anger conceals something deeper, and it might do you some good to let it out.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony responded, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “I am angry,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he tried to convince himself of his feelings. 

“It’s not a crime to feel things for someone, you know. Even when they don’t work out.”

“What is the point then? If they amount to nothing?” Anthony pressed, struggling to find a greater reason for the complete heartbreak he felt day in and day out. 

It was torture to be away from you, to be sure. But he knew he would never be able to hold it together if he saw you in the flesh. Regardless, that didn’t stop him from missing you. Your rosy perfume. The way you threw your head back when you laughed. How tightly your hands held his hand when you were anxious about something.

And that was what killed him. He’d had real and profound feelings for you. He thought that was it. That you were it. He’d thought he'd found the person he was going to marry. He’d found his present and his future and everything in betweem.

But it had all been a lie. And so the anger kept coming back. And he could do nothing to stop it. 

It was misplaced anger, he knew. At you, at the world, at the fact that your courses had come and you would not have his child, and at the fact that he could never have you in a way that truly mattered. 

“That is exactly what makes you human, Anthony. You can’t go around life expecting to never be hurt. It’s a rare thing to feel that way about someone.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s rare. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Anthony!” Violet gasped, scandalized. “Love is not a curse.”

“It certainly feels like one.”

“You could still be with her, you know. All this misplaced love, it’ll do you no good to keep it bottled up.”

“I can’t,” insisted Anthony, his voice breaking again. “I wanted to marry her still. I even asked her. I thought she’d love me back if I only had some time to convince her. But she didn’t want to marry me,” he confessed, succumbing to his feelings and putting his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Why don’t you try talking to her again?” suggested Violet, rubbing her son’s back comfortingly. 

“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “It’s for the better.”

—

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[scoupsakakitty]

Hii hello, can i request like svt fem 14th member like, they are on nana tour and since cheol can't come he ask na pd to take a good care of the reader yk since she's the only fem member, she's most likely the people (men and women) to look at and the members became protective yk what i mean? But the reader doesn't notice that people are turning their heads towards her because she is clueless af 😭🫶🏻

All Eyes on You | Seventeen x 14th Member | fluff

“Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan’s soft voice called from the seat in front of you. He turned around and gave you a pointed look. “Try to rest. Tomorrow’s going to be hectic.”

You smiled and nodded. “I’m fine, Jeonghan oppa. Don’t worry.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. You knew the members always looked out for you, but since this was your first major world tour as the group’s 14th and only female member, their protectiveness had been ramped up to the max.

The next day at the venue, the energy was electric. Fans were already lining up outside, and the backstage hallways were a bustling maze of staff members, equipment, and sound checks. You didn’t notice it at first, but every time you walked past, people would pause. Heads turned, conversations halted, and eyes followed you.

You remained oblivious, too busy focusing on remembering stage cues and the jam packed schedule ahead. But your members noticed.

“Y/N, don’t go off by yourself,” Mingyu said suddenly, appearing by your side as you headed toward the catering table.

“I was just grabbing water,” you said, confused by his sudden appearance.

“I’ll get it for you,” Mingyu insisted, already turning toward the table.

You blinked but shrugged it off. Mingyu was naturally caring, so you didn’t think much of it.

However, it didn’t stop there. During soundcheck, Seungkwan and Dino flanked you like bodyguards, while Woozi stood close by, glaring at anyone who lingered in your direction for too long. You didn’t understand what was happening.

It wasn’t until Vernon leaned over during lunch and muttered, “That guy’s staring again,” that you started to notice.

“Who?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Vernon nodded discreetly toward a staff member at the far end of the room. You turned to look, but the man quickly looked away.

“I think you’re imagining things,” you said with a small laugh, brushing it off. “People aren’t staring at me.”

“They are,” Vernon replied bluntly.

Still, you didn’t give it much thought. Being the only girl in a group of twelve guys naturally drew some attention, right? That had to be it.

But as the day progressed, you couldn’t help but notice your members acting strangely. Jun casually stepped in front of a group of staff members when you passed by, blocking their view. Joshua and Hoshi stood on either side of you during rehearsals, while DK carried your bag even though it was practically empty.

By the end of the day, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked during dinner, looking around the table.

The members exchanged glances, as if silently debating who would answer. Finally, Jeonghan sighed.

“Y/N,” he began, “you don’t realize it, but people… stare at you. A lot.”

You frowned. “What? No, they don’t.”

“They do,” Seungkwan said, nodding firmly. “Everywhere we go, people can’t take their eyes off you.”

“Men, women, staff, fans,” Minghao added, ticking them off on his fingers.

“But why?” you asked, genuinely perplexed.

The table fell silent for a moment before Joshua spoke up gently. “Because you’re beautiful, Y/N. And you don’t even notice it.”

Your face flushed. “That’s not—”

“It is true,” Dino interrupted. “You just don’t pay attention because you’re too focused on other things.”

You glanced around the table, the warmth of their words sinking in. It felt strange to think of yourself that way, but the sincerity in their eyes made it hard to argue.

“You guys don’t need to be so protective, though,” you said softly.

“Of course we do,” Mingyu replied immediately. “It’s our job to look after you.”

“And it’s not just about the staring,” Woozi added. “We want to make sure you feel safe, no matter what.”

Their protectiveness, which had initially felt overbearing, suddenly made sense. You realized how much they cared not just as bandmates, but as family.

“Thanks, guys,” you said, smiling.

“Always,” Seungcheol’s voice chimed in through the group chat. Though he couldn’t join this leg of the tour due to his injury, the leader had been keeping tabs on everything from afar.

As the members laughed and teased you, the warmth in your chest grew. Being the only girl in Seventeen came with its challenges, but with twelve brothers by your side, you knew you were never alone.

————————————————————————————-

[wonderjanga]

The Flask

Literally any hero that knows Captain Marvel will tell you that the man is absolutely amazing, pure and above anything such as cheating, drinking, or even smoking. The JL knows this, the YJ knows this, Teen Titans know this, even the Fawcett heroes know this.

Billy didn’t know this. He honestly had no clue other heroes looked up to him that much but anyways, we have to talk about the prelude to this incident.

See, Billy was minding his own business walking through the trenches, because let’s be honest that’s where he lives, (or at least that’s where he lives in the Superman/Shazam movie). Anyways, on this walk home, he finds a flask just on the ground. He picked it up.

Billy: “Oh cool! A water bottle! It’s a little small though.”

Yeah… anyways, he went to a gas station and cleaned it out of any remaining funny smelling liquid. He even filled it with some tapwater when he was done. So… Kablam!

Strange Water Bottle: Acquired!

Let Billy tell you, he was so proud about finding this water bottle. It had a cool sunflower on it and everything. And sure maybe adults look at him weirdly whenever he drinks from it but whatever! He has a water bottle now!

In fact, he was so happy about this water bottle, he even took it to work, a.k.a. superheroing.

Marvel: *finishes beating up a villain and takes out his flash so he can drink some water*

Fawcitizen: “Wow… Guess the cheese is finally letting loose, huh?”

Elderly Fawcitizen: “It’s about damn time. That young man has been slaving around with the other heroes saving people for years. Let him let loose.”

Fawcitizen: *nods head* “Never heard a truer statement.”

The elderly Fawcitizen and the other Fawcitizen were a little concerned at how he was downing the flask without faltering in the slightest but whatever. It’s the Cheese. Just let him do that.

The Fawcett heroes didn’t think the same though. They wanted to bring up what could’ve happened to make him feel the need to do this, but they also didn’t know if Cap would answer honestly. Heck, he might even offended, and they don’t want that! So, they bit their tongues and kept quiet.

Of course, Billy didn’t just take his water bottle out whenever he was in Fawcett. He took it out just about anywhere. This has led to some interesting interactions with others, not that he minds.

Constantine: “I didn’t fancy you to own one of those, mate.” *points to Billy’s sunflower flask*

Marvel: “Why wouldn’t I?”

Constantine: “Touché.” *offers his own flask so they can clink them together*

Constantine and Marvel: *clinks them*

Billy was absolutely ecstatic that someone else had a water bottle like his. Now, of course, there have been negative interactions with his water bottle.

Marvel: *doing security for whatever reason at the UN and sipping from his “water bottle”*

Security Guard: *watching this* “Quite distasteful, no?”

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Security Guard: “I mean, this is a gathering of world leaders.”

Marvel: “So…?”

Security Guard: “So I think you’d have the tact to not drink from that here, but apparently not.”

Billy was majorly bummed that some people didn’t like his water bottle but you know what? Whatever.

By the way, because of the fact none of the heroes know why he started “drinking” they just blame each other. More specifically the JL blames the Fawcett heroes while the Fawcett heroes blame the JL.

Again to remind you, anything in Billy’s flask is water.

Also, he eventually found out that his “water bottle” was a flask from Solomon and promptly started leaving the thing at home so he could only drink from there because he was absolutely not getting rid of it.

All the heroes were glad when the sunflower flask suddenly disappeared.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 5

Chapters 5 and 6 are done! Yippy! Chapter 7 is going to be a slice-of-life type of thing because I don't want to time skip straight to the bats finding out quite yet. Also, did y'all know that Gothamite also means an inhabitant of NYC? Whenever you see me use that just know I mean an inhabitant of Gotham City.

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 5 >>next(TBC)

NYC was hell on earth and that’s coming from a Gothamite.

Sure- did a rogue attack 3 times a week, maybe more, in Gotham? Yes. But NYC felt lawless and without rhyme or reason. Every day something was happening, every day a building went down if it wasn’t a whole street, every day a hero would almost run you over while you were just trying to chill in the air.

At least on the third Tuesday of every month, there would be no robberies in Gotham, at least if something happened to the city and Batman wasn’t around the rogues would keep the people safe. Here it seemed to be everyone for themselves, and the rent was heinous for the type of bullshit that went down, in Gotham it was pennies compared to NYC. The constant feeling of being watched didn’t help either it irked at the back of your head every time, only stopping in the safety of your home.

The shadows stopped talking to you as well, you could barely hear them anymore, your theory being that NYC was simply too bright compared to G. City. Visiting Midnight City helped keep you connected to them, it felt somewhat like Gotham. But Darkwing felt too much like Batman, making you paranoid, so you never truly lingered for long. You missed them. Missed the rogues, the garden, the kids, the manor. The house really grew on you.

But you liked it. You liked the chaos, the myriads of heroes, the aliens that kept trying to conquer the world, and you enjoyed how the heroes knew that sometimes the best course of action was to kill the threat.

You were still bitter about how Joker took Jason from you, about how Mr. Wayne hid that from you, so seeing Omni-Man, War Woman, Immortal and so many more deal with clearly deadly threats as they should be dealt with felt nice. They would never let Joker live, the clown wouldn’t have millions of kills, and he wouldn’t have gotten Barbara and Jason.

Of course, you’ve heard rumors that while Batman doesn’t go out of his way to kill, he lets others do the dirty work, everyone in Gotham has. You’ve seen Lois Lane cover some of the bigger, worldwide alien attacks that the Justice League helped with. Batman didn’t seem to have a problem with killing or seriously injuring them. He was either a hypocrite or afraid to lose it once he did kill a human, either way, both were bad options.

So, you put up with it, found yourself a studio apartment owned by an old woman, overlooking the fact that the whole building may have been owned by a gang, and kept on doing your online schooling. Kept on making art, donating to charities and shelters, found yourself a nice job pet sitting, and even did some volunteering at local shelters when they needed an extra hand.

You got better at flying, getting so fast you could go around the globe in 5 minutes. It was fun visiting the places you heard Bruce talk about to the others, Algeria, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Belgium, Brazil, and China. You were planning on visiting every city in every country with this newfound freedom. It was fun, and Bruce didn’t even notice as you used more and more of your allowance.

Sadly, your moments of peace and happiness always seemed to last for a short while. You were happy with just flying, it opened opportunities you didn’t even think were possible, but you’ve never seen a meta whose ability was only flying, not if they didn’t have wings, and maybe paranoia settled in.

Were you just dreaming? Was this just a really long dream? Were you dead? Would you go off the rocket when or if other powers showed up? What will you do when they do show up? You wanted to be an artist, to paint until your heart gave away. But if people needed help you wouldn’t be able to stay on the sidelines knowing you’re more than capable of lending a hand.

You knew you already had some strength power active- you wouldn’t be able to fly that fast without your skin peeling right off. Maybe it just made your skin stronger? Well, that’s how you ended up in a forest, or deep in a park- you weren’t sure, you flew without thinking, your thoughts and theories eating at you until you had to act.

The tree in front of you had an average-sized trunk, maybe on the smaller side compared to the others around you. You’ve been staring at it for a bit, debating if this really was something you wanted to see if you could do. “Ignorance is bliss” flew through your mind, but the full sayings of these quotes always rang at the back of your head. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise”.

Your fist met the trunk with a small thud, you didn’t feel any pain, nothing was happening, so you bit your lip, closed your eyes tight, and punched the trunk harder. You heard the wood splinter before you saw it, your eyes flying wide open at the sound. The trunk had a dent in the shape of your fist, not quite all the way through. You still felt nothing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have tested out your strength this much, Ivy would have been quite mad at you for destroying so many trees, each one thicker than the last, but you were simply curious and made sure to clean up after yourself. It was weird. If you hit fast enough your arm could go right through quite cleanly, but there was no pain, none at all… Is this how Superman felt?

In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the figure above you, watching your every move or the flying orb camera doing the same. And while the figure kept watching you grow in your powers for a year, watched you help around in small ways, mostly clean up and small muggings, the orb stopped after a few months.

It took a while for you to be able to lift as much as you could now, for the first half of your newfound power you had to break stuff like big rubble down before you could lift them, you still found it amusing how Red Flash stayed quiet about you, but how could he not when you shushed him the first time he tried to tell the others. The man wasn’t about to fuck with Cecil’s worker, even though he might have said a word or two to the old man’s face about child labor.

Despite all that you truly felt happy, fulfilled even. You were doing art, helping people, and despite still working on having friends during the day part, you were glad you left. You were on cloud nine, well, literally more than figuratively. You were flying above the clouds, basking in the sun. Nothing could cloud your life anymore.

…Where did the sun go? Your eyes opened, blissful expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught a dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its eyes glowing, a wide grin showing a full set of teeth, cape billowing behind it.

What. The. Fuck.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion

hope I didn't forget anyone 😬

[wolvietxt]

𝓐LL 𝓨OURS.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : size diff, hurt/comfort, reader cries, bad day, implied past struggles, petnames, wee little bit of babying, physical affection summary : after having a bad day, you’re just glad to be able to come home to frank. you don’t mean to steal his clothes, it just kinda happens, layer after layer. wc : 2.0k

it had been a really bad day. one of those long, draining ones where everything felt just a little too heavy.

you’d done your best to keep it together, pushing through the hours, keeping your head down, but by the time you got home, the weight of it all had settled deep in your bones. your chest felt tight, your throat burned, and the second the door shut behind you, the tears finally broke through.

you tried to be quiet about it. you knew frank was home - he’d told you earlier he was gonna be in for the night, promised to bring food, check in on you. you hadn’t expected to actually need it.

you weren’t sure what gave you away - the sound of the door shutting, the shaky breath you let out - but it didn’t take long before you heard his footsteps, slow and heavy, coming from the other room.

“sweetheart?” his voice was gruff, tinged with concern. “that you?”

you swiped at your face quickly, trying to get rid of the evidence before he could see it. “yeah,” you called back, but your voice wobbled, betraying you instantly.

he was in front of you before you could blink.

frank had this way of making you feel small, but not in a bad way. he was just… big. broad shoulders, solid chest, hands that could probably wrap around your whole waist if he wanted to. he stood close now, taking you in, dark eyes scanning every inch of your face.

“what’s wrong?”

you shook your head, trying to wave it off. “just - just a long day, s’all.”

he wasn’t buying it. his jaw ticked, but he didn’t push - not yet. instead, he reached out, slow and careful, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt. his hands settled on your shoulders first, then skimmed down your arms, squeezing lightly.

“c’mere, baby,” he murmured, voice softer now. and just like that, whatever was holding you together snapped.

you sank into him without thinking, pressing your face against his chest. he was warm, solid, smelled like leather and gunpowder and something distinctly him.

frank wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, one big hand smoothing over your back. “shh, i gotcha,” he murmured. “s’alright, just breathe.”

you sniffled against him, fisting the front of his shirt. “i just felt like everything went wrong today,” you admitted, voice small.

“yeah?” he rumbled, rubbing slow circles against your spine. “you gonna tell me?”

you hesitated, but he just squeezed you a little closer, like he had all the time in the world. so you told him - about the little things that had piled up, the way everything just felt too much. he listened quietly, nodding, humming in acknowledgment.

when you were done, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “wish i could’ve been there, baby. would’ve made it easier.”

you let out a shaky breath. “yeah, you would’ve. anyway i just needed this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as you tried not to let the tears slip.

“yeah?” he tugged you even closer, so close you felt caged in, but in the safest way possible. “you stay right here as long as you need, baby. ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”

you weren’t sure how long you stayed wrapped up in him like that. long enough for the shaking to stop, long enough for the tightness in your chest to ease.

but eventually, you sniffled and pulled back a little, rubbing at your eyes. frank cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently under your lashes. “s’pose you ate somethin’?”

you shook your head.

he sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed - more fond, if anything. “knew i shoulda made you eat earlier,” he muttered, then tilted his head toward the kitchen. “go sit down. ‘ll get you somethin’.”

you almost protested, but he gave you that look, the one that meant there was no point arguing. so you listened, dragging yourself over to the couch while he disappeared into the kitchen.

it took about five minutes before the exhaustion really hit you. the kind that settled deep, made your limbs feel heavy, made you crave warmth.

without thinking too much about it, you got up, wandered into frank’s room.

his closet was open just enough to see inside, and you didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the first thing that looked warm and oversized - a dark hoodie, worn and soft. you pulled it over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. it smelled like him, felt like him, and some of the leftover weight in your chest eased just from that alone.

you were still tugging the sleeves over your hands when frank walked in, carrying a plate. he froze in the doorway, brow furrowing.

then, slowly, his mouth twitched up at the corner.

“that mine?”

you blinked innocently. “no.”

his eyes swept over you, taking in the way his hoodie draped over you, how the sleeves hung past your hands.

his smirk deepened. “you sure ‘bout that, baby?”

you flushed but didn’t answer, just wrapped your arms around yourself.

frank exhaled, setting the plate down before walking over. “y’cold?”

you nodded.

without a word, he hooked his fingers under the hem of the hoodie, adjusting it on you before smoothing his hands down your sides. it should’ve been nothing, just a small touch, but the way he did it - so deliberate, so gentle - made your breath catch.

“looks good on you, sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging lightly at the oversized sleeves. “knew you’d be cute all wrapped up in me.”

your face burned, but before you could say anything, he was steering you back toward the couch.

“c’mon, baby, eat somethin’ first,” he said, squeezing your hip. “then we’ll talk ‘bout how you’re stealin’ my shit.”

you huffed but let him guide you, sinking onto the couch as he handed you the plate. he sat next to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch, close enough that his body heat seeped into you.

you picked at the food for a second before glancing at him. “are you gonna make me give it back?” you said, the small smile on your face giving away the fact that you already knew the answer.

frank smirked, reached over to tug the hood up over your head. “nah,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your temple. “told ya - you can have whatever you want.”

you didn’t mean to steal more of frank’s stuff. it just kinda… happened.

first, it was the hoodie. then, at some point during the night, you tugged off your socks and found a pair of his thicker ones to put on instead. then, when you got up for water, you spotted one of his beanies on the counter and pulled it over your head without thinking.

you were comfortable. warm. the weight of the day had eased off your chest, leaving only a pleasant kind of tiredness.

frank noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from where he sat on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the back, legs spread wide. his dark eyes flicked over you, slow and deliberate.

“… somethin’ you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

you blinked at him, feigning innocence. “no?”

his lips twitched. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “you sure ‘bout that, baby?”

you fidgeted under his gaze, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie further over your hands. frank let out a low hum, and before you could react, he reached out, catching your wrist.

his hand swallowed yours easily, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “lemme see somethin’.”

he tugged, just enough to make you stumble forward, and suddenly you were standing between his legs, looking down at him.

his free hand landed on your hip, big and warm, while the other pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie. his thumb brushed over your pulse point, slow and steady, like he could feel how much your heart had picked up.

“real cute,” he murmured, voice low. “you think i wouldn’t notice you pilin’ on all my shit?”

heat crept up your neck. “i was cold.”

frank huffed out a soft laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “ah, i see. that why you took my beanie too?”

you hesitated, then nodded through your smile.

his lips twitched again, but instead of teasing, he reached up, adjusting it over your ears. “s’pose i can’t be mad, long as it’s keepin’ you warm.”

you exaggerated your exhale, making it look like tension was slipping from your shoulders. frank chuckled in response, but he wasn’t done with you yet. he shifted, tugging lightly on your wrist again until you got the hint and climbed onto his lap.

you weren’t small by any means, but compared to him, you might as well have been. his arms wrapped around you easily, pulling you against his chest. you let yourself sink into him, pressing your face into his neck.

frank chuckled, his hand running slow over your back. “jesus, sweetheart. if you wanted me to baby you, you coulda just asked.”

you mumbled something incoherent against his skin.

he smirked. “what’s that, baby?”

“shut up.”

frank just laughed again, low and warm, the sound rumbling through his chest. you felt the press of his lips against your temple, then his nose nudging against your hair.

“you know you can just tell me when you need this, right?” he murmured.

you hesitated, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. “… s’not that easy.”

he exhaled, squeezing your waist. “i know, baby. but you don’t gotta wait ‘til you’re feelin’ like shit to come crawl into my lap.”

your face burned. “i did not crawl into your lap.”

frank smirked against your temple. “nah?” he teased. “kinda seems like you did.”

you groaned, pushing at his chest, but he just tightened his grip, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“s’alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “i like takin’ care of you.”

you swallowed hard, heart flipping in your chest.

frank sighed, shifting slightly so he could rub a slow hand up and down your spine. “been runnin’ yourself ragged lately,” he muttered. “shouldn’t take a bad day for you to slow down.”

you knew he was right, but you didn’t know how to say that out loud. instead, you curled in a little closer, letting yourself just… be in his arms.

frank let you, rocking you slightly, his fingers tracing slow patterns against your back.

“y’gonna stay here tonight? you better.” he added, before giving you a chance to reply.

you nodded anyway.

“yeah, thought so,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “means you ain’t takin’ that hoodie off either, huh?”

you shook your head.

he sighed dramatically. “shoulda known. losin’ all my shit to you, huh?”

“yup,” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest.

frank huffed, but there was nothing but warmth in it. “yeah, alright, sweetheart. long as you’re warm.”

he paused, then smirked. “but you do this again, least you could do is grab one of my shirts too. would look real cute sleepin’ in one’a those.”

you groaned, hiding your face in his neck, your eyes shutting as the tiredness took over. “frank.”

he just laughed, arms tightening around you. “s’alright, baby. you know you can take whatever you want.”

and you did.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[hyukasmiles]

SOOBIN IMPREGNATION KINK

—Soobin—

If someone sat you down and asked you to pick one word to describe your boyfriend you’d probably say nerdy. Soobin is truly the classic nerdy boyfriend, awkward and nervous and spends all his time playing video games.

So it truly, truly surprised you the first time you slept with him and he grabbed you by the hair, whispered about how he’d get you pregnant, filled you up till you couldn’t breathe, and left you in a puddle of sweat and cum. Even more so when the next day he pretended it never happened.

To be fair you even start to wonder if it was some weird fever dream. It’s never happened again, he’s always been the perfect, gentle boyfriend in bed, always making sure to wear protection and pull out, leaving you confused with the memories of him fucking you into mush with the promise of motherhood on his lips.

You’ve tried to bring it up, ask him if it’s something he’s into but he always ignores the topic, red in the face as he pretends not to hear you ask if he wants to breed you.

It boils over one night, his shoulders jumping as you reach to give him a massage. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” You whisper, picking up one of the cups of his headphones. “I’m horny.” You barely vocalize it, thumb working at a knot at the base of his neck. “My app says I’m ovulating though…” A groan spills out of him as you move to his tense shoulders. “…so, we probably shouldn’t fuck, you might get me pregnant.” Soobin’s whole body freezes, hands stiff over his keyboard as you press a kiss against his neck, scratching down his back.

He doesn’t bother turning off his game, or even telling his friends he’s getting off, just rips off his headphones and all but tackles you against the bed. You look so pretty sprawled across his sheets, tiny little nightgown leaving you exposed in front of him. Your skin is smooth under his big palms, melting in his grip as he gropes and squeezes.

You gasp at fingers slipping under your soaked panties, the thick digits spreading you open and swiping across your clit. You respond so quickly, shoulders heaving with breathy effort as you reach for him, hands searching for their place on his shoulders. “Bin…” You gasp as his fingers dip into your weeping entrance. “God- Bin- your fingers are so thick.”

“Little cunts just forgotten its shape is all.” He gruffs, kissing your neck. “Needs to be reminded.” His fingers curl up and your toes follow, overwhelmed by the proding against your spongy, swollen walls.

Soobin’s pointer finger pushes past your resisting entrance and he wonders how his dick fits into you when three fingers has you crying “too much.” You shake and fidget as his fingers work your tight hole open.

“You look delicious.” He smiles, knees hitting against hardwood floor. Your thin, sopping, stretched panties cover nothing leaving the sight of your cunt straining against his fingers for Soobin to soak up. “Can’t wait to taste.”

“Bin!” You squeal. “I’ll cum-“ Your hips jump as his tongue flattens against your folds. “I’ll-“

“That’s the point.” He groans before wrapping his lips around your neglected clit. Your fingers pull at his hair until it almost hurts, yanking in tune with his attacks against the nerves.

Your ass is plush in Soobin’s hand, trying to keep you in place. “Stop runnin’ from me, doll.” Your only response is a long whine, hips shaking.

You twist, hands leaving his hair and grabbing onto the headboard attempting to pull your poor cunt away from his unrelenting mouth and fingers. Your shoulders sink as his fingers slip out of you, sweet relief filling you for a second before you realize what you’ve left yourself open to.

Your thighs burn as he pushes them to your chest, lips curled with a smirk as he stretches you. “Maybe you need to be fucked.” He grabs your hands and places them under your knees. “Keep your legs just like this.” He watches your chest rise with effort as he unbuckles his belt, your pretty eyes trained on his hands.

Your breath speeds up as his jeans fall, lip splitting under your teeth as his hand grabs his erection through his underwear. “We shouldn’t have any kids.” He groans, kicking off his boxers. “We’re so busy.” You nod with his words, licking the blood off your lip. “I want to get you pregnant.”

You’re still nodding, nails digging into the back of your thighs as you mindlessly agree with him. His tip prods at your entrance, mushroom cap slipping in and out, slapping against your clit as he humps.

“I need you.” You groan, arms shaking as you struggle to hold yourself open. “Need you to put a baby in me.” Soobin’s dick is long and just thick enough to burn and it fills you up so good you’re close to orgasming by the time he’s fully inside, fat tip sitting snug against your cervix.

He starts slow, inching his way out of your stretched cunt until the head catches on your entrance and then slamming his way back inside you. He does it again, angling his hips upwards, looking for the spot that makes you shake so much.

“Feel good?” He groans as he finally hits against it, your eyes watering as he picks up the rhythm in his hips. Your hands fall from your legs but Soobin is quick to pick them back up, pushing them as far up as you can go. “You’re just sucking me back in baby.” He shifts to put his weight on you, smooshing you in between him in the bed so he can kiss your swollen lips. “I’m gonna knock you up.”

Your please is cut off by a whine, pressure building in your stomach as he hammers his hips against yours hard enough to bruise. You try to speak, mouth hanging open in your pathetic attempt to get words out, but all that comes out is weak little whines. “What is it doll?” He coos as your back arches off the bed, hips jumping to meet his. “Look at you,” his tone is mocking, “just fucking yourself on my dick, huh?”

“I’m-“ Your vision goes blurry as your eyes cross, tears stinging down your cheeks. “Soobin” You can’t breathe, your boyfriend's thrusts knocking the air out of your lungs with each unrelenting thrust. “I’m gonna-“ Your cunt tightens as you orgasm, pure red hot pleasure shooting through your body as you cream on Soobin’s waiting dick.

Soobin kisses your cheek, hips still working against yours as you try to calm down. “The more you orgasm the better it is for conception.” He smiles, kissing your neck. “So I need at least one more, ok baby.”

“O..ok-“ You whine. “Are you gonna cum?” You pout, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

Soobin’s forehead hits your shoulder, nodding as he drives his hips against yours. “Sure will, doll, I’m gonna fill you up to the fucking brim.” Your heart pounds in your ears as he bullies his hips against yours. “And you’re gonna take it and make it stick, right baby?”

“I will.” You moan, eyes squeezing shut as the man on top of you shifts his weight, crushing you against the mattress. “No-“ Your nails scratch at his shoulders as he runs his fingers down your body and to your puffy clit. Your second orgasm comes fast and hits you like a truck, leaving you shaking like a leaf and full on crying.

“There you go.” Soobin smiles into your skin, hips slowing as he sits up, letting your legs fall to the bed. His big hands wrapping around your waist, so he can slam against you, using you like a fleshlight as he works up to his orgasm. “Take it so good, doll.”

He cums with a moan, fitting his hips as close to yours that he can, filling you up with thick, heady cum.

—-

inbox always open

[star-writes-sometimes]

aftercare with fwb!thanos

c/w - aftercare so mentions of sex, drug use (marijuana), friends with benefits arrangement

—

thanos’ body weight slumps against you, his cool sweaty chest snugly against yours. his nose nudges against your neck and you can hear him catching his breath. your legs are shaking slightly but you relax as his hands run along your skin.

he kisses your neck and groans quietly in your ear, “fuck, dude, you’re so sexy.”

you laugh and turn your head to face him, “you just finished fucking me and now you’re calling me dude?”

thanos smirks and uses one hand to hold himself above you. his other hand caresses your cheek, “‘cause it’s true,” he says simply, leaning down to kiss you lazily, “you are very very sexy, dude.”

you slap his arm lightly and laugh more, “shut up.”

his smile widens and he kisses you again, deeper this time but still unrushed. you moan softly and lift your head slightly to meet his lips properly.

he pulls away from you and pushes your hair out of your face. he smiles fondly at you before kissing your forehead and getting out of bed.

with more space on the bed you stretch and groan at the burning in your thigh muscles. you sit up against the headboard and try to smooth your hair out with your fingers.

two months ago you would never even consider hanging out with him alone, and being in his bed hadn’t crossed your mind. the only reason you were sort of friends with him was because of how many mutual friends you had. plus, he was always willing to share his weed or whatever other drug he was trying that week.

so when you realised you had run out of bud and your usual dealer was out of town, you knew it would be easier to tolerate thanos for a couple of hours rather than try and convince a new dealer to sell to you.

you didn’t even have his number, but after asking your friend for it, you texted him and explained the problem. you asked if you could buy a few grams off him and he was eager to invite you over.

your plan was to just give him the money, get the weed and be on your merry way. but he asked you to come in, asked if you would join him for a couple cones before leaving. it wasn’t in your plan to be half naked on his couch, moaning loudly while his face was buried in between your thighs but it just seemed to be how the night was destined to go.

he didn’t make you pay for the weed and he didn't ask for anything in return. he just gave you a small baggie of weed and one of the best orgasms of your life, then kissed you on the cheek and sent you on your way.

but now two months have passed and it’s impossible to say you don’t plan this anymore. you like him, way more than you ever thought you would. he’s a great fuck buddy and a surprisingly good friend. he’s different when you were alone together in his apartment but even when you hang out with all your friends you don’t find him as annoying as you used to.

thanos wanders back in the room, wearing boxers and carrying a few things. he kneels on the bed next to you and grins, “miss me, baby?”

“what happened to ‘dude’?” you ask playfully.

he shrugs and uses some tissues to clean up the sticky mess between your thighs, “you could be my baby dude,” he throws the soiled tissues on the nightstand carelessly and hands you one of his oversized tshirts, “or my dude baby.”

you scrunch your nose up and slip the shirt on, “no, thanks.”

“aw, c’mon toots. you usually love my nicknames.”

“toots isn’t great either.”

he smirks and leans in close to you, cupping your cheek in his hand, “don’t worry i know what you like to be called,” he teases, kissing along your neck, “my pretty girl.”

your thighs clench ever so slightly reminding you of the burn radiating through them. you groan softly and pout up at him, “thanos.”

“i’m sorry,” he grins and pulls away from you, pecking your lips as he does, “i’ll stop.”

you roll your eyes and sit up a bit more, “you’re mean.”

he moves to be sitting against the headboard next to you. he grabs a joint from the nightstand and lights it up. he blows the smoke out languidly, “you love it though.”

you huff and snatch the joint from him for yourself. he just laughs and throws an arm around you, manhandling you so you are resting against him. he grabs the remote and puts a cartoon on as background noise. 

you feel your body relax as you exhale and hand the joint back to him. you pull the blanket over both of you and snuggle into him. it’s peaceful like this. slow and sluggish in a way that makes you feel safe.

“now you’re being friendly,” he teases.

“shut up,” you whine.

“i love seeing you like this.”

“are you capable of being quiet?”

“still being mean to me but i know you love me.”

“says who.”

“well i don’t see you cuddling up to many people,” he says smugly and passes you the joint, “and you don’t like sharing joints.”

“well you’re the only person who has joint etiquette.”

“use all the excuses you want, princess, doesn’t change the facts.”

“you’re annoying. that’s a fact.”

“you didn’t have an excuse for the cuddling though. interesting.”

you stay silent for a moment, trying to think of an excuse. “you’re just comfy is all.”

“comfy?”

“yeah.”

he laughs and kisses your head. he pulls you impossibly closer to him, “that almost sounds like a compliment.”

you hum contently as he pulls you into an even comfier position. you take a long drag of the joint and give it back to him. “well. you’re not all bad.”

his smile grows wide and gasps dramatically, “well that is very high praise from you, baby.”

“yes, you should be very thankful.”

“i am.”

“good.”

it’s quiet for a few moments. thanos finishes the joint and discards the butt on the nightstand. his hands run along your skin, occasionally squeezing and pinching softly. it’s as if you are his own personal stress toy but you enjoy it, it’s comforting.

“stay the night?” he whispers, his hands stilling for a moment, “please.”

your body tenses up slightly at his request. even though you have done whatever this is over a dozen times now you haven’t stayed the night. you usually just share a couple smokes with him before ubering home.

but something about how soft this all is, how relaxed and peaceful he manages to make you feel has you nodding. you swear you can feel him relax even more as you nod and he kisses your forehead.

“good. i like having you here, princess,” he says with a grin, “you should stay forever.”

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader this one is just pure angst and drama, no smut, just teasing each other like two idiots.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[ 5.7k words ]♡― i had to continue this fic in a 2nd part, i felt necessary. maybe i'll continue it in a few more chapters (PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME) and thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has commented and appreciated this piece. it means a lot to a person who is non-native english wrt. without further ado, have a good read, loves!

♡ [part one]

you’re so indecisive of what I’m saying tryna catch the beat, make up your heart don't know if you're happy or complaining don't want for us to end, where do I start?

The pounding in your head was a testament to last night’s choices. Aspirin was non-negotiable. You could hear Eunji and Sohee's voices from the living room and were surprised that both of them were already awake after their all-nighter.

After leaving the room with Bangchan—because, of course, that happened—you ducked into the bathroom, shot off a text about vomiting and existential regret, and decided to make a graceful exit. Well, as graceful as one could manage after wild sex with the person you’d sworn to hate forever. Pride was nowhere in the equation, but who cared?

As soon as your eyes saw daylight, Eunji and Sohee looked at you judgmentally. You froze in your tracks, still wearing pink Hello Kitty jammies like a monument to your shame. Their judgment was immediate, sharp as a blade. Your heart sped up.

“You’re alive,” Sohee deadpanned, taking a bite of a cinnamon roll. “And looking like shit.”

“Appreciate it,” you shot back, throwing yourself into a chair. “Really warms the soul.”

Eunji’s smoothie slurp was unnecessarily loud, drilling straight into your skull. “We thought about waking you for breakfast but figured you’d need the recovery time.”

You dismissed the idea with a hand wave. "That's okay. Wouldn’t have gotten up anyway.”

"We can have lunch together, if you like. I really need a detox after last night." Sohee curled her lips into a grimace and you almost smiled. Detox advice from Sohee was peak irony.

But then Eunji, ever the chaos-bringer, dropped the bomb. “Oh my God, you guys, I heard the craziest thing last night! Jiwoon—my lit classmate—said he walked in on someone having super loud sex at the party. Guess who it was? Bangchan!”

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

Silence remained and Sohee raised her eyebrows at Eunji.

“Apparently, the guy is a structural hazard,” Sohee chimed in, amused. “Minho said he once broke a floorboard. Who even does that?” Your red-haired friend says giggling.

Eunji giggled. “The girl’s lucky. If Bangchan wrecked me, I’d consider it an honor.”

You summoned your most convincing disdain, rolling your eyes with the energy of someone deeply unimpressed. “Honestly, can we not make him sound like some sort of deity?”

But guilt clung to you like a second skin, mingling with vivid flashes of last night—the furniture banging against the wall, Bangchan’s muscles taut as he tried to steady it. The memory burned, searing and humiliating, until Eunji’s voice yanked you back to reality.

The memory faded like mist when Eunji said it again. "Anyway, the girl’s lucky. I wish I was knocked down by Bangchan."

Lucky. That’s what they’d call you if they knew. Lucky—and a traitor to everything you’d loudly professed about hating him. They didn’t know it was you, and you intended to keep it that way.

From the tone of the chat, Jiwoon didn't see who was in the room with Bangchan, which means he didn't know you were the girl. Trying to ignore the talking and the sweat growing on your hands, you got up and declared that you were going to take a shower and maybe run some laps around the athletics track, because you really needed some fresh air.

The dorm felt claustrophobic. Eunji and Sohee were your best friends and you felt awful for not telling them the truth.

These were your best friends, but the truth felt like a grenade you couldn’t risk dropping. For months, you’d built your personality around despising Bangchan, and now? One night had unraveled it all.

Worst of all? You couldn’t stop replaying every second of it—and how much you’d loved it.

Sex had always been an exercise in mediocrity. Your exes? Predictably average, hitting the bare minimum on their way to their own finish line. As for finding the clitoris? Let’s just say they navigated like someone using a map upside down—an unsurprising disappointment every single time.

Now, though, Bangchan was something else entirely. A campus legend with a reputation as vast as it was unshakable. Everyone knew about his conquests—more women than you had fingers to count. Every rumor you’d rolled your eyes at turned out to be painfully, thrillingly true. He was better than anything you could have imagined.

Even after a long shower, his touch lingered, like phantom fingerprints etched into your skin. You could still feel him, every moment replaying in a maddening loop. No one had ever made you come twice in one night. No one. That fact alone made him unforgettable—and insufferably smug, no doubt.

Pulling on comfortable clothes, you grabbed a bag, stuffed in some essentials, and checked your phone. The group chat was overflowing with photos and messages from last night’s chaos, but you scrolled past all of it. There was only one person you needed right now.

You: Up for a morning run?

The reply came in under two minutes.

Hyunjin: It’s two in the afternoon. You: Morning for me. Hyunjin: Fine. Be there in five.

You tossed your phone into your bag and took a deep breath. A run was exactly what you needed—to burn off this restless energy and, hopefully, forget how guilty you felt.

You found Hyunjin on the running track near the outdoor field, surrounded by lush greenery and bursts of flowers the campus meticulously maintained. He looked effortlessly good, of course—baggy clothes hanging just right, dark hair falling over his face like it had been styled by the gods.

You started running side by side, silence settling between you. It was comfortable but heavy, like a bubble that needed popping. The kiss was the unspoken elephant on the track, but Hyunjin, ever observant, didn’t push. Not yet.

The day was crisp, the kind of weather that made you feel invincible. You poured your focus into your pace, and before you knew it, you’d pulled ahead. “Okay, okay—hold up,” Hyunjin called, his voice carrying just enough humor to make you smirk.

You stopped a few strides ahead, spinning on your heel to face him. He sauntered toward you, not even winded, like running was merely a mild inconvenience.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, his tone playful but probing.

“There’s nothing to tell,” you countered, already feeling your resolve falter.

“Uh-huh.” He stopped in front of you, his gaze narrowing. “Then why, exactly, did you ask me to kiss you last night?”

Well. There it was. No escaping now.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool as you grabbed the water bottle from your bag. “I was... needy, I guess.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, crossing his arms like he wasn’t buying it. “Needy, huh?”

“Look,” you said, exhaling sharply, “I’m sorry if it made things weird. You’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is for that to get messed up.”

“Relax,” he said, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “A kiss isn’t going to scare me off. You’re stuck with me.”

His easy laugh melted some of your tension, but before you could respond, he clapped his hands together with mock seriousness. “Tell you what—first one to the other side of campus owes the winner a banana milk.”

The sudden challenge caught you off guard, and you raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, already turning on his heel to start jogging backward. “Unless you’re too scared.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you bolted after him. “You’re so on.”

You lost the run, but of course, Hyunjin still paid for the drink. That summed him up as a friend.

After he dashed off to rehearse with Felix—because apparently, everyone else was rehearsing but you—a thought hit you like a lightbulb flickering to life. Rumors? Easy to spread. But if you wanted to get ahead of them, you had to go straight to the source.

With a mission in mind, you swaggered toward the gym where the basketball team was practicing. It wasn’t exactly classified info—every girl on campus could probably tell you when and where their training sessions were. You zipped your jacket up to your chin like it was some sort of emotional armor, grabbed your water bottle for moral support, and marched down the corridors. The door to the gym was already cracked open, and as you pushed it, everything seemed to slow down in the most dramatic way.

The guys were running drills, their shoes squeaking on the court like a broken record. The noise grated on your nerves, but you weren’t here for the sound; you were here for the spectacle. The stands were dotted with girls, some wrapped up in their player-boyfriend fantasies, while others... Well, who knows what they were thinking. You didn’t care. You had your eyes on the real prize today.

There he was, standing out like a sore thumb. His black and white uniform somehow looked too good on him. Focus, girl. You hid behind the staircase, crouched like a sneaky little spy, waiting for the game to wrap up.

It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually, the whistle blew. You adjusted your posture, trying to act casual, though you were definitely still paying attention to how the sweat trickled down Bangchan's forehead. It brought you war flashbacks. When the players scattered to grab towels and water, you took your cue to appear from behind the bleachers, giving a quick, awkward wave before ducking back again.

Bangchan's eyes scanned the area, and when they landed on you, his brows shot up in surprise.  In the meantime, he did the inevitable: he took off his shirt and used it to get dry. Great. Just great.

"Did you come to watch?" He smirked, that cocky grin of his. "Didn't know you were into basketball."

You rolled your eyes. His ability to flirt in every situation was almost impressive.

"Ha-ha. No." You sucked in a breath, desperately trying to obey your brain's commands. Don't look down. Don’t you dare look down. "Actually, I came to ask for a favor."

He leaned against the wall, eyebrow quirked, looking amused. "Okay...?"

“Right. I want what happened yesterday to stay a secret.”

Bangchan's eyebrow arched higher, an expression of entertained disbelief crossing his face. He crossed his arms, flexing those muscles in a way that made the mission of not looking at them impossible.

“'You think I'm going around saying we fucked?"

You roll your eyes, frustration building up, and clench your hand into a fist. Sure, say it louder, let the world know.

“Isn't that exactly what you do? Brag about your sexual life?”

The boy nodded, puffing out his chest, he shot back. "Ever heard me brag about it?"

“I don't need to hear it from you. The campus does it for you.” It was infuriating how this worked out. Everyone thought Bangchan was the type of guy, praising his victories and glorifying him every time he got between some girl's pants. 

Meanwhile, girls were severely censured for even kissing a guy at a party.

"Right. So you're just going off what people say about me?" His tone was challenging, like he couldn’t care less.

In a long drawn-out sigh, you fidgeted with your hands, intending to put the matter to one side. "Can you just keep this between us? I don't want anyone to know."

"Whatever, it's no big deal," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "If it's that important to you."

The words stung more than they should have. It wasn’t just the lack of care, it was the way he made it sound like it didn’t matter. No big deal. It hurt your pride, even if you didn’t mean it to. But that was Bangchan, wasn’t it? Haughty and self-righteous. Yeah, he was great in bed, but his attitude? Utterly shitty.

“Thanks.” You said it briefly, biting down your pride and leaving the scene as fast as you could. Speaking to him seemed like a fool's errand, but you couldn't risk it.

Behind you, Bangchan pursed his lips into a thin line, watching you go. To him, you were hopeless—always on guard, never letting your walls down. He knew he was right, even if it was a thin line. Sure, it was fun to rile you up, but it was maddening that you hated him for things he hadn’t even done.

Getting you to change your mind, though? That was the challenge. But if that’s what it took, he was more than willing to play the long game.

Early next week. Only Tuesday, and auditions loomed just a day away. You’d been agonizing over the perfect solo—one that wouldn’t just get you a role but the role. Monday was a blur of brainstorming with Hyunjin and Seungmin, your trusted theater comrades. Between swapping notes, debating song choices, and plenty of eye rolls, you managed to help each other refine your audition pieces. It was productive. Chaotic, but productive.

Your last hour of the day belonged to the theater, and it was sacred. The stage wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind. The second the music hit, the world faded. Bills, homework, exes who ghosted you—it all melted away. Up there, you weren’t just alive; you were electric. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was instinct.

Your mom used to say you were born for the stage. She loved telling the story of how, as a kid, you’d belt out The Little Mermaid soundtrack so often the neighbors probably debated filing a noise complaint. Singing “Part of Your World” at the top of your lungs? A daily ritual. But the first time you sang for real—no plastic microphone, no stuffed animal audience—it clicked.

This was more than a passion. It was home.

Since high school, your hunger for the stage—and the spotlight—was insatiable. If there was a club, you wanted in. University was no different. People noticed you, not just for your knack for hitting sharp, glass-shattering high notes, but for your versatility. You could slip from sweet soprano to soulful belter faster than a drama major running late to class. On stage, you were magnetic.

Everyone gathered on stage, and Mrs. Baek appeared a few moments later with her round glasses and wavy hair around her face. Her figure was solid and powerful, as was her voice and knowledge.

But today, something was off. The crease on her forehead gave her away before she said a word. It was like a ripple of unease spread across the stage, and you didn’t miss a beat. You were already bracing for the bad news.

Then, a slim figure in a long skirt and boots strode into the center of the circle, sighing like she’d just carried the weight of the world—and maybe she had. “Okay, kids. Listen up.” Every pair of eyes locked onto her as if she were delivering the prophecy of doom. “We’re postponing the auditions. Indefinitely.”

Her announcement hit like a gut punch, and the stage erupted into chaos. Whispers turned to complaints, and complaints turned to full-blown outrage. Seungmin cast a skeptical glance at Mrs. Baek, then at you and Hyunjin, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

What the hell was going on?

“All right, settle down,” Mrs. Baek said, slipping her glasses off and pinching the bridge of her nose with that practiced mix of authority and exhaustion only she could pull off. “Jun-ho, our sound engineer, has officially dropped out of college. And to make matters worse, the university has decided to cut funding for the theater department in favor of... sports.”

“You're shitting me.” Nahee’s voice sliced through the commotion like a whip. She quickly caught herself, mumbling, “Sorry... but seriously—”

“That’s so unfair!” another voice chimed in from the back, frustration rippling through the group like a shockwave. “Basketball and soccer aren’t the only things this university has going for it.”

“I get it, kids. Believe me, I tried.” Mrs. Baek’s tone softened, but her words were anything but comforting. “I went to the administration, pleaded our case... But unless we can find enough volunteers and funding, I’m afraid auditions are canceled. Indefinitely.”

It felt like a cruel joke. The theater had always been your sanctuary, the one place where you could shed your armor and just be. And now? It was slipping through your fingers.

When Mrs. Baek dismissed the group, some students stormed out in anger, others lingered, trying to process what had just happened. For you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, the next logical step was the canteen. Food couldn’t fix this, but it was something.

“This is absurd. Now we're all supposed to close our eyes and applaud this nonsense?” Seungmin boomed as the three of you walked to the canteen. It was packed every day, regardless of the time of the day.

At a table outside, you spotted Sohee and Minho. Eunji, Changbin, Felix and Bangchan.

Just when you thought your day couldn't get any worse...

“Tell me about it, I'm so pissed off!” Everyone looked at you, hearing loud and clear about your discontent. All three of you pulled up a chair and you sat down facing Changbin.

“Someone's jumpy.” Sohee leaned across the table. “What's wrong? You three look like shit.”

“It turns out the university cut the theater’s funding in favor of sports.” Your voice was sharp, and your glare shot directly at Bangchan, who was busy texting like the world wasn’t crumbling around him. He looked up, one eyebrow raised in confusion, as if you’d just accused him of single-handedly ruining the arts.

You looked away, rage bubbling in your veins.

“That sucks.” Felix shot back with a supportive smile. “I know how important the theater is to you guys.”

“Everyone’s been working so hard,” Seungmin muttered, sinking into his chair like the weight of the news had finally crushed him. “It’s just... unfair.”

A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of Bangchan’s nails tapping on his phone screen. You glanced his way, the sight of him completely disengaged making your blood boil.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Eunji twisted her lips, hopeful.

“Car wash?” Changbin suggested with a mischievous grin. “Classic fundraiser, right?”

“Sure,” you shot back, deadpan, “let’s exploit women for the sake of art.” Your glare could’ve leveled him then and there. Changbin leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, fine. What about food?” Sohee jumped in, glancing at Minho for support. “Muffins, cupcakes, something simple. People love that stuff.”

Hyunjin's face lights up like a light bulb. “Felix makes brownies. Amazing brownies.”

Felix smirked, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I don’t wanna brag, but they’re basically legendary.”

“Alright, then.” Changbin grinned, pointing a finger gun between Felix and you. “You two make the brownies. And we,” he motioned to himself and Bangchan, “sell them.”

You and Bangchan exchange glances for a millisecond.

“I’ve got the perfect idea,”  he says, a wicked smile slipping from his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “What? Are you going to sell brownies naked around campus?”

The grin widened, and that’s when you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Felix had assured you he could handle everything, but your stubbornness wouldn’t let you sit this one out. If it was for the theater, you were all in. He handed over his famous brownie recipe like it was a national secret.

So, on Thursday, you got hands-on. Literally.

Eunji had come through with the shopping, and soon your dorm looked like a war zone—chocolate smudges on the counters, flour dusting the floor, and batter splattered in places you couldn’t quite explain. You only had a cramped space and a big dream of pulling this off.

You were just pouring the batter into a pan when a sharp knock at the door startled you. Wiping your hands on your skirt, you swung it open, expecting maybe Eunji or Hyunjin. Instead, there stood Bangchan, leaning casually against the door frame like he had nowhere else to be.

“Uh… hello?” You blinked, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Bangchan stood back for a second, observing how exceptionally good you looked.

“So… newsflash,” he started, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You might wanna double that recipe.”

Confusion flashed across your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He straightened up, clearly enjoying your puzzled reaction. “I may have the entire basketball team to help out with the sale.”

Your jaw dropped as his words sank in. “You what?”

His grin widened at your disbelief. “You heard me. More hands, more sales. I figured we could use the hype.”

It was insane. But it was also brilliant. A rush of excitement shot through you, lighting up your face. “That’s… that’s fantastic!” you blurted, beaming before instinctively biting your lip to rein in your enthusiasm.

Bangchan tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Thought you’d like that.”

“Oh, shit. I'll tell Felix, we're going to need an extra oven.” You walked over to the coffee table, where your phone was.

Before you could dial, Bangchan’s voice cut through your focus. “You shouldn’t go there.” He was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression surprisingly earnest. “It’s a mess. Like, biohazard-level chaos.” You lose heart, trying to think of another alternative. “You can use my dorm. If you want.” He quickly adds the last sentence.

Your stomach dropped at the suggestion. The idea of stepping into Bangchan’s dorm felt like walking into enemy territory. Risky. Dangerous. Not worth the potential fallout. “It’s fine,” you said, waving him off. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

But Bangchan leaned against the doorframe, his smirk resurfacing. “You sure? There are a lot of brownies to bake, and I don’t think you’ve got all night.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong. Time was slipping through your fingers like sand, and with the entire basketball team now involved, efficiency was critical. “Fine,” you muttered, hating the way the word tasted in your mouth. “But only if you help.”

“You don't have to ask twice.”

It turned out Bangchan’s “help” involved more than just offering his kitchen. He insisted on carrying every utensil, baking sheet, and ingredient across campus himself, as though showing off how capable he was. By the time you arrived at his so-called dorm, you’d pieced together another puzzle about him.

Rich, but not obnoxiously so. Still, his “dorm” was more like a chic little apartment, complete with a full kitchen, two bedrooms, and sleek decor that screamed privilege. The space was annoyingly Bangchan—polished, put together, and just distant enough to be intriguing.

“Cool place.” You muttered after he closed the door behind you. Scanning the room and trying not to sound impressed.

“Thanks.” he gave you a smile. “So, this is the kitchen.” He motioned to a modern setup that looked like it belonged in a Food Network show. Top class stuff. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” you replied, slipping your hands into your pockets. “Not just for the space but… you know, for helping.”

It was obvious that he was making this effort because the theater was important to his friends Seungmin and Hyunjin. Why else would he do all this? Still, you appreciated it.

His lips twitched into a grin. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back the retort bubbling at your tongue. Play nice. He’s helping. 

“Relax,” he added, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding. There’s booze in the fridge, by the way. Help yourself.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you said, sidestepping the offer.

“I’ve gotta sort something out with the coach,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I’ll be back in 20. Think you’ll survive here alone?”

Honestly, being in his apartment without him sounded like the best possible scenario. You gave a small nod. “Yeah, no worries.”

With that, he left, and the door clicked shut behind him. You exhaled, a long breath that carried the weight of the past few days. Now you were in enemy territory, surrounded by his world, and somehow, that felt far more personal than it should.

How had this become your life? Baking brownies in Bangchan’s kitchen? It was almost as absurd as sleeping with him—a mistake you’d promised yourself you’d never make. But here you were, crossing one forbidden line after another.

You weren’t exactly a disaster in the kitchen, but you weren’t a pro either. Somehow, though, in thirty minutes flat, four trays of brownies were baking away in Bangchan’s fancy oven. The rest of the kitchen, however, looked like a war zone. Eggshells piled in the sink. Flour scattered across the floor. Chocolate batter smeared on your shirt. Your skirt? A masterpiece of handprints from raw dough. But hey, it was all for the sake of art—and funding.

While you whisked and poured, you couldn’t resist turning on your favorite song, What Is This Feeling from Wicked. Singing along word for word, you hit every high note with a grin. That song had landed you the role of Glinda in high school, and the nostalgia hit you square in the chest. Those were good times. Simpler times.

The chorus was still ringing in your ears as you crouched to scrub a stubborn chocolate stain on the floor. That’s when the door swung open, and Bangchan walked in, freezing mid-step as he surveyed the chaos.

“Holy shit. Are you all right?” he asked, his tone somewhere between amusement and genuine concern.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest as you scrambled to turn off the music. In your rush, your phone slipped from your flour-dusted hands and landed on the counter with a soft thud. You straightened, cheeks flushing. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing your hands on your already-ruined skirt. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

He looked around, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. His eyes flicked from the chaotic kitchen to you, taking in the state of your clothes. “You’ve got something… there,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the chocolate smear on your shoulder.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll head back to the dorm and clean this up.”

Bangchan tilted his head, clearly unimpressed with your plan. “I can lend you a shirt. Might make you feel more comfortable.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” you said, waving him off. “But thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind his neck and yanked off the black shirt he was wearing, leaving him in nothing but his jeans and a devilish grin. “Here,” he said, holding the shirt out to you like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You blinked, completely caught off guard. “You know you could’ve just grabbed another shirt, right? Like, one you’re not currently wearing?”

He leaned in slightly, the grin widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “And where’s the fun in that?”

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at him, equal parts annoyed and flustered. His shirt hung in the air between you, a silent dare. Finally, you snatched it from his hand, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, unbothered, and strolled over to the counter like he hadn’t just walked into the kitchen half-dressed.

After a few minutes, you walked back into the kitchen, now wearing Bangchan’s shirt. It hung a little loose on you, the soft fabric brushing against your skin and carrying a mix of fresh laundry and whatever cologne he used. Not that you noticed. Much.

Bangchan was at the sink, scrubbing a mixing bowl. His back was to you at first, but when he turned around, his gaze lingered a second too long before he coughed and looked back down. “Did you know,” he started, shaking his head with a teasing grin, “that you’re officially the world’s clumsiest cook? There’s brownie batter... under the sink.”

You glanced at the cabinet beneath the counter, then back at him. “Hey, I said I’d clean up,” you defended, marching into the kitchen with your head held high. “And for the record, I never claimed to be a good cook. I’m just trying to help.”

Bangchan barked out a laugh, drying his hands on a towel. “Help? No fucking way. You’re a disaster, love.”

You froze, raising an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?” You crossed your arms, the oversized sleeves of his shirt only slightly undermining your indignation. “I didn’t see you stepping up to bake anything.. Let’s see you handle a whisk without breaking something.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Trust me, I’d still be better than whatever chaos you’ve got going on here.”

Your lips quirked into a slow smirk, and you reached for the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see you handle this.” Before he could react, you scooped a handful of flour and tossed it right at him, the fine powder exploding across his chest like a smoke bomb.

Bangchan froze for a second, blinking down at the mess. Then, his lips curved into a wicked grin that should have been your warning. “Oh, it’s on now.”

With your hands on your lip, you realized that you had fucked up. “I'm sorry, I...”

Too late. In the blink of an eye, Bangchan scooped up the sugar and poured it all over your hair. You stared, half-shocked, half-impressed by his audacity. You parted your lips to fire back, but before a word could escape, the sound of his laughter erupted from deep in his chest.

“Really? Is this how it’s gonna go?” You grabbed the cocoa powder with a grin. Oh, he wanted a war? You were so ready. “Bring it on,” you shot back, face lighting up with mischief. 

You were almost halfway to smearing him with chocolate when his hand shot out and stopped yours midair. The cocoa slipped through your fingers, and just like that, your plan hit the ground.

Then, you collided—chest to chest. Bangchan wasn’t laughing anymore, and you could feel the shift in the air, the heat between you two now undeniable. His lips curled into that damn smirk, the one that told you everything. Your heart was racing, but the thought of pulling away didn’t even cross your mind. The only question now was who was going to make the first move.

A silent battle passed between you two. His gaze locked onto yours, sensing the shift in your expression—less defiant, more... willing. And just like that, the tension morphed into something else, something undeniable.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips brushing his. Bangchan’s breath hitched, a soft grunt escaping him at the sudden contact. Your hands, still coated with the remnants of your baking disaster, slid over his broad shoulders. You were a mess, sugar and flour everywhere, but somehow, it made everything feel a little more real. And Bangchan? He didn’t seem to mind one bit.

All he seemed to care about was having your lips on his. And fuck, you could feel how much he wanted it.

Bangchan grabbed your ass possessively, squeezing it and making a raspy moan escape your lips. You pushed him against the wall, without detaching your lips, savoring how the softness of his lips felt like cotton candy.

When you finally broke away, your chests heaving, your fingers still pressed into his skin, you met his gaze. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch, and you could feel the pull between you intensify again, magnetic.

“I should probably clean up this mess.” your voice broke the tension, but the realization hit harder than it should’ve. Bangchan was clearly fed up with your habit of diving in and then ghosting the consequences. 

“Don’t you dare.” his voice was low, the words like a command you weren’t about to ignore. His eyes locked with yours—intense. “You want this.” his lips brushed against yours, a tease that made your heart leap, while his words hung heavy in the air. “I know you do.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but him.

“Bangchan.” You whispered, barely able to breathe. The heat from his hardness spread like wildfire, and your body seemed to betray you. “We can’t.” you licked your lips—stupid, because he was already there, sealing your protest with a sloppy kiss, stealing that last ounce of restraint.

You were losing it. Why did he have to be so... goddamn good at this?

“Oh yeah?” he pulled away, just enough to make you regret the distance. “Tell me one good reason. Just one.”

You snorted, doing everything you could to hold it together, but the pull between you was undeniable. “Please.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but instead he closed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, walking away, but the air between you two still crackled.

The rest of the kitchen cleanup was like some strange form of punishment. You moved in sync, two people acting like they hadn’t just burned down every ounce of decorum in the room. The silence was deafening, the kind of awkward that made you wish you could pull the floor open and swallow you whole. But instead, you just scrubbed harder, hoping it’d drown out the thundering thoughts in your head.

He pulled away, no jokes, no teasing—just silence. It was like a switch had flipped, and the tension that had once sparked between you now lay dormant, suffocating. You didn't know if you hated the quiet or if you hated yourself more for letting things go as far as they had.

When everything was finally done, he still helped you carry your things to the dorm, his touch lingering just a little too long as he adjusted the bag over your shoulder. You were too busy battling the whirlwind of your own thoughts, replaying every moment, every look, and cursing both him and yourself for what you’d just crossed into.

You hated how easy it had been. How natural. And you hated even more that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret it—at least, not yet.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik